NothingSpecial: gender-bending transformation stories, comics, and occasional poetry =^_^=
The sky was overcast and the air was bitingly cold on Thursday morning – but I'd learned my lesson and (reluctantly) had Tammy cut an opening in the back of my winter coat. I loved that jacket, a big heavy number with enormous pockets – but it did me no good if I couldn't wear it. I cut a strange figure, though; it was a little big for me before, and now I was just swimming in it. It hung past my knees and made my torso look too big for my legs and head – but I was comfy and the cold wasn't getting to me, so what the heck.
Tammy was more bothered by it; she kept fiddling with the flannel blanket she'd draped over her tail. Apparently even merfolk thermoregulation mechanisms couldn't take the sting out of it altogether; I'd suggested getting a sleeping bag for her lower body, but she thought it'd be uncomfortable for her fins. At least we wouldn't be out here long; our ride was nearly here.
After a couple minutes, a battered old rattletrap Toyota lurched over the rise into the dorm parking lot, skidded unnervingly on the ice, and stopped just shy of scraping its bumper over the curb, in a stutter of anti-lock brakes. The driver backed up, turned, and pulled alongside us, motor still running.
I looked the car over nervously; years of road salt, dusty back-country gravel, and washboarding were reflected in its body like rock strata, and even I, no gearhead,° could tell the plaintive rattle of an engine on its last legs. I noted the chatter of my own inner workings; as noisy as I sounded to myself, it was a smooth, well-ordered cacophony next to this. Would I ever sound like that? In some hypothetical future, many years down the line, would it be the machine equivalent of getting old, gray, bent, and creaky…?
° (Pun not merely unintended, but rejected with extreme prejudice.)
The driver got out; it was a teenage girl, and it was clear from her face that she was Tammy's sister. She wasn't as finely-sculpted as Tammy had been, but the contours were still familiar; and with Tammy's subtle change of countenance they could almost be twins, though her sister was a brunette. "Geez, Tam," she said, huddling up into her jacket, "you didn't have to wait out in this!" Her breath clouded as she spoke, as if to illustrate. "I coulda just texted you when—"
She stopped short, her eyes widening as she caught sight of a caudal fin peeking out from under the blanket. "Tammy?" she sputtered, scrambling around the car and nearly slipping on the ice. "Omigod, for real!? You…you're a…!"
"…Yeah." Tammy nodded sheepishly. "I, uh, would've told you, but I figured this'd be easier, since I was coming home anyway."
"When? How!?" Her sister's expression mingled surprise, concern, and excitement. That seemed about right to me, but I wondered if the excitement – which seemed to be winning out – was part of why Tammy hadn't told her right away. I'd certainly had my fill of that with Emma that first weekend, and Tammy had been actively angry about her change, back then…
"About a month ago," Tammy said. "Long story, but we had a, uh, containment failure during an experiment, and this happened." Her fin twitched uneasily at the memory, and I could see her tail-muscles tense underneath the scales.
"Wait, you didn't do it on purpose?" her sister asked. "But I thought—"
"No, I didn't." Tammy cut her off, with a glance in my direction. "Look, uh, we can talk in the car, okay?"
I was confused by her sudden brusqueness, but I didn't get to think much about it before her sister turned to me. "Oh, right, you must be—oh, wow…!" She stared at me with unabashed fascination, and moved around to get a good look at my key. "You're, uh, wow…is that for real?"
I squirmed uneasily, feeling like I was being put on display, but I'd had to get used to this over the last few weeks. "Yes, it's real," I said, trying not to sigh; I could feel something inside me clicking irritably regardless.
"Wow," she breathed, her breath freezing in the cold. "Tam said she was bringing a friend, but I never imagined…wow. That is way cool, not gonna lie." She grinned and stuck out her hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Rhoda."
I returned the handshake, feeling a little nervous. "S…uh, Susan."
I could see Tammy giving me a funny look out of the corner of my eye. I wasn't really sure myself, but I'd been considering it since she invited me. I didn't know how her family would react to a guy in a girl's body (well, a girl-shaped body,) and she had enough to worry about dropping her own bombshell; this would be uncomfortable, I was sure, but it had to be better than admitting the truth, and this way I wouldn't be any more of a distraction for her than I could help. I could live with this for a weekend; it was just acting, really…
Rhoda grinned even wider, shaking my hand vigorously. "S–s–so c–cool to meet you," she said, her teeth starting to chatter. "Uh, g–guess we should g–get in the c–c–car…?"
"Please," Tammy said. Rhoda opened the passenger door and turned to help her sister in; but Tammy thought for a moment, smiled, and shook her head. "I, uh…I think I've got this, sis." She wheeled up next to the car and tossed the blanket in; then she planted her tail against the floor, grabbed the top of the frame, and lifted herself out of her chair, swinging easily into the seat.
Rhoda gasped audibly; she looked like she was about to cry, and it struck me that this was actually a pretty big deal. Of course I'd seen Tammy deal with getting around before her change, and it was clearly easier for her not having to dead-lift her whole lower body, even if the new body-plan wasn't ideal for life on land. But she'd been handicapped ever since I'd known her, and she'd never made a big deal of it, so I hadn't thought about it much. Obviously, it'd mean a lot more to her family, who'd been through that with her…
"T–Tammy…omig–g–god, Tammy…!" her sister stammered, her voice quavering. She was chattering up a storm now, and visibly shivering. Tammy shushed her.
"C'mon, sis," she said with a wry grin. "We can talk about it when you aren't freezing to death."
Getting underway was enough of a reset for Rhoda to recover, and she was consumed by curiosity and excitement. She peppered her sister with questions for the next half-hour, starting with the full story of our fateful mishap. (Well, nearly; Tammy was discreet about my not being exactly who I'd presented myself as.) She was fascinated to hear about how swimming worked with a tail and what exploring the lake was like, and she asked about a bunch of specific issues for paraplegics and whether they were still a problem – things that I'd never have guessed myself, but someone who grew up with an affected family member just knew.
