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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Zariyaryl (Hmm, maybe not)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Next year?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Different was an understatement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good god."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Eddie/Theresa

Eddie: Can't just have a vacation

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

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

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

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

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

-Eddie

Daryl/Elaine: Surprise Visit

You folks who have been reading the blog for a while can probably figure out the basics from the subject line alone - I'm Daryl Jackson, the guy who thought he was dating Elaine Preston, but it turned out to be some white guy who had been turned into her, and now the Inn has turned me into her.  It's messed up, and I'm staying to wonder if Whitney Preston just had it in for her sister or something.  Was Elaine always the successful one when they were growing up and now Whitney just keeps doing what she can to mess with her life, even though Elaine trusts her?

Or is that me extrapolating from what J.T. told me and acting like that's the dynamic with Elaine?  I suppose that from another perspective, Whitney is doing the right thing, cluing me in on the impossible situation I've found myself in by making it possible for me too believe it.

From what the real Elaine says, the original plan was that J.T. would go to the Inn and become himself again, then Whitney would follow, becoming Elaine; then her boyfriend becomes Whitney; he stays an extra two-week block to turn back; Whitney comes back and returns to normal; then, finally, at what's apparently the first chance for "Mackenzie" to vanish for a couple of weeks without getting Cary in trouble, Elaine gets her own form back.  It's an elaborate plan that's got to be coating her and Cary a chunk of change, but given that I'm just the latest in a parade of men to take on Elaine's form despite her best efforts, you can't blame her.

Maybe I'd really like that meticulous nature if she came back in August and I was none the wiser that the Elaine I'd been seeing had been replaced, I'd appreciate it.  Instead, I shrugged off her mentioning that she had an out-of-town contact for the next two or three months - we said we'd email, as you do - but after a week or so, I got the idea of surprising her for the long Memorial Day weekend.  I hadn't lined up a new gig yet but had a little money to travel, so I figured why not?  I shoot Whitney a message asking if she thinks it's practical; she says that, believe it or not, she was going to be visiting but she was sure Elaine would rather see me than her.  I offer to pay for the plane ticket and hotel reservation, but she says Elaine already had, and it was just a matter of transferring the ticket, since everything at the Inn is done with reservation numbers.  She warns me that Elaine is busy, and It might be a few days before she gets free and I see her at the Inn, even with the holiday weekend.  Tight deadlines, enough to include weekends, so don't expect her before sunset.

Having done my share of cramming both in school and at work, I respect that, so I spend much of Friday and Saturday poking around town, trying some seafood, texting back and forth with Elaine (the real one, it turns out) asking what she's up to, thinking she might drop a hint as to where she is, but no dice.  Sometime around ten, I open up my laptop and check to see who's online, and by two-ish I've switched to Fortnite, and that's when stuff starts to get weird.  I'm into it enough that as it starts, I mostly just think the lobster roll doesn't agree with me, which is also how I explain my voice sounding weird to everyone.  At some point, though, the controller slips in my hand (which has gotten smaller) and when I reach up to adjust my headset, I feel hair.  That's screwy enough for me to realize that something is really wrong, and it's like by realizing that I'm suddenly much more aware of how my whole body feels strange.  I tell everybody that I'm not feeling well and have to drop off, and I guess I hadn't spoken in long enough that I hear someone ask who the chick is before logging out.

I run to the bathroom, figuring I'm gonna have to puke or crap or something, and I don't get why it kind of hurts in the chest before seeing my reflection.  I'm, like, three-quarters of the way to Elaine, so I don't quite see it yet, but I'm clearly more woman than guy.  I reach into my pants to find that I'm a fraction of the man I'm supposed to be.  I'm starting to take off my shirt to see if I've really got tits now too, and that's when I notice the scar.  Elaine's appendectomy scar is kind of unusual - there's a little nick in it, like the surgeon was a little careless with the scalpel or something - and I've suddenly got the same one, although it looks more faded.  Or, as I suddenly realize, it's not all there yet.

Then I realize what I'm seeing in the mirror, and I already look even more like her.  I run back to the bedroom, grab my phone, and some instinct has me dial Elaine rather than the police.  I get voice mail, of course, and say random stuff about how it's Daryl and I'm turning into her and is she all right because this is really freaking me out.  Eventually there's a beep because you can only record a message that's so long.  I start to head back to the bathroom, but my feet get snagged by my laptop's power cord and I go down.  I bang my head on something, but it doesn't knock me out.  I don't get up, though I'm not sure whether it's from being dazed or just tired.

I wake up the next morning to a little white girl shaking me.  I groan, and she starts wiping some dried blood off my forehead.  "You better not have damaged my face."

The early morning hours haven't quite come back to me.  "What?"

"I'm the real Elaine Preston, and you are not my sister.  You're Daryl, right?"

I say yes, and that's when I get filled in on everything.

"Has everybody here changed?"

"Yeah, but this early in the season, they're pretty much all expecting it and expecting to go home."

"But I can stay here, get changed back in the next wave...?"

She looks sheepish.  "I did have J.T. RSVP to a wedding, a friend from college."

Oh, right.  I remembered.

Anyway, long story short, I didn't quite get Elaine Preston boot camp, but I can put on a bra and not fall over in high heels now.  I actually learned a lot of it from Cary, since Elaine was busy with sixth grade for the week after Memorial Day.

I flew back home earlier this week in order to get what Elaine calls a bit of practice "being", with Cary assuring me that in some ways it's not nearly as hard as it looks, that even without the powers of a curse, people will just assume the thing that makes sense when something doesn't seem right - that you had a bad morning, are on your period, or just screwed up.  And it's true.  I had a couple legs up on Cary and J.T. in that I had actually met Elaine's friends before and that it's almost certainly easier for a black man to know what to expect in a group of black women than a white one.  I can't speak for other transformees, but I suspect going from straight white man into the life of a black woman like they did must be among the most nerve-wracking, going from being pretty certain of your authority but expected not to throw it around to being low on the totem pole and knowing you can't give an inch.

I did okay, although I did have a couple early-morning freakouts.  I'm just hoping that the wedding tomorrow is like seeing old high school friends when you both happen to be home for the holidays - nodding, talking vaguely about what you've been up to going back home.

-Daryl

Max: Nothing's quite normal now

After last week, I'm grateful to be back to normal again - male, Chinese-American, just out of college.  It happened relatively quick, in terms of not having to wait around as Elaine for days after having Yang Chen-ai switch up the plan so that I can become myself again ahead of schedule - it happened late Friday night or early Saturday morning, depending on how you count those hours - and I think that was probably by design, with the Wong sisters figuring on a full house on Labor Day weekend as unsuspecting guests try to get the most out of the last holiday before fall.

I did like Chen-ai suggested (which, to be fair, is along the lines of what Jordan's model says) and stuck a chair in exactly the spot Carlotta had been when she changed.  Nothing happened Thursday night other than me giving up at around 4am and having a stiff back when I woke up at noon.  Annette had already caught the train south when I woke up and met Jordan for brunch, saying she had friends and roommates to meet for the first time before class started.  If she was freaked out enough by the whole general situation and wanted as far from Old Orchard as possible, I can't say I blame her.

Friday was pretty boring.  Jordan and I are both city people, and we felt like we'd pretty much exhausted what there was to do in Old Orchard by then.  We played some cards, wasted time on the Internet, and quietly mocked the folks next to us who thought that Lisa's Pizza was top-tier pie (we are New Yorkers under the skin, after all).  Then night came, he went back to his rented apartment, and I went back to the Inn.

