NothingSpecial: gender-bending transformation stories, comics, and occasional poetry =^_^=
"Hah, that was a hell of a thing at the end there." Gil chuckled, cracking his neck and stretching his arms as we ambled down the hall. I glanced at him curiously; it'd only just struck me, but he seemed somehow different than I remembered. He'd always been lanky, but I'd never noticed the subtle musculature before – and his cocky grin seemed a little cockier than usual, though that was less of a mystery. "Right into the wall! Who's all that now, Esther!?"
His attitude came off a little stronger than strictly warranted, given that he'd come in second to Jonathan, but I didn't feel the need to take him down a peg. "I didn't know they had racing games in…whenever the heck that thing was built," I said, still a bit pumped myself. I'd never had the knack for driving games, but it'd seemed easier this time; I wondered if, as with Spacewar! that first night, my new ability to slip into a groove and just go with the flow was responsible…not that I'd placed well, but it was much less frustrating, at least.
He thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I mean, I think the idea goes back to, like, the penny-arcade era," he said, "but…yeah, I don't think they did, not like we think of them. That was something Josh and Ben have been working on."
I cocked an eyebrow, whirring in surprise. "Wait, they came up with that whole thing? Like, even the deer? From scratch!?"
Gil laughed. "That's the great thing about computers. Given free access and documentation, anybody can do just about anything they want, with enough time and dedication. They're like…a canvas to paint reality on. Or, well, imagination, at least." He shrugged. "Besides, if you can do it on the 2600, you can do it anywhere. Now those guys were god-tier."
"I dunno about anybody," I said, shaking my head. "That stuff is kinda on another level from just knowing how to use them productively."
He shrugged. "Eh, yes and no? Everybody thinks of it as something 'normal people' don't do, and because they don't do it, they conclude that they can't do it, without ever trying. Like how most people think of music or art as something only musicians or artists do, and not 'for' them. But it's mostly about learning to think analytically and cultivate good mental habits; if you can do that, you can apply those skills to pretty much any system."
"I mean, I guess," I said, as he lapsed into muttering about walled gardens and the powers-that-be plotting to keep the masses from taking charge of their own devices. "In theory, anybody could do a bunch of things, but nobody has the time to learn everything, so we defer to other people on a lot of stuff."
He grimaced. "Okay, yeah. It's just…" He sighed. "I hate to see people holding themselves back, y'know? So many people won't even try to figure stuff out or solve problems themselves nowadays, 'cause they've been conditioned to not think about things and just passively consume instead. And don't get me started on what social media and the 'content' industry have done to public intelligence…"
"I know, I know, it's all a grand conspiracy and the doom of civilization," I laughed. Not that I really disagreed, but he got so intensely earnest when he went off on these kinds of rants that I couldn't help finding it weirdly charming. "But you have to admit," I said, as we rounded the corner to the elevator alcove, "ffor the resst of us, it's an awfullly convennnientt opiattte…"
Uh-oh. I pressed the call button. I'd been enjoying myself too much to realize I was running down; Anne usually took care of me, but she'd been too busy with a project to make it tonight. And I still had the whole way through the tunnels to go…
Okay, what do I do? I wondered, as the elevator hummed its way down the shaft. The tunnels were dead quiet this time of night; if I texted Tammy or Emma, they could come find me… That should work. I might even make it to the first intersection before the time-lapse really hit. The bell chimed and the doors opened, and I stepped inside and turned to say goodnight to Gil…
…only to find that he was already in the elevator with me. "Oh, here," he said casually, "lemme get that for you."
As soon as I realized what he meant, I was caught up in a flurry of confusing feelings. It was just winding, right? Okay, it was weird, but I'd gotten used to that. But it was someone besides my roommates; but I'd had to get used to that, too, with Anne doing it for me regularly. Was it that it was a…a guy doing it? But I'd even had that beardy twit help me out, in passing. Why was it this that had me feeling…feeling…
…what was I feeling? I didn't know. I felt…nervous? Cautious? Anticipatory…? about some prospect I couldn't identify; some thing that I thought might happen, but that I couldn't model in my head, and didn't know what to make of. Something that I didn't want? That I did want? I had no idea; it was like I was missing some part of my mind that should be processing this, like I should be feeling something but wasn't. That in itself was unsettling; why would some aspect of me be missing…?