For a while, I just sat back and listened. (Well, sat forward – I had to sit in the middle of the back seat and use the lap belt to give my key room to turn.) I felt out of sorts again, wondering if I was deficient as a friend for not giving this much thought over the last few months, and why everyone around me – even the people I'd never met – were more together than me.
The ride was also getting to me; between the short wheelbase and worn-out suspension and the rough, poorly-maintained streets heading out through New Lakeside to the highway, there was no end to the jostling and vibration. At least I had no spine to injure, but it felt like some of my mechanisms were being pushed out of tolerance, just slightly beyond their ability to compensate. It didn't actually feel like indigestion, but it had that sort of constant low-key irritative property to it.
Things improved once we turned onto Hwy. 23 proper; the engine rattled alarmingly as we sped up, but the ride was smoother. A ways down the road, Rhoda's inquisition moved on to me; we ran through the litany of questions I'd gotten used to answering – did I know how I worked, what happened when I ran down, etc. – but she asked a few new ones as well. Some, like whether I still felt emotions, were things I'd thought about myself, but she caught me completely off-guard when she asked: "So…what does it feel like, being wound up?"
It wasn't that I'd never considered it, but I definitely hadn't given it serious thought; I'd noticed the differences in technique between Tammy, Emma, and Anne, for sure, but I'd never really thought about how it felt…
I thought for a long moment. "It's, uh…well, I mean, it's rejuvenating, obviously. Like catching your breath when you're worn out. And…it's weird, because everything stops and starts around me until it's done and I can just run normally. But…" I searched my memories for a suitable analogy. "It's…like having someone comb your hair," I said at last. "You know, kinda…basic personal-care stuff, except someone else is doing it to you, and you just have to trust that they've got you…"
"Mm," she said. "Sounds nice…"
"It's—" I started, then stopped, frowning. Nice? It wasn't unpleasant, but it was also the limiting factor of my entire existence now: the reason why I needed other people on-hand all the time, why I could never be independent like this… That was supposed to be nice!? Just because it felt…it felt…soothing and comforting, and…and secure, and…and…!
I sighed. "It's…yeah, it's nice." I felt like I should be blushing, and wished I still could. But I couldn't deny the simple fact of it…
"Mm-hmm," Rhoda replied. "So…is it, like, getting a hug, or more like cuddling? Like, y'know, if it was a guy you liked…or a girl," she added, noticing my expression in the rear-view mirror, "would that be, uh…?"
"Rhoda…!" Tammy scolded, looking a bit flustered herself. She glanced back at me to see if an apology was due.
Her sister shrugged, keeping her eyes on the road. "What? I'm just asking…"
"I…don't know," I lied. I couldn't say I hadn't thought about it, but I hadn't let myself reach any conclusions; I still didn't understand the sense of lack-of-feeling I had with that aspect of my psyche, and it wasn't like it would be relevant anytime soon…
"…Huh." She didn't sound convinced, but she didn't press the matter. There was a silence after that which seemed to last for a minor eternity before a distraction blessedly presented itself.
"Wait, uh…" I blinked in surprise that was only half-feigned. "…Did we just pass a giant fish statue?"
"What, you've never seen the walleye before?" Tammy chuckled, as if this was a cultural institution that everyone knew about. Rhoda laughed. "Man, I wanna stop just for the heck of it, now…!"
I laughed too, and shrugged. "Nah – I've never been out this way, that I recall anyway. Just up and down the interstate, mostly." I wasn't that fascinated by a fiberglass fish, but at least it broke the up conversation…
We drove on in less awkward silence for a while longer before Rhoda returned to quizzing her sister. "So," she said, "you figure you're gonna try again, or…?"
Tammy blinked in confusion. "'Try again…?' Oh, uh…" She frowned and thought for a moment. "Honestly, I dunno. I've been busy enough just getting used to this that I haven't thought about it much – that and classes. Plus, we're still on the naughty list right now, as far as the administration's concerned."
"But you could, down the road, right?"
She nodded uneasily. "Well, yeah. It's just…there might be risks to it."
"Really?" Rhoda said, surprised. "Like what?"
Tammy glanced back to me. "Well, nobody's really sure," I said hesitantly. "We think the morphic field – uh, the force that keeps you shaped like you – can be weakened by prolonged exposure to metamorphic forces. It takes about the same energy to change a subject again as it does the first time, but it progressively decreases after a few changes. We don't know what happens when it approaches zero, but it's possible the morphic field might break down completely."
Rhoda gave a low whistle. "And then what? You become, like, a shapeless blob or something?"
I shook my head. "Probably not. Amorphous species like slimes or shapeshifters actual demi-human types, after all. But you might start changing spontaneously from, say, cell-phone signals or even cosmic background radiation. Pressing your luck could mean you live the rest of your life never being in one shape long enough to get used to it."
"Yow," she said. Tammy nodded. "Yeah. So…not gonna rule it out, but I'm gonna rush into that. I always figured on being in the field when we finally crack targeted changes, anyway."
Rhoda nodded thoughtfully, and we drove on in silence. The awkwardness between us was gone, but I couldn't stop thinking: what were my prospects like, now? The last few weeks were such a blur that I'd hardly stopped to think about it. Practically speaking, the odds of returning to my true shape were, well, astronomical. It wasn't even known if you could become a normal human; there'd never been a documented case. Some demi-human types were externally indistinguishable, or nearly so, but never just plain-vanilla human.
So my best bet for a return to "normal" would be a male demi-human of a fairly non-exotic type. I could live with that; being, say, an elf or a cat-person would still take some getting used to, but nothing too crazy, compared to this. But how reasonable was it to expect even that? I might just as easily become a centaur, a harpy, a plant-person. What if I couldn't fit into normal restroom stalls and had to duck under most doorways? Or had wings for hands, and had to do everything with my feet? What if I were rooted in place, living in a planter or out in the garden? What would be an "even" trade-off…?