Regular visitors talk about a tingle that comes earlier in the evening on nights that the change takes place, and Jordan, who makes computer models to try to predict the changes, has a theory about the change actually sending some sort of wave back in time because it's pushing and pulling information and extra mass out of some alternate dimension and this causing ripples on the t-axis, but I don't know about any of that.  I just know there was some sort of electricity when I walked into the building, although it might be easy to miss if you weren't looking for it.

As 2am approached, I found myself wondering what to wear.  I don't think I've heard any stories about people harmed by wearing chokers or thongs and becoming bigger, but the thought gets in your head, even though being naked starts to feel super inappropriate - like, soon those won't be your curves anymore, so you shouldn't be so causal with them, even if it took you weeks to get to that point.  I wound up in a t-shirt and a new pair of boxers - I wonder how much fresh underwear gets bought in the nearest department store after the Inn does is thing - so when I did change back, I mostly saw my skin tone change rather than really noticing inflation and deflation.  I noticed it when walking to the bathroom to check in the mirror, in that certain parts being non-retractable is proud positive that Apple doesn't design the human body.

It was me.  Carlotta hadn't given me a stupid haircut or let me get fat or left me with a tattoo or anything, although I guess she might have if she'd had the winter and next spring.  I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding; maybe I'd find this experience educational someday, but no sleight to Elaine, I was glad to be myself again.

A noise from the adjoining room made me stop moving for a moment.  It was right next to the wall, and when I closed my eyes and tried to imagine Jordan's floor plan, I wondered if the person on the other side of the wall had become Bingbing or if they had become whoever was in the room, and someone else drew that straw.  That was room 8, so they should have become Brittany and Ethan.

I did take out my phone and send Jordan and Annette selfies.  It felt pretty good that they both responded in a couple of minutes, with Jordan sarcastically saying good, I can go to bed now and Annette sending a couple emojis (I think the wink indicates that the hearts-for-eyes-and-wide-open-mouth was partly in jest) and a request to look her up the next time I'm in Boston.

I officially still had a girlfriend, though, and I figured that whoever wound up with that rule was going to need help like I did, as would everyone else, so I took my bag and the one I recognized as Bingbing's and headed out to the lobby.  Starting around 5am, there were a bunch of freaked-out people, and I did my best to explain what was going on.  Jordan wasn't letting her phone wake her at first, so I was on my own, and it wasn't so bad after a while.  Some folks were angry that I hadn't done anything to warn them, but being myself again made me a bit more intimidating than I was as Elaine, so it didn't get violent.

By about 11am, I'd counted twelve of us, but no Bingbing.  Only room 4 seemed to be unaccounted for, so I walked over and knocked on the door.  "Are you okay in there?  I know what's happened to you is scary, but I've been through it.  Things can get back to normal and I can help."

The door opened as far as the chain would let it, and "Bingbing" looked out.  Her hair was messy, and she had a look I'd never seen on that face when it was Carlotta inside, though it occurred to me that maybe I should have seen her look worried at some point if we'd actually been as close as I thought we were.  Seeing that I was Asian too, she asked what had happened in Cantonese.

I was a little surprised by that, and I guess it showed, and I told her the Inn was cursed, that the guests turned into the last people to stay there, but while the origins were hard to dig up, the effects were fairly predictable, so if you got the timing and positioning right, you could be yourself again, although it generally took about a year because this place filed up pretty well for someplace under a hex.  I took the passport out of the bag and handed it to her, and she closed the door, likely running to the mirror to check that she'd become Bingbing rather than just a new girl - after all, if she was Chinese to start, that wouldn't seem so random.

She came back and opened the door all the way.  "So I'm this Chen Bingbing now.  Why?  I thought I was just getting a job in America, and they told me to do a training thing here while they sorted out my visa.  Did they know?"

I said we'd have to do some research, but I suspected of we traced whoever owned her new employer back a ways, we'd find Yang Chen-ai, and her new job was keeping an eye on me and Jordan.  I told her that story, trying to minimize some of the scarier parts, but she was curling up into a ball by the end anyway.

By then I'd looked around the room and saw that the clothes on the floor were guys', and rolled the suitcase over.  "I'm guessing what's in here will be more comfortable than what you've got.  It looks like you were, uh, taller before."

She admitted that was the case and took the suitcase into the bathroom.  Not sure whether to stay or go, I stood by the door and looked at my phone until she came out wearing a t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers.  She hadn't put a bra on, but it seemed like it would be really inappropriate to offer help with that.  "So," I said, "you want to meet Jordan?  Yuan-wei is supposed to be your best friend, although I guess it might seem silly to keep it up."

"Might as well, especially if you're right about what I'm supposed to do."

So I texted Jordan, found out that Cary had his truck nearby, and decided to meet up there.  On the way, I asked who she really was.

"I...  I don't know if I should say.  You seem nice, and I'm sure your brother will too, but how can I really know?"

I was kind of disappointed, but said it was fair enough.  Jordan was a little less thrilled about not knowing who her supposed best friend was, but figured there was no way too force this information out of her, especially since she already seemed freaked out by how comfortable this girl I kept calling my brother was - elated, even, to still be Yuan-wei.

Jordan yelled "guess who!" when we came to order, introducing me and Bingbing.  To my surprise, Elaine was in the back of the truck as well, reading something on a tablet that I suspect would raise eyebrows if it had been a physical book in the hands of an eleven-year-old, and she jumped out the back to look at me from all angles.  "Don't take this the wrong way, but you gave up being me for this?"

"Like you won't be thinking 'he's hot and knows my body, I should call him' in a couple of weeks."

"Dude, I'm in fifth grade.  That'd get you in so much trouble even if I had the right hormones to care."

Jordan raised an eyebrow.  "You're not changing back?"

"Well, it's not like your wicked stepmother gave me a heads-up on her plan so I could just run away from home before this guy got temporary custody and Mackenzie disappearing again would have the cops sniffing around him.  Instead, I get to re-experience middle school!"

"Ouch.  Although, I guess it will be easy this time."

"The schoolwork, but having ten- and eleven-year-olds try to befriend you as the new girl is weird.  And I think one of the boys already has a crush on me."

We came up with the idea of co-writing a letter to Elaine #4, and sat down at a picnic table to do so.  I'm not sure what Jordan and Bingbing #3 talked about, but by the time we were done they were talking about getting moving, because school was about to start, whether in Boston or New York. 

It seemed weirdly abrupt, but at least we didn't have to really say goodbye until we got to Boston, and we stood kind of awkwardly in North Station until she said that, look, just because she'd been a girl for the years didn't make her a hugger, but...  And then she grabbed me, and I hugged her back, and he said he was glad we could talk without hiding anything now.

"Yeah, I'm just glad to know.  We've got to find a way to make Mom and Dad believe, though."

"I know!  I keep trying to figure out how that's going to work, besides hijacking some other major life event.  Cause that's be fucking weird and selfish, right?"

"Maybe I can tell them I've proposed to her, and then we can be like 'okay, now that you're in the right frame of mind, what I really want to tell you is...'"

It was weird that we were able to laugh at that, although Bingbing said not to even pretend, and why not just do it ourselves without involving her.  We were like, dude, gross, but I have to admit, we gave it some thought.

Jordan offered to buy us plane tickets home, saying if Chen-ai had a problem with that, then they might as well get the argument over spending her allowance out of the way early.  I almost said no, but I figured Bingbing's first exposure to New York didn't have to come via the Chinatown bus.

