I don’t get a lot of time to write, so sorry if I don’t post here all that often. It’s honestly something I want to get in the habit of doing. After disappearing for most of a year that might be hard to believe, but it’s kind of like, now that I’ve had the time to really think about things, and what happened, and let it kind of work its way around the back of my head for all this time, I now need to start getting it out.
I’d rather talk to someone, to be honest, but the damn curse on that place makes it difficult. And sure, I could talk to Bree about it all, but it’s difficult. I mean, she’s my girlfriend, and she’s just . . . amazing and she’s helped me through some tough times, but. . . . Well. She’s the girl I used to be. That’s kind of weird. At least here, in a blog, I’m kind of working into words some of these thoughts that’ve been bouncing through my mind.
The problem, you see, is that I’ve got lots of thinking time these days. Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty damn busy. I’m holding down three jobs and racing around town a lot, but most of it ain’t exactly mind-stressing stuff. I’ve got a job at the local grocery store, unloading deliveries and stocking shelves and shit like that. I also get evening shifts at the bookstore, and I pick up a little manual work here and there, though a lot less than I’d like what with the weather recently, which sucks because it pays best. I’m pretty good with my hands, actually. Pop’s had to do a lot of DIY around our home in his day, and I’ve picked some of it up, I guess, and he knows some guys, and a few months back I was getting some pretty heavy work done. You should see me now. I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been. All that digging and carrying shit around’s really bulked me up, and I’ve got admit—I get a real kick out of my body. I mean, I’ve always been a big guy and in good shape, but never like this. . . .
And yeah, I’m no idiot. If I get a thrill being built like a brick shithouse, it’s probably because not that long ago I was barely over five foot, weighed under a hundred and would’ve struggled my way out’ve a wet paper bag. I mean, God, I was tiny! And so weak....
Like this one time, out on one of the few big nights out I experienced as Brianna, out with a couple of friends and this guy called Frank....
(Shit, it’s so weird for me writing that kind of stuff. How the hell did I ever end up dating someone called Frank?)
I mean, it wasn’t like it was anything special, just a bunch of us crammed into a car on our way to this chick Clara’s house party, a kegger out on the edge of town. I think this was four? Maybe five months into the whole thing. I wasn’t going out with these kids because I wanted to, but Linda—that was my new stepmom, remember?—was driving me nuts and I had to get the hell out of that place for a bit. So I ended up in the back seat up this beat-up Buick with a bunch of other teens, crammed between Lara the cheerleader and Matt the bench-warmer for the school’s soccer team. Lara was pissing me off for some reason; I can’t remember what. Probably for being such a slut—God, she was such a little tramp!
Yeah, like I was much better, come to think of it. Strange how strongly some of the memories remain . . . can’t remember what that kid did to piss me of, but remember exactly what the hell I was wearing, the short skirt and tight t-shirt one of Bree’s friend had basically dressed me up in, and even the makeup I was wearing. But with Lara being such a bitch I ended up talking to Matt, even if he was a bit of a loser.
Thing is, I like soccer, I mean I really like it, but it’s not like a chick like Brianna’s going to have too many friends she can talk to who share the interest, you know. And even if they knew shit about soccer, they’d probably be a Man U or Chelsea supporter. Ugh.
So who knows how the hell it happened . . . we’d already had a couple of drinks before getting in the car, and we were chatting a bit about the game, which was cool, and then he started to make fun of me because I like Beckham, which wasn’t. I mean, sure, the guy’s past his prime but he can still cross the ball like no one else, and here’s this dick going on as if I only like the guy because he’s good-looking or something.
It really pissed me off that he wouldn’t take me seriously, even though I damn well knew more about the game than he did, and probably could’ve owned him on the pitch just a few months back. I think I gave him a shove or something . . . we started to fight, right there in the back of the car, but he wasn’t taking it seriously, and the angrier I got the funnier he thought it was, and next thing I know he had both my wrists in his hand and . . . God, it was so humiliating, how easy it was for him to overpower me! Everyone else in the car thought it was pretty damn funny, until Lara pretty much shrieked for us to knock it off. She was probably jealous no one was paying any attention to her anymore.
It was only after we reached the party and I stepped out of the car that I realized how damned turned on I was. We totally made out later that night. . . .
And, shit, I guess that’s why I still need to write about this stuff. Months after I thought I’d put all this behind me, these weird thoughts and memories still pop up from time to time. Don’t get me wrong. Like I said, I love the shape I’m in and the strength I’ve built up. And there’s nothing I love more than lying in bed with Bree and holding her close, her head on my chest and my arm around her. But at the same time, sometimes . . . I can remember what it was like to be in her place, with the arm around me and the strength and that sense of being protected, of being safe, and I worry that maybe . . . I miss it.
Showing posts with label Jeff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jeff. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
Jeff: Starting again
Last you heard of me was back in November, when Louisa passed through on a road trip. Last you heard from me was... hell, about a year ago. Truth is, I haven’t been checking this blog very often, and kind of lost track of the other guys... girls... the others who were there back at the beginning. Maybe that’s why that visit back in November got me thinking, and remembering, and planning.
Listen, I’ll be honest here: that day back in May, when I got my body back? It was the best day of my life. I read about what everyone else’s been up to, and how they’ve adapted to their new lives and some of them, even, finding happiness or love or whatever, and I’m happy for them, I really am. I admire them.
I also resented them. I can admit that now, but at the time I just wanted to completely forget about the whole damn thing. I tried turning my back on the whole experience and tried to just pick up where I’d left off that September over a year ago. But I couldn’t, of course, and sometimes I’d find myself wondering why I wasn’t able to do the same, you know, adapt like they did and just get on with a new life, let go of the old....
But that’s the thing, you see. I can’t. I can’t—just let go of things. Not of my old life when I turned into Brianna—and now I can’t let that go, either. Brianna’s life.
It’s quite the experience, waking up as someone else. Ha! There’s an understatement. I mean, let’s just ignore for the moment the mind-bogglingly overwhelming idea that, you know, magic is fucking real and the fact that the place just voodoo’ed a bunch of guys into different people . . . and has been doing it for years . . . and that nobody will damn well believe you even if you scream it in their freakin’ face; yeah, let’s just forget about that for the time being. Because let’s face it: when I first realized I was someone else, and a girl to boot, well, at the time, everything was just so chaotic. . . and it never seemed to let up, not for the next eight months. Being Bree, damn, it felt like this heavy, stifling weight pressing down on me at all times; a belt slowly tightening around my head—either I always felt caught up in some kind of crazy panic about needing to fit in, or I was lost in some deep funk about everything I’d lost, or I’d just freak out at the prospect of being a girl for the rest of my life. I never had the time to just sit back and think.
And now I do. Don’t get me wrong. Things have been crazy since I’ve come back as well, and thank God there’s been Brianna at my side and, yeah, I know how crazy—idiotic--weird that is, too, having the girl I used to be around here as a reminder when I’m trying to forget about the whole thing. But she’s seen me through some dark times these past few months. She’s been like an angel, a real Godsend; I wish I knew more about her.
It’s easy to forget how connected we are to others, you know, and the ripples anything you do can send out. My disappearance a year ago hurt the family bad. My reappearance soon after didn’t help much. The fact that an old lady with Alzheimer was behind the wheels didn’t help much. They thought I’d had some kind of breakdown. I don’t hold any resentment to her, I honestly don’t. It wasn’t her fault. In a lucid moment she found her way back to my family, but in her less . . . healthy times, she kind of freaked people out. Let’s just say my family was ill-equipped to deal with that kind of burden. Thank God she came back and agreed to swap back with me. But of course, the damage had already been done....
But enough of that. That’s not what I wanted to write about...
I’m not sure what I wanted to write about.
That’s not true. I know exactly what I want to share, but the thing is, I can’t. Not yet. But I’ve come back just to make a couple of things clear. Just in case, you see.
I really like being a guy. God, do I like being a guy. Let’s just be perfectly clear on that. I like pissing standing up. And being able to pick up heavy shit on my own, and wearing unfashionably baggy clothing, and keeping my hair short and my fingernails dirty. I like popping a boner every friggin’ time a dirty thought crosses my mind or a pretty girl crosses my path, and hanging out with the guys without having to really talk about anything, and I like being able to knock some jackass to the floor if he speaks shit about my family.
I like being me. I’m not sure that was true before the Inn, but it’s definitely true now. I think back to those eight months or so I spent as Brianna and, yeah, sure, I can admit now that maybe they weren’t as terrible as I made them out to be. Her family’s fucked to be sure, but for the most part her life was pretty damn good. If I’m completely honest with myself, I even enjoyed myself at times, in those few moments when I could forget myself. But I was never comfortable with the whole thing, and I don’t think I ever would’ve been. The fact that every time I did enjoy myself I tortured myself afterwards says more about myself than it does about Bree or her life; and that’s the thing, you see: I learned a hell of a lot about myself through the whole experience.
Not just the obvious, that I like being a guy and that I don’t miss the makeup or the girly clothes or the tits or any of that, either, even if (if I’m being completely honest again) all that feminine crap was kind of fun at times, too. I was worried about that at first—that the whole experience might’ve made me gay or something. There were a few moments back then, when I was Bree, out on one of few dates that just kind of happened. . . or this one time that caught me by surprise, when I caught myself just staring at one of the guys at school, this soccer player, and I. . . well, I felt kind of funny. You know, turned-on funny, and it felt all warm and nice and damn right I didn’t want that coming back with me when I turned back into a guy.
It didn’t.
