Maybe I've been fooling myself, thinking that I can just become this new person. Trying to make this life my own. Living here, everyone already has this preconceived idea of who they think I am... who they think I should be. Every time I try to take a step forward at establishing my mark on this life, something seems to pull me back... prevent me from being me.
It was probably the anonymous comment about my life being "boring" that helped me the most, to realize just how much these defeats were draining me. I've settled into a dull, nearly lifeless existence. I never realized just how much I'd let this whole thing beat me down.
It took the help of some good friends to make me realize that my happiness, my health, relied upon my being able to be myself... whoever that may be. And that to do that, I need to move away from familiar faces, people who expect me to be someone else. I need to go somewhere where I'm free to discover myself... my life... my future.
I'm not sure where I'm going, or how long it'll take... and I don't know how often I'll be able to check-in... but this is something that I have to do. I have to find myself.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
Arthur/Penny: You have GOT to be kidding me.
I try not to be a total hypocrite about objectifying women. I have, after all, done my share of it in the past; I was, after all, a man. So when I meet a guy and he has a conversation with my chest, I tend to let it go. It is a bit uncomfortable for me, but getting upset about it tends to be counterproductive - not only are you focusing his attention on your breasts even more than it already was, but he's now less at-ease (which can be useful) and sometimes comes away from it thinking of you as a bitch (which is seldom useful). I've learned some tricks about it over the past year (it wasn't a big deal when living Liz's life, because she's a bit flat-chested and I was often standing next to Lyn and her eye-magnets). If you're sitting, stand, or vice versa; it changes the guy's eyeline and most men will realize that they've been impolite and make an effort afterward. Keep a scarf of wrap in your purse or desk draw for days when it's bugging you. That sort of thing.
Similarly, I don't act snippy when some girl is using what she got to her best advantage; I've enjoyed the benefits of that far too much in the past and, to be frank, still do, a little. Twenty-five-plus years of being trained to appreciate the female form doesn't just go away because something else is now supposed to excite you on a chemical level. I may have a little more insight on what a girl is going to get male attention, but I haven't found that makes me appreciate it less.
This is a roundabout way of trying to get you to believe me when I write that I did not resent the idea of spending the week filming bits about the "Spy Girls", the Stealth's dance team, to use as a feature story on the pregame segment of Saturday's game and during the recap programs, along with inserts during the game coverage.
It's been an interesting week. George was technically the producer, and he was good at making sure all the technical stuff was in place, but he gave me a pretty free hand with the interviews, arranged to do some new pick-up stuff based on what the girls said, and I'll be spending a good chunk of tomorrow with him in the editing room. It's a lot like writing a commissioned article, just with a lot of extra steps and different media; it came pretty naturally.
I liked the girls, too; I found out that many of them see this as a stepping-stone to a job with the Raiders or 49ers, or looking for modeling or television work. Some of them are just doing it part-time, because it's something the enjoyed in high school or because their nine to fives make them feel drab or uninteresting. I wound up giving a lot of Drew/Rick's business cards out to the first group, and I sympathized somewhat with the latter; I know what it's like to want something different from the life you're leading.
I was surprised by the intensity of some of them, though. Most of the cheerleaders I knew in high school were pretty cool people, but as Annabeth (not her real name) pointed out, there was likely at least one queen bitch among the cheerleaders I knew, and those were the ones that had ambitions to ride their looks, by and large, so there could be a lot of backbiting going on when I wasn't looking. It's like anything else - you may have been the best at something in school, but then you get fed into a situation where you're not just competing with the lesser lights who happened to live in the same town, but a whole ton of people who were the best around where they were.
Anyway, it was a lot of fun, the closest thing to actual journalism I've done while at CalSports, and sort of makes up for not getting chosen for the Tokyo trip.
Until this morning, when George tells me that one of the other producers had the idea that, since we were doing a theme of highlighting the dance squad this week, wouldn't it be neat if I wore the dance squad's outfit tomorrow? Sure, the camera doesn't point inside the booth that often, but it might be fun during pre and post!
I was not amused, to say the least. It is one thing to not mind when someone is checking you out, or understand the impulse, but asking me to do that is something else altogether. This felt like something I could actually be proud of, and they want me to make my body the focus of it? Not cool.
Still... George and "Rick" (Drew doesn't use his own name much these days) both say it would be good for me to be play up my attractiveness a little, demonstrate I'm a little more willing to use it. So I'll probably dress in the stupid cheerleader costume tomorrow night.
I've got no idea what Nell's father is going to think of this. At least my mother isn't around to see it.
-Art/Penny
Similarly, I don't act snippy when some girl is using what she got to her best advantage; I've enjoyed the benefits of that far too much in the past and, to be frank, still do, a little. Twenty-five-plus years of being trained to appreciate the female form doesn't just go away because something else is now supposed to excite you on a chemical level. I may have a little more insight on what a girl is going to get male attention, but I haven't found that makes me appreciate it less.
This is a roundabout way of trying to get you to believe me when I write that I did not resent the idea of spending the week filming bits about the "Spy Girls", the Stealth's dance team, to use as a feature story on the pregame segment of Saturday's game and during the recap programs, along with inserts during the game coverage.
It's been an interesting week. George was technically the producer, and he was good at making sure all the technical stuff was in place, but he gave me a pretty free hand with the interviews, arranged to do some new pick-up stuff based on what the girls said, and I'll be spending a good chunk of tomorrow with him in the editing room. It's a lot like writing a commissioned article, just with a lot of extra steps and different media; it came pretty naturally.
I liked the girls, too; I found out that many of them see this as a stepping-stone to a job with the Raiders or 49ers, or looking for modeling or television work. Some of them are just doing it part-time, because it's something the enjoyed in high school or because their nine to fives make them feel drab or uninteresting. I wound up giving a lot of Drew/Rick's business cards out to the first group, and I sympathized somewhat with the latter; I know what it's like to want something different from the life you're leading.
I was surprised by the intensity of some of them, though. Most of the cheerleaders I knew in high school were pretty cool people, but as Annabeth (not her real name) pointed out, there was likely at least one queen bitch among the cheerleaders I knew, and those were the ones that had ambitions to ride their looks, by and large, so there could be a lot of backbiting going on when I wasn't looking. It's like anything else - you may have been the best at something in school, but then you get fed into a situation where you're not just competing with the lesser lights who happened to live in the same town, but a whole ton of people who were the best around where they were.
Anyway, it was a lot of fun, the closest thing to actual journalism I've done while at CalSports, and sort of makes up for not getting chosen for the Tokyo trip.
Until this morning, when George tells me that one of the other producers had the idea that, since we were doing a theme of highlighting the dance squad this week, wouldn't it be neat if I wore the dance squad's outfit tomorrow? Sure, the camera doesn't point inside the booth that often, but it might be fun during pre and post!
I was not amused, to say the least. It is one thing to not mind when someone is checking you out, or understand the impulse, but asking me to do that is something else altogether. This felt like something I could actually be proud of, and they want me to make my body the focus of it? Not cool.
Still... George and "Rick" (Drew doesn't use his own name much these days) both say it would be good for me to be play up my attractiveness a little, demonstrate I'm a little more willing to use it. So I'll probably dress in the stupid cheerleader costume tomorrow night.
I've got no idea what Nell's father is going to think of this. At least my mother isn't around to see it.
-Art/Penny
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Jaci - Helping Kat
I left Nick's last night shortly after Kat had called his place. On the way home my cell rang. It was Kat. "You're never going to believe what just happened to me," she said. I said, "what?" She went on to tell me that she had met this guy a couple weeks ago and went on a motorcycle ride with him. She was totally confused about whether she liked or even could like him but wanted to at least explore the option. She then told me I called his house a little while ago and a girl answered. Apparently he already has a girlfriend. By this point bells and whistles were going off in my head. "Is his name Nick by any chance?" I asked Kat. Kat said, "Yes it is." I told Kat that I was the one she had talked to and I apologized for being so mean to her. Jealousy had reared its ugly head and made me snap at Kat without a real reason. So once again, Kat I'm sorry!
I've decided that Kat needs some help. I know she is sooo confused about the whole guy/dating thing but i think she just needs to step into it and give it a try. Maybe after a few dates with a couple of different guys she will feel more comfortable. I know it can't be easy for him, err, her.
There is a band playing at the bar in town this weekend and with it being St. Patrick's weekend it should be pretty busy. I think I will take Kat down and introduce her. I know that Trip knew a lot of the people that will be there but Kat never really went to the bar and to be quite honest needs a bit of help these days to step out of her shell.
I've decided that Kat needs some help. I know she is sooo confused about the whole guy/dating thing but i think she just needs to step into it and give it a try. Maybe after a few dates with a couple of different guys she will feel more comfortable. I know it can't be easy for him, err, her.
There is a band playing at the bar in town this weekend and with it being St. Patrick's weekend it should be pretty busy. I think I will take Kat down and introduce her. I know that Trip knew a lot of the people that will be there but Kat never really went to the bar and to be quite honest needs a bit of help these days to step out of her shell.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Jaci - My Man
So I have this great new guy. He is totally sweet and lovable. Who would have thought that such a guy really exists let alone around here. We went riding on his motorcycle today. I love the sense of freedom that I get when I'm on the back of a bike, even though I know my doctor would probably kick my butt if he knew what I was doing. There is no better feeling than the wind whipping through your hair as you snuggle up to a nice warm guy. After we got done riding we went back to Nick's place. He cooked me dinner, even catering to my craving...Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and gravy. Who can beat that? We cuddled on the couch after dinner and watched The Bourne Ultimatum.
Imagine my surprise when the phone rang and Nick asked me to answer it. I was never more shocked than to hear Kat's voice on the line asking for Nick. I think I bared my fangs just a bit when I said, "What are you doing calling my man?" Nick looked shocked. I glared at him wanting an answer. I put Kat on speaker phone but didn't tell her. Nick and I listened as Kat fumbled for a reply. "Um, uh, is this the number for the Nick that lives on Lake St?" "Yes it is, " I replied. Kat said, "I didn't know he was dating anyone. I'm sorry," and hung up. I put the phone back and looked at Nick. Nick said, "I gave her a ride on a my bike a while back but thats it. " "Its all right I trust you," I replied. What truly amazed me was that I really do trust Nick. He accepts me for who I am and he's totally enthralled with the idea of the babies. He loves it when they kick and he can feel them. Its so nice to have someone to share this with.
Imagine my surprise when the phone rang and Nick asked me to answer it. I was never more shocked than to hear Kat's voice on the line asking for Nick. I think I bared my fangs just a bit when I said, "What are you doing calling my man?" Nick looked shocked. I glared at him wanting an answer. I put Kat on speaker phone but didn't tell her. Nick and I listened as Kat fumbled for a reply. "Um, uh, is this the number for the Nick that lives on Lake St?" "Yes it is, " I replied. Kat said, "I didn't know he was dating anyone. I'm sorry," and hung up. I put the phone back and looked at Nick. Nick said, "I gave her a ride on a my bike a while back but thats it. " "Its all right I trust you," I replied. What truly amazed me was that I really do trust Nick. He accepts me for who I am and he's totally enthralled with the idea of the babies. He loves it when they kick and he can feel them. Its so nice to have someone to share this with.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Arthur/Penny: Rejected!
Man, am I glad for the team to have a off week right now. February has been ridiculously busy, as even though there were only three games (and no crazy parts of the schedule where the Stealth is playing at home in San Jose one day and then up in Canada the next), I've had to do a lot of anchor work because a good chunk of the rest of the on-air talent is covering spring training for the A's and Giants, or covering basketball and hockey. February and March are a time when the network's staff gets spread pretty thin, so I'm at the desk a lot.
And that's part of why I won't be getting to go to Tokyo. George told me yesterday, saying that since they don't actually broadcast the games, they can only really justify sending a two-person team (talent and camera/sound), and they're opting for one of the people they have who are more closely associated with baseball, who have been around the team during spring training, etc.
I guess that's reasonable, but it's disappointing. Less reasonable was the part that he sort of joked about, that the cameraman would wind up having trouble fitting me and any Japanese people I interviewed or profiled in frame. I actually wouldn't be surprised if this was the actual reason, because it does make sense from a certain aesthetic point of view - I'm a six-foot-tall woman, and there are guys who get uncomfortable being interviewed by me on-camera. I've been there, and I can say from first-hand experience that the male of the species does sometimes respond badly to having to look up to a woman. Heck, I've exploited it at times.
But this really does wind up gnawing at me, because as much as I've come to accept that this is going to be my life from now on, and I like being tall and strong and healthy, I hate being treated like a freak. I already know I am one, but nobody knows it goes deeper than being a sort of tomboy.
If that's not enough, I've been getting rejection letters for my book. I'm not totally surprised; it's my first real attempt to write a novel, and structuring a good mystery turns out to be really hard. Still, it's hard to take, especially having someone else's form as I do. I always used to say that I didn't work on spec much because it's just bad use of one's time to do the thing you get paid for without getting paid when you could be doing a paying gig, and for the most part I believed it. Of course, it's also been so long since I did spec work that I've forgotten just how painfully personal each rejection can be. It sucks being told that you're not good enough, and when you submit to multiple places, you get told again... and again... and again.
I actually cried when I got the first rejection letter, and then had a panic attack over whether that was an Inn thing - had I been female so long that I was starting to react like one? Had becoming a girl changed my body that much, so that I'd react to failure with tears and self-doubt purely because of endocrinology? I don't think so, but how can I know? And now that I have actually cried over that, what's it mean? Does it mean that my sex is asserting these sorts of responses, or would I be crying over it if I were still a man? There seems to be no right answer.
Some of the reasons really wound up bugging me, too. On the one hand, I know I'm not really great at fiction yet, so I should be able to accept being rejected on merit. Still, some of what's in the letters has really bugged me:
* "We have no place for new authors in our mystery imprint's publishing schedule."
* "As much as we like your concept, we do not feel that your name has national visibility."
* "We think the book has real promise; have you considered working with a co-writer?"
* "... a ghost writer?"
A ghost writer... I threw a bit of a tantrum at that; calling Drew and telling him not to send anything to that publisher the next time around. He talked me down from that, reasonably pointing out that it's not a good idea to hold grudges against corporations, but undid a lot of good will by saying that I'd face nothing but frustration if I kept trying to live my old life. Be a sportscaster and spokesperson, he says - you've got the face, voice, and body to be a good one and you'll be happier just going with the flow. Otherwise, you'll drive yourself nuts trying to be something you no longer are.
Suffice it to say, he hasn't been getting any for the last week. In a world where a stripper can win an Oscar, I figure I can write a few mystery novels.
-Art/Penny
And that's part of why I won't be getting to go to Tokyo. George told me yesterday, saying that since they don't actually broadcast the games, they can only really justify sending a two-person team (talent and camera/sound), and they're opting for one of the people they have who are more closely associated with baseball, who have been around the team during spring training, etc.
I guess that's reasonable, but it's disappointing. Less reasonable was the part that he sort of joked about, that the cameraman would wind up having trouble fitting me and any Japanese people I interviewed or profiled in frame. I actually wouldn't be surprised if this was the actual reason, because it does make sense from a certain aesthetic point of view - I'm a six-foot-tall woman, and there are guys who get uncomfortable being interviewed by me on-camera. I've been there, and I can say from first-hand experience that the male of the species does sometimes respond badly to having to look up to a woman. Heck, I've exploited it at times.
But this really does wind up gnawing at me, because as much as I've come to accept that this is going to be my life from now on, and I like being tall and strong and healthy, I hate being treated like a freak. I already know I am one, but nobody knows it goes deeper than being a sort of tomboy.
If that's not enough, I've been getting rejection letters for my book. I'm not totally surprised; it's my first real attempt to write a novel, and structuring a good mystery turns out to be really hard. Still, it's hard to take, especially having someone else's form as I do. I always used to say that I didn't work on spec much because it's just bad use of one's time to do the thing you get paid for without getting paid when you could be doing a paying gig, and for the most part I believed it. Of course, it's also been so long since I did spec work that I've forgotten just how painfully personal each rejection can be. It sucks being told that you're not good enough, and when you submit to multiple places, you get told again... and again... and again.
I actually cried when I got the first rejection letter, and then had a panic attack over whether that was an Inn thing - had I been female so long that I was starting to react like one? Had becoming a girl changed my body that much, so that I'd react to failure with tears and self-doubt purely because of endocrinology? I don't think so, but how can I know? And now that I have actually cried over that, what's it mean? Does it mean that my sex is asserting these sorts of responses, or would I be crying over it if I were still a man? There seems to be no right answer.
Some of the reasons really wound up bugging me, too. On the one hand, I know I'm not really great at fiction yet, so I should be able to accept being rejected on merit. Still, some of what's in the letters has really bugged me:
* "We have no place for new authors in our mystery imprint's publishing schedule."
* "As much as we like your concept, we do not feel that your name has national visibility."
* "We think the book has real promise; have you considered working with a co-writer?"
* "... a ghost writer?"