When we did land, she wasn't exactly thrilled to find out that Carlotta/Bingbing had moved in with me/Giorgia over the summer, or that there was just one bed in the apartment.  Truth be told, I also kind of wanted to throw the mattress out the window when I thought about that - sure, she moved in before the trip to the Inn, but she must have known what she was going to do by then, right?  Gross.

I took the couch that night and we did our own things for the first few days - she's been doing school registration stuff, buying books, all that, while I've been trying to set up job interviews - Carlotta taking the summer after graduation off hadn't really helped my prospects.

The text from Benny-Jordan didn't come until a couple nights ago, and I was kind of nervous when he asked if I wanted to hang out, shoot some hoops, and talk.  I kind of had to.

Meeting up with him at the gym, it seemed almost as absurd to think I'd been fooled into thinking he was the real Jordan as it was to have "Yuan-wei" tell me she was.  He just didn't move like my brother always had, he enjoyed ruining and sweating, and he was friendly toward people the old Jordan would have snapped at.  And the first thing he did was apologize.

"So, like, your brother said I should have tried to get you to dump Bingbing as soon as she found out she wasn't the original, and I said she deserved a chance."

"I wouldn't have listened.  She was too much exactly what I wanted in a girl, and Jordan, well, he could be kind of a jealous dick about girls."

"Ah."

We talked a little more, but that was the main thing he wanted to say.  He didn't really apologize for taking over Jordan's life; he said that as much as he knew it didn't really feel like what he was supposed to do, Jordan did say to take it and how do you just give Kareena up?  And while he had gotten his Cantonese up to "embarrassing" in the last two years, he couldn't imagine landing in the position Jordan and Annette had found.

So that's where things are now.  In a lot of ways, things are kind of back to normal - I'm in my apartment, looking for work, and I've been hanging out with Bingbing more in the last few days, showing her where to get authentic Chinese food in Manhattan, where you can see Chinese movies, that sort of thing.  We met a friend of mine for dinner last night, and it was almost like a date.

But it wasn't, and it seems like there are a lot of things right now that seem the same as they were at the beginning of summer, but which I know aren't true.  My girlfriend's not my girlfriend, my brother's not my brother, there's a hot chick out there who is, a scary lady in Hong Kong who can redirect or lives in crazy ways, and two women whom I've been told I don't have to worry about, but how can I not?  How do I just answer my parents calling about Sunday dinner and act like all that's not out there?

I suppose the every-day stuff will overwhelm it, especially when I'm working and have a real daily routine.  But there's way more at the edges of my life that I didn't know about before.

-Max

Annette/Benjamin: And to think I've had my eye on a ring

I talk with Missy a lot these days, sometimes, I think, more than I did when we were sharing an apartment.  We both feel like we need someone who gets us, even though it seems like we should have it.  He's got Max in the next room, but I don't know what their deal is, exactly; I don't think they were the closest brothers you would find, and now Max getting what he wants and deserves means Missy had to give up a life that makes her happy.  It's tense, but Max feels just guilty enough that she tries to reduce the tension, and I like her, but reducing tension isn't what Missy does best.

Meanwhile, ever since Cary and Elaine went back to Maine, I've kind of been on my own here.  I'm sure there are other Inn people in the Chicago area - it's a large enough city - but I don't know any of them, and while it should help me to just be Benjamin, it mostly makes me feel alone.  I know it's what a lot of people who have visited the Inn go through, and I don't envy them.

It's made me a bad boyfriend at times.  More often than not, lately.  When you're doing this with other people, it's not really a game, but you can blow off steam about the things in your life that aren't as they should be, and even when that just involves someone telling you that you've got to put the idea of "should be" out of your head, that's something.  Now, when I get laid off from a job I don't even really like, I'm just angry, and I try not to take it out on Marybeth, but what's the point of being in a relationship if you can't share your frustrations, even if you can't fully share them?

It came to a bit of a head about a month ago when a text came in from Missy at a terrible time, and what she could see on the screen said not too be frustrated, and she wanted to know what I could tell "my ex" (the history we inherit!) that I couldn't tell her.  Which is a fair question in, like, 99% of all relationships, but in mine, one I couldn't answer.

So things got uncomfortable, and I feel awful, because I do love Marybeth and I really don't want to be the selfish guy who acts like his girlfriend's career should come below his annoyance, and it feels like it's going that way.  I'm trying to think of ways that I can not be that guy, that I can show her just how much she means to me, and then I'm walking past the jeweler's and an engagement ring captures my eye.

It's a nice one, especially considering it's also one I might be able to afford.  It's not a diamond, because those are stupidly expensive and I actually did some research into how stupid their being expensive is as a project in high school, because the cartel keeps supply artificially limited and what diamonds are being mined are often being done under terrible conditions.  But they make some nice engagement rings with colored gems now, because there are a lot of young people with that sort of mindset, and I liked the red one I found.  I don't know how traditional Marybeth is with these things, but I thought about how I would have thought a guy getting me that sort of ring would be a cool combination of ethical and practical.  I'd gone back to see it three times before Missy sent that email with the video of Carlotta changing into Max.

It was a punch in the gut, because I like Max, and thought him dating Missy's best friend was kind of cool, but when I saw that I was the BCC on the email, and it was primarily sent to Sandra I felt this overpowering tension, wondering how I was going to sleep until I found out how she was going to respond to this, because if she decided she wanted her life back, then mine was in play, and I texted Missy back not to get my hopes up like that without thinking.

And that was it, wasn't it?  I wanted my old life back.  I could try to deny it, try to convince myself that I wasn't dealing with some really deep-seated lack of satisfaction with the life I had by proposing to Marybeth, and maybe she'd say yes and maybe we'd be happy.  That's the thing about our relationship, at least from my point of view - as much as I genuinely like her, I know that part of what initially attracted me to her was that she was like me, or at least the me that I wanted to be, and I'll probably never know how much is me wanting her and how much is me wanting a proxy.

I probably was more annoying than usual over the next few days, and then Sandra responded, saying that as much as being Annette was great and she maybe had a great future, the idea that her husband had been targeted by Carlotta, and had been living with someone like this for a couple of years, changed a lot.  She somehow managed to get that room reserved for the next week, and then reached out to me...

I don't want to write about the breakup.  It was hard and it sucked and I was so tempted to not do it at all, figuring that maybe the next Benny could use someone like Marybeth in her life, but then I thought about how I'd feel if a boyfriend was just going to hand me off to a stranger, and I felt sick.  So I said like a dozen variations on how it wasn't her, but it was me, and the move without me having my own thing was making me crazy, and I felt like it was time to head back home to, like, recharge my batteries or some ridiculous thing.  I was really determined that she not feel like any sort of loser, but I also didn't want any room for being talked out of it, because I probably could be.  I was giving up on two challenges by dumping her when it got hard, and I don't want to be the sort of person who does that.

But I got through it, and now I'm in Maine, feeling like a failure rather than excited like I should be.  I haven't worked up the nerve to visit Cary and Elaine yet, although I probably will when Missy and Max come up tomorrow, to help give this version of me a good send-off.  It's going to be tough to face Missy, but I think I owe it to her, as its her misfortune that is giving me this chance, and she is not being any sort of jerk about it, which she probably has every right to be.

But, hey, I could already be myself again by the time I see her.  There's no tingle now, but who knows if that always happens?

-Annette/Benjamin

Cary Johnson: The Absolute Worst Luck

Before the last couple of weeks, I'd gotten out of the habit of saying I had the worst luck.  I hadn't exactly seem things turn around on a regular basis, but when you and the people around you get to a certain age you find your stories of breaking your leg right before the recruiters could see you play football in high school or how your new boss is your ex-wife's new boyfriend being met with "that sucks, but I just found out I have cancer".  Doesn't make you feel more fortunate, just like a jerk.