And really, there was no guarantee I'd even be male. If anything, demographic trends leaned the other way (which fueled a lot of speculation on demi-humans' supposed reproductive drives and whether some force in the universe favored an increase in the diversity of sentient life.) Hermaphrodity (of several flavors) wasn't out of the question, either…
Of course, I could keep trying (at least in a scenario where some research lab was willing to blow through any arbitrary amount of energy on one subject,) but that's what gamblers always tell themselves: just one more pull of the lever, you're really feeling it this time, your number's finally about to come up – and then you end up in some unknown but assuredly traumatic kind of total morphic-field breakdown…
But what did that leave? If I wasn't willing to gamble on finding a somewhat more familiar form, I'd have to resign myself to living out my days as this strange girl-shaped clockwork contraption: to never being independent, to being seen as a woman, a machine, or some bizarre combination… I couldn't do that, could I? I couldn't just give in, the way I always did – this was my life, here! I had to do what I could to go back to how I was supposed to be, no matter what Emma or Anne or Rhoda might think about it…
But that was all off in the nebulous hopefully-near-future, anyway. Until the faculty relented or another lab reached out to us, I couldn't change again, whether I could work up the courage or not…
Tammy and her sister went back to chatting, this time about casual family and life stuff – how uncle so-and-so was doing, when Rhoda got her license, and so on. I got as comfortable as I could, half-listening, letting my mind wander, trying not to think about the long-term more than I already had. I remembered long holiday car trips as a kid, before I'd gotten a Game Boy, just lying down on the seat after finally getting bored of crosswords and Mad Libs and dozing off to the quiet, rhythmic bumping of the pavement joints, until finally a voice said—
"Hey—uh, hey, Sue…?" Tammy said. "Wake up, we're here."
"Here" was a weathered old farmhouse dating to the early '40s at the latest; more likely, to when the Ottoman Empire was still a thing. Despite its age, it looked well-kept; it'd been re-painted within my lifetime, and it looked structurally sound (though the front porch had clearly been shored up recently.) The ramshackle barn, less so; the brick-walled ground floor was intact, but the roof had caved in and the haymow was exposed to the elements. The silo probably hadn't had a roof on it since the Reagan administration.
There was no sign of livestock besides some chickens pecking around in the snow outside a more recently-built coop; a machine shed off by the treeline housed a small tractor and some tilling implements; from the driveway, it looked like most of the property was dedicated to produce. A weathered and snowed-over sign, chainsaw-carved, stood opposite the mailbox, and read: ARCADIA. I wondered if the farm was a self-supporting venture or a hobby project that'd gotten out of hand, but it wasn't really my business.
We got out of the car, and I had to marvel at the sheer quiet. We were miles off even the state highway, let alone I-35; apart from the house across the road, we were probably a mile or more from anything. A fresh layer of snow blanketed the ground and muted all sound; the cold wind blowing across the fields made only a gentle moan. Even the chatter of my mechanisms seemed hushed…
But Tammy and her sister were making for the house, and I had to follow. It wouldn't do me any good to stand out in the cold until I ran down again, though I wasn't likely to be molested by any more horror-monkeys out here. We entered a little coatroom in back (which seemed to be the main entrance, since it had a wheelchair ramp and a widened door,) kicked off our boots, and stepped into the kitchen.
The house was a bit drafty, but warm, and the kitchen was filled with the smells of cooking and the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee. Nobody was there when we entered, but a pot was simmering on the stove, and several covered dishes were set atop it so the oven would warm them. Rhoda was about to call out when a young man – lanky, slouchy, freckled and tanned, with a disorderly thatch of fine dark hair – ambled in from the living room. "Hey, Tammy," he said. "'Bout time you got here. Mom'll be up in a minute, she's getting some things from the basem—"
He stopped, stared at his sister, glanced at me, then stared at her again, his jaw dropping. "Tammy?" he said, stunned. "Uh, holy shit."
"Language, Nicodemus!" came a voice from the pantry, as an older woman stepped into the kitchen, cradling a couple of bottles in her arms. "And just what are you cussing at your sister over, anyway…?" She glanced over to us and her eyes widened. "Tamara? Oh my God…!"
There followed a repeat of our conversation with Rhoda, and then a third go-round when Tammy's father came inside partway through and we had to start over. It was clearly a big emotional deal for them, but I still felt awkward, standing there watching it as an outsider. By the end of it, though, I'd been introduced to the whole family (except for a brother and his wife who were still en route,) and they'd been introduced to "Susan." I still felt unsure about that, but I couldn't back out now…
Mrs. Greenfield could hardly have been more unlike her daughters: thin, willowy, and very pale, with soft, subtle features and thin, pale lips; even her wrinkles were thin and delicate. Her hair had once been auburn, but was mostly silver now. But Tammy and Rhoda shared her piercing green eyes – and her voice, although she spoke soft and hushed as the snowfall, while they were outspoken, even boisterous. There was something slightly otherworldly about her; if it weren't for the prosaic setting and the wire-rimmed spectacles, I might've taken her for a sorceress or fairy godmother…
If the mother were a sorceress and the daughter a mermaid, the father would've made a passable Poseidon, apart from the lumberjack flannel and snow boots. He wasn't enormous, but he was well-built and looked to be in good shape for his age; he had a rugged, handsome face, a strong brow, and a great mass of curly black hair and beard running semi-wild around his head. The girls had clearly gotten their classical facial structure from him (as well as Rhoda's slightly curly tresses,) not to mention their demeanor – though he was louder and more jovial than either, despite his stormy appearance.