But what I learned—what I really learned, was what was important to me. See, when I ended up at the Inn in the first place, I was basically trying to run away. From home, from my family, from responsibility and the idea of becoming . . . hell, I don’t know. My father, maybe. I don’t think he wanted me turning into him, either, as if there’s something wrong with being the kind of guy who sticks by his kids no matter what, who works himself to the bone to keep a roof over our head. That’s why he tried to send me away. Saved up enough cash for my tuition and sent me off. That obviously didn’t work out. Seven months with Eileen in my body—that’s the old woman, mind ravaged by age and disease, who became me—put that dream to an end. No college for me. And know what? It was a blessing in disguise. Bree’s helped me see that.
I mean, realistically, where was it going to get me? It’s not like I headed off to college to become a doctor or a lawyer or anything like that. I’m a fairly smart guy, but not that smart. And I wasn’t going to ride a football scholarship or something into fame and fortune. I’m good at sports, but not that good. Nah, most likely I would’ve picked up some three-year degree and eventually worked it into some kind of mid-range job. What then? Some cog working in marketing for a mid-sized firm in a mid-sized city? Forty years of different jobs where, if I work really, really hard I help somebody else make a bit more money by helping them sell stuff people don’t really need? Screw that. If the Inn showed me anything, it’s that there’s bigger shit going on in the world.
Hell, there was bigger shit going on right beneath my nose that I’d turned a blind eye to. Stuff that needs to be set right.
There’s nothing more important than family. Nothing. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to help my family. It took eight months as a sixteen year-old girl to teach me that.
Listen, I’ll be honest here: that day back in May, when I got my body back? It was the best day of my life. I read about what everyone else’s been up to, and how they’ve adapted to their new lives and some of them, even, finding happiness or love or whatever, and I’m happy for them, I really am. I admire them.
I also resented them. I can admit that now, but at the time I just wanted to completely forget about the whole damn thing. I tried turning my back on the whole experience and tried to just pick up where I’d left off that September over a year ago. But I couldn’t, of course, and sometimes I’d find myself wondering why I wasn’t able to do the same, you know, adapt like they did and just get on with a new life, let go of the old....
But that’s the thing, you see. I can’t. I can’t—just let go of things. Not of my old life when I turned into Brianna—and now I can’t let that go, either. Brianna’s life.
It’s quite the experience, waking up as someone else. Ha! There’s an understatement. I mean, let’s just ignore for the moment the mind-bogglingly overwhelming idea that, you know, magic is fucking real and the fact that the place just voodoo’ed a bunch of guys into different people . . . and has been doing it for years . . . and that nobody will damn well believe you even if you scream it in their freakin’ face; yeah, let’s just forget about that for the time being. Because let’s face it: when I first realized I was someone else, and a girl to boot, well, at the time, everything was just so chaotic. . . and it never seemed to let up, not for the next eight months. Being Bree, damn, it felt like this heavy, stifling weight pressing down on me at all times; a belt slowly tightening around my head—either I always felt caught up in some kind of crazy panic about needing to fit in, or I was lost in some deep funk about everything I’d lost, or I’d just freak out at the prospect of being a girl for the rest of my life. I never had the time to just sit back and think.
And now I do. Don’t get me wrong. Things have been crazy since I’ve come back as well, and thank God there’s been Brianna at my side and, yeah, I know how crazy—idiotic--weird that is, too, having the girl I used to be around here as a reminder when I’m trying to forget about the whole thing. But she’s seen me through some dark times these past few months. She’s been like an angel, a real Godsend; I wish I knew more about her.
It’s easy to forget how connected we are to others, you know, and the ripples anything you do can send out. My disappearance a year ago hurt the family bad. My reappearance soon after didn’t help much. The fact that an old lady with Alzheimer was behind the wheels didn’t help much. They thought I’d had some kind of breakdown. I don’t hold any resentment to her, I honestly don’t. It wasn’t her fault. In a lucid moment she found her way back to my family, but in her less . . . healthy times, she kind of freaked people out. Let’s just say my family was ill-equipped to deal with that kind of burden. Thank God she came back and agreed to swap back with me. But of course, the damage had already been done....
But enough of that. That’s not what I wanted to write about...
I’m not sure what I wanted to write about.
That’s not true. I know exactly what I want to share, but the thing is, I can’t. Not yet. But I’ve come back just to make a couple of things clear. Just in case, you see.
I really like being a guy. God, do I like being a guy. Let’s just be perfectly clear on that. I like pissing standing up. And being able to pick up heavy shit on my own, and wearing unfashionably baggy clothing, and keeping my hair short and my fingernails dirty. I like popping a boner every friggin’ time a dirty thought crosses my mind or a pretty girl crosses my path, and hanging out with the guys without having to really talk about anything, and I like being able to knock some jackass to the floor if he speaks shit about my family.
I like being me. I’m not sure that was true before the Inn, but it’s definitely true now. I think back to those eight months or so I spent as Brianna and, yeah, sure, I can admit now that maybe they weren’t as terrible as I made them out to be. Her family’s fucked to be sure, but for the most part her life was pretty damn good. If I’m completely honest with myself, I even enjoyed myself at times, in those few moments when I could forget myself. But I was never comfortable with the whole thing, and I don’t think I ever would’ve been. The fact that every time I did enjoy myself I tortured myself afterwards says more about myself than it does about Bree or her life; and that’s the thing, you see: I learned a hell of a lot about myself through the whole experience.
Not just the obvious, that I like being a guy and that I don’t miss the makeup or the girly clothes or the tits or any of that, either, even if (if I’m being completely honest again) all that feminine crap was kind of fun at times, too. I was worried about that at first—that the whole experience might’ve made me gay or something. There were a few moments back then, when I was Bree, out on one of few dates that just kind of happened. . . or this one time that caught me by surprise, when I caught myself just staring at one of the guys at school, this soccer player, and I. . . well, I felt kind of funny. You know, turned-on funny, and it felt all warm and nice and damn right I didn’t want that coming back with me when I turned back into a guy.
It didn’t.
But what I learned—what I really learned, was what was important to me. See, when I ended up at the Inn in the first place, I was basically trying to run away. From home, from my family, from responsibility and the idea of becoming . . . hell, I don’t know. My father, maybe. I don’t think he wanted me turning into him, either, as if there’s something wrong with being the kind of guy who sticks by his kids no matter what, who works himself to the bone to keep a roof over our head. That’s why he tried to send me away. Saved up enough cash for my tuition and sent me off. That obviously didn’t work out. Seven months with Eileen in my body—that’s the old woman, mind ravaged by age and disease, who became me—put that dream to an end. No college for me. And know what? It was a blessing in disguise. Bree’s helped me see that.
I mean, realistically, where was it going to get me? It’s not like I headed off to college to become a doctor or a lawyer or anything like that. I’m a fairly smart guy, but not that smart. And I wasn’t going to ride a football scholarship or something into fame and fortune. I’m good at sports, but not that good. Nah, most likely I would’ve picked up some three-year degree and eventually worked it into some kind of mid-range job. What then? Some cog working in marketing for a mid-sized firm in a mid-sized city? Forty years of different jobs where, if I work really, really hard I help somebody else make a bit more money by helping them sell stuff people don’t really need? Screw that. If the Inn showed me anything, it’s that there’s bigger shit going on in the world.
Hell, there was bigger shit going on right beneath my nose that I’d turned a blind eye to. Stuff that needs to be set right.
There’s nothing more important than family. Nothing. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to help my family. It took eight months as a sixteen year-old girl to teach me that.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Louisa: Road Trip - The midwest
It's been over a month since we've been heard from, which is quite frankly frustrating for me. Idleness is not something that comes naturally to me, but sharing is not something that comes naturally to Jessica.
We spent most of the past month in Chicago. The original Jessica was staying at the inn with a friend her own age - about ten, at the time - and that friend's parents. So, while it would seem like she would have someone who understood, it didn't work that way. The "father" got a new job in a new city, and left Jess alone. That city was Chicago.
But that was eight years ago, and this family has apparently moved on since then. Our Jessica still figures they're the best chance of a link to the original, though, so she looked for them.
She looked for a long time. Mostly on her own, because I'm not a detective and while Jessica has the patience to track down every person who might have known her "old friend" in order to gather information, she has very little patience with people who can't do the job as well as her.
In the end, I don't know whether she found something useful or not. I suspect that she eventually started to worry about actually making it out to California in time for the winter/spring semester at this rate, and my desire to get on with my quest.
Michigan wasn't quite on the way to anywhere, but we did promise Ashlyn and Trip - well, I guess she's just going by Kat now - that we would check in on Jeff Miller. He had just graduated high school when he found himself changed into a young girl a year ago, and seems to be one of the lucky ones in that he was able to get his life back. We'd been targeting a holiday weekend to speak with him; it just wound up being Veterans' Day rather than Columbus Day.
We didn't get much time to spend with Jeff; he was home from school for the weekend to spend time with his family. We did get to have lunch with him on Saturday, and he brought a friend.
Well, I don't know if "friend" is the word. If I were Jeff, I would think that having the new Brianna Adamson hanging around would make me very uncomfortable, just on principle. But he says it's not like that - that the longer he's back in his proper form, the more it feels like his time living Brianna's life was just some kind of strange dream which he can't properly describe. No, what makes him uncomfortable is the gigantic crush she seems to have on him.
It's almost kind of cute, in a way - the new Brianna talked about how Jeff had left her the means to emancipate herself from her new parents, and made sure that she had a safe place to live in the Miller household afterwards. She chattered on and on about how she Jeff's sister Mel get along so well, and it's great to be back in school, and all the while she's staring at Jeff, occasionally getting in comments about how this great new life is all because of him and she just wants to express her gratitude.
We talked about the usual things. Have you kept in contact with anyone from the groups before or after you? Jeff says no, not from the first time around - he thinks the original Bree wanted a clean break and fresh start. Bree says no, but kind of gives us a look as she says it. Any contact with outsiders who seem to know about the inn (aside from us)? Any people trying to get something from you without an explanation? Jeff says no; Brianna says yeah, but they don't seem like anything inn-related. She's a pretty fifteen year-old girl with a big old trust fund that could get even bigger depending on what happens to her parents in court. She's a tempting target anyway.