A ghost writer... I threw a bit of a tantrum at that; calling Drew and telling him not to send anything to that publisher the next time around. He talked me down from that, reasonably pointing out that it's not a good idea to hold grudges against corporations, but undid a lot of good will by saying that I'd face nothing but frustration if I kept trying to live my old life. Be a sportscaster and spokesperson, he says - you've got the face, voice, and body to be a good one and you'll be happier just going with the flow. Otherwise, you'll drive yourself nuts trying to be something you no longer are.
Suffice it to say, he hasn't been getting any for the last week. In a world where a stripper can win an Oscar, I figure I can write a few mystery novels.
-Art/Penny
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Kat - Damn the torpedoes...
Saturday was a beautiful day, and once you get past the melt water on top of the ice, it was a pretty nice day for a walk. Saturday afternoon, I ditched the dogs and the family to have a little walk around the lake... a little alone time.
Anyhow, I wasn't the only one taking advantage of the abnormally-warm weather. There was Nick, who had this sweet, Electric-Blue, Victory motorcycle. Now I'd just recently started to look for a bike of my own last year when my life took an unexpected turn. I'd decided to forgo the over-played Harleys and the Indian's weren't quite my style, so the Victory bikes were certainly on my very short list for consideration.
I may be a girl now, but that is certainly no reason to stop thinking about motorcycles. Well, Nick's bike caught my eye and he was already talking to a friend of mine. I couldn't help myself, I wanted to find out if the Victory would be worth owning. I asked some questions, and soon realized that I had his full attention. I decided that this was a good thing, and that I could probably coax him into letting me take it for a spin.
I should have thought my words out a bit more clearly... "I'd sure love to ride it" isn't exactly the smartest thing for a girl to say to a guy. And while a line like that from a guy would likely have garnered the same meaning as "Hey man, mind if I take it around the block?", coming from an attractive girl it apparently sounds like "Please take me for a ride." But it was the double entendre of that line that embarrassed me enough that I just wanted to get it over with. So I didn't try to explain or otherwise draw-out the moment, I just accepted the offer.
It may have been a beautiful day for the middle of winter in Iowa, but it was still cold. Cold enough that I was happy to be able to hide behind someone bigger than I. He was like a big wind-breaker. I thought for sure that he was going to have fun smashing my breasts into him and getting me to hold on to him tighter, but he didn't - he was a very courteous host.
As we rode around the lake, I had to allow myself to experience the ride as a girl... as a girl who might be interested in this guy. I mean, Nick is pretty nice guy, and for a guy I guess he's pretty good-looking... if I let my body do the talking, I could feel that there was some physical attraction there. So, I decided to let my mind drift a bit... pondered upon if we were dating... would he be my type of guy? I tried to imagine him holding my hands as I held him tightly from behind. I don't know how long I was caught-up in those thoughts, but I realized that I'd laid my head against his back in sort of a blissful daze. I'm guessing that he had to have known that I'd gotten pretty comfortable back there, I'm sure I would have, had I been in his position. He was gentleman enough not to mention a word.
Saturday night I fell asleep early... dreaming about holding on tightly to Nick.
By dinner-time Sunday, Trip had already heard about my ride, and started to rib me about it... started, that is. Then he seemed to sense my unease about the whole issue and we, and later Jadyn, talked quite a bit about it.
Monday, the Iowa winter returned and Trip & Jadyn decided to drag me away from home for supper... to Nick's house. Apparently, I'm being set-up with Nick. I have to admit, the supper was pretty good, and the company couldn't have been better. With Trip and Jadyn there, I felt pretty comfortable too. I knew that nothing bad or extreme was going to happen, just supper and some pleasant conversation.
It was strange. For the first time, I really got to see Trip and Jadyn come together in a romantic-type way. I have to admit, they do make a cute couple - but it's still really, really weird to see someone else in that body... living a life that was supposed to be mine. Maybe I'm an idiot, but I really need to move on, to live what is now my life... anyhow, I wanted to feel that... to know again the euphoria that comes from loving someone like that. I tried to warm to Nick and let myself be open to the possibility of pursuing a meaningful relationship with him.
It's kinda' weird, to be the girl... but the feeling is mostly the same. The feeling that someone fancies you and is trying to keep your attention. Still, I don't know if this is going to work well - I feel like he is doing all the giving... all the work, and I'm just selfishly playing along... going through the motions. This is a good next-step for me, I think. I just hope that I don't hurt Nick in the process, he's way too nice of a guy. Maybe he'll sense that I'm not really into him and I won't have to worry about it. I'm not sure I want that either. Maybe I'm just asking for too much, too soon. But if I don't start somewhere... just jump right in, then I guess I may never know. God (and Nick) forgive me if I'm wrong.
Anyhow, I wasn't the only one taking advantage of the abnormally-warm weather. There was Nick, who had this sweet, Electric-Blue, Victory motorcycle. Now I'd just recently started to look for a bike of my own last year when my life took an unexpected turn. I'd decided to forgo the over-played Harleys and the Indian's weren't quite my style, so the Victory bikes were certainly on my very short list for consideration.
I may be a girl now, but that is certainly no reason to stop thinking about motorcycles. Well, Nick's bike caught my eye and he was already talking to a friend of mine. I couldn't help myself, I wanted to find out if the Victory would be worth owning. I asked some questions, and soon realized that I had his full attention. I decided that this was a good thing, and that I could probably coax him into letting me take it for a spin.
I should have thought my words out a bit more clearly... "I'd sure love to ride it" isn't exactly the smartest thing for a girl to say to a guy. And while a line like that from a guy would likely have garnered the same meaning as "Hey man, mind if I take it around the block?", coming from an attractive girl it apparently sounds like "Please take me for a ride." But it was the double entendre of that line that embarrassed me enough that I just wanted to get it over with. So I didn't try to explain or otherwise draw-out the moment, I just accepted the offer.
It may have been a beautiful day for the middle of winter in Iowa, but it was still cold. Cold enough that I was happy to be able to hide behind someone bigger than I. He was like a big wind-breaker. I thought for sure that he was going to have fun smashing my breasts into him and getting me to hold on to him tighter, but he didn't - he was a very courteous host.
As we rode around the lake, I had to allow myself to experience the ride as a girl... as a girl who might be interested in this guy. I mean, Nick is pretty nice guy, and for a guy I guess he's pretty good-looking... if I let my body do the talking, I could feel that there was some physical attraction there. So, I decided to let my mind drift a bit... pondered upon if we were dating... would he be my type of guy? I tried to imagine him holding my hands as I held him tightly from behind. I don't know how long I was caught-up in those thoughts, but I realized that I'd laid my head against his back in sort of a blissful daze. I'm guessing that he had to have known that I'd gotten pretty comfortable back there, I'm sure I would have, had I been in his position. He was gentleman enough not to mention a word.
Saturday night I fell asleep early... dreaming about holding on tightly to Nick.
By dinner-time Sunday, Trip had already heard about my ride, and started to rib me about it... started, that is. Then he seemed to sense my unease about the whole issue and we, and later Jadyn, talked quite a bit about it.
Monday, the Iowa winter returned and Trip & Jadyn decided to drag me away from home for supper... to Nick's house. Apparently, I'm being set-up with Nick. I have to admit, the supper was pretty good, and the company couldn't have been better. With Trip and Jadyn there, I felt pretty comfortable too. I knew that nothing bad or extreme was going to happen, just supper and some pleasant conversation.
It was strange. For the first time, I really got to see Trip and Jadyn come together in a romantic-type way. I have to admit, they do make a cute couple - but it's still really, really weird to see someone else in that body... living a life that was supposed to be mine. Maybe I'm an idiot, but I really need to move on, to live what is now my life... anyhow, I wanted to feel that... to know again the euphoria that comes from loving someone like that. I tried to warm to Nick and let myself be open to the possibility of pursuing a meaningful relationship with him.
It's kinda' weird, to be the girl... but the feeling is mostly the same. The feeling that someone fancies you and is trying to keep your attention. Still, I don't know if this is going to work well - I feel like he is doing all the giving... all the work, and I'm just selfishly playing along... going through the motions. This is a good next-step for me, I think. I just hope that I don't hurt Nick in the process, he's way too nice of a guy. Maybe he'll sense that I'm not really into him and I won't have to worry about it. I'm not sure I want that either. Maybe I'm just asking for too much, too soon. But if I don't start somewhere... just jump right in, then I guess I may never know. God (and Nick) forgive me if I'm wrong.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Jaci - Furniture Assembly 101
Sorry it has been so long since you all have heard from me. Life has been super hectic. As I'm sure you know by now thanks to Kat's runaway mouth I'm pregnant....with twins! So I've been scrambling to collect baby things and clothes. Man are kids expensive!
So today I invited Kat over for one of my home cooked meals. We made a plan dinner at noon and then to get things organized for the babies. So I cooked meatloaf and cheesy mashed potatoes, one of Trips favorite meals. Kat arrived late like usual but did i really expect anything else. We ate dinner and Kat only grumbled slightly about the lack of places to sit. I pointed out all of the things for the babies taking up space in the living room. That is when we decided to assemble the crib. Talk about an adventure. We assembled and disassembled the bed 3 times before we got it together right. Luckily no blood was drawn. Kat did make fun of me though because my new, "preppy mom" finger nails kept getting in my way, til she broke one of her own.
So today I invited Kat over for one of my home cooked meals. We made a plan dinner at noon and then to get things organized for the babies. So I cooked meatloaf and cheesy mashed potatoes, one of Trips favorite meals. Kat arrived late like usual but did i really expect anything else. We ate dinner and Kat only grumbled slightly about the lack of places to sit. I pointed out all of the things for the babies taking up space in the living room. That is when we decided to assemble the crib. Talk about an adventure. We assembled and disassembled the bed 3 times before we got it together right. Luckily no blood was drawn. Kat did make fun of me though because my new, "preppy mom" finger nails kept getting in my way, til she broke one of her own.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Kat - Valentine's Day
I've never liked being single during Valentine's Day. I still don't.
There's still a part of me that is quite pleased that I'm not going to be making-out with some guy tonight. But that part is becoming more and more quiet compared to my desire to actually feel like part of something special. Or maybe it's just not wanting to feel so 'different'. I don't know.
I do know that it doesn't feel fair that, after all the years of trying to make Valentine's Day special for my various girlfriends (and girl friends), I get nothing at all now that I'm a girl. Where's the karma in that?
Being alone on St. Valentine's Day still sucks.
There's still a part of me that is quite pleased that I'm not going to be making-out with some guy tonight. But that part is becoming more and more quiet compared to my desire to actually feel like part of something special. Or maybe it's just not wanting to feel so 'different'. I don't know.
I do know that it doesn't feel fair that, after all the years of trying to make Valentine's Day special for my various girlfriends (and girl friends), I get nothing at all now that I'm a girl. Where's the karma in that?
Being alone on St. Valentine's Day still sucks.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Jessica: Family reunion
I've been putting off writing this stuff up because I wasn't sure how I felt about sharing it. Art, Ashlyn, and some of the others have all met predecessors and successors and written about it soon afterward. Maybe it's different if you've been waiting and both you and he have settled into your new lives. Maybe I'm still having a hard time believing that it's even possible to talk about this. Or maybe I just don't have words for what this whole thing means.
After I called Mom to find out whether or not it was okay for me to bring guests home for Christmas, Parker did her thing, arranging for flights, hotel rooms for her and Dana, and a rental car. It was an impressive job, but she said it wasn't a big deal - handling that sort of arrangement is pretty much the definition of a personal assistant's job, and her boss regularly asks her to arrange weirder things than a few days in Boston.
"You must be good at it," I say. "I remember that Dina's father - Dina's the one who became Mindy - was in over his head as an event co-ordinator, but your skills must have been pretty transferable."
"Yeah, I think that was our one bit of good luck. I think Parker was initially hired for the job I inherited based on her looks, but I was able to build on that. If you'll pardon some advice from a younger woman, don't be afraid of using that unfair advantage in your head. Nobody questions when you're too competent. You said you were a cop in your old life; are you planning to do something similar?"
"Law school, eventually. I loved being a cop, but I don't know if I'd trust myself in this body; even now, I'll sometimes act like I'm still as strong as I was, and that's no business to not know your limits."
"Trust me, that goes for everything." She didn't elaborate, and I let it go.
Louisa dropped us off at the airport that evening, promising to take care of my car until I got back and thanking Parker for letting her crash at her house until she found her own place. Parker said she was glad to, and hoped Louisa would stick around for a while, and she'd help with work and a work visa if that was necessary.
I waited for Dana and Parker to enter the gate area before giving Louisa a big hug. "Five months ago, I'd never have imagined it would turn out like this. Finding Dina and Dana--" I laughed at that, catching it for the first time. "-- learning what we have... It's almost bigger than when I changed, if you can believe that. Anyway, I'll be back here in a couple of weeks, and when we find a lead on Marie, I don't care what sort of lectures or tests or anything else I've got, I'll be all over it, you understand?" She did, and I hugged her again. Then I went to join the others.
* * *
The plane ride from LAX to Logan seemed nearly as long as the drive in the opposite direction had taken. Dana somehow fell asleep right away, but Parker flagged a stewardess down early for a drink. She just looked at Dana instead of drinking it at first, though. "I don't know if I could do this alone."
"Excuse me?"
"I still have days where I feel like a giant fake, but I can come home and see Dana practicing free throws, totally natural, and it makes me feel okay. I know he's going to go off to college next year, and I'm preparing myself for that, but we're about to meet his mother..." She took a sip. "I never asked him to call me Mom. I insisted he call me Parker, at first, in fact, and I wonder if that's just encouraging him to leave me at this first chance..."
"I sort of feel the same way. It's kind of pathetic, at my age, to be worried about what some woman I initially resisted thinking of as my mother thinks, but..."
* * *
As you might imagine, we were all plenty nervous when we got off the plane. I'd called ahead with the gate number, so I knew Mom would be waiting, but I couldn't see her in the crowd. Dana's got a foot on me, though, and when he froze, I followed his gaze and saw her. I took his hand, nodded, and led him and Parker through the crowd.
"Hi, Mom. I've got someone here you might like to meet."
Mom was speechless, and we just stood there until Dana reached out to hug his original mother. I didn't have time to feel left out, as Mom reached out from the bear hug and pulled me in.
"I can't believe... Is it really you?"
"It is, Mom. I've missed you... I didn't even know how much."
I saw Parker looking uncomfortable out of the corner of my eye, so I cleared my throat and broke the clutch up a little. "Parker, you remember--"
"Kathleen!" Mom looked a bit confused as this strange woman grabbed her, and then realized.
"Molly?"
"Barry."
Mom was a bit taken aback by that, then looked at the three of us. "Does it always...?"
I laughed. "Not always, just half the time. You remember Louisa, and Molly's still female, although... Well, it's weird."
"That's an understatement!" She looked at Dana some more. "I can't believe my little girl... Although neither of those words fits you any more, do they?"
Dana laughed. "Not really. But it's cool. I can't imagine my life going any other way, now." He realized how it sounded, and then started to apologize.
"Don't worry. I can't imagine having a normal daughter, so we're even." I gave her the exaggerated eye-rolling "Mooooooooooooom!", and we all laughed, and agreed to see what sort of places were open for breakfast on Christmas Eve.
* * *
We ate, Parker and Dana went to check into their hotel, and Mom and I decided to stick around Boston to do some last minute Christmas shopping. I wished I had time to see Ashlyn then, but Mom insisted we get home early, because there was baking to be done.
* * *
I had groaned at that, but it paid off when the Costellos arrived the next morning. Dana was carrying a stack of presents that must have weighed more than I do, but he dropped them all when we went through the kitchen. He grabbed a peanut butter cookie with an imbedded Hershey's Kiss in each hand and started shoveling them in his mouth. "You remembered!"
"Of course I did - although you weren't able to put them away like that before! I should have known something was up when this kid wasn't asking to lick beaters any more."
Dana seemed to ignore the last part, but smiled at the rest. "You are one of the two best moms ever!"
Hearing that made Parker and Mom both feel good.
We went to the living room to open presents. I laughed at the Lakers shirt Dana gave me, especially when he explained that it would provide good camouflage at school. Also because I'd gotten him a Paul Pierce jersey. Because, you know, likewise. I also got him a great big unicorn poster, leading to him warning Parker that no-one must ever know. The biggest laugh came when Parker unwrapped her present from Mom, a mirror with the Playboy logo across the top, so that if looked like a magazine cover. Dana and I didn't really get it.
"Barry was a huge breast man, and I just thought, seeing him with those..."
"Hey, they're the best money can buy!"
Mom wasn't expecting that! "You got implants?"
"Would you rather I was a total hypocrite?" Mom sort of shrug-laughed, while Dana looked uncomfortable, but Parker went on. "No, after a couple years, when I knew this was going to be my life, and everyone in L.A. seemed to wear plunging necklines that showed off more, younger cleavage than I had, I thought, why not? It was sort of the last step in accepting who I was."