Brother Nick was the other way around; he had a face more like his mother's, boyish and subtle, but his father's steely gray eyes and olive skin. (Where he got the freckles, I didn't know.) Between the youthful good looks (I was surprised to learn that he was actually the eldest at twenty-five) and the slouchy, taciturn demeanor, he came off like an escapee from a boy band going incognito, but it gradually became clear that he was as good-natured as the rest; he and his mother were just quieter about it.
It took a while for the conversation to turn from Tammy's change (and occasionally mine) to anything else, but finally the dishes that her mother had been tending the whole time were deemed ready, and just around then, Rhoda's phone pinged. "That's Jason and Angie," she said. "Running late, got stuck behind a pile-up on 694. Safe and sound, but go ahead and eat."
"Well, that answers that question," Mrs. Greenfield sighed. "At least they're okay. Kids, would you help me with these? No sense in letting it get cold on us."
The siblings took the dishes off the stove and headed into the dining room. I was surprised that Tammy joined in; shouldn't they be considerate of her limitations? But maybe not going out of their way to treat her differently was a way to support her…? She did at least take one that wasn't too hot, so she could carry it…again, not in her lap, which she didn't really have, but snugged up against her tail in her seat.
I grabbed one as well, feeling awkward about not helping, and followed them; before long we were all seated around the table and ready to eat. They said grace and served up, and Mrs. Greenfield turned to me. "Susan, is there anything we can get for you…?"
"Uh, well, I don't really eat," I said uneasily; she probably felt bad about having her guest sit there at Thanksgiving dinner, unable to join in the meal. "Um, do you have any tea, maybe…?"
She smiled softly and nodded. "Of course. I'll get some water boiling."
Nick turned to me as she went off to the kitchen. "Sho, uh," he said, not quite between bites, "were you alwaysh a—um, a machine-person…? Like, uh, were you born this way?" He frowned, taking another bite. "How'sh that work?"
"Nick…!" Rhoda scolded, as if she hadn't been asking her own weird, awkward questions earlier.
"Uh, no," I said, suddenly very self-conscious, "this was from the accident…" I was surprised that it hadn't come up during the introductions; had they all just assumed I was a native demi-human? No, Rhoda knew the story; but the others? Was I just what they'd expect of a clockwork-automaton person? Was it in my demeanor? My body language? Had that changed, like with Emma? But my roommates said I still moved like a guy; why would the one aspect change, and not the other? Or did they guess that I wasn't a real woman? God – I'd gone with "Susan" to side-step any potential issues, but what if I'd only made it more awkward…?
My fretting was interrupted when Mrs. Greenfield returned with my tea. "It must be quite a lot to adjust to," she said, putting a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"Uh, thanks," I said, taking the mug from her. "And, um, yeah." I hadn't taken her for the touchy-feely type – she seemed too ethereal for it – but the gesture felt reassuring and maternal, and to my surprise I gave her hand a gentle squeeze before she returned to her seat. "Yeah, it is."
She smiled softly as I set the tea steeping. "Well, I'm glad you and Tammy are there for each other, at least. She's said a lot of good things about the friends she's made at college."
"Mom…!" Tammy said, looking a little sheepish. I had a desperate desire to know what she'd told them, and how much identifying information they had on me, but she didn't notice my attempts to catch her eye without drawing the others' attention. Did they know, or was I just "a friend from school?" Why had I ever gone with this plan? Or, at least, why hadn't I run it by her first?
"So, uh, Sue," Tammy's father put in, "d'you live far from school? I know she said one of her roommates was from Missouri?"
I shook my head. "Uh, no, just a few hours, down in Bear Lake. Not far, I guess." So they weren't too clear on the details…hopefully that boded well for my cover. Or should I have pretended that I was Emma, to throw them off the scent? No, no, one pointless lie was already too much for me to handle…
Tammy's mother looked confused for a moment, and seemed like she was about to ask something, but thought better of it. She seemed to be thinking it over when Nick spoke up. "So, uh, whatcha majoring in?"
"Math and physics." I took a long sip of tea, trying to calm myself. It'd be okay; they couldn't really suspect. If Tammy hadn't shared enough for them to tell me from Emma, she wouldn't have told them about me; surely they thought I was—
"You want people thinking you've always been a girl?" I felt a twinge at the memory of Emma's surprised question. Of course I didn't, but I wanted them realizing I was actually a guy in a sexless doll's body trying to pass as a woman even less. It'd be awkward and uncomfortable for me, and probably even moreso for Tammy…
Nick gave a low whistle. "Nice. Whaddya wanna be?"
"I, uh…" I thought for a minute, then shook my head. "I don't kn—uh, I'm still figuring that out." I wanted to give some canned answer, but I couldn't bring myself to make one up. I really didn't know; I was in the program because other people thought I should be, not because I had any specific goals. I didn't even know what came after getting my degree; what did I want to be? Hell if I knew.
"Well, it's a good time of life for that," Tammy's father grinned.
"You…you think so?" It was strange to hear that from an adult; I'd always felt like you were expected to have at least that much figured out by the end of high school. How else were you supposed to plan for a career…?
Mr. Greenfield laughed heartily. "Well, it's easier to do it now than later!" he said. "Beats not realizing that you don't really want to be an accountant 'til you're thirty-five, believe me."
"Yes, well, Mother would have killed me if I'd married a hobby farmer," his wife said, a wry smile on her thin lips.
He chuckled. "I guess it worked out, didn't it? Lucky for me I married a doctor. 'Sides," he added, with a twinkle in his eye, "she can't complain now; she likes my applejack too much."