After a while, Jeff got a call to meet up with a high school buddy, and asked us if we'd mind giving Bree a ride back home after we're done talking. We said we'd be happy to, and he left us alone.
As soon as he had left the restaurant, Brianna let out a big sigh. "Isn't he just the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?"
Jess squirmed a little, since the question seemed to mostly be addressed to her. "He's, uh, not bad. So, I take it you didn't change all that much during your stay at the inn?"
"I... Well, I'll tell you, but could you not put it in that blog? Because then he'll read it, and I don't know if the truth is something he'd be comfortable with right away - I mean, he knows I've been to college because I gave him some pointers about campus life, but I don't want him to think of me as someone else until the whole truth won't freak him out, y'know? I will say that he wasn't exactly my type before, but the fact that I know he's a good man makes him so much more attractive. And, besides, he knows this body intimately, the way no other man can. Of course, since most of what I've had lately is high school boys..."
Jess got kind of red at that, and I spoke up to distract attention a little. "I don't get the impression that Jeffrey is looking for a girl who gives it up so easily."
"I know, it's just - you know - he knows I was someone else, and I need to show him that his age and gender are fine with me. And, okay, after the change, I needed to get used to it a bit myself. You know how it is, when you're first in a new body."
"No, I don't - I was ten!"
Bree holds up her hands, not quite expecting such a reaction. I was kind of surprised, too, but I imagine it must have been strange (at a minimum) for Jess, having the mind of a sexually experienced male in the body of a pre-pubescent girl. "Okay, fine, geez, don't flip out on me. Just sayin', you want to know that everything works. Surely later--"
"I'm not going to talk about this; I'll be in the car." With that, Jess stormed out.
A pained look went across Brianna's face, and she apologized. "Look, I didn't mean to - it's just, there's so few people we can talk to, and neither Jeff nor that lawyer guy wants to talk about sex, especially with someone who looks like jailbait. You guys said you were trying to find things out--"
I told her it was all right, and that's when she told me about the events that led up to her becoming Brianna. Since I know Jeff reads this, I won't post it here, but I hope she decides to tell it herself, sometime. It's really fascinating.
I didn't want Jessica to wait long in the car, so I suggested it might be time to bring her home. While we were walking through the parking lot, she suddenly seemed to remember something. "Oh! I knew I was going to forget this. It's about my boobs - they're real." She grabbed my wrist and brought my hand to her chest.
"Look, young lady, I was a woman even before I went to the inn."
"No, I mean, remember how Jeff said the original Brianna got her implants as some sort of sick fifteenth birthday present? Give that a squeeze - it's all human tissue, no plastic at all."
"I'll take your word for it."
She realized how an apparently mid-twenties woman with her hands on a teenager's bosom must look, and dropped my hand. "Right... Of course. I'm just saying, maybe that means something. Maybe the curse or spell or whatever can't reproduce man-made things and just does the best it can to get the outside looking right. Maybe that's where Kat's narcolepsy or Darren's peanut allergy comes from. Of course, those are both conditions that can appear later in life anyway... But, it's something to think about, right? That we're not exactly like the people we appear to be."
I told her it was a thought, but the conversation died as we reached the car; Jessica didn't have any interest in conversation as we gave Brianna a ride back to the Millers' home.
Anyway, we're back in Chicago now, as Jessica follows up on something while we head to our next stop in Minnesota.
-Louisa
We spent most of the past month in Chicago. The original Jessica was staying at the inn with a friend her own age - about ten, at the time - and that friend's parents. So, while it would seem like she would have someone who understood, it didn't work that way. The "father" got a new job in a new city, and left Jess alone. That city was Chicago.
But that was eight years ago, and this family has apparently moved on since then. Our Jessica still figures they're the best chance of a link to the original, though, so she looked for them.
She looked for a long time. Mostly on her own, because I'm not a detective and while Jessica has the patience to track down every person who might have known her "old friend" in order to gather information, she has very little patience with people who can't do the job as well as her.
In the end, I don't know whether she found something useful or not. I suspect that she eventually started to worry about actually making it out to California in time for the winter/spring semester at this rate, and my desire to get on with my quest.
Michigan wasn't quite on the way to anywhere, but we did promise Ashlyn and Trip - well, I guess she's just going by Kat now - that we would check in on Jeff Miller. He had just graduated high school when he found himself changed into a young girl a year ago, and seems to be one of the lucky ones in that he was able to get his life back. We'd been targeting a holiday weekend to speak with him; it just wound up being Veterans' Day rather than Columbus Day.
We didn't get much time to spend with Jeff; he was home from school for the weekend to spend time with his family. We did get to have lunch with him on Saturday, and he brought a friend.
Well, I don't know if "friend" is the word. If I were Jeff, I would think that having the new Brianna Adamson hanging around would make me very uncomfortable, just on principle. But he says it's not like that - that the longer he's back in his proper form, the more it feels like his time living Brianna's life was just some kind of strange dream which he can't properly describe. No, what makes him uncomfortable is the gigantic crush she seems to have on him.
It's almost kind of cute, in a way - the new Brianna talked about how Jeff had left her the means to emancipate herself from her new parents, and made sure that she had a safe place to live in the Miller household afterwards. She chattered on and on about how she Jeff's sister Mel get along so well, and it's great to be back in school, and all the while she's staring at Jeff, occasionally getting in comments about how this great new life is all because of him and she just wants to express her gratitude.
We talked about the usual things. Have you kept in contact with anyone from the groups before or after you? Jeff says no, not from the first time around - he thinks the original Bree wanted a clean break and fresh start. Bree says no, but kind of gives us a look as she says it. Any contact with outsiders who seem to know about the inn (aside from us)? Any people trying to get something from you without an explanation? Jeff says no; Brianna says yeah, but they don't seem like anything inn-related. She's a pretty fifteen year-old girl with a big old trust fund that could get even bigger depending on what happens to her parents in court. She's a tempting target anyway.
After a while, Jeff got a call to meet up with a high school buddy, and asked us if we'd mind giving Bree a ride back home after we're done talking. We said we'd be happy to, and he left us alone.
As soon as he had left the restaurant, Brianna let out a big sigh. "Isn't he just the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?"
Jess squirmed a little, since the question seemed to mostly be addressed to her. "He's, uh, not bad. So, I take it you didn't change all that much during your stay at the inn?"
"I... Well, I'll tell you, but could you not put it in that blog? Because then he'll read it, and I don't know if the truth is something he'd be comfortable with right away - I mean, he knows I've been to college because I gave him some pointers about campus life, but I don't want him to think of me as someone else until the whole truth won't freak him out, y'know? I will say that he wasn't exactly my type before, but the fact that I know he's a good man makes him so much more attractive. And, besides, he knows this body intimately, the way no other man can. Of course, since most of what I've had lately is high school boys..."
Jess got kind of red at that, and I spoke up to distract attention a little. "I don't get the impression that Jeffrey is looking for a girl who gives it up so easily."
"I know, it's just - you know - he knows I was someone else, and I need to show him that his age and gender are fine with me. And, okay, after the change, I needed to get used to it a bit myself. You know how it is, when you're first in a new body."
"No, I don't - I was ten!"
Bree holds up her hands, not quite expecting such a reaction. I was kind of surprised, too, but I imagine it must have been strange (at a minimum) for Jess, having the mind of a sexually experienced male in the body of a pre-pubescent girl. "Okay, fine, geez, don't flip out on me. Just sayin', you want to know that everything works. Surely later--"
"I'm not going to talk about this; I'll be in the car." With that, Jess stormed out.
A pained look went across Brianna's face, and she apologized. "Look, I didn't mean to - it's just, there's so few people we can talk to, and neither Jeff nor that lawyer guy wants to talk about sex, especially with someone who looks like jailbait. You guys said you were trying to find things out--"
I told her it was all right, and that's when she told me about the events that led up to her becoming Brianna. Since I know Jeff reads this, I won't post it here, but I hope she decides to tell it herself, sometime. It's really fascinating.
I didn't want Jessica to wait long in the car, so I suggested it might be time to bring her home. While we were walking through the parking lot, she suddenly seemed to remember something. "Oh! I knew I was going to forget this. It's about my boobs - they're real." She grabbed my wrist and brought my hand to her chest.
"Look, young lady, I was a woman even before I went to the inn."
"No, I mean, remember how Jeff said the original Brianna got her implants as some sort of sick fifteenth birthday present? Give that a squeeze - it's all human tissue, no plastic at all."
"I'll take your word for it."
She realized how an apparently mid-twenties woman with her hands on a teenager's bosom must look, and dropped my hand. "Right... Of course. I'm just saying, maybe that means something. Maybe the curse or spell or whatever can't reproduce man-made things and just does the best it can to get the outside looking right. Maybe that's where Kat's narcolepsy or Darren's peanut allergy comes from. Of course, those are both conditions that can appear later in life anyway... But, it's something to think about, right? That we're not exactly like the people we appear to be."
I told her it was a thought, but the conversation died as we reached the car; Jessica didn't have any interest in conversation as we gave Brianna a ride back to the Millers' home.
Anyway, we're back in Chicago now, as Jessica follows up on something while we head to our next stop in Minnesota.
-Louisa
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Arthur/Penelope: No time to get used to it.
People were looking for answers all day yesterday. I wish I'd had more to give them, but I wanted certain ones myself. It looks like I won't get those until I actually track Jeremy down and choke them out of him.