"Yeah, well, I don't quite see how plastic surgery can be construed as accepting who you are, but if it makes you happy. Still, Jessica--"
Dana and I both answered "not a chance in hell!" simultaneously and laughed at it. Dana answered awkwardly that it was my body, but he wouldn't be thinking that way if it was still his, and I said I'd always been a leg man, anyway. But I still didn't like high heels.
We left the living room a mess of shredded paper while we waited for the ham to finish cooking. The half-dozen cookies Dana ate in the meantime didn't seem to diminish his appetite.
* * *
I wish I hadn't waited so long to write this down; I can't remember as many details of the next couple days, and now I wish I did. We had a good time - I introduced "my friend from California" to my friends from high school. Dana pointed out that I didn't have many of the same friends he had when this was his life, but that he liked the sort of sporty girls I hung out with, and wondered what it would have been like if we'd never visited the Inn. Would these have been his friends, or would he have grown up a total girly-girl? He seemed kind of revolted by the concept.
Mom and Parker did the same thing, although it was harder on Parker, because Mom still did have many of the same friends that she'd had nine years ago. She had two margaritas to Mom's one that night, but assured Dana that it wouldn't be an problem.
They went home on Thursday; Dana had one of those holiday basketball tournaments over the weekend.
I haven't yet stopped by to see them since arriving here; school has had me slammed. I have seen Louisa; she told me about her visit with Art/Penny; I'm going to have to find a chance to see the new Art.
So... That's me caught up. What's up with the rest of you?
-Jessica
After I called Mom to find out whether or not it was okay for me to bring guests home for Christmas, Parker did her thing, arranging for flights, hotel rooms for her and Dana, and a rental car. It was an impressive job, but she said it wasn't a big deal - handling that sort of arrangement is pretty much the definition of a personal assistant's job, and her boss regularly asks her to arrange weirder things than a few days in Boston.
"You must be good at it," I say. "I remember that Dina's father - Dina's the one who became Mindy - was in over his head as an event co-ordinator, but your skills must have been pretty transferable."
"Yeah, I think that was our one bit of good luck. I think Parker was initially hired for the job I inherited based on her looks, but I was able to build on that. If you'll pardon some advice from a younger woman, don't be afraid of using that unfair advantage in your head. Nobody questions when you're too competent. You said you were a cop in your old life; are you planning to do something similar?"
"Law school, eventually. I loved being a cop, but I don't know if I'd trust myself in this body; even now, I'll sometimes act like I'm still as strong as I was, and that's no business to not know your limits."
"Trust me, that goes for everything." She didn't elaborate, and I let it go.
Louisa dropped us off at the airport that evening, promising to take care of my car until I got back and thanking Parker for letting her crash at her house until she found her own place. Parker said she was glad to, and hoped Louisa would stick around for a while, and she'd help with work and a work visa if that was necessary.
I waited for Dana and Parker to enter the gate area before giving Louisa a big hug. "Five months ago, I'd never have imagined it would turn out like this. Finding Dina and Dana--" I laughed at that, catching it for the first time. "-- learning what we have... It's almost bigger than when I changed, if you can believe that. Anyway, I'll be back here in a couple of weeks, and when we find a lead on Marie, I don't care what sort of lectures or tests or anything else I've got, I'll be all over it, you understand?" She did, and I hugged her again. Then I went to join the others.
* * *
The plane ride from LAX to Logan seemed nearly as long as the drive in the opposite direction had taken. Dana somehow fell asleep right away, but Parker flagged a stewardess down early for a drink. She just looked at Dana instead of drinking it at first, though. "I don't know if I could do this alone."
"Excuse me?"
"I still have days where I feel like a giant fake, but I can come home and see Dana practicing free throws, totally natural, and it makes me feel okay. I know he's going to go off to college next year, and I'm preparing myself for that, but we're about to meet his mother..." She took a sip. "I never asked him to call me Mom. I insisted he call me Parker, at first, in fact, and I wonder if that's just encouraging him to leave me at this first chance..."
"I sort of feel the same way. It's kind of pathetic, at my age, to be worried about what some woman I initially resisted thinking of as my mother thinks, but..."
* * *
As you might imagine, we were all plenty nervous when we got off the plane. I'd called ahead with the gate number, so I knew Mom would be waiting, but I couldn't see her in the crowd. Dana's got a foot on me, though, and when he froze, I followed his gaze and saw her. I took his hand, nodded, and led him and Parker through the crowd.
"Hi, Mom. I've got someone here you might like to meet."
Mom was speechless, and we just stood there until Dana reached out to hug his original mother. I didn't have time to feel left out, as Mom reached out from the bear hug and pulled me in.
"I can't believe... Is it really you?"
"It is, Mom. I've missed you... I didn't even know how much."
I saw Parker looking uncomfortable out of the corner of my eye, so I cleared my throat and broke the clutch up a little. "Parker, you remember--"
"Kathleen!" Mom looked a bit confused as this strange woman grabbed her, and then realized.
"Molly?"
"Barry."
Mom was a bit taken aback by that, then looked at the three of us. "Does it always...?"
I laughed. "Not always, just half the time. You remember Louisa, and Molly's still female, although... Well, it's weird."
"That's an understatement!" She looked at Dana some more. "I can't believe my little girl... Although neither of those words fits you any more, do they?"
Dana laughed. "Not really. But it's cool. I can't imagine my life going any other way, now." He realized how it sounded, and then started to apologize.
"Don't worry. I can't imagine having a normal daughter, so we're even." I gave her the exaggerated eye-rolling "Mooooooooooooom!", and we all laughed, and agreed to see what sort of places were open for breakfast on Christmas Eve.
* * *
We ate, Parker and Dana went to check into their hotel, and Mom and I decided to stick around Boston to do some last minute Christmas shopping. I wished I had time to see Ashlyn then, but Mom insisted we get home early, because there was baking to be done.
* * *
I had groaned at that, but it paid off when the Costellos arrived the next morning. Dana was carrying a stack of presents that must have weighed more than I do, but he dropped them all when we went through the kitchen. He grabbed a peanut butter cookie with an imbedded Hershey's Kiss in each hand and started shoveling them in his mouth. "You remembered!"
"Of course I did - although you weren't able to put them away like that before! I should have known something was up when this kid wasn't asking to lick beaters any more."
Dana seemed to ignore the last part, but smiled at the rest. "You are one of the two best moms ever!"
Hearing that made Parker and Mom both feel good.
We went to the living room to open presents. I laughed at the Lakers shirt Dana gave me, especially when he explained that it would provide good camouflage at school. Also because I'd gotten him a Paul Pierce jersey. Because, you know, likewise. I also got him a great big unicorn poster, leading to him warning Parker that no-one must ever know. The biggest laugh came when Parker unwrapped her present from Mom, a mirror with the Playboy logo across the top, so that if looked like a magazine cover. Dana and I didn't really get it.
"Barry was a huge breast man, and I just thought, seeing him with those..."
"Hey, they're the best money can buy!"
Mom wasn't expecting that! "You got implants?"
"Would you rather I was a total hypocrite?" Mom sort of shrug-laughed, while Dana looked uncomfortable, but Parker went on. "No, after a couple years, when I knew this was going to be my life, and everyone in L.A. seemed to wear plunging necklines that showed off more, younger cleavage than I had, I thought, why not? It was sort of the last step in accepting who I was."
"Yeah, well, I don't quite see how plastic surgery can be construed as accepting who you are, but if it makes you happy. Still, Jessica--"
Dana and I both answered "not a chance in hell!" simultaneously and laughed at it. Dana answered awkwardly that it was my body, but he wouldn't be thinking that way if it was still his, and I said I'd always been a leg man, anyway. But I still didn't like high heels.
We left the living room a mess of shredded paper while we waited for the ham to finish cooking. The half-dozen cookies Dana ate in the meantime didn't seem to diminish his appetite.
* * *
I wish I hadn't waited so long to write this down; I can't remember as many details of the next couple days, and now I wish I did. We had a good time - I introduced "my friend from California" to my friends from high school. Dana pointed out that I didn't have many of the same friends he had when this was his life, but that he liked the sort of sporty girls I hung out with, and wondered what it would have been like if we'd never visited the Inn. Would these have been his friends, or would he have grown up a total girly-girl? He seemed kind of revolted by the concept.
Mom and Parker did the same thing, although it was harder on Parker, because Mom still did have many of the same friends that she'd had nine years ago. She had two margaritas to Mom's one that night, but assured Dana that it wouldn't be an problem.
They went home on Thursday; Dana had one of those holiday basketball tournaments over the weekend.
I haven't yet stopped by to see them since arriving here; school has had me slammed. I have seen Louisa; she told me about her visit with Art/Penny; I'm going to have to find a chance to see the new Art.
So... That's me caught up. What's up with the rest of you?
-Jessica
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Kat - Still struggling to let go
Jeff's post really opened my eyes. Even after trying to take ownership of this life I'm living - trying to make it my own. I guess there's just some part of the me that refuses to let go.
I'd like to say that it's just being afraid of losing myself, of not being me. But that doesn't make much sense anymore.
As much as I'm trying to be who I am now, there's apparently some part of me that still pushes me to try to be the same Kat everyone knew before last spring. I seem to keep forgetting that I'm not that person, nor am I the same man I remember being before that fateful trip to the Inn.
I guess I'm just stubborn. Refusing to change, even when faced with overwhelming evidence... reason to do so. Even after convincing myself that I'm going to change... going to embrace this life as my own - it seems that I'm somehow either unwilling or unable to do so.
I guess I've always been a cautious person, and I'm still scared of what my future holds.
I think about what I want my life to like be in 5, 10, 20, 50 years... and I'm not really sure I know. Last year, I could easily answer that question. Now, everything is different. Well, I guess not everything. I could still make a comfortable living working with computers. Hell, I could even try programming, or some other technology field if I wanted to. As Kat, I have a couple years worth of general college credits, with no real focus... I could easily pursue pretty-much whatever path I choose.
It's the personal-life stuff - the dating and romance, marriage and family, that concerns me. No matter how I look at it, I just can't get used to the idea of being with a guy in an intimate way. Sure, I know that this body seems to like the idea - and I know that if I accept this new life, my own personal values dictate my partnering with a man and not another woman. It's just that my mind refuses to accept the thought as anything other than wrong, and even nauseating.
Knowing how this body reacts... if I wasn't such a prude, I'd probably just go, get plastered and let whatever happens, happen. Maybe actually having sex would be enough for me to let go and enjoy the experience. I don't know. I do know that I don't want my first time to be some drunken tangle... and I'm quite positive that I don't want to get more than I bargained for - no STDs, no babies for me.
I guess that part of me hasn't changed. Even when I was a guy I didn't want to catch anything or get some girl pregnant. And I always want the experience to be special... not just some wild night of random sex. Well, okay... so there were some exceptions to that last one - I am a m... was a man, and I had my needs. I guess even as a girl, I still have my needs... I've just been able to keep them checked... so far.
I'd like to say that it's just being afraid of losing myself, of not being me. But that doesn't make much sense anymore.
As much as I'm trying to be who I am now, there's apparently some part of me that still pushes me to try to be the same Kat everyone knew before last spring. I seem to keep forgetting that I'm not that person, nor am I the same man I remember being before that fateful trip to the Inn.
I guess I'm just stubborn. Refusing to change, even when faced with overwhelming evidence... reason to do so. Even after convincing myself that I'm going to change... going to embrace this life as my own - it seems that I'm somehow either unwilling or unable to do so.
I guess I've always been a cautious person, and I'm still scared of what my future holds.
I think about what I want my life to like be in 5, 10, 20, 50 years... and I'm not really sure I know. Last year, I could easily answer that question. Now, everything is different. Well, I guess not everything. I could still make a comfortable living working with computers. Hell, I could even try programming, or some other technology field if I wanted to. As Kat, I have a couple years worth of general college credits, with no real focus... I could easily pursue pretty-much whatever path I choose.
It's the personal-life stuff - the dating and romance, marriage and family, that concerns me. No matter how I look at it, I just can't get used to the idea of being with a guy in an intimate way. Sure, I know that this body seems to like the idea - and I know that if I accept this new life, my own personal values dictate my partnering with a man and not another woman. It's just that my mind refuses to accept the thought as anything other than wrong, and even nauseating.
Knowing how this body reacts... if I wasn't such a prude, I'd probably just go, get plastered and let whatever happens, happen. Maybe actually having sex would be enough for me to let go and enjoy the experience. I don't know. I do know that I don't want my first time to be some drunken tangle... and I'm quite positive that I don't want to get more than I bargained for - no STDs, no babies for me.
I guess that part of me hasn't changed. Even when I was a guy I didn't want to catch anything or get some girl pregnant. And I always want the experience to be special... not just some wild night of random sex. Well, okay... so there were some exceptions to that last one - I am a m... was a man, and I had my needs. I guess even as a girl, I still have my needs... I've just been able to keep them checked... so far.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Jeff: Getting back in the habit
I don’t get a lot of time to write, so sorry if I don’t post here all that often. It’s honestly something I want to get in the habit of doing. After disappearing for most of a year that might be hard to believe, but it’s kind of like, now that I’ve had the time to really think about things, and what happened, and let it kind of work its way around the back of my head for all this time, I now need to start getting it out.
I’d rather talk to someone, to be honest, but the damn curse on that place makes it difficult. And sure, I could talk to Bree about it all, but it’s difficult. I mean, she’s my girlfriend, and she’s just . . . amazing and she’s helped me through some tough times, but. . . . Well. She’s the girl I used to be. That’s kind of weird. At least here, in a blog, I’m kind of working into words some of these thoughts that’ve been bouncing through my mind.
The problem, you see, is that I’ve got lots of thinking time these days. Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty damn busy. I’m holding down three jobs and racing around town a lot, but most of it ain’t exactly mind-stressing stuff. I’ve got a job at the local grocery store, unloading deliveries and stocking shelves and shit like that. I also get evening shifts at the bookstore, and I pick up a little manual work here and there, though a lot less than I’d like what with the weather recently, which sucks because it pays best. I’m pretty good with my hands, actually. Pop’s had to do a lot of DIY around our home in his day, and I’ve picked some of it up, I guess, and he knows some guys, and a few months back I was getting some pretty heavy work done. You should see me now. I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been. All that digging and carrying shit around’s really bulked me up, and I’ve got admit—I get a real kick out of my body. I mean, I’ve always been a big guy and in good shape, but never like this. . . .
And yeah, I’m no idiot. If I get a thrill being built like a brick shithouse, it’s probably because not that long ago I was barely over five foot, weighed under a hundred and would’ve struggled my way out’ve a wet paper bag. I mean, God, I was tiny! And so weak....
Like this one time, out on one of the few big nights out I experienced as Brianna, out with a couple of friends and this guy called Frank....
(Shit, it’s so weird for me writing that kind of stuff. How the hell did I ever end up dating someone called Frank?)
I mean, it wasn’t like it was anything special, just a bunch of us crammed into a car on our way to this chick Clara’s house party, a kegger out on the edge of town. I think this was four? Maybe five months into the whole thing. I wasn’t going out with these kids because I wanted to, but Linda—that was my new stepmom, remember?—was driving me nuts and I had to get the hell out of that place for a bit. So I ended up in the back seat up this beat-up Buick with a bunch of other teens, crammed between Lara the cheerleader and Matt the bench-warmer for the school’s soccer team. Lara was pissing me off for some reason; I can’t remember what. Probably for being such a slut—God, she was such a little tramp!
Yeah, like I was much better, come to think of it. Strange how strongly some of the memories remain . . . can’t remember what that kid did to piss me of, but remember exactly what the hell I was wearing, the short skirt and tight t-shirt one of Bree’s friend had basically dressed me up in, and even the makeup I was wearing. But with Lara being such a bitch I ended up talking to Matt, even if he was a bit of a loser.
Thing is, I like soccer, I mean I really like it, but it’s not like a chick like Brianna’s going to have too many friends she can talk to who share the interest, you know. And even if they knew shit about soccer, they’d probably be a Man U or Chelsea supporter. Ugh.
So who knows how the hell it happened . . . we’d already had a couple of drinks before getting in the car, and we were chatting a bit about the game, which was cool, and then he started to make fun of me because I like Beckham, which wasn’t. I mean, sure, the guy’s past his prime but he can still cross the ball like no one else, and here’s this dick going on as if I only like the guy because he’s good-looking or something.
It really pissed me off that he wouldn’t take me seriously, even though I damn well knew more about the game than he did, and probably could’ve owned him on the pitch just a few months back. I think I gave him a shove or something . . . we started to fight, right there in the back of the car, but he wasn’t taking it seriously, and the angrier I got the funnier he thought it was, and next thing I know he had both my wrists in his hand and . . . God, it was so humiliating, how easy it was for him to overpower me! Everyone else in the car thought it was pretty damn funny, until Lara pretty much shrieked for us to knock it off. She was probably jealous no one was paying any attention to her anymore.
It was only after we reached the party and I stepped out of the car that I realized how damned turned on I was. We totally made out later that night. . . .