While I was standing there trying to cope with this sudden existential crisis, Gil punched the button for the sub-basement, slipped around back of me, and took hold of my key…
…and then I understood what I was feeling all funny about. I'm a girl—
—well, sort of, and he's a guy…no, not just any guy, a guy I like—
—as a person, and who's kind of good-looking, in his way, for a geek—
—and now we're in close personal contact, and I don't know what this means—
—to either of us, 'cause under normal circumstances this'd be kind of—
—a little bit like physical intimacy, only we both know what I was—
—and he never showed that kind of interest before, and I don't know if I—
—should be feeling things in response to this, let alone if I want to—
—and I have no frame of reference for what's normal here, and even if—
—I did it wouldn't help, 'cause I still don't know how to feel about—
The elevator chimed. "Enough!" I sputtered, craning my head to stare back at him. I meant to shoot him a Look, but I was so discombobulated, my tempo and my thoughts having accelerated with every stroke, that I couldn't manage anything more than a baffled stare. "Th–that's…that's enough," I said, catching my notional breath as the doors opened, "…thank you…?"
Never mind what I should be feeling, or wanted to, I needed a moment to even process what I did feel. There was really nothing about that, in itself, that crossed the bounds of friendly physical contact – but I'd been so caught up in wondering what it might be that it was hard to focus on what it was. Gil's touch was firm, friendly, reliable – but was it the kind of thing that a woman was supposed to Feel Things about? And was I even a woman, for the purposes of this exercise…?
Or was it my own paranoia causing me to read way too much into this? Was I so worried about straying further from what I considered my true self that I was projecting those fears onto others? …Maybe that was it. Maybe it was just me, just my own weird and counterproductive mental habits. Maybe it was really nothing…
…and if it was nothing, it certainly wouldn't be fair of me to burden Gil with it. He was already staring back at me with a surprised and slightly guilty expression. "Um, sorry," he said sheepishly, as we exited the elevator. "Did…did I do it wrong? Anne makes it look so simple…"
"N–no, it's, uh, it's…fine," I said with a sigh, trying to put it out of my mind. "It just…kind of took me by surprise, that's all." I grimaced, feeling like I should be blushing; something was rattling away in my torso. "And, well…it's kind of embarrassing, and I get a reminder of that whenever someone new does it."
"It is?" He looked genuinely apologetic now, and I felt guilty for making him feel guilty. "I–I mean, it's not anything bad," I stammered hastily, "it's just…well, it's another reminder that I'm a machine. I'm…still coming to terms with that."
He looked relieved, but concerned. "You're…kinda hung up on that, huh?"
"I mean, it's hard to ignore," I said. "Everything about this body reminds me of the fact. And it has pretty major implications for me as a person, maybe. Like, am I just a program? Is everything about me determined by external inputs to a fixed algorithm? I know Grace thinks it's academic, but I still wish I knew…" I glanced up at him. "I mean, you're a programmer, aren't you? Don't you ever get that feeling?"
Gil stared down at me for a moment, his expression a blend of surprise and sympathy. "Honestly?" he said, distantly. He spent a moment lost in thought; then he stretched, folded his arms behind his head, and leaned back against the wall of the tunnel. He cut a surprisingly striking figure like that…
"…Old hacker story," he said. "Guy's poking around in the computer room one day when he finds that someone's mounted a switch on the CPU cabinet. One leg's wired to something inside; the other's disconnected. It's labeled – one position is 'magic,' and the other is 'more magic.'"
I gave him a puzzled look, wondering where he was going with this. I could feel at least a dozen little switching mechanisms clicking away somewhere within myself, even as he spoke.