The last thirty-six hours or so were just crazy, though. I didn't sleep at all Wednesday night, waiting to see who I'd become and then reacting to it, and then it seemed as though everyone needed their hand held at some point during the day, and I was elected. I've been writing little bits of this for the past two days and haven't had a chance to post it until finding some Wi-Fi at the SF airport while waiting for a cab to take me "home".
I guess it was sort of logical that people would look to me; there were four of us who had been through this process before, and one slipped out early in the morning, probably returning to his life without much fanfare. That left Jeff, who despite having actually managed to get what he wanted out of the Inn this time, is a 19-year-old kid, and Drew was giving the new person who looked like him (henceforth "new-Drew") a lot of one-on-one time. That left me as the sole person available who wasn't panicking and looked like she might be somehow authoritative. It's weird; I don't look that much older than I did as Liz, but the extra bulk and height seem to make up for it and then some. I haven't had time to measure myself yet, but I've got to be pretty close to six feet tall. I suspect most people were operating on the instinct that the tall woman who stays calm is mommy, and mommy knows everything.
I don't know everything, obviously, but I was able to at least impart what we had discovered: That the changes that the Inn had made to us could be reversed by its own mechanism, but you had to be careful - it seems to work by proximity to where the last person was, not assigned room, and you would have to co-ordinate with the person who would become you sometime in the next week - and as you can see, that's not always reliable.
I must have said that two dozen times yesterday, which is remarkable since there were only thirteen people changed. I won't get into details on everyone, just that it looks like this Paul Miller guy apparently wasn't full of shit like we initially expected; there are folks running around with IDs that say Paul Miller and Ivumi Saito. Also? Dealing with the airlines is a pain in the neck. Drew/R.J. and I got pretty darn hosed buying tickets to get out to SF; we paid through the nose and got charged for the tickets they hadn't used two weeks ago besides. At least we didn't have to deal with a rental car - R.J. had dropped that off at the Portland Jetport; some people here are dealing with two weeks of rental fees for a car that had just been sitting in the parking lot.
With yesterday mostly devoted to other people, that made today the first day of the rest of my life, I guess. It was a beautiful day, at least - the sun was shining when I woke up at ten o'clock and the weather report was saying it might hit ninety degrees, so I put a bikini on under my t-shirt and shorts just in case I wanted to do some beach stuff before leaving Old Orchard Beach. I spent the next hour writing a letter to Liz - fortunately, there's not much to tell in this situation; she knows everyone she's going to meet back in Boston. I also sent a couple text messages while I still had Liz's phone. Then Jeff, Drew, new-Drew and I went to the Oceanside Lodge to sign out.
I should have mentioned this last year, but either the people there know something but keep it under their hats or the thing which keeps people from believing us covers them, too. I suppose I could get away with signing "Elizabeth Lee", but Drew as he is now signing something "Daphne" is a stretch. But they look at it and react normally, and they acted just like everybody else when new-Drew tried to say who he really was: "Yeah, right" followed by them acting like he hadn't just said something strange.
Just as we were walking away from the counter, a stylish young woman entered and asked if she could pick up her keys for the Trading Post. The man at the counter said that check-in time was three o'clock; the woman said she'd wait and took a seat in the lobby. I looked at her over my shoulder, and after we were a few steps away I said that might be Liz.
None of them believed it, and I said they were probably right. She looked kind of like how Lyn described Liz/Marie, but what were the odds? Jeff said I might want to go in and talk to her, just in case.
"Are you kidding? What would seeing me like this do other than make her feel guilty. Might as well let her just get back to her life."
Jeff and new-Drew parted ways from us then; they wanted to get on the 1:05 train to Boston because they'd managed to find a 4:30 flight to Detroit. That left us with a couple hours to kill, so we went back to the beach.
By a stroke of luck, we found the same two guys we'd seen two days ago. They didn't recognize us, of course, but were still looking for a game. Their eyes widened when I doffed my clothes and they saw the AVP logo on my suit, joking that they were glad they hadn't decided to put money on the game.
Not that they would have done badly. I may have inherited Penelope Lincoln's physique, but not any sort of talent as a volleyball player. Barring Wednesday, I hadn't played in a while, and my reactions were all off from the new body anyway. I backed into Drew several times because I expected my strides to be a foot shorter and didn't know my own strength while serving.
Being able to jump up and spike the ball hard into the ground is awesome, though. Even if I missed half the time, I never got tired of it.
Eventually, Drew said we were going to cut the train close and we shook the hands of our new friends and congratulated them on a good game before getting on the train and heading back to Boston.
We got into Boston right on time at 5:30, thinking it might be tight making our flight. Still, I spent a couple minutes looking around the station before I saw who I was looking for. "Lyn! Over here!"
I guess she's not used to responding to that nickname, especially from a strange voice; she didn't look my way at all. I let my long legs carry me across the crowded area and tapped her on the shoulder. That made her look at me. "Do I know you?"
I was expecting that. "Yeah, you do. It's me. Arthur."
She had the look for a second - the look that says this is impossible - but she fought it off and gave me a hug. "I'm sorry," she said, "I've been reading the blog and should have recognized you. And I'm sorry that you're not yourself again, or at least R.J."
"Hey," I said, "don't worry about it. I'll live."
"Good. My god, you're so tall. I think you might be taller than my boyfriend."
"And would you believe she's got heels in her suitcase??"
Lyn laughed at that before asking if she could treat us to dinner. I told her I didn't have time, that our flight left at 6:40, but I just wanted her to know what I looked like now, and make sure she believed me. She thanked me for that and said she wouldn't keep me. I leaned over to give her another hug.
I hope I didn't make her cry again - saying goodbye twice is kind of mean, but it's important that she believe in me. You can't take anything for granted in our lives.
-Art
The last thirty-six hours or so were just crazy, though. I didn't sleep at all Wednesday night, waiting to see who I'd become and then reacting to it, and then it seemed as though everyone needed their hand held at some point during the day, and I was elected. I've been writing little bits of this for the past two days and haven't had a chance to post it until finding some Wi-Fi at the SF airport while waiting for a cab to take me "home".
I guess it was sort of logical that people would look to me; there were four of us who had been through this process before, and one slipped out early in the morning, probably returning to his life without much fanfare. That left Jeff, who despite having actually managed to get what he wanted out of the Inn this time, is a 19-year-old kid, and Drew was giving the new person who looked like him (henceforth "new-Drew") a lot of one-on-one time. That left me as the sole person available who wasn't panicking and looked like she might be somehow authoritative. It's weird; I don't look that much older than I did as Liz, but the extra bulk and height seem to make up for it and then some. I haven't had time to measure myself yet, but I've got to be pretty close to six feet tall. I suspect most people were operating on the instinct that the tall woman who stays calm is mommy, and mommy knows everything.
I don't know everything, obviously, but I was able to at least impart what we had discovered: That the changes that the Inn had made to us could be reversed by its own mechanism, but you had to be careful - it seems to work by proximity to where the last person was, not assigned room, and you would have to co-ordinate with the person who would become you sometime in the next week - and as you can see, that's not always reliable.
I must have said that two dozen times yesterday, which is remarkable since there were only thirteen people changed. I won't get into details on everyone, just that it looks like this Paul Miller guy apparently wasn't full of shit like we initially expected; there are folks running around with IDs that say Paul Miller and Ivumi Saito. Also? Dealing with the airlines is a pain in the neck. Drew/R.J. and I got pretty darn hosed buying tickets to get out to SF; we paid through the nose and got charged for the tickets they hadn't used two weeks ago besides. At least we didn't have to deal with a rental car - R.J. had dropped that off at the Portland Jetport; some people here are dealing with two weeks of rental fees for a car that had just been sitting in the parking lot.
With yesterday mostly devoted to other people, that made today the first day of the rest of my life, I guess. It was a beautiful day, at least - the sun was shining when I woke up at ten o'clock and the weather report was saying it might hit ninety degrees, so I put a bikini on under my t-shirt and shorts just in case I wanted to do some beach stuff before leaving Old Orchard Beach. I spent the next hour writing a letter to Liz - fortunately, there's not much to tell in this situation; she knows everyone she's going to meet back in Boston. I also sent a couple text messages while I still had Liz's phone. Then Jeff, Drew, new-Drew and I went to the Oceanside Lodge to sign out.
I should have mentioned this last year, but either the people there know something but keep it under their hats or the thing which keeps people from believing us covers them, too. I suppose I could get away with signing "Elizabeth Lee", but Drew as he is now signing something "Daphne" is a stretch. But they look at it and react normally, and they acted just like everybody else when new-Drew tried to say who he really was: "Yeah, right" followed by them acting like he hadn't just said something strange.
Just as we were walking away from the counter, a stylish young woman entered and asked if she could pick up her keys for the Trading Post. The man at the counter said that check-in time was three o'clock; the woman said she'd wait and took a seat in the lobby. I looked at her over my shoulder, and after we were a few steps away I said that might be Liz.
None of them believed it, and I said they were probably right. She looked kind of like how Lyn described Liz/Marie, but what were the odds? Jeff said I might want to go in and talk to her, just in case.
"Are you kidding? What would seeing me like this do other than make her feel guilty. Might as well let her just get back to her life."
Jeff and new-Drew parted ways from us then; they wanted to get on the 1:05 train to Boston because they'd managed to find a 4:30 flight to Detroit. That left us with a couple hours to kill, so we went back to the beach.
By a stroke of luck, we found the same two guys we'd seen two days ago. They didn't recognize us, of course, but were still looking for a game. Their eyes widened when I doffed my clothes and they saw the AVP logo on my suit, joking that they were glad they hadn't decided to put money on the game.
Not that they would have done badly. I may have inherited Penelope Lincoln's physique, but not any sort of talent as a volleyball player. Barring Wednesday, I hadn't played in a while, and my reactions were all off from the new body anyway. I backed into Drew several times because I expected my strides to be a foot shorter and didn't know my own strength while serving.