A friend falling ill plays a role in how I got sucked into all of this mess, but I should probably introduce myself first.  My name is Cary Johnson, I'm in my mid-fifties, and I've lived in southern Maine pretty much all my life.  I've been married and divorced twice, somehow escaped winding up with any kids (that I know of), worked on boats and on land, and mostly kept my head above water through all of it.  I've been living in Old Orchard for the past five years or so, working with my buddy Red.

Red, who spent most of his life wiring for a paper somewhere out west, gets one of those early-retirement buyout packages as they tried to cut costs and get younger, and he decides to take it and move back here to open a restaurant.  It doesn't do that well as a sit-down place, but it's along the beach and folks really like the fancy hotdogs that he added to the menu almost as a lark.  A smart guy, he soon has them taking up most of the menu, with toppings from mac-and-cheese to avocado, and chili to mushrooms, topped with apricot relishes and spicy ketchups.  It gets semi-famous and popular enough that he decides to add a food truck, and that's where I come in.  He didn't have to make me a partner in that venture, but he did.  I don't offer the full menu, but I do okay, and being in a new spot every day suits me.

Then Red's wife Becky gets cancer, and their plans change.  Hell, I don't know, I'd probably have gone for the "travel the world" plan as well, but funding that means selling the diner and getting me to buy him out of the truck.  I knew things were going to be lean for a while, but was kind of caught flat-footed when the place's new owners showed that all they really wanted was Red's liquor license, and when they shut down to convert to their microbrewery, people just thought the truck was done too.

I hadn't actually fallen behind on rent yet, but because it never rains but it pours, we wind up with an insect problem at the building where I live a couple weeks ago - some jackass decided to stock the cellar with wasps' nests as a final middle finger to the landlord upon moving out, leaving the place to be fumigated.  You begin to understand why they wanted to go out like that when the landlord refuses to pay for hotel rooms.

All of this is a long way of explaining why, after a day of selling franks on the boardwalk, I'm cruising around OOB at eleven o'clock, looking for vacancy signs, and, not finding any, just looking for a place I could park the truck, roll out a sleeping bag in the back, and hopefully not be awakened by someone banging on the side and demanding wieners at 6am, and eventually deciding on the parking lot by the Trading Post Inn.

I guess I park close enough to the building to be lucky thirteen, because when I wake up in the morning, I'm somehow not myself.  I'm in a sleeping bag in the back, so I can't really see the changes to my body, except for an arm that was outside it and seemed really thin and dark.  I lift it up and wiggle the fingers like I'm in a dream.  I can't see it too clearly - it's early, 6am or so, and there isn't much light coming through the windshield - but it's enough to see something is off.  I sit up, pushing myself up with my arms because that's what I usually do, not being as young as I once was, and that's when I feel my chest shift.  I don't recognize the sensation for what it is, but know something isn't right, and that's when I grab at my chest, feel what was there, and turn around so I can look at myself in the rear-view mirror.

It just isn't me.  It's a black woman with long-ish, straight hair.  I looked younger, though I really couldn't guess by how much.  I'd pulled my legs out of the bag to turn around and could see that they were long and smooth, and while I didn't actually stick my hand into my boxers, I sort of confirmed there was nothing there by flexing and twisting and not feeling my equipment in the way.  I  don't really strike myself as pretty at first, although I guess that's because I never really thought of black girls in terms of being attractive.  Growing up in Maine in the Sixties and Seventies, you don't really get much chance to develop a taste for dark meat, as my dad put it on a couple of occasions.

I'm sure some of the younger people are reading that with a sort of horror at what kind of racist the old fart is, but it's not like that.  Truth be told, I kind of felt the same way the second after realizing I'd recoiled from my reflection, kind of trying to make sure my reaction was to something changing me, not to what I'd become.  Maybe trying to convince myself that it's just not being me that had me shaken.

On the other hand, though, I'm trying to figure out if I had said something insulting the day before, or maybe sometime before that, which would lead to someone trying to teach me a lesson.  I can be politically incorrect at times, so I may have said something that someone took wrong.  But what, and to who, and was this revenge taken by someone else?

I don't even think that it might just be the place I parked.  You may think that as a local I'd heard stories or something, and maybe sometime in the years I lived in OOB, I have heard someone say they are someone else or looked at a photo of someone missing after their trip to the Trading Post, but it never formed a pattern in my head or anything. Maybe the whole thing where the brain rejects the idea of the place changing people is more effective here because we get used to it.  I dunno. Anyway, instead of sticking around to see if this had happened to anyone else, my instinct is to go find help, so I get into the driver's seat, have a moment of brain-lock at having to adjust it, and then pull out.  I have some trouble deciding where to go at first - if Red were still around, he would have been my first choice, but he wasn't.  I run through other friends, but as I felt myself moving around in clothes that didn't quite fit so well, I'm not sure it would be a good idea, since most of them are like me - guys, older, single, generally for good reason.  So I keep driving for the better part of an hour until I arrived at my ex-wife's house.

It doesn't go well.  Our divorce was civil enough, but that goes out the window when a strange younger woman shows up at your house knowing intimate details of your marriage.  Knowing stuff and driving the ex's food truck does not do much to convince someone, it just scares them and makes them angry enough for the new husband to come out and really drive home how much smaller you are.

By the time I get back in the truck I at least am alert and starting to figure out what I need to do practically.  My shoes are falling off every time I take a step, buckling up to the last notch on my belt still has me feeling like my pants are falling off, and I smell and feel as greasy as you might expect for sleeping in a kitchen that basically just makes hot dogs and fries.  I drive back to my apartment, switch to my beat-up mid-1990s Volvo, and then dr8ve out to the nearest Wal-Mart.

It seems too practical, like I should have spent the whole first day curled up in a ball crying or something, but you try getting your ex-wife to understand all this whole holding your pants up, and see if you don't want some clothes that fit.  I was glad I got there fairly early, because I had to do a lot of trying stuff on and just plain guessing with the underwear.  I think it's in the changing room that it really hits me that I have not only changed race and sex, but I look younger - nothing saggy like I'd expect of a woman my age, no grey in my hair, and my skin is pretty smooth.  I take a moment or two to flex and bend while looking in the mirror, my new found flexibility confusing me - it doesn't fit right in my head.  Eventually I get out of there with a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, some panties, socks, sneakers, and a bra.  The lady at the checkout counter comments about that being a weird way for a woman to spell "Carrie" when she sees my card, but she doesn't press too much about why I'm wearing a bunch of oversized male clothing.

Next stop is the Portland YMCA to grab a shower.  It makes me a little nervous, because of the "M" part, but there's no YWCA in the area.  I'm really scared in the shower stall, like I'm going to change back, naked, just as a whole bunch of women walk in, but that didn't happen.  I got most of the grease smell off, although I shied away from scrubbing the new bits all that much.  Didn't dry my hair enough, either; I would spend much of the day with a big wet spot on the back of my shirt.  But there's was a bit of relief in it - as strange as it wis to see a woman who looked half-normal in the mirror, I feel like I've met a challenge, shown whatever witch had cast a spell on me that I could handle what she was dishing out.

The walk back out to the car is a little disconcerting - not only had I come in looking like a homeless person to leave looking something like average, but I think I chose the wrong size bra, because I'm bouncing a little more than I would like and attracting attention that way.  I get in and just sit there for a second, looking down at my body and thinking "now what?",  then looking up, seeing the time-and-temperature sign, and remembering that the truck is supposed to be in York in a couple of hours.  At first, I thought I couldn't just act like nothing happened and go about my life, but I also have to admit that the new clothes have put more of a ding in my checking account than I'd like, simple as they are.  I'm going to have to sell some hot dogs.