"Well, he figures, it's basic electronics that nothing can flow through a broken circuit, so a switch with only one leg connected cannot, ipso facto, have any effect on anything. For a laugh, he flips the switch from 'more magic' to 'magic.' And the computer promptly crashes."
"So…something that shouldn't be possible actually happened?" I said, confused. "And this is, allegedly, a non-fictional account?"
He nodded, continuing. "Guy switches it back, reboots, leaves it alone after that. Some time later, he tells a colleague about it. Colleague thinks he's crazy, so he shows him; they follow the wire into the case and find that it's wired to ground, so it really shouldn't affect anything. Just to prove his point, guy switches it back to 'magic' again – and it crashes."
"And…what happened then?" I asked, curious. "They ever figure it out?" Obviously, if something "impossible" happened, it must be that someone was overlooking something, right…?
"Well, after that they remove it, just to be on the safe side," he concluded. "Guy offers a couple theories as to how it could be possible, but it doesn't sound like he really believes them – and he still keeps the switch set to 'more magic,' just in case."
Gil straightened back up. "Point is, to people like me, we 'know,' intellectually, that we live in what is supposedly a rational, deterministic universe – but life keeps throwing stuff at us that makes us wonder. Broken circuits alter behavior; code that should work doesn't, or code that shouldn't work does, and maybe we never do figure out why; glitches turn up in production but disappear as soon as you break out the debugger, and you're goddamn sure that frog was dancing just a moment ago."
He shrugged. "I can't prove that the universe isn't on rails, and I can rattle off a bunch of reasons why it probably must be; but I'm not sure I really believe it. Even the best systems have their quirks; maybe God's just a better engineer than the rest of us, but then who designs a system with zero-percent tolerances, anyway? Would reality break if I had brown sugar in my coffee? Nah – I don't buy it."
"And…you don't think it's relevant that I'm literally a mechanism 'being' a person?" Of course I knew that was true of organic life if it was true at all, but it was hard to get past feeling that it was different; was Grace right, and I only thought about it because I could feel the components of my mind in action, now?
He laughed. "If you wanna get right down to it, you're even less likely to be deterministic than normal robots. Like, sure, you're made of machinery, but mechanical computers have a helluva lot more 'play' than electronic ones. If instability is a factor in natural intelligence, you're better-equipped for it than they are."
"I…I guess that's one scrap of consolation," I said, as we turned and started down the tunnel; I hadn't asked him to follow me, but it felt better than being alone. I found myself bristling slightly at the idea that my mechanisms were unstable – wasn't that basically calling me shoddily-constructed? – but it did feel nice to have someone say outright that I wasn't merely the sum of my parts. "Not that there aren't other things I have to cope with…"
Gil gave me a curious look. "Honestly, it surprises me that you're this down on it. I'm sure it's a whole lot to get used to, and it's got its inconveniences, but knowing you I'dve thought this'd be a golden opportunity to explore one of your interests first-hand. You even got to be a whole new kind of lifeform."
"I–I'm…it's not—!" I sputtered, grinding into high gear, "I'm not…into that, okay!?" Not this again…
I could tell from his expression that he didn't believe me. "Come on, Freeman," he said. "I know, you 'read a lot' – okay, you're a trivia sponge, for sure. But nobody builds up your level of knowledge on subjects they're genuinely uninterested in; and I remember all those 'huh, did you know…?' moments when we were rooming together. I couldn't spend two months living with you and not notice that much."