Being able to jump up and spike the ball hard into the ground is awesome, though. Even if I missed half the time, I never got tired of it.
Eventually, Drew said we were going to cut the train close and we shook the hands of our new friends and congratulated them on a good game before getting on the train and heading back to Boston.
We got into Boston right on time at 5:30, thinking it might be tight making our flight. Still, I spent a couple minutes looking around the station before I saw who I was looking for. "Lyn! Over here!"
I guess she's not used to responding to that nickname, especially from a strange voice; she didn't look my way at all. I let my long legs carry me across the crowded area and tapped her on the shoulder. That made her look at me. "Do I know you?"
I was expecting that. "Yeah, you do. It's me. Arthur."
She had the look for a second - the look that says this is impossible - but she fought it off and gave me a hug. "I'm sorry," she said, "I've been reading the blog and should have recognized you. And I'm sorry that you're not yourself again, or at least R.J."
"Hey," I said, "don't worry about it. I'll live."
"Good. My god, you're so tall. I think you might be taller than my boyfriend."
"And would you believe she's got heels in her suitcase??"
Lyn laughed at that before asking if she could treat us to dinner. I told her I didn't have time, that our flight left at 6:40, but I just wanted her to know what I looked like now, and make sure she believed me. She thanked me for that and said she wouldn't keep me. I leaned over to give her another hug.
I hope I didn't make her cry again - saying goodbye twice is kind of mean, but it's important that she believe in me. You can't take anything for granted in our lives.
-Art
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Arthur: The New New Me
We didn't see anybody check in yesterday, but the veterans all gave each other a knowing look last night, when Trip's friend went into his room and didn't come out when he did. There were a couple other guests with us at the back entrance at the time, and they probably just thought it was a "good job Trip" thing - Jadyn is kind of cute, after all, now that I've had a chance to see the girl he talked about in his entries, if only in passing. I'd make a play for her, given a chance.
Which I won't have.
Jeff, Drew and I had a good last day as Brianna, Daphne, and Liz. It was a fairly sunny day, so we hit the beach. It wasn't quite nice enough to just wear the bikinis, but that seemed more a matter of etiquette than anything - the gauzy matching skirts we were wearing with our blue (me), green (Drew), and red (Jeff) swimwear didn't do a whole lot more than keep the breeze off our butts, but that's something. Drew's also covered Daphne's scar.
Jeff wasn't too sure of it at first; he came out of the Inn wearing a t-shirt. Drew wasn't having much of that - if we were letting it hang out, so was Jeff. He reluctantly removed it and tucked it underneath the strap of his bikini bottom. "I feel so exposed."
Drew smirked. "I bet you've been to the beach without a top before. Trust me on this - ever square inch that swimsuit doesn't cover sends a stronger message that you're not afraid and have nothing to worry about. Guys will want you, but they don't want to blow their chances by ticking you off."
"And where'd you gain that wisdom?" I was a bit skeptical, myself.
"St. Croix."
"On an office assistant's salary?"
"Hey, Daphne had some vacation time I couldn't roll over - we're going to talk about that policy when I'm myself again - and I wasn't anxious to spend the holidays with her family. Fortunately, the 'new Drew' felt the same way, so we booked a vacation at a big, non-cursed resort."
"Good deal."
"I enjoyed it. Now, let's see what's going on."
The answer: Not a whole lot. It was Wednesday, after all, before Memorial Day, but we did find a couple college guys setting up a volleyball net. They waved, Drew waved back, and we started talking. They were both juniors at the University of Maine, up in Orono (which I gather is somewhere near Bangor). They asked if we wanted to play, and we were up for it.
Sure, we said, but the teams were uneven. Drew said to just hold on a second, and started jogging back to the Inn. I could practically hear the guys thinking that they hate it when girls leave but enjoying the view as they walk away. I asked if they were thinking that, and one of them confessed. "Why, are you guys...?"
"Nah," Jeff said, "we just know how guys think."
In a few minutes, Drew came back with Darren. They'd gotten along pretty well the other night, and he seemed happy to let Drew lead him by the hand. Then we just had to choose up sides; it was clear Darren wanted to be with "Daphne", so I played with the guys; Jeff didn't look like he'd be comfortable. And, hey, if I were them, that's the way I'd want it; Drew and Jeff have more to jiggle than I do.
We weren't keeping score, but I think my team probably won most of the time.
We went back to the pier and got some ice cream after that, then spent the rest of the afternoon doing our individual things before meeting up for dinner: I was reading, finishing up a book I didn't figure to take back to California with me. Then, as I said, we saw Jadyn and Trip drive back in with a full truck and retire to his room.
I decided to stay up this time, in part just to gather information, and in part because I was worried about clothes digging into me as I was sleeping. Like Jeff said last year, we did start to feel a little something at around ten o'clock, not really like an itch or a rash, more like electricity in the air. Jeremy (or whoever was calling on his behalf) had been telling the truth about one thing; it was just a bit short of half past two when things really started to happen.
One of the things I'd always wondered about with this place is how it seems to disobey the laws of thermodynamics: After all, matter can neither be created nor destroyed. This place flouts that law, and it's the strangest thing I've ever felt. When you eat, you feel the new weight collecting in your stomach, but this was like a thousand tiny IVs were attached to my body, some penetrating deep, pumping more material into my body that was instantly assimilated, like it was naturally part of me.
You can imagine how excited I was - I was getting bigger! I felt my panties getting tighter, so I quickly threw off my nightshirt and pulled down my underwear. That was a little dizzying, as it was like the floor was pulling away. I could see the muscles in my legs expanding, along with those in my abdomen, and what part of my arms I could see.
And along with my breasts.
At first I thought I was just getting well-defined pecs, or at least hoping as much, but I wasn't feeling anything much happening between my legs. Besides, my nipples were getting even perkier, almost pointing upward. I could feel more weight on my head, too - apparently my hair had grown. I also noted that my skin had gotten a little darker.
Sighing, I opened the door to the bathroom so I could take a look in the mirror. What I saw was nice - this girl was tall and healthy-looking, with a perfect tan, light brown hair, wide brown eyes and perfect teeth. She looked like she spent a lot of time in the gym, but it didn't leave her looking mannish, just strong. She could kick those guys' asses at volleyball, and look good doing it.
Some pounding at my bedroom door interrupted my reverie. I ran back into the bedroom and picked the nightshirt off the floor. Where before it was like a tent that went down past my knees, I felt it clinging to my body and barely hugging my bottom. I grabbed the front and opened the door, quickly transferring that hand to my shirt to make sure that both front and back were covered.
I only had to look up at the man standing there because grabbing the shirt had me hunched forward a little, which was very nice. He was a good-looking guy, aside from the panic in his blue eyes - jet-black hair, a broad hairless chest, a firm jaw, nice lips. He had a nice voice, too, as he said my name like it was a question.
"Yes..." It's tough to tell what your own voice sounds like, but this one didn't sound bad. "Who are you?"
"Drew! I didn't change back, even though it's all my stuff in the room! What the hell's going on?"
"I don't know! Look, just turn around so I can put something on and we'll go see what's up with Jeff."
He complied, and I grabbed the bag marked "Nell Lincoln" and put it on the bed. As expected, it was full of women's clothing that would fit this tall frame. I quickly found a sports bra and matching panties, a t-shirt, and a pair of jean shorts and got into them. I found an envelope with a letter and a wallet, too; I put the letter aside but quickly opened the wallet for a glimpse of the driver's license. That was my new face, all right. I quickly noted that Nell was short for "Penelope" before slipping it in my pocket. "All right," I said, grabbing my key, "let's go."
I tried not to look at the bulge Drew's new equipment was making in Daphne's pajama bottoms as we walked down the hallway to Jeff's room. We seemed to be the only ones still awake, judging from the lack of shocked noises coming from the other rooms. I knocked on Jeff's door and was pleased to see a nineteen-year-old boy open it. His eyes darted between us. "Art?"
I gave a quick wave. "Could be worse," I said.
"Yeah, you could be me. Hi, I'm Drew."
Jeff's eyes bugged. "How...?"
"I don't know! I talked to the guy who was me, and he said everything went well. He even sent video! It was this place's lobby!"
Jeff is a smart kid and made the leap quicker than I did. "He wasn't in the room. You're room's close to the lobby, but what if it's closer to--"
"--mine." Drew looked away from Jeff to me, and then the three of us broke for my room. We dumped the other bag out over my bed. Drew snatched at the wallet that fell out and opened it.
"That's me," he said, "Richard John Hobart of San Francisco, California."
I gave him a pat on the back. "I'm so sorry. But look, that means someone else in this building has turned into you. We just have to talk to him, get things in place."
Drew took a deep breath and let it out. "Right. But in the meantime..." He reached for the letter that had fallen out of the bag. I reached for mine.
Drew said his letter told a similar story - R.J. has actually become Stephen, the guy who wound up with Jake/Ashlyn's life, after being pulled in by "Arthur Milligan". I must say that it's just fantastic to see what that bastard is doing with my good name.
We've spent that last four hours doing internet research on our new lives. I don't think we know nearly enough to drop into Nell and R.J.'s lives seamlessly, but it'll do.
Now someone's screaming. Time to go act like we know what's going on.
-Art
Which I won't have.
Jeff, Drew and I had a good last day as Brianna, Daphne, and Liz. It was a fairly sunny day, so we hit the beach. It wasn't quite nice enough to just wear the bikinis, but that seemed more a matter of etiquette than anything - the gauzy matching skirts we were wearing with our blue (me), green (Drew), and red (Jeff) swimwear didn't do a whole lot more than keep the breeze off our butts, but that's something. Drew's also covered Daphne's scar.