"Dennis…!" she scolded, but her eyes were twinkling too. It was all so strange to think about; I knew people might reinvent themselves later in life, but to just abruptly change course in your thirties, while raising a family? How could you do that? Wasn't it stressful for the people who were depending on you…? But his wife and children showed no sign of resentment; Tammy even had a nostalgic smile on her face…
"Was…was it hard, doing that?" I cringed as the words left my mouth unbidden; I hadn't meant to actually ask…! But he didn't take offense; he only thought for a minute, smiled, and laughed quietly. "Yaknow, I was sure it would be," he said. "Had two young boys and a little girl to look after, and Rachel'd been at home since Nick came along…"
"But…every year tax season'd roll around, and I'd be stuck at the office every night from January to April, getting ulcers and wondering if I was finally gonna have that coronary." He grimaced at the memory. "So I'd daydream about where I'd rather be and what I'd do there, and I always thought about settling down on a bit of land somewhere quiet and getting away from it all. And the more I did, the more it felt, well, inescapable – like it'd already been decided. Finally I talked to Rachel about it, and she wanted to get back into the practice…"
He laughed again. "Oh, you betcha it was scary. I couldn't even believe I was doing it while I was walking into the office to give them my notice. Felt like my body was on autopilot and I could only watch and think about what could go wrong. But, well…" He sighed in relief. "When I walked outta that meeting, it was like the weight of the world was off my shoulders. I got to go home to my wife and kids knowing that I wouldn't spend the rest of my life chained to a desk wishing I was anywhere else…"
His expression turned a little melancholy, and he glanced at Tammy, who said nothing, but gave a subtle nod. "Good thing, too," he said. "We needed the flexibility when Tammy had her accident; the boys and I could help her at home, or we could send one of 'em to keep her company in the hospital when Rachel couldn't get out of a shift. Then there was P.T. after that…if we'd had to juggle all that with my office schedule, I probably would've had a breakdown, or worse." He looked back over at his daughter, and the sadness vanished from his face, replaced by a warm grin.
I felt like an outsider again, and I didn't know how to respond to these people baring their souls to me when I hadn't even meant to ask. But it struck me how not scarred they seemed by all that. People adjusted after traumatic events, sure, but everyone in Tammy's family felt so…so whole that I never would've guessed at their history if I hadn't known about her disability, let alone the years of stress and absence that predated it. How could they cope with this so easily, while I could barely understand what went on in my own head, let alone come to terms with what had happened to me…?
He was about to say something more, but there was the sound of a car pulling up in the driveway, and the whole family turned to the window. "Hey, there's Jason!" said Rhoda. Mrs. Greenfield sighed in relief. "Thank goodness."
The next few minutes were a bustle of activity as the latecomers tromped up to the door and let themselves in, and the family (save for Tammy) went to greet them. I stayed at the table, still brooding, not really listening to them; there was a lot of warm greeting, and some adoring noises as if over a child – which confused me, since I hadn't seen one exit the car. Then they came back to the dining room, and I saw that the wife was very clearly pregnant.
There was yet another introduction for "Susan," but curiously, nobody mentioned the lab accident or Tammy's change; they left Jason and Angie – a short, robust, intense man with fiery red hair and piercing blue eyes, and a statuesque Latina as easygoing as her husband was not – to assume that I was a normal demi-human. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why, until they all sat back down, and I realized that Tammy's lower half was hidden beneath the table. Sure enough, I caught the conspiratorial glances and suppressed smirks between them…
I still couldn't figure out why, but after a few minutes of conversation I started to piece it together. Jason was something none of the others were – a very driven, type-A personality. He was a doctor, like his mother, but more in line with the stereotype; not rude, but easily the most self-serious and success-minded of the bunch, and just a tad on the proud side. This was their idea of a practical joke, keeping a major piece of family news to themselves while he went on about his own life; and the longer it continued, the more they had trouble keeping straight faces.
Suddenly, there was a stir under the table, and he glanced over at Rhoda with mild annoyance. "Hey, cut it out, wouldja?" he said.
"Huh?" she replied not-quite-innocently. "I'm not doing anything…"
"C'mon, we both know you're kick…ing…" He trailed off as he realized that Rhoda was too far away; he glanced at me next, then Nick, but we were also out of range. Slowly, it dawned on him that the only possible culprits were his parents and Tammy; his eyes widened and, without warning, he ducked down to peer underneath the tablecloth, started, and banged his head against underside of the table. Instantly, the whole family erupted in laughter – including his wife, who'd cottoned onto the sly glances, if not the secret itself.
Jason came back up rubbing the back of his head and giving his family a sheepish grin. "You're all terrible, you know that?" he laughed. "Tammy, what…? When? How?"
"Keep going, that's three out of six," his sister chuckled; she lifted her pectoral fins above the table in a shrug, and Angie raised an eyebrow. Jason listened intently as she gave him a brief rehash of the story; meanwhile, his wife looked at me with a curious expression. Well, it was probably strange to meet someone unusual and think they've always been that way, before learning that they used to be normal…
"Well, I guess your niece'll have to learn to swim early," Angie chuckled, rubbing her belly. She picked through the dishes on the table, creating a mildly alarming "salad" of stuffing, jellied cranberry, green olives, black pepper, and gravy. I cringed and gave silent thanks that I was a guy and I'd never have to worry about being pregnant, then did a mental double-take as I had to reassess that a couple different ways, and tried to force the whole question out of my mind. I wasn't very successful.
Tammy shrugged. "Eh, it's not like I'm gonna just up and move underwater 'cause of this. Still don't know what my long-term plans are, but living on land like this isn't any more inconvenient than it was already – less, even." She grinned. "Not that I'm gonna pass up the opportunity to teach her."
"Can't miss the chance to be 'the cool aunt,' huh?" Rhoda chuckled.
Tammy laughed. "C'mon, I was always going to be 'the cool aunt.' Your role is to be 'the wacky aunt.'"
Rhoda cackled and swooned back in mock-woundedness. "Got me there. I refuse to own a bunch of cats, though. Sekhmet's a handful all by herself."
Tammy looked around curiously. "Yeah, where is She-Who-Mauls, anyway?"
"In time-out downstairs," Mrs. Greenfield said. "I caught her nosing around the stuffing earlier. Right on the stovetop, bold as you please."