I pointedly avoided his gaze, juddering in embarrassment as we walked. I felt mildly incensed at the implication that I wasn't being honest…but I began to wonder if I was. Okay, sure, I knew the drill; I'd explained to myself many times over how it wasn't the case, how it was just knowledge that I happened to pick up while binge-reading as a form of stress-management and nothing more, but…
…but, well, did that change anything? I'd used music for the purpose, too, and I wasn't under the impression that I didn't truly like it because of that. That'd be absurd; it was because I liked it that it was effective. But this? This was…this was…
I let out a heavy metallic sigh. "Okay, look, I…I do find this stuff interesting, in the abstract. But…it's weird. This isn't 'normal people' stuff, and I'm…I worry that if I talk to people about it, they'll think that I'm some kind of weirdo. That I want to become something else. And I really don't…didn't." I shook my head, staring at the floor, feeling like I should be turning red just admitting this to anybody. "I don't find these things fascinating because I think of them as a cure for what's wrong with me. And it's not like I was unhap—"
I stopped, frowned, and corrected myself. "Or…nothing about why I was unhappy had to do with what I saw in the mirror, I don't think. And it's not like what I've become is a 'fix' for things I struggled with as…my old self. Like, I'm less susceptible to stress attacks, and that's it. And that means I'm less prone to getting caught up in my emotions, period; but…some feelings you want to be swept up in, y'know?" I thought back to music with the Greenfields; that sense of having their feelings poured into me, being totally enraptured…but it took all of their efforts to produce that in me. Would I ever feel like that about anything…anyone…of my own accord?
"…I guess I get that, sorta," he said, after thinking about it for a minute. "But…even if you're not comfortable sharing it with other people, that's no reason to deny it to yourself, man. Even if nobody else accepts you, you can, right?"
"If 'contentedly alone' is what you want in life, sure," I sighed, chattering in exasperation. "I dunno; my life was complicated enough when that was the kind of thing I had to worry about. Now I have this whole new existence to adjust to on top of that, and a new set of worries about how people will see me to boot. Like, if I was afraid of people finding me weird when I was a totally unremarkable human being, what'll they think of me as this…this bizarro clacking, rattling machine-thing?"
Gil chuckled merrily. "Aw, c'mon. You know, to some of us, that kinda thing just makes you cuter—" He stopped, stared, and blinked in surprise, as if he hadn't planned on saying the words that'd just come out of his mouth.
We just stared at each other for about three eternities; the only sound besides steam hissing through the pipes overhead was the erratic surging of my own mechanisms. It felt like the world had dropped out from under me. Had I really just heard what I thought I had? He…he couldn't mean it like that, could he? It was weird enough finding a freakish mechanical simulacrum of a human being "cute" the way one might fi a cat or a hamster cute, but maybe, to the kind of people who like Tim Burton movies, that'd make sense. It'd certainly be a hell of a lot less weird than—
"Ah, hell," he said at last, "I didn't mean to drop that on you. But…dammit, I'm not gonna lie. I'm not gonna pretend I didn't say it, or didn't mean it. You're…you're so down on yourself, and so insecure about what you are – uh, what you've become – and you just…shouldn't be, because you're gorram adorable."
There was a rushing in my ears, almost as if I still had blood pounding through them. "G–Gil—" I stammered, half-wanting to head this off, but he was already continuing.
"You're, like…something out of a story," he said, gesticulating randomly as he tried to string his thoughts together, "but…really real. Living and br—well, not breathing, but…you get me? Something I never even thought to imagine until you showed it to me. And all these things you think are weird…the way the shutters in your eyes adjust to the light, the little twitches in your face when your expression changes, that chatter when you're surprised…it's all just cute as hell and I can't get enough of it."
He bit his lip and gave me a weirdly emotional look, drawing himself up to his full height; I'd never seen him like this. "So…so don't talk like you're some grotesque thing, okay? You're way cool. And…I know, this isn't something you're comfortable with, yet, but you shouldn't treat yourself badly just 'cause you haven't figured out how to feel about it. Being something unusual doesn't make you gross or weird; neither does having unusual interests, I…I don't think. You deserve better than to think of yourself like that."
Another brief eternity passed. That was it, then; even I couldn't miss the implications. He really meant it, meant it like that. He really thought of me as…as something desireable, the way a man would with a…with a woman. Was it because I was a "girl," or because I was a machine? Or was it both? Did I represent an ideal he'd never imagined, both a sort of antique computer and a desireable "female" partner? Was he into that…?
"…How long…?" I asked, finally. A drive chain in my lower back rattled softly.