Jeff wasn't too sure of it at first; he came out of the Inn wearing a t-shirt. Drew wasn't having much of that - if we were letting it hang out, so was Jeff. He reluctantly removed it and tucked it underneath the strap of his bikini bottom. "I feel so exposed."
Drew smirked. "I bet you've been to the beach without a top before. Trust me on this - ever square inch that swimsuit doesn't cover sends a stronger message that you're not afraid and have nothing to worry about. Guys will want you, but they don't want to blow their chances by ticking you off."
"And where'd you gain that wisdom?" I was a bit skeptical, myself.
"St. Croix."
"On an office assistant's salary?"
"Hey, Daphne had some vacation time I couldn't roll over - we're going to talk about that policy when I'm myself again - and I wasn't anxious to spend the holidays with her family. Fortunately, the 'new Drew' felt the same way, so we booked a vacation at a big, non-cursed resort."
"Good deal."
"I enjoyed it. Now, let's see what's going on."
The answer: Not a whole lot. It was Wednesday, after all, before Memorial Day, but we did find a couple college guys setting up a volleyball net. They waved, Drew waved back, and we started talking. They were both juniors at the University of Maine, up in Orono (which I gather is somewhere near Bangor). They asked if we wanted to play, and we were up for it.
Sure, we said, but the teams were uneven. Drew said to just hold on a second, and started jogging back to the Inn. I could practically hear the guys thinking that they hate it when girls leave but enjoying the view as they walk away. I asked if they were thinking that, and one of them confessed. "Why, are you guys...?"
"Nah," Jeff said, "we just know how guys think."
In a few minutes, Drew came back with Darren. They'd gotten along pretty well the other night, and he seemed happy to let Drew lead him by the hand. Then we just had to choose up sides; it was clear Darren wanted to be with "Daphne", so I played with the guys; Jeff didn't look like he'd be comfortable. And, hey, if I were them, that's the way I'd want it; Drew and Jeff have more to jiggle than I do.
We weren't keeping score, but I think my team probably won most of the time.
We went back to the pier and got some ice cream after that, then spent the rest of the afternoon doing our individual things before meeting up for dinner: I was reading, finishing up a book I didn't figure to take back to California with me. Then, as I said, we saw Jadyn and Trip drive back in with a full truck and retire to his room.
I decided to stay up this time, in part just to gather information, and in part because I was worried about clothes digging into me as I was sleeping. Like Jeff said last year, we did start to feel a little something at around ten o'clock, not really like an itch or a rash, more like electricity in the air. Jeremy (or whoever was calling on his behalf) had been telling the truth about one thing; it was just a bit short of half past two when things really started to happen.
One of the things I'd always wondered about with this place is how it seems to disobey the laws of thermodynamics: After all, matter can neither be created nor destroyed. This place flouts that law, and it's the strangest thing I've ever felt. When you eat, you feel the new weight collecting in your stomach, but this was like a thousand tiny IVs were attached to my body, some penetrating deep, pumping more material into my body that was instantly assimilated, like it was naturally part of me.
You can imagine how excited I was - I was getting bigger! I felt my panties getting tighter, so I quickly threw off my nightshirt and pulled down my underwear. That was a little dizzying, as it was like the floor was pulling away. I could see the muscles in my legs expanding, along with those in my abdomen, and what part of my arms I could see.
And along with my breasts.
At first I thought I was just getting well-defined pecs, or at least hoping as much, but I wasn't feeling anything much happening between my legs. Besides, my nipples were getting even perkier, almost pointing upward. I could feel more weight on my head, too - apparently my hair had grown. I also noted that my skin had gotten a little darker.
Sighing, I opened the door to the bathroom so I could take a look in the mirror. What I saw was nice - this girl was tall and healthy-looking, with a perfect tan, light brown hair, wide brown eyes and perfect teeth. She looked like she spent a lot of time in the gym, but it didn't leave her looking mannish, just strong. She could kick those guys' asses at volleyball, and look good doing it.
Some pounding at my bedroom door interrupted my reverie. I ran back into the bedroom and picked the nightshirt off the floor. Where before it was like a tent that went down past my knees, I felt it clinging to my body and barely hugging my bottom. I grabbed the front and opened the door, quickly transferring that hand to my shirt to make sure that both front and back were covered.
I only had to look up at the man standing there because grabbing the shirt had me hunched forward a little, which was very nice. He was a good-looking guy, aside from the panic in his blue eyes - jet-black hair, a broad hairless chest, a firm jaw, nice lips. He had a nice voice, too, as he said my name like it was a question.
"Yes..." It's tough to tell what your own voice sounds like, but this one didn't sound bad. "Who are you?"
"Drew! I didn't change back, even though it's all my stuff in the room! What the hell's going on?"
"I don't know! Look, just turn around so I can put something on and we'll go see what's up with Jeff."
He complied, and I grabbed the bag marked "Nell Lincoln" and put it on the bed. As expected, it was full of women's clothing that would fit this tall frame. I quickly found a sports bra and matching panties, a t-shirt, and a pair of jean shorts and got into them. I found an envelope with a letter and a wallet, too; I put the letter aside but quickly opened the wallet for a glimpse of the driver's license. That was my new face, all right. I quickly noted that Nell was short for "Penelope" before slipping it in my pocket. "All right," I said, grabbing my key, "let's go."
I tried not to look at the bulge Drew's new equipment was making in Daphne's pajama bottoms as we walked down the hallway to Jeff's room. We seemed to be the only ones still awake, judging from the lack of shocked noises coming from the other rooms. I knocked on Jeff's door and was pleased to see a nineteen-year-old boy open it. His eyes darted between us. "Art?"
I gave a quick wave. "Could be worse," I said.
"Yeah, you could be me. Hi, I'm Drew."
Jeff's eyes bugged. "How...?"
"I don't know! I talked to the guy who was me, and he said everything went well. He even sent video! It was this place's lobby!"
Jeff is a smart kid and made the leap quicker than I did. "He wasn't in the room. You're room's close to the lobby, but what if it's closer to--"
"--mine." Drew looked away from Jeff to me, and then the three of us broke for my room. We dumped the other bag out over my bed. Drew snatched at the wallet that fell out and opened it.
"That's me," he said, "Richard John Hobart of San Francisco, California."
I gave him a pat on the back. "I'm so sorry. But look, that means someone else in this building has turned into you. We just have to talk to him, get things in place."
Drew took a deep breath and let it out. "Right. But in the meantime..." He reached for the letter that had fallen out of the bag. I reached for mine.
To the new Nell:
Arthur says that the MPs will be here soon, so I'll have to write this quickly. If I'd known what he was capable of, I would have just slept with the bastard.
Your new name is Penelope Lincoln, but everyone calls you Nell or Nelly. I played volleyball and lacrosse in college and volleyball as a pro for a little while, at least until I messed up my ankle. You can find all that on the internet. I'm working as an on-air personality for CalSports right now, doing play-by-play and postgame interviews during San Francisco Dragons lacrosse games. If I understand correctly, you should get this before the opener on June 2nd; I don't know how long George (that's my boss, George Wilder) will believe I'm too sick to travel otherwise, especially without some sort of insurance claim filed. I also do some speaking engagements.
Anyway, I was at this place because I didn't sleep with a drunk member of the Raiders public relations department a few months ago. He apologized by giving this reservation he wouldn't be able to use to my agent R.J. (as you might guess from the bags being in the same room, he was more than that). It was at a good time, between the NLL and MLL seasons, so we took it. From what I got out of him on the phone, Arthur thought you might be more agreeable.
I probably shouldn't refer to him as Arthur; he says he was originally this Jeremy Boyd person I've become, until someone reminded him that he'd be considered AWOL for six months as soon as Jeremy reappeared. Hopefully I'll be able to work something out that doesn't involve ten months in the stockade. That doesn't look too likely, though.
Enjoy my life. I think it's a pretty good one, and I hope you and the new R.J. make as good a team as we did. Maybe when I get out of the stockade, we can compare notes.
- The Old Nell
Drew said his letter told a similar story - R.J. has actually become Stephen, the guy who wound up with Jake/Ashlyn's life, after being pulled in by "Arthur Milligan". I must say that it's just fantastic to see what that bastard is doing with my good name.
We've spent that last four hours doing internet research on our new lives. I don't think we know nearly enough to drop into Nell and R.J.'s lives seamlessly, but it'll do.
Now someone's screaming. Time to go act like we know what's going on.
-Art
Monday, May 21, 2007
Arthur: Girls' Day Out
I know we're not at the Trading Post on vacation, per se, but we're still at an Inn on the beach with nothing productive to do. In some ways, it's maddening for the four of us who know what's coming; we just want to go home, and it keeps us from appreciating the fact that, again, we're in a nice spot on the beach with no demands on our time.
Of course, this would be a little easier to appreciate if the sun would come out. Both times we've been up here, it's been overcast even when it isn't actually raining. Since we're just missing the official kick-off to the tourist season - we'll be out of here just before Memorial Day weekend - there's a lot of sitting around and feeling sorry for ourselves going on.
And that's not good. Drew, Jeff and I were sitting in Drew's room, watching the morning edition of SportsCenter, when I decided enough was enoug. "Come on," I said, "let's catch the train up to Portland and do something. Do some shopping, see a movie, look around a little. I hear it's a cool little city."
"I'd like to," Drew said, "but I've got a date. Or, rather, 'Daphne' does." I must have been giving him the same look that Jeff was, because he got a little defensive. "Hey, it's not like that. I was at the Beerfest yesterday, while you two were calling... Uh, anyway, I was over on the pier when this good-looking guy about Daphne's age called out her name. I didn't recognize him, but apparently they met and hit it off last summer, only to have her disappear when... You know. So I vamped my way through the afternoon, called Daph in Vermont, got treated to the strange sound of a James Earl Jones-sounding guy doing the 'like, oh my god, he remembered me? He's so cute!' thing... So I'm setting things up for her."