So, I do.  I drive to Jordan's to pick up a day's worth of dogs, get my other supplies, drive home to switch to the truck and make sure I have everything in working order, and then head south.  It's a little more challenging physically to get all the certain things done, but I manage, and I'm selling snacks by 11am.

It was a tough day.  Things on a top shelf were a bit harder to reach, bins and other containers were heavier, and while there's not much room in the kitchen, three steps rather than two adds up after a while, even if you've got a little more stamina.  And that's just the physical; there are guys with an endless succession of wiener-related jokes.  There may be a little more in the tip jar at the end of the day, although not as much as first appeared when you take the slips of paper with phone numbers out.

Not really enough tips to justify a motel stay, but it was 9:30pm by the time I had closed everything up and I kind of didn't want to sleep in my truck again looking like this.  I was hoping that this was some sort of 24-hour bug, where you deal with what a young black woman does for a day and have a better perspective later, especially since I certainly felt like I had been underestimating the amount of crap women and minorities take.

I wake up still "Carrie", though, and there are no gloating notes in my email, on the truck, or at my home when I drive back theree.  So I go back to work. 

It's surprisingly easy to stay in the routine.  After my apartment was declared fit for human habitation on the fourth morning,  I didn't need to worry about needing a photo ID for motels (or how the place's that didn't check them were not ones where I wanted to stay like this).  A few regular customers ask where "Cary" is, and I tried to tell them, to either regular or magical disbelief, mostly winding up saying that "he" had hired "Carrie" to fill in in partly because he was amused "our" names were similar.  I stayed hopeful that this would be the night I turned back, buying no more than the next couple days' worth of clothes, keeping my eye out for anyone who seems to be paying too much attention to how I'm handling things.  No such luck.  After a week, I've amassed enough panties, bras, small tees, and jeans that didn't quite fit right to do a load of laundry, and I was starting to wonder just what the hell I was supposed to do to get my life back.

It was almost two weeks before I'm closing up and see something that freaks me out:  Myself, with a gorgeous young blonde, running toward the truck.  The guy who looks like me is panting and slows down for the last few steps, saying "whew, looks like you traded up."  The blonde pats his back and says "trust me, I'm sure he's having a hard time too."  Freaked out, I look at them and what they're up to, and why they did this to me.  The guy who looks at me starts to ask why they would be responsible for doing this to themselves, but the girl's pretty smart for looking like a dumb, busty blonde, figuring out that I must not know, right down to maybe just being parked outside when "it" happened.

That's when they start to explain about the Trading Post Inn, and despite what's happened to me and what's right in front of me, I don't believe it at first.  But they offer to show me, so I drive them to the Inn, feeling a little bit of tightness in my gut as I realize that, yes, this probably was where I parked that night.  They lead me to the room closest to where I parked, and show me a suitcase full of women's clothing my new size that didn't come from Wal-Mart.  And there's a purse, with a wallet, and that's when I learn that I wasn't just turned into a woman, but a specific one.

Her name is Elaine Preston, she's 29, lives in Chicago, and supervises computer programmers on a freelance basis for a living.  She's still a woman, and sounds a bit younger than 29 on the phone, but, man, is she not happy that I have not showed up at her apartment yet. 

I'm not really sure that's what I want to do, but she gives me a whole rant on how she's got rent and a student loan to pay off, and if I screw get life up for her w when she gets it back, her new mission will be making me suffer.  She doesn't exactly sound fun, but this talk of getting lives back eventually does get my attention, and I say I'll fly out in a couple of days, after I show "new Cary" the ropes.

He picks it up easy enough - despite the ingredients sometimes being crazy, it's just making hot dogs, and he's probably got more ideas for new ones than I do (coming up with the crazy variations was always Red's thing; I'm okay with mustard and relish, maybe chilli on occasion).  He's really sad that his girlfriend has to leave the same day I do, although for a different destination.

She and I didn't talk much on the way to the airport, and wound up in different terminals right away.  I'm really not interested in the book Elaine was reading, which is why I opened this thing up and started spilling my guts.  I I'm not sure what she'll be like, but I don't really get the impression of laid-back from her voice or her stuff.

--Cary Johnson

Tyler: The Veterans

I didn't get a lot of sleep Saturday night/Sunday morning. The sun was just peeking through the blinds when I heard a faint but insistent knock on the door. "Tyler? Kitty?" a muffled voice asked, "Are you in there? I need help!"

I bolted upright awake, remembering where I was and what had happened. I checked the time on my phone. Only 5:50 AM. Damn, I thought selfishly. This was going to be a long day.

The knocking continued. I looked over at Kitty. She appeared to be trying to sleep through it, but she muttered, "Tell them we're not here." Obviously that didn't make sense. I wasn't even sure if she was aware we had transformed.

I stood up and smoothed my gray t-shirt over my chest. It tented over my bosoms and draped down nearly to my knees. I didn't have a sense of what I looked like yet, except for the hair and the long fingernails. It was disorienting to suddenly be so small, but I felt bulkier than when I was Lauren, so I felt pretty sure I wasn't a kid. My boxer shorts clung to my hips, meaning they must have been quite wide, and as I stepped across the room I really felt the weight of my lower half. I brushed my hands against my hips and backside and found them quite... round.

I reached the door. Once I opened it, I would be faced with something I couldn't pretend I hadn't seen. And the part I dreaded most of all was explaining that I had been through this twice already. That made me the Veteran, the Expert, and potentially, the man everyone was going to blame for not warning them.

Er, girl. Lady. Woman.

I took a deep breath as I turned the knob. I opened the door and my eyes bulged out at the sight of a  woman holding a baby - a toddler, actually, with light tufts of curly blond hair, at her hip.

I was about eye-level to the woman's chest. I craned my neck upward and saw the six-foot-plus Rosie, looming over me even moreso than when we first met. She was dressed in a man's pajamas that looked like they fit fairly well. One of the weird things about her transformation is that Ahmir was not actually bigger than her.

"Rosie?" I said, keeping my voice to a hush, trying not to wake anyone and also maybe because I was feeling self-conscious about how I might sound. "It's you, right?" She nodded, and I said "Good." She looked at me expectantly until I identified myself - it hadn't occurred to me that she wouldn't immediately recognize me as I am now. "It's Tyler. I'm... I'm like this now. Whatever it is, I haven't looked yet."

"You look fine from here," Rosie said. "We've got a problem."

"I can see that," I said. "What-- who is this?"

She sighed. "It's Susan. She... drew the short straw, I guess."

I felt the color drain out of my face. I've been through some crap in my years, but I never had to re-learn how to use a pen or the toilet.

"Is she... in there? Can she talk?"

"I don't know," Rosie said fearfully.

I groaned and did what I thought was the obvious thing, getting eye-level with the kid. "Hey... hey there... do you know what your name is?"

"Susa' Clawk..." she managed to say.

"Good, good, Susan..." I said, breathing a sigh of relief. "And how old are you Susan?"

She hesitated a moment and answered, "Thiwty ni'... Wheh' um I?"

Okay, I thought, we can work with this. She has her mind, sort of, but the linguistic and motors skills of a toddler. It's like having a stroke or something. My guess is she'll eventually grow back up and retain memories of her past life. God, I hope there isn't time for that.

"What about Neil? Dylan?"

"Well..."