"Since you changed," he said. "That Sunday, in the dorm…I was kinda just floored by it, at first. But after you left…" He sighed. "I couldn't get it outta my head. I liked you as a person before that, but suddenly you weren't just a roommate I got along with, you were also a cute girl, and a super-cool new species I'd never heard or thought of before. But…I didn't say anything, 'cause I knew you were going through a lot just then…"
"Just then!?" I thought incredulously. What'd he imagine I was going through now!? Was he so fixated on how "cool" he found me that he assumed I saw myself the same way? And why did he find this so neat, anyway? An impressionable "child" like Eve was one thing, but a grown man? If they had to deal with what I do… No, I was dodging the question. Whether or not this was "cool" in the abstract, the bigger issue was how he felt about me as…as a girl – and how I felt about it. I really wasn't prepared to consider this in any depth, but given the circumstances I could hardly avoid it…
The idea of someone finding me desireable wasn't totally alien – it wasn't like I was ugly before, and if I never got anywhere, it likely had more to do with my personal issues than my looks – but I'd never imagined that if somebody was attracted to me, it'd be for my pretty eyes or cute mannerisms. And I never expected someone to want to, what, treat me like a lady? Open doors for me, give me flowers, tell me how beautiful I looked in the kind of clothes I only wore at Anne's behest? It was absurd; that wasn't me, was it?
And, well, the notion was a lot more comprehensible when I'd had my own desires for reference… I remembered, of course, what it had felt like, but I could no longer internalize that, summon up the feeling from memory instead of just remembering that there had been a feeling. How could I possibly hope to understand (let alone respond to) feelings I couldn't empathize with…?
While I was grinding through that analysis, Gil mostly stared at the floor and shuffled his feet awkwardly. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "I really didn't mean to dump this on you just yet, but…I didn't want to weasel out once I'd said it. And now I've made everything all awkward, dammit…"
Something about the statement struck me funny. "…When did you mean to dump it on me?" I asked, pointedly.
He avoided my gaze for a minute and scuffed his shoe on the tile. "He…uh, the old man…he said that I should give it time and let you adjust before bringing it up. That it might take a long time to figure out how you feel and what you want, and until then you were gonna need friends more than you needed anyone…more. And that was about what I figured anyway, and…it was what I meant to do, honest…" He sighed. "But…I guess my mouth kinda ran away with my brain."
"The old man…?" I stared at him, confused, then felt my systems rev up when I caught on. "Wait, him? I mean, uh, you told people about this!?" How many people were in on this? How many strangers – or friends – were out there silently rooting for me to choose one course or another in a matter where I might not be able to function anyway? I could feel myself starting to shake just thinking about it…
"N–no, no!" he stammered, flinging his hands up in defense. "Just him, I swear. He, uh…he seemed like he might know a thing or two about…this kind of thing, and I…I didn't know what the hell I was doing. Maybe I still don't, I dunno. But…I didn't want to hurt you, and I figured if I just blundered into this like I do with most people stuff, I probably would. 'Cause…because…"
He let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. "Listen, Freeman. First and foremost, I care for you as a friend. And I want you to be okay – and happy – whatever that means for…for my feelings. But…I just…I don't totally get it myself, but I know what I feel, and…well, I kinda hoped that maybe…maybe you might be, um, open to…to seeing where this goes? I mean, not now, but…someday, when you feel comfortable with it…if you feel comfortable with it, I dunno…?"
He gave me a pleading stare; I almost felt put-off by it, but…I knew what it was like on the other side of that look. I remembered the awkwardness, the uncertainty, the sheer terror of baring your soul to someone, fumbling to put what seem like your very deepest feelings into words, and hoping to God that you don't get shot down so hard that you're forced to forsake ever knowing a lover's touch and flee to a monastery in Siberia to live out your life in utter solitude because you'll never, ever live down the shame of rejection. No matter how confused I was by all this, I absolutely recognized it – the please-please-please-tell-me-I'm-not-insane-for-imagining-this stare that so many have worn over the æons…
I groaned, burying my face in my hands, gears grinding in my gut. "L–look, Gil, it's…" It's okay? Was that what I wanted to tell him? Did I really believe that? It wasn't like he was doing anything wrong here, but was it okay with me? How did I feel about it? I stood there, brain humming, as I tried to form the words in my head.