I was impressed. "That's nice of you."
"Well, I don't know if it'll go anywhere, but she deserves it, right? I know first-hand that her time to meet people was limited, all the hours we had her working. But you guys have a good time."
Jeff had nothing else to do, so at quarter to twelve we got on the train for the fifteen minute ride up to Portland, then take the city bus downtown. It stops right outside a public market, a few steps away from a pretty cool downtown village.
"Village" to me, "big city" to Jeff. Not that it looked like New York or Tokyo to him, but his life has been in a small town and his time as Brianna was spent in the suburbs. I wonder what his reaction would have been had he landed in Boston or someplace bigger. He realized he was gaping, though, and closed his mouth. "So, what are we going to do first?"
"Some shopping, I think. It's going to get nicer this week, and we're going to want some swimsuits when it does."
"What? Are you kidding me? After everything I told you..."
"Yeah. Here's the thing." I found a bench and sat him down. "We've kind of got to find some way to get some good memories out of this."
"Why? We're better off just putting it behind us."
"Well, I don't have that option."
Jeff blushed. "I'm sorry; I know that. But why shouldn't I?"
"Do you think you'll really be able to? I mean, is this the kind of thing you forget?
"See, here's the thing, Jeff. I don't want to think, every time I look at a pretty girl, that underneath it her life actually sucks. That she's stuck in some situation she can't get out of, or that when she has sex it's just a matter of obligation. Do you want to look at every girl you meet and imagine their lives being just like Brianna's?"
"Hell, no."
"Exactly. So let's try to have fun until we change. Now, let's see what's in this "Old Port" the tourist guides are talking about..."
We poked around a little, checking out some little shops. The teenager working in the kite store was kind of into "Brianna", and Jeff awkwardly flirted with him for a few minutes. I don't know how much it helped, but he said it did feel kind of good, just in terms of being a reminder that sometimes guys just like talking to pretty girls without wanting something from them. We did buy swimsuits, too, although by then it was raining pretty good.
We finished our afternoon out with seafood that had probably just been hauled out of the ocean that day. Jeff actually giggled as he watched me eat mine. "I'll bet Ray would be jealous if he saw how muh you were enjoying that."
"Heh. I'm just thinking... We don't get a lot of swordfish out on the west coast, or it's really expensive. I'll miss that, at least."
"So you are going to change? I know you mentioned maybe sitting it out if it looked like there would be 14 people in the Inn one night."
"Yeah... I mean, as shitty a thing as this is for Jeremy to do to me - and he's almost certainly involved somehow; it's just too much of coincidence that both those bags have San Francisco addresses - that doesn't give me the right to act shitty toward Liz. She wants and deserves her family and life back, and I've got a pretty weak claim on it."
"Well, at least you'll be going home. Should make it easier to hunt him down and get some sort of answer."
"Yeah. There is that. Not to mention following the A's is a pain in the ass when their games don't start until 10 o'clock at night."
"Glad to see you've got things in perspective. So... have you read your letter yet?"
"No... I mean, there's two names, and the stuff in those letters is pretty personal. I wouldn't want to read one not intended for me."
"I guess." He looked at the clock. "Almost six o'clock. We should probably be getting back to the station; it would suck to miss the last train and be stuck here overnight if this is the night..."
So we did, and caught back up with Drew. He filled us in on his afternoon, saying it was a real bummer for him.... He's sure that the office is going to lose Daphne for sure; this guy adores her and seems like a good guy. Then he demanded we show him the swimwear. Only, we insisted, if he did the same. He agreed so fast that we probably should have asked for more.
I've got to say... We all look pretty good. I don't know if it'll be quite nice enough to spend today laying on the beach, but tomorrow looks like it could be... If we're still girls, that is.
-Art
Of course, this would be a little easier to appreciate if the sun would come out. Both times we've been up here, it's been overcast even when it isn't actually raining. Since we're just missing the official kick-off to the tourist season - we'll be out of here just before Memorial Day weekend - there's a lot of sitting around and feeling sorry for ourselves going on.
And that's not good. Drew, Jeff and I were sitting in Drew's room, watching the morning edition of SportsCenter, when I decided enough was enoug. "Come on," I said, "let's catch the train up to Portland and do something. Do some shopping, see a movie, look around a little. I hear it's a cool little city."
"I'd like to," Drew said, "but I've got a date. Or, rather, 'Daphne' does." I must have been giving him the same look that Jeff was, because he got a little defensive. "Hey, it's not like that. I was at the Beerfest yesterday, while you two were calling... Uh, anyway, I was over on the pier when this good-looking guy about Daphne's age called out her name. I didn't recognize him, but apparently they met and hit it off last summer, only to have her disappear when... You know. So I vamped my way through the afternoon, called Daph in Vermont, got treated to the strange sound of a James Earl Jones-sounding guy doing the 'like, oh my god, he remembered me? He's so cute!' thing... So I'm setting things up for her."
I was impressed. "That's nice of you."
"Well, I don't know if it'll go anywhere, but she deserves it, right? I know first-hand that her time to meet people was limited, all the hours we had her working. But you guys have a good time."
Jeff had nothing else to do, so at quarter to twelve we got on the train for the fifteen minute ride up to Portland, then take the city bus downtown. It stops right outside a public market, a few steps away from a pretty cool downtown village.
"Village" to me, "big city" to Jeff. Not that it looked like New York or Tokyo to him, but his life has been in a small town and his time as Brianna was spent in the suburbs. I wonder what his reaction would have been had he landed in Boston or someplace bigger. He realized he was gaping, though, and closed his mouth. "So, what are we going to do first?"
"Some shopping, I think. It's going to get nicer this week, and we're going to want some swimsuits when it does."
"What? Are you kidding me? After everything I told you..."
"Yeah. Here's the thing." I found a bench and sat him down. "We've kind of got to find some way to get some good memories out of this."
"Why? We're better off just putting it behind us."
"Well, I don't have that option."
Jeff blushed. "I'm sorry; I know that. But why shouldn't I?"
"Do you think you'll really be able to? I mean, is this the kind of thing you forget?
"See, here's the thing, Jeff. I don't want to think, every time I look at a pretty girl, that underneath it her life actually sucks. That she's stuck in some situation she can't get out of, or that when she has sex it's just a matter of obligation. Do you want to look at every girl you meet and imagine their lives being just like Brianna's?"
"Hell, no."
"Exactly. So let's try to have fun until we change. Now, let's see what's in this "Old Port" the tourist guides are talking about..."
We poked around a little, checking out some little shops. The teenager working in the kite store was kind of into "Brianna", and Jeff awkwardly flirted with him for a few minutes. I don't know how much it helped, but he said it did feel kind of good, just in terms of being a reminder that sometimes guys just like talking to pretty girls without wanting something from them. We did buy swimsuits, too, although by then it was raining pretty good.
We finished our afternoon out with seafood that had probably just been hauled out of the ocean that day. Jeff actually giggled as he watched me eat mine. "I'll bet Ray would be jealous if he saw how muh you were enjoying that."
"Heh. I'm just thinking... We don't get a lot of swordfish out on the west coast, or it's really expensive. I'll miss that, at least."
"So you are going to change? I know you mentioned maybe sitting it out if it looked like there would be 14 people in the Inn one night."
"Yeah... I mean, as shitty a thing as this is for Jeremy to do to me - and he's almost certainly involved somehow; it's just too much of coincidence that both those bags have San Francisco addresses - that doesn't give me the right to act shitty toward Liz. She wants and deserves her family and life back, and I've got a pretty weak claim on it."
"Well, at least you'll be going home. Should make it easier to hunt him down and get some sort of answer."
"Yeah. There is that. Not to mention following the A's is a pain in the ass when their games don't start until 10 o'clock at night."
"Glad to see you've got things in perspective. So... have you read your letter yet?"
"No... I mean, there's two names, and the stuff in those letters is pretty personal. I wouldn't want to read one not intended for me."
"I guess." He looked at the clock. "Almost six o'clock. We should probably be getting back to the station; it would suck to miss the last train and be stuck here overnight if this is the night..."
So we did, and caught back up with Drew. He filled us in on his afternoon, saying it was a real bummer for him.... He's sure that the office is going to lose Daphne for sure; this guy adores her and seems like a good guy. Then he demanded we show him the swimwear. Only, we insisted, if he did the same. He agreed so fast that we probably should have asked for more.
I've got to say... We all look pretty good. I don't know if it'll be quite nice enough to spend today laying on the beach, but tomorrow looks like it could be... If we're still girls, that is.
-Art
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Arthur: Well, I guess we learned something today.
The day started amusingly enough, with Drew trying to talk Jeff into wearing a bikini.
"Are you kidding me?" The three of us were at a local spot, happily doing the "calories be damned" thing, and Jeff almost ruined it by nearly spitting his grapefruit juice all over my omelet.
"No. Why? Those baggy clothes don't do that great a job of hiding what a great bod you inherited from Brianna. You should get some use out of it. Let some guy come up and treat you to something. Observe how tongue-tied they get around you, see what feels good. Know what the girl is thinking when you're back looking at them from the outside."
"That's sick."
"What's so sick about it? It's still your body, just rearranged, right? You were the one who was awake when we changed last year and told us it wasn't like your soul was pulled out and deposited somewhere else. You're a woman for the time being--"
"I'm a girl. Not a woman, a girl. Brianna just had her sixteenth birthday last June. She's younger than my sister. Are you certain you want to keep going on about how hot a high-school sophomore looks?"
Drew paused, and extended it by taking a sip of his coffee. "Maybe I shouldn't. But you're only, what, two or three years older than her? If you saw her lying on the beach in a bikini, would you think it was sick?"