"Lucky, too," Nick put in. "Bet she's gonna 'love' you even more now."
Tammy grimaced. "Gah, I hadn't even thought of that." She got a look that I'd come to recognize as the one where she had a question about her change that she thought I could answer, but she was visibly embarrassed to actually ask it. I shook my head subtly, reassuring her that no, she didn't smell fishy. She sighed in relief.
The Greenfield clan chatted for the rest of the meal, jibing and laughing and reminiscing as family members do. They were all perfectly nice, and they made an effort to involve me in the conversation, but I still felt like I didn't belong, sitting there not eating and sipping my tea, watching someone else's family from the outside. Why had I even come? Moral support, nominally; but Tammy's family had accepted this so easily it seemed alien to me. If I wasn't needed, could I go home now, back to the dorm…?
No, of course not; I couldn't badger Rhoda into driving a couple hours back up to Lakeside just for my sake, even if I was getting antsy. I was committed for the weekend, and I'd just have to put up with it. Besides, it felt…well, nice. Or…nice-adjacent? It was very strange; I felt awkward and out-of-place, but the atmosphere was just too damn warm and familial to not be infectious, and I found myself getting caught up in it, a little. But that just made me wish I could really be a part of it, which got me brooding all over again…
"You okay there, Sue?" Tammy asked, interrupting my funk. "You sound like you're starting to run down."
"Huh? Uh, yeah," I said, snapping back into the world outside my head. I was lagging a bit, come think; riding in the car took a lot less energy than walking around campus, but the rest was a lot to handle, even before I started getting lost in my own head. I wasn't about to be immobilized, but I did need winding. But had we really gotten to the point where Tammy could recognize it by the sound…?
Rhoda's eyes widened, and she fairly leapt out of her seat. "Oh! Oh! My turn!"
Tammy looked to see if I'd object, but I shrugged; there was no point in turning her down. I'd had to get used to it by now, and I didn't want her to feel snubbed. I got up, reeling slightly as I realized how drained I really was; it was a bit like getting up too quick after drinking. I waited obligingly while Rhoda came over, took hold of my key, and got a feel for it. She wasn't bad at it; energetic, like Emma, but with a less brute-force approach, a more delicate touch. And it definitely felt better to not be out of energy, especially since it wasn't even six o'clock yet.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Greenfield brought out the desserts, since everyone but Jason and Angie had finished with the meal. I could only stare a bit sadly at what looked – and smelled – to be an incredible apple pie, with a little figure of a tree carved into the crust; I contented myself with taking a chance on mulled cider. Predictably, the alcohol did nothing, but the sharp apple tang and aromatic spices were pleasing, at least…
Dinner ended around quarter after six; we all pitched in to clear the table, and the family split into a couple different groups. Mrs. Greenfield and Angie started in on the dishes, while the men retired to the living room and sat down with tapes of some strange backwoods Canadian sketch comedy. I spent a long while wondering what I was supposed to do, which group I belonged in…
I offered to help with the dishes out of a need to make myself useful, but Tammy's mother wouldn't hear of a guest doing the work. That was just as well, since I didn't know what water (or soap, grease, or food matter) would do to my inner workings; and being around Angie made me feel awkward and confused. Here I was, pretending to be a woman, with people seeing me as a woman, and some of my friends all too eager for me to identify as a woman – and this perfectly nice lady was unwittingly confronting me with a clear reminder that I really wasn't one, whatever I was…
…Was that bad? I didn't want to be a woman, right? And I certainly had no desire to go through that, or deal with any of the gross, painful biological realities that came with the territory…so why did it bother me to be reminded that I couldn't? My mechanisms surged and slowed as I turned it over in my mind. I remembered what I'd said to Emma, about not knowing where I could ever belong like this…
"Hey," said Rhoda, interrupting my thoughts, "c'mon upstairs; I gotta show you what I've been working on." She was talking to Tammy, but then she turned to me. "You too. C'mon!"
I didn't know what she meant, but I had no real reason to decline; even if it wasn't interesting to me, it beat standing around over about things I didn't understand…
"Hey, wait," I said as we left the kitchen, "upstairs…?"
We came to the foot of the stairs a moment later, and Tammy chuckled. "Uh-huh. We got this donated from the Rotary years ago, when they moved to their new building. Still works."
An old-timey lift ran up the stairway: the kind you see in nursing homes, with a rail track running up the wall and a chair mounted to it. It probably dated from the '50s, and was obviously a retrofit; the wall must've been torn up and reinforced – it was painted drywall, not the lath-and-plaster in the rest of the house – and the stairs had definitely been rebuilt. But it looked well-maintained, and Tammy didn't hesitate to transfer herself to the little seat and switch it on.
We followed behind as it slowly rattled its way up the staircase. Tammy was considerably longer than she used to be, and the staircase was only so wide, so she had to pull her tail up to keep it from dragging against the steps or the opposite wall; she ended up having her sister hold it up for her, like she was carrying her train. Rhoda was visibly awed by it, and kept almost giving in and stroking her sister's mottled golden scales.
"Do you use this a lot?" I asked, listening to the hum and rattle of the mechanism against the chatter of my own inner workings. It probably went slow for safety's sake, but it felt like it was taking forever…
Tammy shrugged. "Eh, yes and no? My room and all the essentials are on the ground floor, but it was nice that I could go up to Rhoda's or the boys' room when we were growing up. Before we got it, she'd have to bring her toys and dolls downstairs if she wanted to play with me."
Rhoda laughed. "Tell you what, though, I got real good at carrying stuff. That's a life skill right there."
"Definitely with your hobbies," Tammy chuckled. "The usual loadout's gotta weigh like half of what you do." The lift came to a stop; she twitched a pectoral fin away from the sharp fronds of a potted palm on the landing, and grabbed a foldaway wheelchair standing nearby. She opened it up and lunged forward onto the armrests, lifting herself with her tail and pivoting into the chair, frowning as it creaked under her weight. "Huh, I'm not sure this thing's gonna cut it anymore."