"Listen," I sighed, "I…I don't really know what I feel. I don't even know what I want to feel. I'm still trying to figure out what I think of…this, or what I'm going to do when we can finally use the device again. I know I'll never be the old 'me' again, but…what do I want to be, instead? I'm still struggling to even comprehend the question. And if I do change again, who knows what I'd become? So if I…if I…"
"…if you let yourself get too comfortable with this, you're afraid you couldn't bring yourself to do it," he said, voicing what I couldn't bring myself to say. I nodded silently, wishing I could blush. How could he know what I was thinking when I couldn't even admit it to myself? Was I that easy to read…?
"People…keep telling me I have a choice in things," I said, struggling to get the words out. "But…every choice I make closes off other options, and commits me to that one. Was it the right one? Or…if there isn't a 'right' one, the best one? The one I'll regret the least? There's no way to be sure. But if I don't choose, then…then I end up where I've always been, just getting swept along with the current, because stuff won't stop happening whether I choose or not."
I sighed, trembling slightly. "If…if I do nothing, and stay like this for the rest of my life, will I be happy with that? With being a machine, having to rely on others, never being independent? With…with only looking like something that I'm truly not?" I stared up at him, feeling like I wanted to ask something that I couldn't put my finger on. "Or…if I do change again," I said instead, "where do I stop? What's 'close enough' for me to be happy with? How many tries do I gamble on to get it 'right?' What if I choose poorly? What if I screw up…?"
I glanced away, staring at the wall. "You said there's no 'right' or 'wrong' way for me to be – but even if you're right, even if it's only a matter of being more or less comfortable with myself, I still have to live with it. And if…if I get comfortable with this, if I explore this 'me' and the possibilities that come with it, then…it's a form of deciding, or…making it easier for me to decide on this instead of something else. Any step I take towards that is a step away from what I used to be, and that…that scares me."
"Is that all?" Gil said, then blinked, shook his head, and stammered, "Uh, I mean, I don't mean that dismissively, I'm legitimately asking. I, uh…I get where you're coming from, I guess, as much as anybody who's not going through that can, but…it's really just fear of departing from how you're used to seeing yourself? You don't, uh…?" He trailed off, but I could tell what he was thinking: You don't hate the idea of being with me…?
I thought back to him winding me, him leaning in close at the computer that first game night, the funny looks I hadn't understood until now…what did I feel when I thought about it? Some part of me found it nice to be wanted, but was that a reciprocation of his feelings, or just my own need to validate myself through others' perception of me? What did I want? What did he want that he thought I could offer him…? I couldn't get over all the things it seemed like I didn't feel, the things I didn't have…
"I'm…" I trailed off before I could even say it; how did you broach that subject? I wasn't even comfortable thinking about it, let alone talking about it, and he hadn't done anything to turn the conversation in that direction. Could I leave it in the subtext? Give him just the more psychological reasons why I didn't know how to answer? Save us the embarrassment…?
…No. I gritted my teeth. Ignoring the elephant wouldn't get it out of the room – and I could hardly pretend to be more concerned with other aspects when I didn't know how I felt about those either. I took a deep breath, wishing it had the same effect as when I had lungs to fill, expand my chest, and make me feel bigger than I knew I really was so I could pretend that I felt more confident than I did. "I'm…not…a real…girl," I said, forcing myself through it a bit at a time, and feeling like my whole head should be turning crimson.
He eyed me curiously as I stood there, mechanisms rattling, wishing I could just crawl into a hole somewhere and fall apart like the car at the end of The Blues Brothers. "I mean, I know," he said, with the deliberation of someone who knows they're not good at being sensitive trying to figure out how to approach a sensitive topic. "But…if it's about that, it doesn't bother me that you were—"
"No!" I snapped, cutting him off. I couldn't stop shaking. "It's not—I'm not…I'm a friggin' doll, okay!? I don't have anything, I just look like I should, God damn it! Everything you're hoping I'd feel for you or want to do with you, it's…it's all just filed under 'N/A' now!"