"If I knew what I know, yeah."
"What's that?"
"That these tits you think are so awesome? They're fake. They were a birthday present from Brianna's parents." I stopped eating, but Jeff kept going. "That's why Brianna was spending the summer away from home - so that her friends wouldn't realize this wasn't anything but a growth spurt."
The table got very quiet. It took a while before I decided to break the silence. "That," I said, "is fucked up." Drew agreed. "I thought having to work for a complete simpleton who everyone thought was me was bad, but, that..."
"Yeah, it sucked. I mean, I put up more of a fight than Brianna did - there's a guy paying for a bunch of expensive dental work who can attest to that - but... Well, remember how I said I'm not letting anyone go back there? That's why."
"Damn." Drew used his fork to push some scrambled eggs around his plate, but didn't pick any of it up. "Look, Jeff - you live in Michigan, right? And so does Brianna?"
"Uh-huh."
Drew put his purse on the table and started rooting through it. "Here's my card. After we're all changed back, I want you to to make sure whoever winds up as Brianna gets it. I don't practice family law, but I have an old law-school buddy who does. If the new Brianna was an adult before the change, we'll make sure she's legally emancipated. If not, we'll find a way to have your father appointed her legal guardian."
Jeff took the card "Thanks. I... I don't know what to say."
"Don't worry about it. It's a fair price for a little perspective."
It got quiet again, so I decided to lighten the mood a little. "So, you kept your old business cards?"
"Ha! No, not quite... I was working as my own assistant, and when 'Mr. Dawson' wanted more, I tacked an extra box onto the order. It's amazing how much security you can get out of a simple piece of paper with your real name on it."
"I wish I'd had some of those. When even my own sister was calling me Bree... Well, you know I freaked out. When I finally shook it off, I was just going to book a room here and hope for the best."
"Ah, I didn't have that problem. Me and 'Mr. Dawson' were able to come to an arrangement pretty quick." He put down some money to cover the bill and stood. "And with that, I am out of here. I am going to enjoy the beach even if you two aren't."
Jeff and I ate for a bit longer, but soon started heading back to the Inn. I was still a little surprised by some of what Jeff had said.
"You really would have just thrown the dice?"
"Yeah. It was pretty bad. Although there are some things that might be worse."
"I can't imagine."
"Well..." He looked around, making sure we could talk uninterrupted. "The person who became me? She was a seventy-year old grandmother. You'd think turning young would be great, even if you changed sex, right? But her mind was starting to go, and even if her brain turned younger just like the rest of her, I guess once the decay starts..."
"My god." The idea of living another fifty years like that, and subjecting Jeff's family to it...
"Yeah. At first, she was okay, but it got worse. It wasn't until almost the last minute that she decided that was no way to live, and that forcing her life onto someone potentially much younger than herself was even worse."
"How'd you find out all this?"
"It was in the letter."
"You've read your letter?"
We were just outside the Inn at this point. He stopped to get his key. "You haven't? Why not?"
"I don't know. I just haven't. It's... you know, it's not what we do."
"Well, why wouldn't you?"
I had no good answer for that, so we went to my room and opened the closet. I looked at the suitcases and got a sinking feeling in my gut. I hadn't thought they looked familiar, but I hadn't given it much thought. But as I knelt down to look at them, I got a sinking feeling, which threatened to become nausea as I looked at the tag on the first one. "R.J. Hobart"
Jeff scootched down next to me. "Who the hell is R.J. Hobart?"
"I don't know... But I'm going to find out!"
I pulled out my cell phone out of my purse and dialed Jeremy. It was only about seven or eight in California, so it went to voice mail, so he got a bunch of screaming voice mail about wanting to know who the fuck R.J. Hobart was and what the fuck he was doing in our fucking room. I was just hanging up when Jeff told me to ask about Nell Lincoln.
Jeremy got more profanity.
I hung up, and dropped to the bed. Jeff sat next to me and gave me a pat on the back. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know." I took a deep breath and tried to think logically. "Maybe he stayed in a different room. He said room 9 specifically..."
We knocked on doors. We only covered ten rooms, but none of them had "Arthur Milligan's" luggage. A couple people aren't here yet, and one guy just told us to buzz off.
Jeremy has yet to call back, despite repeated calls. There's only ten people in the hotel tonight, so it doesn't look like I'm going to change tonight. Which is good.
I'm not sure if I can handle another new life.
-Arthur
"Are you kidding me?" The three of us were at a local spot, happily doing the "calories be damned" thing, and Jeff almost ruined it by nearly spitting his grapefruit juice all over my omelet.
"No. Why? Those baggy clothes don't do that great a job of hiding what a great bod you inherited from Brianna. You should get some use out of it. Let some guy come up and treat you to something. Observe how tongue-tied they get around you, see what feels good. Know what the girl is thinking when you're back looking at them from the outside."
"That's sick."
"What's so sick about it? It's still your body, just rearranged, right? You were the one who was awake when we changed last year and told us it wasn't like your soul was pulled out and deposited somewhere else. You're a woman for the time being--"
"I'm a girl. Not a woman, a girl. Brianna just had her sixteenth birthday last June. She's younger than my sister. Are you certain you want to keep going on about how hot a high-school sophomore looks?"
Drew paused, and extended it by taking a sip of his coffee. "Maybe I shouldn't. But you're only, what, two or three years older than her? If you saw her lying on the beach in a bikini, would you think it was sick?"
"If I knew what I know, yeah."
"What's that?"
"That these tits you think are so awesome? They're fake. They were a birthday present from Brianna's parents." I stopped eating, but Jeff kept going. "That's why Brianna was spending the summer away from home - so that her friends wouldn't realize this wasn't anything but a growth spurt."
The table got very quiet. It took a while before I decided to break the silence. "That," I said, "is fucked up." Drew agreed. "I thought having to work for a complete simpleton who everyone thought was me was bad, but, that..."
"Yeah, it sucked. I mean, I put up more of a fight than Brianna did - there's a guy paying for a bunch of expensive dental work who can attest to that - but... Well, remember how I said I'm not letting anyone go back there? That's why."
"Damn." Drew used his fork to push some scrambled eggs around his plate, but didn't pick any of it up. "Look, Jeff - you live in Michigan, right? And so does Brianna?"
"Uh-huh."
Drew put his purse on the table and started rooting through it. "Here's my card. After we're all changed back, I want you to to make sure whoever winds up as Brianna gets it. I don't practice family law, but I have an old law-school buddy who does. If the new Brianna was an adult before the change, we'll make sure she's legally emancipated. If not, we'll find a way to have your father appointed her legal guardian."
Jeff took the card "Thanks. I... I don't know what to say."
"Don't worry about it. It's a fair price for a little perspective."
It got quiet again, so I decided to lighten the mood a little. "So, you kept your old business cards?"
"Ha! No, not quite... I was working as my own assistant, and when 'Mr. Dawson' wanted more, I tacked an extra box onto the order. It's amazing how much security you can get out of a simple piece of paper with your real name on it."
"I wish I'd had some of those. When even my own sister was calling me Bree... Well, you know I freaked out. When I finally shook it off, I was just going to book a room here and hope for the best."
"Ah, I didn't have that problem. Me and 'Mr. Dawson' were able to come to an arrangement pretty quick." He put down some money to cover the bill and stood. "And with that, I am out of here. I am going to enjoy the beach even if you two aren't."
Jeff and I ate for a bit longer, but soon started heading back to the Inn. I was still a little surprised by some of what Jeff had said.
"You really would have just thrown the dice?"
"Yeah. It was pretty bad. Although there are some things that might be worse."
"I can't imagine."
"Well..." He looked around, making sure we could talk uninterrupted. "The person who became me? She was a seventy-year old grandmother. You'd think turning young would be great, even if you changed sex, right? But her mind was starting to go, and even if her brain turned younger just like the rest of her, I guess once the decay starts..."
"My god." The idea of living another fifty years like that, and subjecting Jeff's family to it...
"Yeah. At first, she was okay, but it got worse. It wasn't until almost the last minute that she decided that was no way to live, and that forcing her life onto someone potentially much younger than herself was even worse."
"How'd you find out all this?"
"It was in the letter."
"You've read your letter?"
We were just outside the Inn at this point. He stopped to get his key. "You haven't? Why not?"
"I don't know. I just haven't. It's... you know, it's not what we do."
"Well, why wouldn't you?"
I had no good answer for that, so we went to my room and opened the closet. I looked at the suitcases and got a sinking feeling in my gut. I hadn't thought they looked familiar, but I hadn't given it much thought. But as I knelt down to look at them, I got a sinking feeling, which threatened to become nausea as I looked at the tag on the first one. "R.J. Hobart"
Jeff scootched down next to me. "Who the hell is R.J. Hobart?"
"I don't know... But I'm going to find out!"
I pulled out my cell phone out of my purse and dialed Jeremy. It was only about seven or eight in California, so it went to voice mail, so he got a bunch of screaming voice mail about wanting to know who the fuck R.J. Hobart was and what the fuck he was doing in our fucking room. I was just hanging up when Jeff told me to ask about Nell Lincoln.
Jeremy got more profanity.
I hung up, and dropped to the bed. Jeff sat next to me and gave me a pat on the back. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know." I took a deep breath and tried to think logically. "Maybe he stayed in a different room. He said room 9 specifically..."
We knocked on doors. We only covered ten rooms, but none of them had "Arthur Milligan's" luggage. A couple people aren't here yet, and one guy just told us to buzz off.
Jeremy has yet to call back, despite repeated calls. There's only ten people in the hotel tonight, so it doesn't look like I'm going to change tonight. Which is good.
I'm not sure if I can handle another new life.
-Arthur
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