And, shit, I guess that’s why I still need to write about this stuff. Months after I thought I’d put all this behind me, these weird thoughts and memories still pop up from time to time. Don’t get me wrong. Like I said, I love the shape I’m in and the strength I’ve built up. And there’s nothing I love more than lying in bed with Bree and holding her close, her head on my chest and my arm around her. But at the same time, sometimes . . . I can remember what it was like to be in her place, with the arm around me and the strength and that sense of being protected, of being safe, and I worry that maybe . . . I miss it.
I’d rather talk to someone, to be honest, but the damn curse on that place makes it difficult. And sure, I could talk to Bree about it all, but it’s difficult. I mean, she’s my girlfriend, and she’s just . . . amazing and she’s helped me through some tough times, but. . . . Well. She’s the girl I used to be. That’s kind of weird. At least here, in a blog, I’m kind of working into words some of these thoughts that’ve been bouncing through my mind.
The problem, you see, is that I’ve got lots of thinking time these days. Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty damn busy. I’m holding down three jobs and racing around town a lot, but most of it ain’t exactly mind-stressing stuff. I’ve got a job at the local grocery store, unloading deliveries and stocking shelves and shit like that. I also get evening shifts at the bookstore, and I pick up a little manual work here and there, though a lot less than I’d like what with the weather recently, which sucks because it pays best. I’m pretty good with my hands, actually. Pop’s had to do a lot of DIY around our home in his day, and I’ve picked some of it up, I guess, and he knows some guys, and a few months back I was getting some pretty heavy work done. You should see me now. I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been. All that digging and carrying shit around’s really bulked me up, and I’ve got admit—I get a real kick out of my body. I mean, I’ve always been a big guy and in good shape, but never like this. . . .
And yeah, I’m no idiot. If I get a thrill being built like a brick shithouse, it’s probably because not that long ago I was barely over five foot, weighed under a hundred and would’ve struggled my way out’ve a wet paper bag. I mean, God, I was tiny! And so weak....
Like this one time, out on one of the few big nights out I experienced as Brianna, out with a couple of friends and this guy called Frank....
(Shit, it’s so weird for me writing that kind of stuff. How the hell did I ever end up dating someone called Frank?)
I mean, it wasn’t like it was anything special, just a bunch of us crammed into a car on our way to this chick Clara’s house party, a kegger out on the edge of town. I think this was four? Maybe five months into the whole thing. I wasn’t going out with these kids because I wanted to, but Linda—that was my new stepmom, remember?—was driving me nuts and I had to get the hell out of that place for a bit. So I ended up in the back seat up this beat-up Buick with a bunch of other teens, crammed between Lara the cheerleader and Matt the bench-warmer for the school’s soccer team. Lara was pissing me off for some reason; I can’t remember what. Probably for being such a slut—God, she was such a little tramp!
Yeah, like I was much better, come to think of it. Strange how strongly some of the memories remain . . . can’t remember what that kid did to piss me of, but remember exactly what the hell I was wearing, the short skirt and tight t-shirt one of Bree’s friend had basically dressed me up in, and even the makeup I was wearing. But with Lara being such a bitch I ended up talking to Matt, even if he was a bit of a loser.
Thing is, I like soccer, I mean I really like it, but it’s not like a chick like Brianna’s going to have too many friends she can talk to who share the interest, you know. And even if they knew shit about soccer, they’d probably be a Man U or Chelsea supporter. Ugh.
So who knows how the hell it happened . . . we’d already had a couple of drinks before getting in the car, and we were chatting a bit about the game, which was cool, and then he started to make fun of me because I like Beckham, which wasn’t. I mean, sure, the guy’s past his prime but he can still cross the ball like no one else, and here’s this dick going on as if I only like the guy because he’s good-looking or something.
It really pissed me off that he wouldn’t take me seriously, even though I damn well knew more about the game than he did, and probably could’ve owned him on the pitch just a few months back. I think I gave him a shove or something . . . we started to fight, right there in the back of the car, but he wasn’t taking it seriously, and the angrier I got the funnier he thought it was, and next thing I know he had both my wrists in his hand and . . . God, it was so humiliating, how easy it was for him to overpower me! Everyone else in the car thought it was pretty damn funny, until Lara pretty much shrieked for us to knock it off. She was probably jealous no one was paying any attention to her anymore.
It was only after we reached the party and I stepped out of the car that I realized how damned turned on I was. We totally made out later that night. . . .
And, shit, I guess that’s why I still need to write about this stuff. Months after I thought I’d put all this behind me, these weird thoughts and memories still pop up from time to time. Don’t get me wrong. Like I said, I love the shape I’m in and the strength I’ve built up. And there’s nothing I love more than lying in bed with Bree and holding her close, her head on my chest and my arm around her. But at the same time, sometimes . . . I can remember what it was like to be in her place, with the arm around me and the strength and that sense of being protected, of being safe, and I worry that maybe . . . I miss it.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Kat - What ills me.
I'm still waiting to hear from my doctors about their thoughts on my wild sleep problems and what I need to do to get them fixed.
I hate waiting.
I hate it almost as much as being sick.
I caught the flu bug. It took me out a few days ago, and I'm just starting to get back to normal. I've never liked being in bed too long, I'd rather be spending the time doing something productive... I dislike feeling like I'm missing-out, even if it's just helping out around the farm.
Still, the flu just takes it right out of you.
I'm just happy that it seems to be going away, and I can get back to doing something other than feeling sick and miserable.
I hate waiting.
I hate it almost as much as being sick.
I caught the flu bug. It took me out a few days ago, and I'm just starting to get back to normal. I've never liked being in bed too long, I'd rather be spending the time doing something productive... I dislike feeling like I'm missing-out, even if it's just helping out around the farm.
Still, the flu just takes it right out of you.
I'm just happy that it seems to be going away, and I can get back to doing something other than feeling sick and miserable.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Jessica: Arriving in California. Twice.
It's beautiful here in southern California, although it was unusually nice for New England before I got here. It was nice to see some of my friends from high school the past week; I'm a semester behind all of them right now, but they were jealous of my cross-country road trip, even if I only told them a heavily expurgated version of the story. They wouldn't believe the end, in particular.
The last time I wrote something in this blog (or even read it, really), I had met half of the family that the Wrights and I replaced, and they told me that the original Jessica - now "Dana Costello" - lived in Malibu, mere miles from where I'd be going to school. It was almost Christmas, and I'd wanted to go home, so we drove through the night in hopes of meeting her before flying back.
So, it's Sunday morning, and Louisa and I are both really tired. We drive around for a while, trying to find the address Phuong gave me. We're having no luck, mostly because we can't concentrate, so we pull up to the side of the road next to a park to get some rest. It's a nice area, so we don't feel particularly worried about sleeping in the car. A few hours later, I wake up and the passenger seat is empty. Louisa's left a note saying that she's gone to the church we saw a couple blocks away. I kind of envy that she's able to do that. I never really was a church-going man, but ever since the inn, I've been afraid of them. There's apparently real magic in the world, but it's not what they talk about there, not something that should be messed with. But Louisa takes the inn as vindication that there are powers greater than us, even if we don't understand them.
I put my glasses on, head to a corner store and grab a coffee and muffin before heading back to the park. It's warm, so I remove my sweatshirt and start walking around. There's a few parents with their kids, some people of various ages reading Sunday papers and ohter things. I wind up wandering over to the basketball court, where some teenagers are playing a little two-on-two. They're all pretty good, and the fact that it's shirts versus skins doesn't hurt at all. There's one black guy and one white guy on each team, and after a while, they must notice me, because they're starting to show off a little. It's kind of flattering, since they're good looking guys and there must be plenty of tan California girls with no glasses and bigger boobs hanging on them all the time. So I smile and wave, they wave back, play a little more, but they opt to take a break well before they're really sweaty.
One of the black guys pulls a shirt off the ground and waves in the direction of the deli I'd gone to, heading off with the other. The white guy wearing the tank top walks over to where a girl sitting on the grass had been reading. That left the shirtless white guy, who walked up to the little half-fence and leaned over, bringing his face closer to eye level. He had a good foot on me, a fit body, and a nice face that even his shaved head doesn't screw up. "Like what you see?" Even for a big guy, his voice is a little deeper than I expect. It's kind of sexy.
"Not bad."
"So, I haven't seen you around here before. You new in town?"
"Sort of passing through; I start class in Pasadena next month."
"Nice, a college girl. Guess I should tell the recruiters I want to stay close to home."
"Recruiters, huh? I don't know that you're that good."
"Oh, I'm that good. They got nicknames for me and everything. Go google Direct Current sometime."
"Riiiight."
The other white guy and his girlfriend walked up. "Who's the new girl?"
I held out my hand. "Jessica Brooks."
"Aaah!" DC recoiled, actually crouching down. "God, girl, why didn't you say so?"
His friend ran over. "What's the deal, Dana?"
Dana!? "Oh, my..." I kind of sank to the ground myself, a little queasy. Then I started to laugh, and I can't stop. I just keep laughing and laughing, and at first he looks at me like I'm some sort of monster, but before long he's laughing too.
It's at that point Louisa shows up and asks what's going on. "He's Dana Costello," I say, "and he was hitting on me!"
"I was hitting on you? Who was the one who was scoping out all this, Miss Jessica Brooks?"
That makes us both start laughing again. His friends think we're both nuts, and maybe Louisa too, if she's started laughing. She tries to do some damage control, since we're in no condition to talk rationally. She says that we were old friends back in elementary school, and why not?
He eventually gets up and offers me a hand up. I take it and we share a look. It makes us tingle a bit, but it's not totally or even primarily sexual. It's... I don't know if Ashlyn felt anything like it when she met Jean-Michel for the first time, and I'm pretty sure Art didn't feel it with Jeremy, but we've been without each other much longer, so it's like I've found a part of me that's missing, and I know from the way he's looking at me that he feels the same way.
We walk to a bench and he sits next to me, stretching his six-foot-seven frame out. "Look at all of you. You are not what I expected. I mean, I just assumed Dana was a girl's name, which was stupid. I didn't even think to ask Phuong! And your room was just full of Disney Princesses, unicorns, and... and other unicorns."
"Hey, don't you tell anyone about the princesses or unicorns. I got a rep."
"Oh, they wouldn't believe me anyway. You know how it works."
"Yeah, I do. So, you say you met Phuong and Carson? How are Mindy and Mrs. Cahill?"
"Getting by. Glad to meet others like us. We had a nice visit."
"That's cool. And your friend...?"
"Also one of us. She looks like Marie Desjardins of Montreal, but in reality she's Louisa Torrence of Baton Rouge and older than me."
"Older than..." He held up a hand to stop me. "I don't want to know. I mean, I do, but not yet. Let me process, okay?"
"Sure."
"Cool." He looked up and saw that the other two players had returned and were talking to Louisa, who looked a bit uncomfortable. "C'mon, let's go to my place."
He hopped in the car and directed us down a road that seemed obvious in retrospect. Their house wasn't enormous, but it was bigger than where Carson and Phuong lived, with an attached garage that we parked in front of. Dana led us inside and stopped in the kitchen, asking if he could get us a Coke or something; he pulled out a 2-liter and drank straight from the bottle. I still had my big coffee, but Louisa took an orange juice. Dana grabbed a box of crackers from a cupboard and led us out the back door.
I crashed into his back when he stopped suddenly as we approached the swimming pool and turned around, averting his eyes. "Geez, Parker, you should put a sign up or something."
Dana's body was blocking my view, but I saw enough to see that the woman he was talking to had been sunbathing nude, and was quickly putting her bikini on while telling him that he was usually at the park for hours. After a minute she told him it was safe, and stood to greet us. Dana made the introductions, and she did a bit of a spit-take when she heard my name. She told us to hang on a second, took a swig of the margarita that was sitting next to her lounge chair, and then grasped my hands and took a good look at me. "Wow, look at what might have been. It must be weird for you to look at her, huh, Dana?"
"Weird starts to cover it."
I was sort of taking a good look at her. Parker (who used to be Barry Cahill) wasn't as tall as Dana, so my eyes weren't quite down at breast level, but they probably would have been if she were wearing heels. She had a pretty spectacular body, although I could see some small laugh lines around her mouth and eyes. I shook my head to clear it. "Sorry, I was just having a flashback to my life as a man in his forties. You look really good."
"For a forty-three year-old woman? I'm not bad. You've got to look good in my business, though - even if Hollywood wasn't run by dirty old men, as soon as you start to let your appearance slip, they take it as a sign you might start to let your work slip too, and there's plenty of younger people out there."
"Well, you're a ways off from that."
"That's so sweet, but it's all going to come crashing down at once when my workout buddy here goes away to school this fall, I can tell."
She put her arm around Dana and gave him a squeeze, which clearly made him uncomfortable. "Look, I haven't even decided where I'm going yet. UCLA's looking pretty nice."
"But you've got a chance to get some real minutes as a freshman at Boston College..."
I gather they'd had this conversation before. But... "Wait, you're thinking of going to BC? Have you visited yet? Because I bet Mom would love to see you when you do."
They stopped dead, Parker recovering first. "Wait... Kathleen knows? How is that even possible?"
"We think people are more open to accepting it when something life-changing is already happening. I tried to tell her a hundred times, but she didn't believe me until her father died."
"Grampa Carl's dead?" Dana sat down on one of the loungers; Parker sat beside him and put her hands on his shoulders. "I hadn't even thought of him in a few years, but... Man. And you say my mom... my other mom... is she worried about me?"
"Of course she is." Parker squeezed Dana again. "You know I still worry about Mindy and Molly, even though they tell me they're doing okay whenever we talk. How could she not be?"
"I guess." Dana wiped a tear from his eye, and looked uncomfortable doing it. "Um, I gotta--"
"You go on and do what you need." Dana got up and headed into the house. Parker turned her attention back to me and Louisa, crying a little too. "He's such a guy; can't stand to let anyone see him crying no matter what, even more than most boys his age. It's like he's afraid people will find out he used to be a girl."
Louisa nodded. "He's certainly adapted pretty thoroughly."
Parker shrugged. "It's half his life; he can barely remember being Jessica Brooks. Min-- Carson is the same way, only... Well. And part of it's me. I confess, I liked having a son so much that I kind of steered him in that direction. Not that I loved my little girl less at all, but Dana being such a guy's guy - well, it lets me stay in touch with that part of my life, despite having all this." She held her hands out in front of her breasts for emphasis.
I got that; I'd certainly played a bunch of sports in high school, even if I didn't have the natural ability of some of the more athletic girls, for the same reason.
We sat silently for a bit, and then, just to break the silence, I said that they should come back East for Christmas. Unless they had other plans. Which they must...
"No, but... Won't it be weird for Kathleen? These two strangers from L.A. coming on short notice?"
"You're not strangers. She'll have a hard time believing at first, but trust me, you can convince her. She's used to me, remember."
"Well, I'll have to ask Dana, and you should really call her, but if they're all open to it..."
They were. But that will have to wait; I'm still on Eastern time and ready to crash.
-Jessica
The last time I wrote something in this blog (or even read it, really), I had met half of the family that the Wrights and I replaced, and they told me that the original Jessica - now "Dana Costello" - lived in Malibu, mere miles from where I'd be going to school. It was almost Christmas, and I'd wanted to go home, so we drove through the night in hopes of meeting her before flying back.
So, it's Sunday morning, and Louisa and I are both really tired. We drive around for a while, trying to find the address Phuong gave me. We're having no luck, mostly because we can't concentrate, so we pull up to the side of the road next to a park to get some rest. It's a nice area, so we don't feel particularly worried about sleeping in the car. A few hours later, I wake up and the passenger seat is empty. Louisa's left a note saying that she's gone to the church we saw a couple blocks away. I kind of envy that she's able to do that. I never really was a church-going man, but ever since the inn, I've been afraid of them. There's apparently real magic in the world, but it's not what they talk about there, not something that should be messed with. But Louisa takes the inn as vindication that there are powers greater than us, even if we don't understand them.
I put my glasses on, head to a corner store and grab a coffee and muffin before heading back to the park. It's warm, so I remove my sweatshirt and start walking around. There's a few parents with their kids, some people of various ages reading Sunday papers and ohter things. I wind up wandering over to the basketball court, where some teenagers are playing a little two-on-two. They're all pretty good, and the fact that it's shirts versus skins doesn't hurt at all. There's one black guy and one white guy on each team, and after a while, they must notice me, because they're starting to show off a little. It's kind of flattering, since they're good looking guys and there must be plenty of tan California girls with no glasses and bigger boobs hanging on them all the time. So I smile and wave, they wave back, play a little more, but they opt to take a break well before they're really sweaty.
One of the black guys pulls a shirt off the ground and waves in the direction of the deli I'd gone to, heading off with the other. The white guy wearing the tank top walks over to where a girl sitting on the grass had been reading. That left the shirtless white guy, who walked up to the little half-fence and leaned over, bringing his face closer to eye level. He had a good foot on me, a fit body, and a nice face that even his shaved head doesn't screw up. "Like what you see?" Even for a big guy, his voice is a little deeper than I expect. It's kind of sexy.
"Not bad."
"So, I haven't seen you around here before. You new in town?"