I felt a headache coming on. I went out into the hallway and walked with Rosie and Susan over to Neil's family's room.

Inside were two more kids sitting on the bed - one a year or so older than the Susan had become, asleep on the bed, one a little girl dressed in boy's clothes, sitting next to him, quietly looking at a phone. Her long dark hair streaked in front of her face and I could sort of tell she'd been crying.

"Neil is the sleeping one," Rosie said, "He was up earlier, asking all kinds of questions, and I... I guess he just got too tired out."

"And Dylan's the girl," I surmised. At least he didn't get the Tom Hanks in "Big" treatment.

"She was... He was really upset," Rosie said, "But I got him to settle down and play his game, and, well.. I guess it took his mind off it."

"Wow, Rose," I said in astonishment, "Looks like you got this thing under control."

I was pleased with her. She had done a lot of the heavy lifting that I would have guessed would fall to me. But my head was still buzzing and I realized immediately that these kids probably didn't come alone. They probably had parents somewhere at the Inn, and it made sense to check the next room over, Abbie and Kendra.

Bingo.

They had become a young couple. Kendra's new body looked like it hadn't yet shed the pregnancy weight, and Abbie's, as the husband, had close-cropped brown hair with a reddish beard that she kept scratching at.

Kitty joined us as we explained the situation as best we could. There was the requisite "You knew this was going to happen?" exchange, which I was ready to snap back with "It doesn't matter, I couldn't have stopped it." Abbie backed off and asked me not to jump down her throat, it was just a lot to process. Kitty, for her part, seemed dismayed that she was tall and stocky, with lovehandles, male-pattern baldness and stubble. I would have loved to trade places with her, really.

"So, here's the bad news," I said as tactfully as I could, "The really bad news. There's these kids, they were a family of three, and... we think they're supposed to be yours."

Abbie and Kendra looked dumbstruck at each other as Rosie brought Neil and Susan forward. Dylan was hiding behind, staying quiet.

"No way," Abbie protested.

"This is too much," Kendra added.

"Come on," Kitty said, "It will be easier than it looks. They have the minds of adults, we checked. I bet it will just be like having little roommates."

"Roomates I have to breastfeed," Abbie sneered, clasping her hands over her chest.

"I think they're a bit old for that," Rosie clarified.

"I know it's a lot to absorb," I said. "Body changing, three kids... I feel for you."

"Um, Tyler," Rosie said sensitively, "It's probably just two kids."

"What do you... there's three of them, and..."

"Look at Dylan," Rosie said, "And, well..."

I looked at all of them. The young ones, Neil and Susan, had Abbie's wavy blonde hair and pale skin. Dylan looked different, with tawny brown skin and long dark hair. And he... she... looked actually too old to be the daughter of that couple.

Rosie gestured at me oddly.

I looked at my hands. Tawny brown skin. Long dark hair. I hadn't even thought about what I actually look like.

My heart sank. My head continued to throb. All the breath left my lungs.

"Oh, God," I groaned, slapping my forehead.

In all the commotion, I hadn't so much as checked a mirror. I rushed off back to my room.

There in the reflection was... well, this woman. This face. One that looked an awful lot like Dylan's. A grown woman in her mid-30's, little age lines creeping around. I felt so stupid, it must have been so obvious to everyone who saw us. I'm a fucking mom now.

I couldn't believe this possibility hadn't occurred to me. I was so concerned with where I was ending up, I didn't think much about who was going there with me, let alone that it might be someone else's child.

Kitty and I started arguing almost immediately. I thought it would be best to leave Dylan with Kendra and Abbie - one more kid probably wouldn't break their banks, and it would be safer to keep that family together. On top of that, I didn't think we were stable enough together - privately I kept thinking I was just going to run off and live my own life without her no matter who I became, but I didn't say it that way.

Kitty came back by saying our new "selves," the Walkers, probably weren't in bad shape either, and were set up to look after the child. That we couldn't burden them with another mouth to feed, and since they weren't really a married couple, how could we assume they were any more stable than we were. And those kids weren't really Dylan's parents anymore anyway - he wouldn't recognize them, relate to them or communicate with them that way.

She had a point. And yeah, maybe my reasons against it were selfish, but I still would have rather kept those three together. But it just wasn't workable. If Abbie and Kendra were willing to go along and play parents, I had to too.

My face was hot with frustration and anger directed at nobody in particular. My head was throbbing, I was hot and sweaty, my stomach was sick and hungry. I wanted to break down and cry for the second time since the early hours. I tried to fight them back, but the hot stream of tears poured out of my eyes. I was a sobbing wreck.

And Kitty, to her credit, wrapped her big strong arms around me and held me close, like she really loved me - and maybe she does - and said "It's okay, it's gonna be okay. We'll get through this. We're tough."

I knew that, but all I could say was "God, I want this to end." And it sucked getting so emotional, too, because usually I'm calm, cool and collected. But my body was throwing all these new hormones at me, getting me all worked up.

"Hey," he said, "Have a shower. Clear your head. I think we can take care of things."

I could just barely muster a "Thank you," but I meant it and I think she picked up on it. I felt really cared for and supported. It was almost like we were... like, an actual couple.

She left me alone and I did decide to run a quick shower. I was so exhausted and worn down at this point that I hardly even cared what I looked like, but I didn't mind it so much.

Whoever this woman was, she was maybe 5'5, with a soft but not out-of-shape "mom" body. It looks like she takes good enough care of herself, despite the accumulated cellulite on hips and thighs and whatnot. I was aware, all day, of the bounce of my butt behind me and my boobs under my top - I'm gonna need to get back in the habit of wearing a bra, that's pretty non-negotiable. (As Lauren I only bothered on school days, and even then I sometimes just layered tops until the girls stayed in place.) Overall it's just so much more... womanly than I was used to. Sure, I'm a female "again" but this is as different from Lauren's body as a family sedan is from a coupe.

The long hair has more volume to it than the straight locks I had as Lauren, but compared to Rosie's frizziness I guess it's not so bad. Like I said, she has a bit of age lines, which suits me fine - I feel older than my years with all this body swapping. In reality I've only gained about five, though. Her whole look is... well, my dad would have said she was "exotic" if he was feeling polite that day. I actually couldn't immediately put my finger on what race I was supposed to be, but once I was cleaned up, I started going through her things, found a letter addressed to "The New Judith, Adrian and Olivia Walker" and found out her maiden name is Medeiros, which I guess is Portuguese.

Honestly this has been so draining I think this is a good place to stop... we're about to leave the Inn and head for our new home for the next year (hopefully not more...) and when I get there, and we get all settled in, I'll give you all the details.

And probably cut my fingernails, over Kitty's protests, so I can actually use a keyboard and a phone like a normal person.

Yours,
"Judith." (Ugh, of all the things I object to about this life, the name is up there.)

Tyler: So how was your weekend?

By Thursday night, the Inn was starting to fill up, maybe about halfway. I had gotten a bucket of chicken for Kitty, Rosie and myself, and we were just sitting around the common room about to dig in, when in walk these two girls, dragging some luggage behind them, and I could hear from their conversation that they were having trouble finding somewhere to eat - apparently they had some plans and were running late, to where they didn't know if they'd have time to find a decent meal.

I decided to wave them over and offer them some of ours. They waved it off at first, but I insisted. I introduced myself as Tyler, and Kitty, who seemed less than charmed to meet them. I paused when I got to Rosie, when she piped up and said, "Ahmir," offering a big friendly smile. I guess meeting a big black guy named "Rosie" would seem a bit odd.