"Oh, I guess you're kinda heavier now, aren't you?" Rhoda said. "I never thought of that."
"Neither did I," Tammy replied. "S–uh, Sue explained it to me after the incident. Had to spend like two days reworking my dietary plan 'cause of it."
Rhoda eyed me curiously. "Oh? You study this stuff? Cool. Guess it came in handy, huh?"
"It's not really—" I started, embarrassed, but Tammy cut me off. "Yeah, she's been a big help," she said, giving me a wry, knowing smile. "Honest to God, I didn't even know how I was supposed to go to the bathroom like this, but she was able to tell me – before it was too late. Helped me get the hang of breathing underwater, too."
"Omigod, that's a thing you can do now, isn't it!?" her sister said excitedly. "What's it like?"
She shrugged. "It was freaky at first, getting past the mental block, but it's breathing; I just kinda forget about it, except I have to empty my 'windpipe' when I get out of the water, or I end up exhaling it into my clothes."
Rhoda had a good laugh over that, then ushered us into her room. It was the front room of the upstairs, overlooking the porch, and it was huge – at least half the width of the house, and around 14' on the shorter axis. It was probably the original master bedroom; I wondered what a teenager was doing with a space like this to herself, but then I stopped and took it in.
The place was decked out with enough armor and weapons to supply a dozen medieval mercenaries, if they weren't too picky about coordinating their outfits. A bed and nightstand were tucked away in one corner, with a walk-in closet nearby, but the rest of the room was filled with shelves, racks, and stands holding all manner of gear, with a workbench in the center; pieces of metal, fabric, and leather were spread across it, plus a plethora of tools. Was she into live-action roleplay, then? She'd seemed so "average teenage girl" up 'til now; well, books and covers…
She eagerly showed Tammy various current and newly-completed projects; I glanced around the room while she went on about each of them. I'd known people in the SCA crowd before, but this looked (to my admittedly inexpert eye) less historical and more just historically-inspired fantasy mishmash. Still, the artistry and craftsmanship on display were impressive for a sixteen-year-old.
I felt intimidated again; even the baby of the family was more together than me. Hell, when I was her age, I mostly holed up in my room reading, listening to music, and trying not to think about that point in life where you're supposed to spin yourself a cocoon and magically transform into a functioning adult. Other people had interests, hobbies, passions, drive; I had some raw ability, but no idea what I was supposed to do with it…
"Here," Rhoda said, interrupting my thoughts and handing me a stick. I took it by reflex and was about to ask her why when I realized there was a blade on the end. "Uh, wha…?" I said, confused.
"Mmm," she said, giving me a look-over, "hmm. Yeah, yeah, I think that'll work."
"No, really," I said, cautiously hefting the spear,* "what, uh…what is this?" I examined the sharp bit; I couldn't tell by looking how sharp it was, but should we really be playing around with this…?
* (Fauchard? Glaive? Glaive-guisarme?)
Rhoda grinned. "I dunno yet, I'm still piecing it together in my head. Um, let's see, here." She handed me a scarf with a red-and-gold geometric pattern woven into it. "Now, where'd I leave the crossbow…?"
I glanced at Tammy, but she only gave me a grin in response. Was it normal in their family to drag guests into spontaneous LARP-ing or whatever we were doing here? It struck me that, as accomplished and successful as they apparently were, Tammy's family were all at least a bit, um, weird. I hadn't thought of those as going together, but here we were…
Well, I can't say I hate this, at least, I thought, even if I didn't grasp the point. She seems like a nice kid; as long as she doesn't end up going after me with that, uh, that axe there, I guess I can humor her. Still, I brought the polearm down and ran my finger over the blade. Good, it was dull, though it'd still hurt to get jabbed with; and I wasn't sure how much that armor she was holding would help.
"Mm, headcanoning here," she said, looking it over. She glanced at my key, shook her head, and set it back on the stand, intensely lost in thought. "I'm picturing you as an ingenious dwarven construct, created to guard a treasu—no, a sacred temple…no, no, I don't think of them as religious types…"
"A library?" Tammy suggested, as her sister picked out another piece of armor. She was getting that mischievous twinkle in her eye that she'd had at dinner, and it still surprised me. I'd never seen this side of her at college; did they just bring this out in each other?
Rhoda brightened, as she added the cuirass to the growing pile of things I had to hold onto. "Yeah, that's it! A library, a shrine to knowledge. But the whole race disappears in a mysterious cataclysm, leaving you alone for millennia, charged to watch over this forgotten place, until, um…a disaster destroys the library. Yeah…just swallowed into the earth, leaving you as their sole legacy, until, uh…"
"…until something starts to change inside you," Tammy interjected, giving me an impish smile. "Wandering without purpose in a world that's forgotten you, the sights you see and people you meet become your own memories, and you become more than a mere functionary, developing a real sense of self. Your old purpose fulfilled, you travel the world seeking to understand who you really are, and find a purpose of your own…"
"Oh, that's brilliant, sis," Rhoda grinned, handing me a piece of folded fabric; I was too distracted to take much note of it. Tammy had me flustered; I knew that was a dig at my issues, but I didn't understand why she went there. Until now, she'd been the tactful one, the one stepping in to keep Emma from badgering me; was it this new side to her?
But as much as it confused and irked me, I felt curiously drawn in by the story the sisters had conjured up for me. I found the idea of a mysterious girl, lost and alone in a world that had no fixed place for her, learning to survive and grow, finding companions and making her own place in the world, to be strangely resonant, and I could picture her in my head, and…and…
…And something was pricking at my pantleg. I looked down to see a large Thai cat industriously clawing at my jeans; I tried to shoo it off, but my arms were too full of miscellany and I didn't want to kick too hard lest I lose my balance. Thankfully, Tammy noticed. "Sekhmet!" she hissed, brandishing her caudal fin like a broom. "Get off her! Go on, git!"