"Sort of passing through; I start class in Pasadena next month."
"Nice, a college girl. Guess I should tell the recruiters I want to stay close to home."
"Recruiters, huh? I don't know that you're that good."
"Oh, I'm that good. They got nicknames for me and everything. Go google Direct Current sometime."
"Riiiight."
The other white guy and his girlfriend walked up. "Who's the new girl?"
I held out my hand. "Jessica Brooks."
"Aaah!" DC recoiled, actually crouching down. "God, girl, why didn't you say so?"
His friend ran over. "What's the deal, Dana?"
Dana!? "Oh, my..." I kind of sank to the ground myself, a little queasy. Then I started to laugh, and I can't stop. I just keep laughing and laughing, and at first he looks at me like I'm some sort of monster, but before long he's laughing too.
It's at that point Louisa shows up and asks what's going on. "He's Dana Costello," I say, "and he was hitting on me!"
"I was hitting on you? Who was the one who was scoping out all this, Miss Jessica Brooks?"
That makes us both start laughing again. His friends think we're both nuts, and maybe Louisa too, if she's started laughing. She tries to do some damage control, since we're in no condition to talk rationally. She says that we were old friends back in elementary school, and why not?
He eventually gets up and offers me a hand up. I take it and we share a look. It makes us tingle a bit, but it's not totally or even primarily sexual. It's... I don't know if Ashlyn felt anything like it when she met Jean-Michel for the first time, and I'm pretty sure Art didn't feel it with Jeremy, but we've been without each other much longer, so it's like I've found a part of me that's missing, and I know from the way he's looking at me that he feels the same way.
We walk to a bench and he sits next to me, stretching his six-foot-seven frame out. "Look at all of you. You are not what I expected. I mean, I just assumed Dana was a girl's name, which was stupid. I didn't even think to ask Phuong! And your room was just full of Disney Princesses, unicorns, and... and other unicorns."
"Hey, don't you tell anyone about the princesses or unicorns. I got a rep."
"Oh, they wouldn't believe me anyway. You know how it works."
"Yeah, I do. So, you say you met Phuong and Carson? How are Mindy and Mrs. Cahill?"
"Getting by. Glad to meet others like us. We had a nice visit."
"That's cool. And your friend...?"
"Also one of us. She looks like Marie Desjardins of Montreal, but in reality she's Louisa Torrence of Baton Rouge and older than me."
"Older than..." He held up a hand to stop me. "I don't want to know. I mean, I do, but not yet. Let me process, okay?"
"Sure."
"Cool." He looked up and saw that the other two players had returned and were talking to Louisa, who looked a bit uncomfortable. "C'mon, let's go to my place."
He hopped in the car and directed us down a road that seemed obvious in retrospect. Their house wasn't enormous, but it was bigger than where Carson and Phuong lived, with an attached garage that we parked in front of. Dana led us inside and stopped in the kitchen, asking if he could get us a Coke or something; he pulled out a 2-liter and drank straight from the bottle. I still had my big coffee, but Louisa took an orange juice. Dana grabbed a box of crackers from a cupboard and led us out the back door.
I crashed into his back when he stopped suddenly as we approached the swimming pool and turned around, averting his eyes. "Geez, Parker, you should put a sign up or something."
Dana's body was blocking my view, but I saw enough to see that the woman he was talking to had been sunbathing nude, and was quickly putting her bikini on while telling him that he was usually at the park for hours. After a minute she told him it was safe, and stood to greet us. Dana made the introductions, and she did a bit of a spit-take when she heard my name. She told us to hang on a second, took a swig of the margarita that was sitting next to her lounge chair, and then grasped my hands and took a good look at me. "Wow, look at what might have been. It must be weird for you to look at her, huh, Dana?"
"Weird starts to cover it."
I was sort of taking a good look at her. Parker (who used to be Barry Cahill) wasn't as tall as Dana, so my eyes weren't quite down at breast level, but they probably would have been if she were wearing heels. She had a pretty spectacular body, although I could see some small laugh lines around her mouth and eyes. I shook my head to clear it. "Sorry, I was just having a flashback to my life as a man in his forties. You look really good."
"For a forty-three year-old woman? I'm not bad. You've got to look good in my business, though - even if Hollywood wasn't run by dirty old men, as soon as you start to let your appearance slip, they take it as a sign you might start to let your work slip too, and there's plenty of younger people out there."
"Well, you're a ways off from that."
"That's so sweet, but it's all going to come crashing down at once when my workout buddy here goes away to school this fall, I can tell."
She put her arm around Dana and gave him a squeeze, which clearly made him uncomfortable. "Look, I haven't even decided where I'm going yet. UCLA's looking pretty nice."
"But you've got a chance to get some real minutes as a freshman at Boston College..."
I gather they'd had this conversation before. But... "Wait, you're thinking of going to BC? Have you visited yet? Because I bet Mom would love to see you when you do."
They stopped dead, Parker recovering first. "Wait... Kathleen knows? How is that even possible?"
"We think people are more open to accepting it when something life-changing is already happening. I tried to tell her a hundred times, but she didn't believe me until her father died."
"Grampa Carl's dead?" Dana sat down on one of the loungers; Parker sat beside him and put her hands on his shoulders. "I hadn't even thought of him in a few years, but... Man. And you say my mom... my other mom... is she worried about me?"
"Of course she is." Parker squeezed Dana again. "You know I still worry about Mindy and Molly, even though they tell me they're doing okay whenever we talk. How could she not be?"
"I guess." Dana wiped a tear from his eye, and looked uncomfortable doing it. "Um, I gotta--"
"You go on and do what you need." Dana got up and headed into the house. Parker turned her attention back to me and Louisa, crying a little too. "He's such a guy; can't stand to let anyone see him crying no matter what, even more than most boys his age. It's like he's afraid people will find out he used to be a girl."
Louisa nodded. "He's certainly adapted pretty thoroughly."
Parker shrugged. "It's half his life; he can barely remember being Jessica Brooks. Min-- Carson is the same way, only... Well. And part of it's me. I confess, I liked having a son so much that I kind of steered him in that direction. Not that I loved my little girl less at all, but Dana being such a guy's guy - well, it lets me stay in touch with that part of my life, despite having all this." She held her hands out in front of her breasts for emphasis.
I got that; I'd certainly played a bunch of sports in high school, even if I didn't have the natural ability of some of the more athletic girls, for the same reason.
We sat silently for a bit, and then, just to break the silence, I said that they should come back East for Christmas. Unless they had other plans. Which they must...
"No, but... Won't it be weird for Kathleen? These two strangers from L.A. coming on short notice?"
"You're not strangers. She'll have a hard time believing at first, but trust me, you can convince her. She's used to me, remember."
"Well, I'll have to ask Dana, and you should really call her, but if they're all open to it..."
They were. But that will have to wait; I'm still on Eastern time and ready to crash.
-Jessica
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Arthur/Penny: Getting around
I was sorely tempted to try and find a way to beg off doing play-by-play for the Stealth when it became clear that the National Lacrosse League's labor dispute wasn't going to cancel the season. I feel exposed at those events, because lacrosse was really Nell's thing, and I didn't inherit her expertise with her body. I know I'm not going to get in trouble for being an impostor or anything - nobody believes us when we tell them that we're not who we appear to be, except under special circumstances - but it's not quite a rational fear. I do feel afraid of letting Nell down, or doing damage to her reputation.
I never quite got the nerve to bail, though - the money's not great, but it's not so minuscule that I wouldn't miss it if it were gone. Besides, after a few months of mainly sitting behind a desk and reading scores, I find myself pretty anxious for the escape it gives me - travel.
I wasn't much of a world traveler in my previous life, but one of the fun things about being a freelance writer is that you can take all manner of assignments that bring you to a bunch of places. There were times I stuck close to home because I was worried about my mother and her health, but I would take other assignments because they gave me the chance to go new places and try different things or interview interesting people.
Doing the play-by-play gives me that option. Last night I was in San Jose, calling a home loss against the Calgary Roughnecks; today I'm in Denver to call tonight's game against the Colorado Mammoth, I'll be in New York next Thursday, and there are trips to Edmonton, Philadelphia, and Portland on tap. I just wish I had more time to spend looking around; we're sometimes in and out so fast that we don't even bother to book a hotel room.
That's why I'm trying to convince George to let me cover the Athletics' opening series in Tokyo against the Red Sox. It might conflict with a home game, but if they really do see me (or, at least, "Penny") as a potential face of the network, having me do remotes and interviews might make it worth it. I like the idea of writing and researching my own material while I'm over there, too.
Drew's pretty excited about the idea, in terms of making me a more valuable client, although he groans when I say it could be valuable research for my second book. He's probably right when he says I shouldn't even be thinking series before getting my first one sold or even finished, but I tell him that the mystery publishers like series; they're steady streams of income.
It's going to take some convincing, but I'm hoping it will work out. I think this is the first time while living as either Liz or Penny that I've really been excited about an opportunity that I wouldn't have had in my old life.
-Art
I never quite got the nerve to bail, though - the money's not great, but it's not so minuscule that I wouldn't miss it if it were gone. Besides, after a few months of mainly sitting behind a desk and reading scores, I find myself pretty anxious for the escape it gives me - travel.
I wasn't much of a world traveler in my previous life, but one of the fun things about being a freelance writer is that you can take all manner of assignments that bring you to a bunch of places. There were times I stuck close to home because I was worried about my mother and her health, but I would take other assignments because they gave me the chance to go new places and try different things or interview interesting people.
Doing the play-by-play gives me that option. Last night I was in San Jose, calling a home loss against the Calgary Roughnecks; today I'm in Denver to call tonight's game against the Colorado Mammoth, I'll be in New York next Thursday, and there are trips to Edmonton, Philadelphia, and Portland on tap. I just wish I had more time to spend looking around; we're sometimes in and out so fast that we don't even bother to book a hotel room.
That's why I'm trying to convince George to let me cover the Athletics' opening series in Tokyo against the Red Sox. It might conflict with a home game, but if they really do see me (or, at least, "Penny") as a potential face of the network, having me do remotes and interviews might make it worth it. I like the idea of writing and researching my own material while I'm over there, too.
Drew's pretty excited about the idea, in terms of making me a more valuable client, although he groans when I say it could be valuable research for my second book. He's probably right when he says I shouldn't even be thinking series before getting my first one sold or even finished, but I tell him that the mystery publishers like series; they're steady streams of income.
It's going to take some convincing, but I'm hoping it will work out. I think this is the first time while living as either Liz or Penny that I've really been excited about an opportunity that I wouldn't have had in my old life.
-Art
Friday, January 25, 2008
Kat - Bored
It's checkup time at the University Hospital, and I know the doctors are going to have fun with this one.
Here I am, wide awake after only 3 hours of sleep. Strange thing is that I'd been up for nearly 33 hours straight just before that. It seems that my sleep disorder has taken on a whole new dimension of weird. The doctors have had me keep a "sleep diary" for the past few months and although it's been fairly consistent - there were certainly some strange events - weeks with nearly no sleep, weeks with excessive sleep... just weird.
I'm not sure that I'll be going back to sleep tonight, but who knows. For me, a consistent sleep pattern is an enigma.
Right now, I'm pretty bored, nobody I know is online, I'm not tired, and I've no place to go.
I guess I'll go visit with the nurses, or watch some TV... or maybe if I'm lucky, I'll fall back asleep.
Here I am, wide awake after only 3 hours of sleep. Strange thing is that I'd been up for nearly 33 hours straight just before that. It seems that my sleep disorder has taken on a whole new dimension of weird. The doctors have had me keep a "sleep diary" for the past few months and although it's been fairly consistent - there were certainly some strange events - weeks with nearly no sleep, weeks with excessive sleep... just weird.
I'm not sure that I'll be going back to sleep tonight, but who knows. For me, a consistent sleep pattern is an enigma.
Right now, I'm pretty bored, nobody I know is online, I'm not tired, and I've no place to go.
I guess I'll go visit with the nurses, or watch some TV... or maybe if I'm lucky, I'll fall back asleep.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Jeff: Starting again
Last you heard of me was back in November, when Louisa passed through on a road trip. Last you heard from me was... hell, about a year ago. Truth is, I haven’t been checking this blog very often, and kind of lost track of the other guys... girls... the others who were there back at the beginning. Maybe that’s why that visit back in November got me thinking, and remembering, and planning.
Listen, I’ll be honest here: that day back in May, when I got my body back? It was the best day of my life. I read about what everyone else’s been up to, and how they’ve adapted to their new lives and some of them, even, finding happiness or love or whatever, and I’m happy for them, I really am. I admire them.
I also resented them. I can admit that now, but at the time I just wanted to completely forget about the whole damn thing. I tried turning my back on the whole experience and tried to just pick up where I’d left off that September over a year ago. But I couldn’t, of course, and sometimes I’d find myself wondering why I wasn’t able to do the same, you know, adapt like they did and just get on with a new life, let go of the old....
But that’s the thing, you see. I can’t. I can’t—just let go of things. Not of my old life when I turned into Brianna—and now I can’t let that go, either. Brianna’s life.
It’s quite the experience, waking up as someone else. Ha! There’s an understatement. I mean, let’s just ignore for the moment the mind-bogglingly overwhelming idea that, you know, magic is fucking real and the fact that the place just voodoo’ed a bunch of guys into different people . . . and has been doing it for years . . . and that nobody will damn well believe you even if you scream it in their freakin’ face; yeah, let’s just forget about that for the time being. Because let’s face it: when I first realized I was someone else, and a girl to boot, well, at the time, everything was just so chaotic. . . and it never seemed to let up, not for the next eight months. Being Bree, damn, it felt like this heavy, stifling weight pressing down on me at all times; a belt slowly tightening around my head—either I always felt caught up in some kind of crazy panic about needing to fit in, or I was lost in some deep funk about everything I’d lost, or I’d just freak out at the prospect of being a girl for the rest of my life. I never had the time to just sit back and think.
And now I do. Don’t get me wrong. Things have been crazy since I’ve come back as well, and thank God there’s been Brianna at my side and, yeah, I know how crazy—idiotic--weird that is, too, having the girl I used to be around here as a reminder when I’m trying to forget about the whole thing. But she’s seen me through some dark times these past few months. She’s been like an angel, a real Godsend; I wish I knew more about her.
It’s easy to forget how connected we are to others, you know, and the ripples anything you do can send out. My disappearance a year ago hurt the family bad. My reappearance soon after didn’t help much. The fact that an old lady with Alzheimer was behind the wheels didn’t help much. They thought I’d had some kind of breakdown. I don’t hold any resentment to her, I honestly don’t. It wasn’t her fault. In a lucid moment she found her way back to my family, but in her less . . . healthy times, she kind of freaked people out. Let’s just say my family was ill-equipped to deal with that kind of burden. Thank God she came back and agreed to swap back with me. But of course, the damage had already been done....
But enough of that. That’s not what I wanted to write about...
I’m not sure what I wanted to write about.
That’s not true. I know exactly what I want to share, but the thing is, I can’t. Not yet. But I’ve come back just to make a couple of things clear. Just in case, you see.
I really like being a guy. God, do I like being a guy. Let’s just be perfectly clear on that. I like pissing standing up. And being able to pick up heavy shit on my own, and wearing unfashionably baggy clothing, and keeping my hair short and my fingernails dirty. I like popping a boner every friggin’ time a dirty thought crosses my mind or a pretty girl crosses my path, and hanging out with the guys without having to really talk about anything, and I like being able to knock some jackass to the floor if he speaks shit about my family.
I like being me. I’m not sure that was true before the Inn, but it’s definitely true now. I think back to those eight months or so I spent as Brianna and, yeah, sure, I can admit now that maybe they weren’t as terrible as I made them out to be. Her family’s fucked to be sure, but for the most part her life was pretty damn good. If I’m completely honest with myself, I even enjoyed myself at times, in those few moments when I could forget myself. But I was never comfortable with the whole thing, and I don’t think I ever would’ve been. The fact that every time I did enjoy myself I tortured myself afterwards says more about myself than it does about Bree or her life; and that’s the thing, you see: I learned a hell of a lot about myself through the whole experience.
Not just the obvious, that I like being a guy and that I don’t miss the makeup or the girly clothes or the tits or any of that, either, even if (if I’m being completely honest again) all that feminine crap was kind of fun at times, too. I was worried about that at first—that the whole experience might’ve made me gay or something. There were a few moments back then, when I was Bree, out on one of few dates that just kind of happened. . . or this one time that caught me by surprise, when I caught myself just staring at one of the guys at school, this soccer player, and I. . . well, I felt kind of funny. You know, turned-on funny, and it felt all warm and nice and damn right I didn’t want that coming back with me when I turned back into a guy.
It didn’t.