They gave their names, Abbie and Kendra, and talked a bit about themselves - 23 years old, just out of college, etc etc. I made some polite small talk, careful not to tip my hand that I knew anything about what was going to happen, say anything that might seem deceitful or cruel in retrospect. I mean, if you could just warn people ahead of time, everybody would turn around and run away (well, except for the folks who would appreciate a "fresh start." I reckon they'd get more than they bargain for, though.)


They headed out wherever they were going and we said maybe we'd see them later. After they were out of earshot, Kitty smacked me on the shoulder. "We're not here to make friends with these people!"


I sighed. "We need to form some kind of bond with people here when we can. Our lives might depend on it. Or theirs."


She scoffed. "Still, you don't have to be so nice."


I realized in that instant it was because Abbie and Kendra were so attractive that she felt threatened.


Later, I took a walk with Rosie and asked her about her experiences. Just like on the blog, she was reticent to go into detail, but she wanted to clarify it's not like it was a walking nightmare every day. Even if she could never quite shake the race thing from her mind, there were lots of times it didn't seem to matter as much - it's just that it would sometimes come out of nowhere, or she started seeing it places where maybe there was actually nothing to worry about. She said her favorite times were being "one of the boys" at the construction site, where your race didn't matter as long as you could lift the drywall or whatever. I told her I wished she had found more time to write about it so we could get a fuller sense of her experience, maybe and she said she just wasn't in that kind of headspace. I'm sure Meghan would have backed me up that pushing yourself to write that stuff down is healthy.

I tried to relate her experience to my own as Lauren. If you are a black man or a teenage girl by nature, you don't have the ability to think about how different it is for you than other people, at least not in such concrete ways. I missed being able to go out and not be leered at by older men, or having to dress according to whether I wanted to risk tempting teenage boys at school. My one really solid friendship with a male classmate was based on his attraction for me and me having to keep him at arm's length.

Rosie admitted she had at least enjoyed manhood for what it was. I told her I didn't quite have the same perspective on my femininity. Sex and dating were off-limits. I couldn't have enjoyed them anyway.

"But who knows," I sighed. "Maybe next time..."

She smirked. "You're convinced that's how it's gonna go down, huh?"

"It's 50/50, and I've never been a lucky guy," I said. "And that's assuming everything goes as right as I hope it will. Waking up as Alan, and getting to wrap these arms around Meghan, was the happiest moment of my entire sorry life, and soon it will be a memory."

I added "But this time I'm ready for it. For whatever happens. I have the advantage of knowing the deal ahead of time. I'll probably never have a real body of my own again. Why get attached?"

She said, "I bet it's tempting to find someone you want to be and send them to the Inn first. Maybe someone who doesn't deserve what they've got in life."

I think that was meant to be a joke, but she said it very seriously. Like it was something she, herself, had considered.

"I wouldn't," I said firmly. "No matter what happened to me, it's not my place to make that decision." I do wish I could be that kind of asshole, but I at least have some conscience.

"Me too," she said, but added, "But we'll see how you feel a few years down the road."

It was Friday that Unlucky #13 arrived. I happened to be in my room when I heard an unfamiliar voice in the next room over. I wasn't sure who was in there already, but over the last two days or so I'd heard at least two sets of footsteps and two voices, both of which I assumed were women. The new one was male. He seemed to be apologizing for being late, and she was clearly displeased, but they didn't get into a loud fight or anything which was good. I decided to move to the common area in case they came out, so I could get a glimpse of them.

There were three people but it wasn't a man and two women. It was a husband, a wife, and a son of about 12 years old, busying himself with that Pokemon Go game. They had towels and sunscreen and such.

As they approached I tried to not focus on what was about to happen to them, especially the kid. I gave a nervous but friendly wave: "Heading to the beach?"

"Now that he's here, the vacation can finally begin," the wife said. The husband kind of laughed it off with a remark about work being too demanding but pulling himself away.

They were kind of a nice, cute couple, in that "Oh, my hubby is such a dolt but I love him anyway" kind of way.

"I'm Tyler by the way," I said, extending my hand, "My girlfriend and I are in the room next to yours. Let me know if you need anything."

"Um, thanks," the man said. "I'm Neil, this is Susan and our boy Dylan."


"Oh?" I said, "Sue was my mother's name." Well, one of them.

The conversation halted awkwardly and I let them get on their way. My stomach was churning for what was about to become of that boy. I can understand that the Inn's curse is inevitable and random and all, but man... who's ever running this place needs to stop branding it as a fun getaway for young families. That's just cruel.

They returned around sunset and we talked for maybe 20 minutes, about their cross-country road trip from Iowa, their lives and jobs (Neil works at Quaker Oats,) stuff like that. Kitty, Rosie and I were having a late dinner again, and we offered to share but they had already eaten. Neil explained his wife wasn't feeling well, and I wondered if that could be chalked up to the curse or not, since they were out all day. I was still feeling fine at this point, and Kitty was a lot nicer to the Neil family than to Abbie and Kendra... who came back shortly after dark, looking like they had been out hiking all day, burnt out, redfaced and ready to collapse.

It seemed like everyone was in for the night, so we hastily returned to our rooms to keep everything from being screwed up. Kitty either fell right asleep or played like she did, but I couldn't. I managed to sleep through the transformation twice before but I couldn't this time. When you're not totally exhausted, that whole sensation is very hard to ignore.

I tried to lie perfectly still so I didn't disturb Kitty, but it was hard. There was this steady pressing sensation into my body, like whatever I was becoming was inside me pushing out. It was hot under the covers so I kicked them off, but I kept my eyes clamped closed - the room was dark but I wanted to stay ignorant as long as possible.

I tried to keep my hands somewhere neutral, so I laid them on my abdomen. Alan's flat midsection was softening up. That could have meant anything. And my feet seemed to be retracting from the edge of the bed, but lots of guys are shorter than Alan.

But I was becoming aware that the person next to me seemed to be getting much larger. Or maybe just because I was getting so much smaller.

I can't tell you the precise order things happened in since it was all sort of going on at once. You feel a rustle of long hair down your ears and neck. You twist your hips and the responsive sway of your genitals isn't there anymore. And you know. You haven't seen yet but you know. I was right about what to expect. I cursed under my breath and sat up, brushing that long dark hair away from my face.

I sat over the edge of the bed. My feet just barely touching the floor. I wrapped my arms around my sides and tried to keep from breaking out into tears or something. I was ready for it, or at least I thought I was, but now it was real. I couldn't help but notice my hands - thin fingers tipped by somewhat-long, perfectly-shaped nails. I regarded them with a kind of dismay. This was not me... but it is, I guess.

It was quiet, still, but I knew that soon everyone would wake up and realize what had happened to them. My mind was abuzz with the possibilities, worst-case scenarios, life-ruining changes. I wanted to know right away what had happened next door, even more than I did this room.

And I would want to help, and yeah, I wanted to know more about this person I had become, but all I could think was "I need to sleep." The chaos could wait at least a couple of hours. Maybe I could wait until they had some of it figured out... and give myself some time to think of something to say...


I laid back down and rolled close to Kitty's new body next to me, a man who felt like he dwarfed me. I felt his lungs breathe in and out through his back and tried to let it soothe me to sleep.

Back again soon. This whole story has already taken half a day to write down with these nails in the way and there's much more to tell.

Tyler/Alan: Last Ride

One thing about knowing that there's a 50/50 chance on any given night here I might have to bid farewell to my gender again is that it has spurred me to take advantage of the situation. Kitty and I don't agree on a lot of things and we don't cooperate well at tasks like cooking, cleaning or grocery shopping, but there is one thing we have done well since the beginning. And I'm almost afraid to talk about it because of who might be reading.