"…Oh," he said, eyes widening. "I…kinda already figured that was the case. And…" He sighed. "Look, I'm not interested in you just 'cause I want to…to sleep with you. It's you I like, not…what I imagine you could do for me. That's not the kind of relationship I want, honest."
I stared at him, trembling. He looked so earnest when he said it, like he really meant it – and like it actually made things better. But…didn't it? If I felt inadequate because I knew I couldn't do what I thought he expected of me, then if he didn't expect it, did that not make it alright…?
But instead of feeling better, I felt my tempo accelerating. "You…God, you don't understand!" I sputtered, fists clenched and a furious buzzing filling my head. I hardly knew what I was saying, but I couldn't stop myself. "Here I am going crazy trying to figure out how I even feel, but no matter what I feel, I can't do anything about it…!" I stood there, reeling, feeling absolutely mortified. Having that out there helped, a little, but I was still confused and upset; less at him than at my own uncertainty.
As I struggled to get myself back under control, I felt a hand on my shoulder; Gil was doing what he probably thought of as a respectful, man-to-man gesture, but really he was trying to somehow be comforting at arm's length. I shot him a Look, but he was too busy trying to not be awkward to notice; incensed at the density of the notion, I grabbed him and pulled him into a proper hug. He was surprised by that, but gave me a reassuring pat on the back; his touch was firm, friendly, and reliable…and that was all…
We just stood there like that for a minute; finally, I sighed. "I'm…I'm sorry I snapped at you," I said, feeling a little embarrassed at my outburst as my internals slowly settled back into something like their usual rhythm.
He nodded. "Hell, I'm sorry I dropped a bomb on you. I really did mean to keep it to myself until…some more appropriate time, but…I didn't want to lie to you once it slipped out." He shook his head. "Look, if…if you never do have an answer for me, that's okay. I meant what I said, but I don't think you're obligated to respond just because I feel something. If you're not okay with it, then it's…it's okay if you forget about it. But…if you ever do feel comfortable with it…if you want to give it a try…"
I just held onto my friend, unsure of what to say. "I…I don't know if I ever will figure all this out," I said. "And I may not even be anything you like when all's said and done, and who knows how I'll feel about…all this. But…I know you mean it, and I…I'll keep it in mind, I guess." It felt like a weaksauce answer to everything he'd laid bare to me, but I still hardly knew what my feelings were, let alone what I thought of his…
We broke the embrace after a minute and walked silently down the tunnel to the women's dorm. Gil wound me back up; I'd gotten so worked up that I was already running a little slow. I let the sensation of being cared for by someone wash over me, soothing me and calming my jumbled thoughts; then I went to the door. I turned back to him, and spent a long moment trying to think of what to say. "U–um, goodnight," I said, finally.
"Goodnight," he said quietly, smiling gently. I paused in the doorway; for a moment, it almost felt like I was someone else, watching myself go inside and call the elevator. Like there was some other me that stayed back in the tunnel, that went with him, that spent the following years in his company, learning to be something I'd never imagined being, to feel things I never thought I'd feel, finding some way to bring other creatures like myself into the world…
The elevator chimed, and I snapped back to the here and now with a start. I got in and spent the next minute or so standing there in a daze, wondering: if there were many possible paths, and each of them was traveled by a "me" in some other timeline, then…which of those, at the end, was truly the real me?
Tammy was still up when I got back; she glanced up at me as I came in the door. "Geez, are you alright?" she asked, speaking softly; Emma was probably already in bed. "You look like hell."
Was I alright? I thought back over everything that'd happened and felt myself getting all worked up again. She wheeled over and put a hand on my arm. "Seriously," she said, "are you okay?"
With a deep sigh, I sank into the couch. Lucky had come over to greet me, and I picked her up and held her while I unloaded on Tammy. She listened intently, but she seemed more taken aback at what Gil told me than I thought she would. Finally, she let out a low whistle. "Whew. Yeah, that's a lot to take in, for sure."