But what I learned—what I really learned, was what was important to me. See, when I ended up at the Inn in the first place, I was basically trying to run away. From home, from my family, from responsibility and the idea of becoming . . . hell, I don’t know. My father, maybe. I don’t think he wanted me turning into him, either, as if there’s something wrong with being the kind of guy who sticks by his kids no matter what, who works himself to the bone to keep a roof over our head. That’s why he tried to send me away. Saved up enough cash for my tuition and sent me off. That obviously didn’t work out. Seven months with Eileen in my body—that’s the old woman, mind ravaged by age and disease, who became me—put that dream to an end. No college for me. And know what? It was a blessing in disguise. Bree’s helped me see that.
I mean, realistically, where was it going to get me? It’s not like I headed off to college to become a doctor or a lawyer or anything like that. I’m a fairly smart guy, but not that smart. And I wasn’t going to ride a football scholarship or something into fame and fortune. I’m good at sports, but not that good. Nah, most likely I would’ve picked up some three-year degree and eventually worked it into some kind of mid-range job. What then? Some cog working in marketing for a mid-sized firm in a mid-sized city? Forty years of different jobs where, if I work really, really hard I help somebody else make a bit more money by helping them sell stuff people don’t really need? Screw that. If the Inn showed me anything, it’s that there’s bigger shit going on in the world.
Hell, there was bigger shit going on right beneath my nose that I’d turned a blind eye to. Stuff that needs to be set right.
There’s nothing more important than family. Nothing. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to help my family. It took eight months as a sixteen year-old girl to teach me that.
Listen, I’ll be honest here: that day back in May, when I got my body back? It was the best day of my life. I read about what everyone else’s been up to, and how they’ve adapted to their new lives and some of them, even, finding happiness or love or whatever, and I’m happy for them, I really am. I admire them.
I also resented them. I can admit that now, but at the time I just wanted to completely forget about the whole damn thing. I tried turning my back on the whole experience and tried to just pick up where I’d left off that September over a year ago. But I couldn’t, of course, and sometimes I’d find myself wondering why I wasn’t able to do the same, you know, adapt like they did and just get on with a new life, let go of the old....
But that’s the thing, you see. I can’t. I can’t—just let go of things. Not of my old life when I turned into Brianna—and now I can’t let that go, either. Brianna’s life.
It’s quite the experience, waking up as someone else. Ha! There’s an understatement. I mean, let’s just ignore for the moment the mind-bogglingly overwhelming idea that, you know, magic is fucking real and the fact that the place just voodoo’ed a bunch of guys into different people . . . and has been doing it for years . . . and that nobody will damn well believe you even if you scream it in their freakin’ face; yeah, let’s just forget about that for the time being. Because let’s face it: when I first realized I was someone else, and a girl to boot, well, at the time, everything was just so chaotic. . . and it never seemed to let up, not for the next eight months. Being Bree, damn, it felt like this heavy, stifling weight pressing down on me at all times; a belt slowly tightening around my head—either I always felt caught up in some kind of crazy panic about needing to fit in, or I was lost in some deep funk about everything I’d lost, or I’d just freak out at the prospect of being a girl for the rest of my life. I never had the time to just sit back and think.
And now I do. Don’t get me wrong. Things have been crazy since I’ve come back as well, and thank God there’s been Brianna at my side and, yeah, I know how crazy—idiotic--weird that is, too, having the girl I used to be around here as a reminder when I’m trying to forget about the whole thing. But she’s seen me through some dark times these past few months. She’s been like an angel, a real Godsend; I wish I knew more about her.
It’s easy to forget how connected we are to others, you know, and the ripples anything you do can send out. My disappearance a year ago hurt the family bad. My reappearance soon after didn’t help much. The fact that an old lady with Alzheimer was behind the wheels didn’t help much. They thought I’d had some kind of breakdown. I don’t hold any resentment to her, I honestly don’t. It wasn’t her fault. In a lucid moment she found her way back to my family, but in her less . . . healthy times, she kind of freaked people out. Let’s just say my family was ill-equipped to deal with that kind of burden. Thank God she came back and agreed to swap back with me. But of course, the damage had already been done....
But enough of that. That’s not what I wanted to write about...
I’m not sure what I wanted to write about.
That’s not true. I know exactly what I want to share, but the thing is, I can’t. Not yet. But I’ve come back just to make a couple of things clear. Just in case, you see.
I really like being a guy. God, do I like being a guy. Let’s just be perfectly clear on that. I like pissing standing up. And being able to pick up heavy shit on my own, and wearing unfashionably baggy clothing, and keeping my hair short and my fingernails dirty. I like popping a boner every friggin’ time a dirty thought crosses my mind or a pretty girl crosses my path, and hanging out with the guys without having to really talk about anything, and I like being able to knock some jackass to the floor if he speaks shit about my family.
I like being me. I’m not sure that was true before the Inn, but it’s definitely true now. I think back to those eight months or so I spent as Brianna and, yeah, sure, I can admit now that maybe they weren’t as terrible as I made them out to be. Her family’s fucked to be sure, but for the most part her life was pretty damn good. If I’m completely honest with myself, I even enjoyed myself at times, in those few moments when I could forget myself. But I was never comfortable with the whole thing, and I don’t think I ever would’ve been. The fact that every time I did enjoy myself I tortured myself afterwards says more about myself than it does about Bree or her life; and that’s the thing, you see: I learned a hell of a lot about myself through the whole experience.
Not just the obvious, that I like being a guy and that I don’t miss the makeup or the girly clothes or the tits or any of that, either, even if (if I’m being completely honest again) all that feminine crap was kind of fun at times, too. I was worried about that at first—that the whole experience might’ve made me gay or something. There were a few moments back then, when I was Bree, out on one of few dates that just kind of happened. . . or this one time that caught me by surprise, when I caught myself just staring at one of the guys at school, this soccer player, and I. . . well, I felt kind of funny. You know, turned-on funny, and it felt all warm and nice and damn right I didn’t want that coming back with me when I turned back into a guy.
It didn’t.
But what I learned—what I really learned, was what was important to me. See, when I ended up at the Inn in the first place, I was basically trying to run away. From home, from my family, from responsibility and the idea of becoming . . . hell, I don’t know. My father, maybe. I don’t think he wanted me turning into him, either, as if there’s something wrong with being the kind of guy who sticks by his kids no matter what, who works himself to the bone to keep a roof over our head. That’s why he tried to send me away. Saved up enough cash for my tuition and sent me off. That obviously didn’t work out. Seven months with Eileen in my body—that’s the old woman, mind ravaged by age and disease, who became me—put that dream to an end. No college for me. And know what? It was a blessing in disguise. Bree’s helped me see that.
I mean, realistically, where was it going to get me? It’s not like I headed off to college to become a doctor or a lawyer or anything like that. I’m a fairly smart guy, but not that smart. And I wasn’t going to ride a football scholarship or something into fame and fortune. I’m good at sports, but not that good. Nah, most likely I would’ve picked up some three-year degree and eventually worked it into some kind of mid-range job. What then? Some cog working in marketing for a mid-sized firm in a mid-sized city? Forty years of different jobs where, if I work really, really hard I help somebody else make a bit more money by helping them sell stuff people don’t really need? Screw that. If the Inn showed me anything, it’s that there’s bigger shit going on in the world.
Hell, there was bigger shit going on right beneath my nose that I’d turned a blind eye to. Stuff that needs to be set right.
There’s nothing more important than family. Nothing. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to help my family. It took eight months as a sixteen year-old girl to teach me that.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Kat - Hiding from dad
I'm sorry it's been nearly a month since my last post. I guess I could say that chores took that long, and in a way they really have, with the holidays and a run of holiday-time birthdays. But that's not the whole story. What has really kept me from posting so long, was dad.
I knew dad was suspicious of something when Pete visited, so I tried to steer clear of anything that would raise his interest... especially being online. I'll admit, it's a very hard habit for me to break - I'm an internet addict... but the original Kat was not. Staying away from a computer for so long has been very tough for me. I'm always feeling that urge to sit at the keyboard just gnawing away at me. Add dealing with my monthly visitor on top of that, and I'm sure I was a real monster for a few days too.
I don't know if it's looking at things from this life, or if it was the passing of my grandma just before Thanksgiving, but this holiday season just didn't seem to carry the same enthusiasm as I remember. There were no stockings hanging, there were no gifts under the tree at home. Sure we had the lights and wreaths hanging, and the tree was up - but it just seemed like some exercise... no spirit, no joy... it was just us going through the motions. Christmas seemed such a distant thing, as if it was simply another day. Even the wonder of my nephew and niece as they opened their gifts, and the wonderful dinner that my sister prepared, couldn't offset my feeling out-of-place. I was almost glad to return home Christmas night, I slipped quietly up to my room and cried myself to sleep.
The day after Christmas is my birthday... Trip is now 37. Funnily-enough, my new birthday was the same day... just 15 years newer. Fortunately, I remembered that Trip's license was expiring, or I probably wouldn't have checked mine, which also expired on the same date. My picture looks awful even though I did my best to look decent. Trip assures me that the DMV cameras don't flatter anyone, and that I looked fine. Still, I hope noone ever sees that picture.
I was giddy with joy when Trip and Jadyn brought my birthday gift. It was an old K-5 Blazer... the full-sized ones. The engine didn't run, but it otherwise was in pretty good shape. God, how I've missed mudding! This project truck was their gift to me, as Trip told dad, "to replace Kat's wrecked car with something tougher, that she can learn to fix herself." Dad seemed to accept that explanation and he and Trip gave it a good looking over while I just watched and pretended to be a bit naive about things.
That evening, Jaci called and although it seemed that we were trying to actually have a casual conversation, I think we both caved to the inevitability of just not being as close of friends as the original Kat & Jaci were. I was touched, though, when she remembered that it was my birthday... and then again, when she invited me to her little Christmas / New Year's shindig that Friday. But she had to top that off with a real bomb-shell - She's pregnant... with twins. Well, our struggle for words disappeared at that point. I eventually told her that she should put all this in the blog, and she alluded to dropping cable and internet to start saving money for when the babies arrive. I asked her if I could share the news with her adoring fans, she laughed and told me to knock myself out. So there ya' go, don't say I never did anything for you.
Anyhow, the party was a bust. It was certainly a great gathering, and I got to meet some new people, who thankfully didn't know the original Trip or Kat. A few of the guests couldn't stay long - Someone had to babysit for a relative who had to rush off in a hurry; one guy had some drama with one of the girls; and then one of the ladies who brought her kids along, had to take one of them to the hospital with a fever of 103°. There just didn't seem to be a whole lot of "party" in the party, and I guess that's really okay with me anyhow. Lately I haven't really been in a partying mood. I did enjoy the party though, I didn't feel too awkward as these people didn't know me prior, and it was good to be out socially without feeling odd.
Well, right now dad is sleeping, he has an early flight to see his brother in California. Why he didn't go out when mom was out there, I'll probably never understand. Anyhow, I figure he's out cold for a few hours - and I'm hurting real-bad for an internet fix. I just don't want to push my luck.
I knew dad was suspicious of something when Pete visited, so I tried to steer clear of anything that would raise his interest... especially being online. I'll admit, it's a very hard habit for me to break - I'm an internet addict... but the original Kat was not. Staying away from a computer for so long has been very tough for me. I'm always feeling that urge to sit at the keyboard just gnawing away at me. Add dealing with my monthly visitor on top of that, and I'm sure I was a real monster for a few days too.
I don't know if it's looking at things from this life, or if it was the passing of my grandma just before Thanksgiving, but this holiday season just didn't seem to carry the same enthusiasm as I remember. There were no stockings hanging, there were no gifts under the tree at home. Sure we had the lights and wreaths hanging, and the tree was up - but it just seemed like some exercise... no spirit, no joy... it was just us going through the motions. Christmas seemed such a distant thing, as if it was simply another day. Even the wonder of my nephew and niece as they opened their gifts, and the wonderful dinner that my sister prepared, couldn't offset my feeling out-of-place. I was almost glad to return home Christmas night, I slipped quietly up to my room and cried myself to sleep.
The day after Christmas is my birthday... Trip is now 37. Funnily-enough, my new birthday was the same day... just 15 years newer. Fortunately, I remembered that Trip's license was expiring, or I probably wouldn't have checked mine, which also expired on the same date. My picture looks awful even though I did my best to look decent. Trip assures me that the DMV cameras don't flatter anyone, and that I looked fine. Still, I hope noone ever sees that picture.
I was giddy with joy when Trip and Jadyn brought my birthday gift. It was an old K-5 Blazer... the full-sized ones. The engine didn't run, but it otherwise was in pretty good shape. God, how I've missed mudding! This project truck was their gift to me, as Trip told dad, "to replace Kat's wrecked car with something tougher, that she can learn to fix herself." Dad seemed to accept that explanation and he and Trip gave it a good looking over while I just watched and pretended to be a bit naive about things.
That evening, Jaci called and although it seemed that we were trying to actually have a casual conversation, I think we both caved to the inevitability of just not being as close of friends as the original Kat & Jaci were. I was touched, though, when she remembered that it was my birthday... and then again, when she invited me to her little Christmas / New Year's shindig that Friday. But she had to top that off with a real bomb-shell - She's pregnant... with twins. Well, our struggle for words disappeared at that point. I eventually told her that she should put all this in the blog, and she alluded to dropping cable and internet to start saving money for when the babies arrive. I asked her if I could share the news with her adoring fans, she laughed and told me to knock myself out. So there ya' go, don't say I never did anything for you.
Anyhow, the party was a bust. It was certainly a great gathering, and I got to meet some new people, who thankfully didn't know the original Trip or Kat. A few of the guests couldn't stay long - Someone had to babysit for a relative who had to rush off in a hurry; one guy had some drama with one of the girls; and then one of the ladies who brought her kids along, had to take one of them to the hospital with a fever of 103°. There just didn't seem to be a whole lot of "party" in the party, and I guess that's really okay with me anyhow. Lately I haven't really been in a partying mood. I did enjoy the party though, I didn't feel too awkward as these people didn't know me prior, and it was good to be out socially without feeling odd.
Well, right now dad is sleeping, he has an early flight to see his brother in California. Why he didn't go out when mom was out there, I'll probably never understand. Anyhow, I figure he's out cold for a few hours - and I'm hurting real-bad for an internet fix. I just don't want to push my luck.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Arthur/Penny: Three "generations". Man, there should be a word for us.
Or a pair of words. Something like "ancestor" and "descendant". You can form a chain between Louisa and me: Jeremy became me, Nell became Jeremy, I (as Liz) became Nell, Liz (as Marie) became herself again, and Louisa becomes Marie. I don't know if that makes us any closer than two random visitors to the Inn, but maybe there is. We acted like there was when she came up this weekend; our situation can be an isolating one, so we try and find any connection we can. The reflexive disbelief upon meeting another person changed by the Inn was a little less strong this time; I'm pretty sure it's beacuse seeing her confirmed that the woman I saw waiting to check in was, in fact, Liz-as-Marie, so she at least had a face I'd seen before.
Louisa's been flying solo for the past couple weeks, with Jessica having headed home for the holidays. She's sort of in limbo right now, still waiting to hear back about the original Marie's whereabouts and having trouble renting an apartment in L.A. without a long-term visa. I told her the U.S. should be grateful to have a Canadian who wants to move here with the current economic and political climate, rather than vice versa. She makes a comment about bureaucrats just wanting to make everyone jump through hoops. She's checked into a residential hotel, worried about how quickly that will drain her finances. She's starting a new job on the recommendation of "Parker Costello" this week, but won't really be comfortable until the sale on the house she inherited closes.
She tells me all about Nell, and I'm glad to hear that she really is doing well in her new life. She's curious about meeting the original Jeremy, but I don't want any part of that, and try to convince her not to. He's a jerk, so why taint your impressions of either me or Nell by getting any first-hand experience with him? Well, she says, maybe I've been hanging around Jessica too long and her paranoia is rubbing off on me, but isn't it kind of strange that Jeremy bailed on the trip to switch back at the last minute, sending Nell and R.J. instead?
Yep. I can't say I haven't been thinking of that, ever since they told us about Pygmalion being more than a stalker. I've put off asking directly, because I didn't want anything to do with Jeremy, but because I was a little afraid of the answer. I didn't want to be a chump. Or at least not a total chump; as much as I was the victim of Jeremy deciding to keep my life, the idea that someone had been laughing at what I didn't know was... well, something I'd rather not know about.
Louisa's right, though. If we want to find out answers, we can't hide from them, no matter where they may be.
So, it being Saturday night, we head to one of the bars I've heard "Arthur" hangs out at. Our luck's good, since we find him on the first try. Which is a bit of a relief for both of us; neither of us is really comfortable with the bar scene, and this place is a big-time meat market. Louisa comments that at least I can say I have a boyfriend to anyone who hits on me; I say not so much. Neither Drew nor I is seeing anybody else, but his (that is, R.J.'s) practice is picking up, I work a lot of nights. We still see each other on a regular basis, but it's not really a thing. Louisa says she might actually think about dipping her toe into the pool, but the age thing is though for her to get past. Men her apparent age are all children to her, and she's kind of disturbed by Mindy/Carson having a child's mind but an adult's urges.
But, I digress. We find Jeremy at the bar, and each get on one side of him. He looks at Louisa and smiles, but that fades when he spots me. "What do you want?"