I don't want to compare Kitty and Meghan, because it's like apples and oranges. What Meghan and I had... Physically, emotionally, spiritually, I will probably never get again. That doesn't change the fact that I screwed it up, and it also doesn't change the fact that more or less I'm "with" Kitty now. She clearly has decades of sedate, unfulfilling married life to get out of her system, memories of a long term partner who took her for granted, a new lease on life thanks to her transformation... Shit, it's no wonder she seems so reluctant to give it up.

It's clear that Kitty enjoys looking like Greta, the statuesque stunning Scandinavian type. To be frank, I think changing one's body can be healthy. Even if yours is perfectly good, having a new one for a while can reinvigorate your love for yourself. This doesn't just go for Kitty. I feel like Meghan's time as Tasha - another tall blonde buxom stunner - helped open her up a bit more. When she went back to being herself, she was a whole new woman, even though she was coming back to her same old self.

And for what it's worth, I still believe Meghan, the real one, is the most attractive woman I've ever laid my eyes on. Once, late at night as we were drifting off to sleep she asked if I would have preferred her looking like Tasha (supposing that was,an option, which it wasn't.) I took a look at her dark chocolate brown hair, cut just short enough to sweep over her eyes in that mischievous was, masking the glint that came from knowing she,was whip smart but not bragging about it... And I placed my hand on her hip, tgat wild extreme cutve that always invited me in... And I told her honestly, and I meant it from the bottom of my heart, absolutely not. But I loved her in whatever package I could have her in. I would see the beauty in her anywhere.

Maybe the Inn screws with people's minds, their chemistry, their sexualities, but some things as are beyond even that. I felt great affection in my heart for her when we were both women, when I was younger and smaller and slighter than her, and we were  not blood relations but close enough that it would have been a scandal. I grappled with that every day, even as I could feel Lauren's body pulling me into the psyche of a heterosexual teenage girl. And getting to fulfill that desire, even for a short time, made the whole misadventure a tad more worthwhile.

Bit things happened the way they did, my nature got the better of me. If I was a trifle less stubborn I reckon I could have stayed and worked it out. She was a sensible person. I was the damn fool who lost her. I ought to make my peace with that. It ain't likely I'll get the chance to put things right.

So here I am, lying next to Kitty/Greta in the early morning light on an August morning in Maine. Knowing it would hurt Meghan to see me with someone who looks this way. And knowing neither of us will look this way for much longer.

Tyler/Alan: Fun in the Sun

I've been trying to find a way to enjoy my time in Maine... the mild weather, the sea salt in the air, the scenery. But it's hard to really appreciate it with the cloud of dread hanging over me. The mystery of who I'll become in a few days. The fates of all the people I've seen here so far. Whether I'll be able to separate myself from Kitty.


It's been a very quiet week. We've almost had the whole place to ourselves. Which is kind of nice, I suppose - a quiet getaway before the storm erupts and we have to not only figure out our new lives but shepherd any newbies into this "lifestyle..."


Kitty has basically done nothing but lie around and complain. Complain about the weather, about not feeling well, about how long this is taking. About how I'm not good company... finally today, I encouraged her to get out, enjoy the sunshine, do some shopping... do anything. Once this curse hits there's probably not gonna be time and energy for recreation.


For a while, the only familiar person to show up was Rosie, who arrived the day after we did. I hadn't seen her since the fall when Meghan and I went down to NYC for an overnight trip. As Ahmir she and I are about eye-to-eye, but she looks to have about a hundred or more pounds on me. But he has a way of carrying himself like he wants to be smaller - which, remembering how Rosie originally looked, may be a habit she carried over. She's also rocking a shaved head look, telling me it was to give the real-Ahmir a fresh start, and because afros draw too much unwanted attention.


Bless her heart, the past year seems to have really triggered her anxiety.


The first thing she did when she got here was open all the bags in her room. At first she flipped out, because none of the clothes looked familiar, but there was a wallet with "her" I.D. and a letter signed by the interim Rosie.


I hesitated to examine the luggage left for me and Kitty at first. The Inn isn't an exact science, it seems, and what you seem to have laid out in front of you might not be the true end result. So I didn't want to open the nondescript black suitcase and find a bunch of clothes for a 25-year-old man and get my hopes up only to get girlified again. But at Kitty's behest, after the weekend, we took a look.


I was not pleased with the first thing I saw: bras and panties. They appeared to be freshly laundered, no travel-aroma attached to them. Some very flowery looking dresses. My heart sank. Please, let there be more to this. Give me even a sliver of hope.


We opened the next bag: men's wear. Dockers, jeans, cargo shorts, t-shirts. Not that far off from my size, although the waist could be smaller. Ok. So assuming this curse spreads things out in the same way from one time to the next, Kitty and I will be becoming a couple. A grown, married couple.


Which doesn't necessarily mean we'll be staying a couple as far as I'm concerned.


Which one of us gets to be which one... I mean, obviously I have a preference. But I can weather the storm if it ends up the other way. It looks like annual trips to the Inn is my life now, especially if, God above forbid, I have to spend another year on the female side of the fence. I just can't see myself settling down as that. But to be happy for a year? I don't need much. Just give me my own house, my own income, the room to make my own choices in life and I'll be fine I guess.


People have been trickling in since the weekend. Again, this seems like a strange way to do things, and I've been wondering if some were repeat-visitors with business to clear up, but no, I don't think so. Just random folks who couldn't make it up for the first weekend of the month.

Erin: Is this thing on?

I'm getting a weird vibe from this place. Those girls, Lauren and Tasha, keep exchanging weird looks and whispering something to each other but I can't figure out what they're going on about. They're nice, but also oddly guarded about what brought them to Maine, besides "Vacation."

They told me about this blog where people who stay at the Trading Post can share their experiences, but so far there haven't been many experiences worth sharing.

Of course, the blog itself is blocked from the Coffee Shop wifi I'm currently stealing for "pornography" so somebody must be having a good time here.

I'll start by telling my story: the short version. My name is Erin Henley. I'm 28, from deep in the heart of Indiana: a town so small it's hardly on the map. It's sort of a real-life Pawnee, for fans of Parks & Rec, except nobody as interesting as Leslie Knope lives there (I've met a few Ron Swansons over the years though.)

I swear I used to have ambitions to get out and be someone. (Or just be myself, somewhere other than Indiana.) Instead I ended up working for a food supply company in my hometown, in supply chain management, until recently, when my position was eliminated. I came out east to visit Rosie, my best friend since childhood, who has been going through some rough times lately. She has lived on the east coast for years, settling here after school, but she's always bounded around from job to job without really following her ambitions either, and neither of us are exactly winning in the romance department.

When she came to greet me in Portland, I hardly recognized her. She has put on, shall we say, a bit of weight since I last saw her five years ago (not that Facebook hadn't prepared me for this) and I don't want to jump to any conclusions, but I suspect it's tied to some depression issues she hasn't told me about. I don't want to be too much of a Pollyanna about it, but I hope this vacation will cheer her up. She knows I'm here for her.

It's been fairly relaxing. Not too exciting, but the weather has been good and we've met some good (if odd) people. Still waiting on the potential for that romance thing, but I guess eligible bachelors don't really come to dainty B&B's in Maine. Not to meet women anyway...

Hopefully tonight she'll finally be up for that bar crawl I've been begging her to come on since we first talked about this trip. Then maybe she'll spill about what's been bugging her lately.

Ciao!