I nodded. "I think he meant well, but…it's already confusing trying to come to terms with what's different about me now, and having to consider how other people feel about…what I am now…was just overwhelming. I'm not sure I even got this stuff when I was a guy, and…and now it's all different on multiple levels…"
"I hear you," she said with a sigh. "I'm still figuring it all out myself, and I haven't changed nearly as much as you."
"You…you are?" I asked, slightly confused; then I realized what she meant. "Oh. I, uh…oh."
She nodded, blushing slightly. "It wasn't like that side of me didn't exist before, but…I'd hardly even started into puberty when the accident happened, and…I just never fully integrated that into my sense of self, I guess. I was aware of it, but it was all weird and awkward so I didn't think about it much. And now, a decade later, I'm suddenly in a body where everything works, and all the stuff I wasn't comfortable thinking about is a lot harder to ignore."
"…Huh," I murmured. I felt a little bad; all this time I'd thought I was the only one grappling with a drastic upset to my sexual identity, but Tammy had been going through her own struggles without a word of complaint, and I'd never noticed. Should I have? Would it've helped?
"I, um…" I hesitated, but she'd done so much to support me… "Um, if…if there's anything I can d—uh, I mean, if you ever want to talk about it…"
I half-wondered if I was making things even more awkward; and when I worked up the nerve to glance back in her direction, she had the strangest look on her face, like she wanted to say something but couldn't. "Uh, really," I said, "if…if you do want to talk…"
She groaned and bit her lip. "It's…um, thanks, but…I don't want to burden you with—"
"I, uh…look," I said, "after everything you've done for me, the least I can do is lend an ear…"
Tammy was silent for a long moment. "It's…" she said finally, "it's just…" She sighed heavily. "Look, I…kinda thought I liked you. Um, you know, before the change. I mean, I still like you as a person, but…it felt like more than that, maybe. And…hearing that your friend made a move…"
"…Oh," I said, unsure how to respond. It was less immediately confusing for me than Gil's confession, but no less deeply entangled in the weirdness of figuring out how I saw myself now, what I thought of how other people saw me, and what I felt about them…
She nodded sheepishly. "Like I said, I'm still figuring it out myself. I'm not sure what I feel now. I mean, I'd hate to say I liked you for who you are, but then feel differently when something changes about your body, especially when I think about the insecurity I felt…but I don't think I was ever into, um, girls, and…" She groaned. "God, and here I thought it was awkward having this conversation with myself."
"You've, uh…thought about this before?" Was everyone harboring a secret crush on me? Okay, so far it was only two people, but out of the set of people I knew, that was statistically significant. Of course, it would've felt more flattering if it didn't intersect with my ongoing identity crisis in weird, awkward ways…
"I've been trying to hash it out ever since the change," she sighed. "How I felt about you, what I'm attracted to in general, and whether that's changed since I became this…it's been confusing. And there was no way I could talk to you about it, not while you were still struggling to come to terms with this yourself…"
"…I guess not," I said. I couldn't really dispute it – this was confusing enough for me now, after a month and a half of acclimation, and after all the really awkward points had already been raised; how badly would it've thrown me if she'd brought this up back then? I still felt a little miffed, but it was already a challenge trying to figure out…tttoo ffigguurrre outttt…
I shook my head. "I, uh, s–s–ssorryy," I said, realizing I was running down again. "Iii, um, I nnneedd to gettt to beddd…"
Tammy nodded; we were both glad for the interruption. "Uh, right. Listen, we…we can talk about it later, if you want. But, well…I appreciate you being willing to listen, but…if it's not something you're comfortable with, we don't have to…"
"Uh, rrrighhtt," I slurred, setting Lucky down as I rose from the couch. "Uuumm, thannkss, Tttammyy." I gave her as much of a smile as I could muster. Would this all make more sense in the morning? I hoped so, but I wasn't confident. I went over to the other side of the suite, I shucked off my clothes, laid down on the bed, and dropped into a restless, uneasy sleep.