I smile at him, because it will get me into less trouble than ripping out his spleen. "We're wondering if there's something you're not telling us."
"About what?"
Louisa doesn't bother with the sweet smile. "We're wondering if you've had any contact with people who knew about the Inn aside from us."
"What? No! If not for you, I might think I'd always been Arthur Milligan. Dorky name you saddled me with, by the way."
I snorted, so Louisa continued. "I've got a little more faith in people than Penny here does. I don't think you'd just screw her over like you did for no reason. Did someone offer you something?"
"No, just..."
"Just what?"
"Some fed came and visited me after I made the reservation. Asked if I'd had any contact with... well, with me. Went on about deserters in a time of war, scared me real good. Then the next night I get drunk, strike out with Nell, take a bit of crap from her boyfriend..."
I think he's actually looking for me to feel sorry for him. "Do you remember the fed's name?"
"It was almost a year ago!"
Even though Louisa doesn't look her age, she still knows how to give the look that keeps you from lying to your grandparents. "Jeremy. How many times has the FBI come to talk to you? I'm sure you'd remember the details."
Jeremy's looking at her, so I don't see the expression on his face, which is probably for the best.
"Langan. Something Langan."
I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. "Son of a bitch!" I storm out, and Louisa follows me.
I'm pacing back and forth when she makes her way through the bar. "So much for my faith in humanity. Jessica knew he was dirty."
"But why? Why me? Why me and not everyone else who tries this?"
Louisa doesn't know. Maybe Pygmalion just didn't have the resources to screw things up for Jeff, or Liz, or other folks. Maybe he finds Jeremy interesting or useful and was defending that. Maybe it's something else we can't see because he's the only one who knows the whole pattern.
It doesn't really matter. Someone's been using my life as a toy, and it ticks me off.
-Art
Louisa's been flying solo for the past couple weeks, with Jessica having headed home for the holidays. She's sort of in limbo right now, still waiting to hear back about the original Marie's whereabouts and having trouble renting an apartment in L.A. without a long-term visa. I told her the U.S. should be grateful to have a Canadian who wants to move here with the current economic and political climate, rather than vice versa. She makes a comment about bureaucrats just wanting to make everyone jump through hoops. She's checked into a residential hotel, worried about how quickly that will drain her finances. She's starting a new job on the recommendation of "Parker Costello" this week, but won't really be comfortable until the sale on the house she inherited closes.
She tells me all about Nell, and I'm glad to hear that she really is doing well in her new life. She's curious about meeting the original Jeremy, but I don't want any part of that, and try to convince her not to. He's a jerk, so why taint your impressions of either me or Nell by getting any first-hand experience with him? Well, she says, maybe I've been hanging around Jessica too long and her paranoia is rubbing off on me, but isn't it kind of strange that Jeremy bailed on the trip to switch back at the last minute, sending Nell and R.J. instead?
Yep. I can't say I haven't been thinking of that, ever since they told us about Pygmalion being more than a stalker. I've put off asking directly, because I didn't want anything to do with Jeremy, but because I was a little afraid of the answer. I didn't want to be a chump. Or at least not a total chump; as much as I was the victim of Jeremy deciding to keep my life, the idea that someone had been laughing at what I didn't know was... well, something I'd rather not know about.
Louisa's right, though. If we want to find out answers, we can't hide from them, no matter where they may be.
So, it being Saturday night, we head to one of the bars I've heard "Arthur" hangs out at. Our luck's good, since we find him on the first try. Which is a bit of a relief for both of us; neither of us is really comfortable with the bar scene, and this place is a big-time meat market. Louisa comments that at least I can say I have a boyfriend to anyone who hits on me; I say not so much. Neither Drew nor I is seeing anybody else, but his (that is, R.J.'s) practice is picking up, I work a lot of nights. We still see each other on a regular basis, but it's not really a thing. Louisa says she might actually think about dipping her toe into the pool, but the age thing is though for her to get past. Men her apparent age are all children to her, and she's kind of disturbed by Mindy/Carson having a child's mind but an adult's urges.
But, I digress. We find Jeremy at the bar, and each get on one side of him. He looks at Louisa and smiles, but that fades when he spots me. "What do you want?"
I smile at him, because it will get me into less trouble than ripping out his spleen. "We're wondering if there's something you're not telling us."
"About what?"
Louisa doesn't bother with the sweet smile. "We're wondering if you've had any contact with people who knew about the Inn aside from us."
"What? No! If not for you, I might think I'd always been Arthur Milligan. Dorky name you saddled me with, by the way."
I snorted, so Louisa continued. "I've got a little more faith in people than Penny here does. I don't think you'd just screw her over like you did for no reason. Did someone offer you something?"
"No, just..."
"Just what?"
"Some fed came and visited me after I made the reservation. Asked if I'd had any contact with... well, with me. Went on about deserters in a time of war, scared me real good. Then the next night I get drunk, strike out with Nell, take a bit of crap from her boyfriend..."
I think he's actually looking for me to feel sorry for him. "Do you remember the fed's name?"
"It was almost a year ago!"
Even though Louisa doesn't look her age, she still knows how to give the look that keeps you from lying to your grandparents. "Jeremy. How many times has the FBI come to talk to you? I'm sure you'd remember the details."
Jeremy's looking at her, so I don't see the expression on his face, which is probably for the best.
"Langan. Something Langan."
I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. "Son of a bitch!" I storm out, and Louisa follows me.
I'm pacing back and forth when she makes her way through the bar. "So much for my faith in humanity. Jessica knew he was dirty."
"But why? Why me? Why me and not everyone else who tries this?"
Louisa doesn't know. Maybe Pygmalion just didn't have the resources to screw things up for Jeff, or Liz, or other folks. Maybe he finds Jeremy interesting or useful and was defending that. Maybe it's something else we can't see because he's the only one who knows the whole pattern.
It doesn't really matter. Someone's been using my life as a toy, and it ticks me off.
-Art
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Arthur/Penny: You start to wonder
I haven't written in this blog in over a month. More worrisome, I haven't written at all, outside of what I do to prepare copy for the nightly telecast, in a few weeks. When Lyn called the other night, as freaked out about what Jessica and Louisa had found out as you might expect her to be, I joked that I was showing solidarity with the striking Writers' Guild of America.
Note one: I'd never worked in film or television in my original life, so Jeremy has not inherited a WGA membership. I'm also not a member of the union as Penny, since news broadcasts are not covered under that agreement. The only issue with writing this would be if we had an eye toward developing it into a television series or movie, and I don't know if we could even if we had a mind to. But I completely support the striking writers.
Note two: If Lyn wants to talk about our post-Pygmalion phone calls, she can. The revelation that her "secret admirer" is probably far more than a typical stalker obviously affects her more directly than any of the rest of us, and I'm not really comfortable speaking to her state of mind based on what we've said over the phone.
Still, as much as Lyn is the most directly affected, we all have to wonder how much we've drawn the attention of Pygmalion. Lyn certainly has. Mark and Vinessa did, although that might just have been targets of opportunity if he already had someone working in the INS. The new Dex maybe turned out useful to him.
I wonder about me, though. I mean, I haven't written. I've had a lot of reasons to be busy - one of the other anchors for the Ten O'Clock Report went on maternity leave, I've been reading up on the San Jose Stealth's players and indoor lacrosse in general. Nell's father had big holiday plans that involved his daughter, for both Thanksgiving and Christmas (I've thankfully begged off New Year's). My phone's been ringing off the hook to do speaking engagements, and those are nice. But I've written as long as I can remember, keeping journals, writing short stories, and then in school and professionally. For me to not do it for so long feels like something even more fundamental than my body has changed.
And when there's something like that, there's a tendency to try to assign responsibility. Is Pygmalion doing this? Does he want to see if I take up Nell's life completely? Does me getting wrapped up in this life mean I'm paying less attention to Lyn, and thus give him freer reign with her? Or is it just a coincidence and I'm assigning myself far too much importance.
Hell if I know. But I'm going to go work on the book some more, just because I can.
-Art/Penny
Note one: I'd never worked in film or television in my original life, so Jeremy has not inherited a WGA membership. I'm also not a member of the union as Penny, since news broadcasts are not covered under that agreement. The only issue with writing this would be if we had an eye toward developing it into a television series or movie, and I don't know if we could even if we had a mind to. But I completely support the striking writers.
Note two: If Lyn wants to talk about our post-Pygmalion phone calls, she can. The revelation that her "secret admirer" is probably far more than a typical stalker obviously affects her more directly than any of the rest of us, and I'm not really comfortable speaking to her state of mind based on what we've said over the phone.
Still, as much as Lyn is the most directly affected, we all have to wonder how much we've drawn the attention of Pygmalion. Lyn certainly has. Mark and Vinessa did, although that might just have been targets of opportunity if he already had someone working in the INS. The new Dex maybe turned out useful to him.
I wonder about me, though. I mean, I haven't written. I've had a lot of reasons to be busy - one of the other anchors for the Ten O'Clock Report went on maternity leave, I've been reading up on the San Jose Stealth's players and indoor lacrosse in general. Nell's father had big holiday plans that involved his daughter, for both Thanksgiving and Christmas (I've thankfully begged off New Year's). My phone's been ringing off the hook to do speaking engagements, and those are nice. But I've written as long as I can remember, keeping journals, writing short stories, and then in school and professionally. For me to not do it for so long feels like something even more fundamental than my body has changed.
And when there's something like that, there's a tendency to try to assign responsibility. Is Pygmalion doing this? Does he want to see if I take up Nell's life completely? Does me getting wrapped up in this life mean I'm paying less attention to Lyn, and thus give him freer reign with her? Or is it just a coincidence and I'm assigning myself far too much importance.
Hell if I know. But I'm going to go work on the book some more, just because I can.
-Art/Penny
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Jessica: So close...
None of us who have been transformed by the Inn really envy others. I mean, not enough for it to be common. We all know just how traumatic it is, so even when someone gets the draw that Louisa did - younger but not a child, in a more comfortable socio-economic position, no sex change - we take it for granted that it hurts for them too. We know it hurts bad, and it's hard for us to conceive of ourselves as lucky until we meet someone who is worse off.
Take Dina, for instance. On the surface, it looks like she got off easy - she even got to keep her family. Look below the surface, and she's in pretty rough shape. What's worse is, she knows it - she's smart enough to see that the past eight years have stunted her natural growth as a person in some ways, and I pity the psychiatrist who has to try to unravel her parental issues down the line almost as much as I pity her for having them.
Ashlyn, Arthur, and Louisa at least got relative independence. I at least got a mother who loved me even after she knew the truth. Dina got something I don't even have words for.
And when I called her the other night, she still acknowledged that she got off easy compared to the original Cahills.
We've been driving with a little extra urgency since Wyoming - we've got an idea that even though we only have a few people left on our list, they need to know about Pygmalion before their lives are fouled up incontrovertibly. It's silly - in most cases Pygmalion has had months or years to do his worst, so what's a couple of days on our part going to matter - but no-one wants to be too late. But unless Pygmalion is in control of whose body changes into what (and the current best theory is that it relies on proximity, rather than the will of any person or thing), there's not much more he could do to the Cahills.
We got to Seattle late at night, and checked into a motel. We dilly-dallied the next morning - I think it took me two hours to eat my pancakes at the diner we found, and even Louisa wasn't as nosy as she usually is when some element of my past comes up. We were within miles of the original Jessica Brooks, and a million strange thoughts were going through my head - would she approve of how I'd lived her life? Would she resent me? Would I find out she wasn't a very nice person? I've been carrying a mental image of Mom's Daughter around in my head, and she was eternally ten years old. Could I even handle her being something else?
Finally, though, we got out of the diner to let them serve lunchtime customers, and headed to the address Louisa had coaxed out of the Wrights. We walked up to the door and knocked.
No-one was home. Pretty much the only thing that could make me more tense.
Made sense; it was a weekday afternoon, so everybody was going to be at school or work except people on months-long cross-country road trips. We made sure the name on the mailbox - "Costello" - matched, and then settled down into the car to wait for someone to show. Louisa, thankfully, kept the "stakeout" jokes to a minimum.
At around four o'clock, one of the people getting off the bus at the end of the road made a turn there. She was an asian girl, seventeen-looking, with her hair in her eyes and wearing ripped jeans underneath a skirt and a Sex Pistols T-shirt. Figuring that no good could come of waiting until the last minute, I jumped out of the car and ran up to talk to her. "Excuse me," I said, a bit taken by her not exactly looking like a Costello, "do you live here?"
"Have all my life," she said. "What do you want? Did I piss you off without knowing it? Did my father?"
"No, not at all. It's just... Uh... Well, I'm Jessica Brooks."
She looked confused for a second, then squinted at me before the realization hit her. "Oh, you mean the new one! Although after eight years, it's not quite "new", is it?"
I agreed it wasn't, and she got out her keys. "This is amazing... I didn't think I'd ever get to meet you, although we've considered heading back East to try every once in a while, but once those assholes who wound up with our lives made it clear that they weren't going to let us try to get our real bodies back by staying in the inn in reverse order, we figured it might hurt too much to see the new us... I'm Phuong Costello, by the way, although I was born a Molly. Who were you?"
"Conrad Mancini... I was a cop in Baltimore. So you're not Mindy or Jessica?"
"Oh, no... We've got stories to share, I guess. And I'll bet you do too, Miss...?"
"Louisa Torrence, although my passport says 'Marie Desjardins'."
"Passport, huh? I know that feeling. But come on in, it's too cold to keep this up out here."
Phuong opened the door, dropping her backpack in the entryway. "I don't remember there being so many books my first time through high school. Do you?" I shook my head, but said I wasn't one for studying that time. "Ah, me neither. Not really now, but you lap your classmates in elementary school while being an asian besides, you wind up on the 'gifted' track. Sounds like a good idea when you're thirty-four-going-on-ten, then you hit junior high and find out how hard those kids work..."
I laughed at that, and we swapped stories about being adults in children's bodies. Our stories were different, of course, although they had points of similarity: It took us a long time to feel like we belonged in a locker room during sports and gym classes, although she had more luck getting her friends to dig her favorite music. It was so amazing to find someone who had had so many experiences close to my own - it was something I'd been missing for most of the past decade - even Dina wasn't this close to my own experience.
We must have talked for an hour and a half straight, and we didn't realize where the time had gone when we heard the door open again. Phuong quickly looked at her watch and then ran to the door. "Honey, come into the living room! You'll never believe who found us!"
She leads a man through the door. He's a big, burly guy, with a bit of an unkempt beard just starting to show some gray. He's wearing a Mariners cap and a grocery store nametag that reads "Carson". He introduces us as Conrad Mancini and her friend Louisa, and mentions that I'm the person who became Jessica. He looks me up and down for a moment and I wonder whether or not I should be uncomfortable. There's the "older man checking out a younger girl" thing, sure, but we're both aware that the inside doesn't necessarily match the outside. He nods, saying that "she" turned out pretty, and I blush a little. Phuong gives him a kiss on the cheek and says she's sorry, we just got caught up talking, but she'd get dinner started. He thanks her and heads to the bathroom.
She suggests we take it to the kitchen where she pulls a package of chicken breasts out of the fridge. "Yeah, I still do the cooking; old habits die hard. You guys are going to stay and have dinner with us, won't you?" I say I'd be glad to, and Louisa nods agreement.
"It's nice to see that you and your husband still get along," Louisa says. Cautiously. "A lot of relationships might not be able to handle the strain."
Phuong stops with her hand on the oven's temperature control, and sighs. "Yeah. Well... You know how I was talking about being on the gifted track because I knew so much more than a nine-year-old usually would? Well, one of the things they teach you in the AP physics courses is that every action has an equal and opposite reaction.
"Carson wasn't my husband. Carson was Mindy."
I stop thinking for a bit there. Nothing is going through my head. I hear Louisa say she's so sorry, and that it's worse than Dylan; I think she may have suspected something like this. She says she's not much of a detective, but while I was comparing notes with Phuong, she was looking around the house, and I think she's a good half-dozen steps ahead of us.
Finally, I'm able to think again, and tell Phuong I'm also so sorry.
"Yeah, me too. People talk about kids having to grow up fast these days, but Mindy... Mindy was so totally unequipped to live Carson's life. He was a lawyer - family law. That's why the Costellos had adopted Phuong - he'd been moved drawing up adoption papers for another family. The partners at his firm were livid when his wife drove him in to work a week late from vacation so that he could say he couldn't do the work any more and was resigning effective immediately. We had to refinance the house and the school loans so the family could get by on one income because I wasn't old enough to work. And Carson... Mindy... felt so bad about it. She thought it was all her fault somehow."
Louisa asks where the dishes are, and Phuong points to a cupboard. Louisa reaches in, pulls out a stack of four plates, and closes the door. I'm not looking terribly smart at this point as I sputter out that that can't be enough if we're staying for dinner. What about Jessica, and Mindy's father.
"There's been a divorce."
I turn around and see Carson Costello (né Mindy Cahill) standing there. I try to see him as someone who's only lived eighteen years, but it's hard. Eight years can bury one's old self pretty deep.