Sekhmet skittered out of range, back arched and tail puffed, took a moment to regain her composure, and did her best to convey in typical feline manner that, fine, she didn't really want to do that anyway, and if we were going to be like that about it, I could just shred my own pants. She slunk over to the bed, leapt up, and curled up in the blankets, eyeing us from time to time as she weighed the risks of going after the giant fish that had invaded her territory.
"Sorry," Tammy said. "I wish I could say that she's not usually like that, but, well, that's Sekhmet."
"'Salright," I said. Really, I was just glad she got my pants and not the fabric on my leg; the jeans I could toss, if they got too mangled, but what if my "skin" got a snag in it? I had no idea how you'd fix that, or if it'd get worse if you didn't…it was cosmetic, anyway, but it was still part of my body right now; whether I liked this or not, I'd much rather be an intact clockwork doll-thing…
Before I could get lost in wondering whether my body could repair itself or how that would even work, Rhoda took me by the arm and led me over to the mirror on the closet door. "Alright," she said, "let's try this out. C'mon!"
It took me a moment to realize what she meant. I glanced uneasily over at Tammy, who just shrugged. "I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to, Sue," she said. "Up to you."
It shouldn't have taken me this long to realize that putting on a full costume would involve taking off my clothes, but I'd been pretty distracted. Tammy and Emma were one thing, but the thought of stripping in front of Tammy's little sister felt weird and awkward to me. Okay, I wouldn't have to get completely naked, but…
But then, Rhoda didn't seem bothered; I wondered if she knew. Was she, like Tammy and Emma, attuned to whatever secret nuances of feminine body language supposedly gave me away? Or had that changed by now? Was I passing as "one of the girls" in her mind? Did I want to be…? Would it be creepy and weird if I was? If the point of this ruse was to make things less awkward for others, was it still the bad kind of deception, or was it the same kind of "comfortable lie" as so many other things in society…?
"Aw, come on, Susan!" she cajoled. "It'll be fun…"
Hesitantly, I undressed. I did feel awkward, but she was okay with it and expecting it of me, and that was about as much reason as I ever had to do something. Down to my briefs and cami, I took the bundle of cloth and unfolded it to find a sort of long body-wrap. I felt a bit self-conscious, like I had with Emma's outfit, but it was less of a dress and more a West African or ancient Middle Eastern wrapped skirt thing – those were unisex, right…?
After a bit of fumbling around trying to figure out how to put it on, Rhoda took over, wrapping it over my bust and under my key, then around my torso, cinching it tight around my waist and hips and letting the lower folds hang looser. Once this was in place, she took something off the workbench. "Tammy told me to make this, 'just in case,'" she said with a grin. "Wouldn't tell me why."
It was a linen blouse with a slit up the back and cords to lace it up with. I felt hesitant, but it wasn't too overtly feminine, just a bit billowy. After that came the cuirass, made of boiled leather, padded inside and reinforced with metal bands; conveniently, the pieces down the back left a gap for my key. How much of this had Tammy planned – and why? But Rhoda was already setting something on my head, doing something with my face, turning me to the mirror…
I saw a woman there. A mysterious figure, with a quiet, inquisitive look, one eye hidden behind her silver hair, her delicate frame concealed under an armored shell. She held a spear out, as if to keep the world at bay – but something in her deep purple eyes cried out for contact, for companionship, after so many ages of being alone; for some place, in a vast and uncaring world, where she could truly belong… Dazed, I shook my head, clearing my thoughts. Why was I getting so worked up over this? Over a…a costume?
I looked it over. It was a shameless jumble of styles – she'd also given me the helmet version of those Asian hats, which just made me think of Lucky – but it was oddly charming; the kind of smorgasbord you get in RPGs, piece by piece, as you score a +5 Barbarian Left Pauldron of Smiting or whatever. (Or probably, in Rhoda's LARPer headspace, what "I" acquired over years of wandering.) And the elements were nice, even if they clashed; the subtle geometric patterns and colors of the skirt, the lacquer finish on the helmet…but it was just a costume, right?
It's what you wear to pretend to be something you're not. That's what I'd said to Emma – but how much of me was a costume? How many layers had I wrapped myself in, trying to be what people expected, pursuing goals that weren't mine, looking for direction from someone else because I had no compass of my own…? I suddenly couldn't stop thinking about it. And now I was pretending to be someone else entirely, dressed up as yet another character…was there even a real me in there, under all the make-believe, or was it just hollow inside? If there was nothing underneath, did it even matter how the outermost wrapping was shaped—
Click! The sound of a cell-phone making a camera-shutter noise broke off my train of thought. I whirled around, and Rhoda yelped and leapt out of the way of the spear, which I'd forgotten about. I yanked it back to my chest with a startled "OmigodI'msorry—!" whereupon it clanged against the helmet and set things rattling in my head.
Tammy laughed. "That's what you get for sneaking pics, sis. Lucky you didn't give her one of the heavy weapons."
"It's not 'sneaking!'" she protested. "I mean, everyone takes photos with costume stuff. That's 1000% normal."
"Uh-huh," Tammy said dryly. "Don't think I've forgotten the episode with my prom dress."
"That wasn't—!"
They continued bickering amiably, but I was distracted by how surprisingly not embarrassed I was over that. I'd felt awkward and self-conscious being seen in the outfit Emma picked out for me, but this, not so much. Was it that this was far enough removed from daily life at the college that it somehow didn't "count?" Or did her choices cross some mental line I'd never had to map out before? Was it that her express intent was to make me experience something overtly "feminine?" Or…was I just getting used to this, after being this and being seen as this for this long? The thought made me uneasy, and I wasn't sure it was the case, but I really didn't know…