Louisa gestured at the walls. "It is a small house."
Phuong nodded. "It is indeed. Too small for a lot of things. No spare bedroom, for instance, and you couldn't expect Mindy to share a bed with someone who used to be her father. Couldn't expect Barry to share a bed with the nine-year-old girl who used to be his wife. Mindy and Jessica had been best friends, but one suddenly being the parent and the other the child drove a wedge between them." She almost automatically turned to her father/daughter, barely leaving a pause. "It's not your fault, dear. We're just not made to take this."
"If you say so, Mom."
Phuong chuckled at the looks on our faces - it just seemed so incongruous coming out of Carson Costello's mouth. "Yeah, he calls me 'mom' sometimes. It's a joke with the neighbors; they think growing up in Cambodia made me mature beyond my years and treat it like a pet name. We're known to have a weird family dynamic."
"And I thought my mom and I were unique."
Phuong started laughing hysterically. "That's right! When you were talking about you and your mother, I forgot that would have to be Kathleen! Oh, man, I hope you made it easy on her! She was always such a great neighbor and friend."
"Not hardly. I got into fights, and was anti-social, and she only was able to know the truth because I said something horrible when her father died."
"That's nothing," Carson said, giving Phuong an elbow. "Tell them about the time you found my porn stash."
(About a second later, Louisa said something in French that I think translates to "Pardon me, I've just thrown up in my mouth a little.")
Phuong turned beet red, but soldiered on. "You have to understand... Mindy was about twelve but Carson was about thirty-five. Barry tried to find a job where he could work nights so that he could look after Mindy during the day while I took the night shift, but it didn't always work out. We tried to pretend that he wasn't a grown man with his needs, but when he had a day to himself, he could watch R- or X-rated movies, and he is kind of ruggedly handsome. Women notice him, and that energy had to go somewhere... We were just too blind to see it until I was getting the laundry and saw what my little baby had stashed in a closet."
"Oh, they yelled at me good. Dad had to give me 'the talk', which was all kinds of weird."
They were laughing, so I decided to broach a subject that gave me fits. "So, what did you wind up doing... about that stuff?"
"Well, they reminded me that I was technically still a married man, and pointed out that I of all people shouldn't think of women that way. But they also agreed I needed an outlet, because I'd go crazy without it, and I was about to start my job at the supermarket and it wouldn't be right for someone with a kid to look so ignorant about sex."
"But we also told him that just because he looked older didn't mean he was dating before he turned fifteen."
"Right. I could touch myself, but no-one else."
The two of them were laughing, and it had me pretty confused. "How can you...?"
"Comedy equals tragedy plus time. Trust me, we were just as horrified then as you are now."
"Yeah." Carson's laughter stopped kind of abruptly. "I was a real jerk to Jessie. She was going through her own stuff, missing her family, and I was lording the fact that I was a grown-up and she was still just a little kid over her. That's why..." He stopped, tearing up.
Phuong was serious now, too. "That's why Carson has custody of me, as far as the government is concerned, and 'Parker' has custody of 'Dana'. It was easier for everyone that way."
Louisa touched Phuong's hand. "But still not easy, right?"
"Not at all. Don't get me wrong, we still talk - we try to have a vacation together every year, although it's been harder since we all decided to let ourselves be attracted to people. A week is about all we can do anyway, and you add other people and the jealousy gets really ugly. When Barry got the new job, it was a good thing for us to get some distance."
We all got quiet, so Louisa mentioned that she saw Carson's Mariner's hat - did that mean they'd abandoned Red Sox nation. That led to a lot of sports talk - Carson had gotten into sports in a big way to try to fit in with other guys, and there was still enough New Englander left in Phuong for her to be excited about the World Series and Super Bowls. That led to other, lighter topics that kept us up late that night.
We probably would have stayed all night, but Phuong's boyfriend called. She put him on hold, claiming another call. "Sorry, new boyfriend, and aren't newly-besotted teenagers clingy? High school boys haven't changed in the past twenty-five years, that's for sure. It's totally not going to last, and a dumb idea because we're in the same band, but man, he is so cute, and is that stuff about men being at their sexual peak at nineteen true or what?"
I declined to comment, and she smiled wickedly before getting back to her call. Carson said she could be hours, so Louisa and I got our coats, said goodbye, and headed for the door.
Before we left, Phuong held up a finger for us to wait. After she found a scrap of paper, she wrote an address down and handed it to me. "You've been very nice," she said, putting the phone on her shoulder for a moment, "to act so interested in us. But I know why you came here. Give them my best."
I thanked her, and put the piece of paper in my pocket without looking at it. It only stayed there until we reached the car, when I took it out.
And laughed. Harder than I've laughed at anything in a long time. Louisa asked what was so funny.
"I put off going to college in Pasadena for the semester to do this trip. But check this out - Parker and Dana Costello live in Malibu."
Louisa was a little confused until I pulled out the road maps I'd bought six months ago, in preparation for living down there. Then she laughed, too.
What a strange trip this has wound up being. Next stop, Los Angeles. If we drive through the night, we should get there tomorrow morning.
-Jess
Take Dina, for instance. On the surface, it looks like she got off easy - she even got to keep her family. Look below the surface, and she's in pretty rough shape. What's worse is, she knows it - she's smart enough to see that the past eight years have stunted her natural growth as a person in some ways, and I pity the psychiatrist who has to try to unravel her parental issues down the line almost as much as I pity her for having them.
Ashlyn, Arthur, and Louisa at least got relative independence. I at least got a mother who loved me even after she knew the truth. Dina got something I don't even have words for.
And when I called her the other night, she still acknowledged that she got off easy compared to the original Cahills.
We've been driving with a little extra urgency since Wyoming - we've got an idea that even though we only have a few people left on our list, they need to know about Pygmalion before their lives are fouled up incontrovertibly. It's silly - in most cases Pygmalion has had months or years to do his worst, so what's a couple of days on our part going to matter - but no-one wants to be too late. But unless Pygmalion is in control of whose body changes into what (and the current best theory is that it relies on proximity, rather than the will of any person or thing), there's not much more he could do to the Cahills.
We got to Seattle late at night, and checked into a motel. We dilly-dallied the next morning - I think it took me two hours to eat my pancakes at the diner we found, and even Louisa wasn't as nosy as she usually is when some element of my past comes up. We were within miles of the original Jessica Brooks, and a million strange thoughts were going through my head - would she approve of how I'd lived her life? Would she resent me? Would I find out she wasn't a very nice person? I've been carrying a mental image of Mom's Daughter around in my head, and she was eternally ten years old. Could I even handle her being something else?
Finally, though, we got out of the diner to let them serve lunchtime customers, and headed to the address Louisa had coaxed out of the Wrights. We walked up to the door and knocked.
No-one was home. Pretty much the only thing that could make me more tense.
Made sense; it was a weekday afternoon, so everybody was going to be at school or work except people on months-long cross-country road trips. We made sure the name on the mailbox - "Costello" - matched, and then settled down into the car to wait for someone to show. Louisa, thankfully, kept the "stakeout" jokes to a minimum.
At around four o'clock, one of the people getting off the bus at the end of the road made a turn there. She was an asian girl, seventeen-looking, with her hair in her eyes and wearing ripped jeans underneath a skirt and a Sex Pistols T-shirt. Figuring that no good could come of waiting until the last minute, I jumped out of the car and ran up to talk to her. "Excuse me," I said, a bit taken by her not exactly looking like a Costello, "do you live here?"
"Have all my life," she said. "What do you want? Did I piss you off without knowing it? Did my father?"
"No, not at all. It's just... Uh... Well, I'm Jessica Brooks."
She looked confused for a second, then squinted at me before the realization hit her. "Oh, you mean the new one! Although after eight years, it's not quite "new", is it?"
I agreed it wasn't, and she got out her keys. "This is amazing... I didn't think I'd ever get to meet you, although we've considered heading back East to try every once in a while, but once those assholes who wound up with our lives made it clear that they weren't going to let us try to get our real bodies back by staying in the inn in reverse order, we figured it might hurt too much to see the new us... I'm Phuong Costello, by the way, although I was born a Molly. Who were you?"
"Conrad Mancini... I was a cop in Baltimore. So you're not Mindy or Jessica?"
"Oh, no... We've got stories to share, I guess. And I'll bet you do too, Miss...?"
"Louisa Torrence, although my passport says 'Marie Desjardins'."
"Passport, huh? I know that feeling. But come on in, it's too cold to keep this up out here."
Phuong opened the door, dropping her backpack in the entryway. "I don't remember there being so many books my first time through high school. Do you?" I shook my head, but said I wasn't one for studying that time. "Ah, me neither. Not really now, but you lap your classmates in elementary school while being an asian besides, you wind up on the 'gifted' track. Sounds like a good idea when you're thirty-four-going-on-ten, then you hit junior high and find out how hard those kids work..."
I laughed at that, and we swapped stories about being adults in children's bodies. Our stories were different, of course, although they had points of similarity: It took us a long time to feel like we belonged in a locker room during sports and gym classes, although she had more luck getting her friends to dig her favorite music. It was so amazing to find someone who had had so many experiences close to my own - it was something I'd been missing for most of the past decade - even Dina wasn't this close to my own experience.
We must have talked for an hour and a half straight, and we didn't realize where the time had gone when we heard the door open again. Phuong quickly looked at her watch and then ran to the door. "Honey, come into the living room! You'll never believe who found us!"
She leads a man through the door. He's a big, burly guy, with a bit of an unkempt beard just starting to show some gray. He's wearing a Mariners cap and a grocery store nametag that reads "Carson". He introduces us as Conrad Mancini and her friend Louisa, and mentions that I'm the person who became Jessica. He looks me up and down for a moment and I wonder whether or not I should be uncomfortable. There's the "older man checking out a younger girl" thing, sure, but we're both aware that the inside doesn't necessarily match the outside. He nods, saying that "she" turned out pretty, and I blush a little. Phuong gives him a kiss on the cheek and says she's sorry, we just got caught up talking, but she'd get dinner started. He thanks her and heads to the bathroom.
She suggests we take it to the kitchen where she pulls a package of chicken breasts out of the fridge. "Yeah, I still do the cooking; old habits die hard. You guys are going to stay and have dinner with us, won't you?" I say I'd be glad to, and Louisa nods agreement.
"It's nice to see that you and your husband still get along," Louisa says. Cautiously. "A lot of relationships might not be able to handle the strain."
Phuong stops with her hand on the oven's temperature control, and sighs. "Yeah. Well... You know how I was talking about being on the gifted track because I knew so much more than a nine-year-old usually would? Well, one of the things they teach you in the AP physics courses is that every action has an equal and opposite reaction.
"Carson wasn't my husband. Carson was Mindy."
I stop thinking for a bit there. Nothing is going through my head. I hear Louisa say she's so sorry, and that it's worse than Dylan; I think she may have suspected something like this. She says she's not much of a detective, but while I was comparing notes with Phuong, she was looking around the house, and I think she's a good half-dozen steps ahead of us.
Finally, I'm able to think again, and tell Phuong I'm also so sorry.
"Yeah, me too. People talk about kids having to grow up fast these days, but Mindy... Mindy was so totally unequipped to live Carson's life. He was a lawyer - family law. That's why the Costellos had adopted Phuong - he'd been moved drawing up adoption papers for another family. The partners at his firm were livid when his wife drove him in to work a week late from vacation so that he could say he couldn't do the work any more and was resigning effective immediately. We had to refinance the house and the school loans so the family could get by on one income because I wasn't old enough to work. And Carson... Mindy... felt so bad about it. She thought it was all her fault somehow."
Louisa asks where the dishes are, and Phuong points to a cupboard. Louisa reaches in, pulls out a stack of four plates, and closes the door. I'm not looking terribly smart at this point as I sputter out that that can't be enough if we're staying for dinner. What about Jessica, and Mindy's father.
"There's been a divorce."
I turn around and see Carson Costello (né Mindy Cahill) standing there. I try to see him as someone who's only lived eighteen years, but it's hard. Eight years can bury one's old self pretty deep.
Louisa gestured at the walls. "It is a small house."
Phuong nodded. "It is indeed. Too small for a lot of things. No spare bedroom, for instance, and you couldn't expect Mindy to share a bed with someone who used to be her father. Couldn't expect Barry to share a bed with the nine-year-old girl who used to be his wife. Mindy and Jessica had been best friends, but one suddenly being the parent and the other the child drove a wedge between them." She almost automatically turned to her father/daughter, barely leaving a pause. "It's not your fault, dear. We're just not made to take this."
"If you say so, Mom."
Phuong chuckled at the looks on our faces - it just seemed so incongruous coming out of Carson Costello's mouth. "Yeah, he calls me 'mom' sometimes. It's a joke with the neighbors; they think growing up in Cambodia made me mature beyond my years and treat it like a pet name. We're known to have a weird family dynamic."
"And I thought my mom and I were unique."
Phuong started laughing hysterically. "That's right! When you were talking about you and your mother, I forgot that would have to be Kathleen! Oh, man, I hope you made it easy on her! She was always such a great neighbor and friend."
"Not hardly. I got into fights, and was anti-social, and she only was able to know the truth because I said something horrible when her father died."
"That's nothing," Carson said, giving Phuong an elbow. "Tell them about the time you found my porn stash."
(About a second later, Louisa said something in French that I think translates to "Pardon me, I've just thrown up in my mouth a little.")
Phuong turned beet red, but soldiered on. "You have to understand... Mindy was about twelve but Carson was about thirty-five. Barry tried to find a job where he could work nights so that he could look after Mindy during the day while I took the night shift, but it didn't always work out. We tried to pretend that he wasn't a grown man with his needs, but when he had a day to himself, he could watch R- or X-rated movies, and he is kind of ruggedly handsome. Women notice him, and that energy had to go somewhere... We were just too blind to see it until I was getting the laundry and saw what my little baby had stashed in a closet."
"Oh, they yelled at me good. Dad had to give me 'the talk', which was all kinds of weird."
They were laughing, so I decided to broach a subject that gave me fits. "So, what did you wind up doing... about that stuff?"
"Well, they reminded me that I was technically still a married man, and pointed out that I of all people shouldn't think of women that way. But they also agreed I needed an outlet, because I'd go crazy without it, and I was about to start my job at the supermarket and it wouldn't be right for someone with a kid to look so ignorant about sex."
"But we also told him that just because he looked older didn't mean he was dating before he turned fifteen."
"Right. I could touch myself, but no-one else."
The two of them were laughing, and it had me pretty confused. "How can you...?"
"Comedy equals tragedy plus time. Trust me, we were just as horrified then as you are now."
"Yeah." Carson's laughter stopped kind of abruptly. "I was a real jerk to Jessie. She was going through her own stuff, missing her family, and I was lording the fact that I was a grown-up and she was still just a little kid over her. That's why..." He stopped, tearing up.
Phuong was serious now, too. "That's why Carson has custody of me, as far as the government is concerned, and 'Parker' has custody of 'Dana'. It was easier for everyone that way."
Louisa touched Phuong's hand. "But still not easy, right?"
"Not at all. Don't get me wrong, we still talk - we try to have a vacation together every year, although it's been harder since we all decided to let ourselves be attracted to people. A week is about all we can do anyway, and you add other people and the jealousy gets really ugly. When Barry got the new job, it was a good thing for us to get some distance."
We all got quiet, so Louisa mentioned that she saw Carson's Mariner's hat - did that mean they'd abandoned Red Sox nation. That led to a lot of sports talk - Carson had gotten into sports in a big way to try to fit in with other guys, and there was still enough New Englander left in Phuong for her to be excited about the World Series and Super Bowls. That led to other, lighter topics that kept us up late that night.
We probably would have stayed all night, but Phuong's boyfriend called. She put him on hold, claiming another call. "Sorry, new boyfriend, and aren't newly-besotted teenagers clingy? High school boys haven't changed in the past twenty-five years, that's for sure. It's totally not going to last, and a dumb idea because we're in the same band, but man, he is so cute, and is that stuff about men being at their sexual peak at nineteen true or what?"
I declined to comment, and she smiled wickedly before getting back to her call. Carson said she could be hours, so Louisa and I got our coats, said goodbye, and headed for the door.
Before we left, Phuong held up a finger for us to wait. After she found a scrap of paper, she wrote an address down and handed it to me. "You've been very nice," she said, putting the phone on her shoulder for a moment, "to act so interested in us. But I know why you came here. Give them my best."
I thanked her, and put the piece of paper in my pocket without looking at it. It only stayed there until we reached the car, when I took it out.
And laughed. Harder than I've laughed at anything in a long time. Louisa asked what was so funny.
"I put off going to college in Pasadena for the semester to do this trip. But check this out - Parker and Dana Costello live in Malibu."
Louisa was a little confused until I pulled out the road maps I'd bought six months ago, in preparation for living down there. Then she laughed, too.
What a strange trip this has wound up being. Next stop, Los Angeles. If we drive through the night, we should get there tomorrow morning.
-Jess
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