122 Good Call
It was after ten when I got back to my room, and I was a bit hesitant about calling home so close to Mom and Dad’s usual bedtime. After agonizing for a few minutes, I decided to try, figuring that if they sounded tired or grumpy I could try the next night. To my surprise, it was Dad who answered.
“Hi, Marsh,” he said. “Would you like me to fetch your mother?”
“Please,” I answered. “But could you hold on a moment? I need to tell you both something, first.”
“I’ve… I’ve got some bad news. It looks like changing back isn’t going to happen,” I told them when she picked up another line. I then explained yet again about the confrontation with Luke. “The only clue we have left of any kind seems to be that address fragment, but not enough of it for there to be a reasonable chance that we could find them.”
“Oh, Baby, you must feel devastated,” Mom said, sympathetically.
“I don’t know what to say, Marsh,” Dad added. “I hate to think that there’s nothing we can do. Would you be able to give me this guy’s number so I can see if there might be something you’ve missed?”
“I can do that, Dad,” I conceded. “But at this point, I’m just trying to do what I can to accept… to accept that I’m always going to be a girl, now. It’s really hard. I’m not saying I hate it or anything, but it’s really confusing. When this first happened, I had no doubts; I wanted to be male again. Now? I just don’t know. I thought that maybe talking it out with Mom would help.”
“Of course, Pr– uh, sorry, Marsh,” Dad said quietly. “Just remember that I’m here for you. There is nothing I wouldn’t do if you needed me to.”
“I know… and thanks. Oh, and Dad? Could you tell Chad about this? I don’t think I can face him just now. I know he got on my case about giving up the last time and… I just don’t have the strength. I love you, Dad.”
“Sure, I can do that,” he responded. “And I love you too.”
I heard him hang up and I felt horribly guilty about pushing him away. “How’s Dad doing, Mom?” I asked. “He seems really down.”
“Well, this has been incredibly difficult for him,” she said. “He feels as though he’s lost his little girl, his princess, and at the same time that he’s missed out on having a son that he hadn’t even really thought he’d wanted. Your father has never wished that one of you was a boy, and now that you’ve told him you were supposed to be, and he doesn’t even remember you that way… well…”
“I guess I hadn’t really thought about that,” I admitted. “Now I wonder if it would’ve been better if I’d just kept this whole thing a secret.”
“No, Baby. If you’re going through something, of course we want to know so we can help you. But it’s just hard for your Dad. You heard him. He’s not even sure he knows what to call you any more.”
“Mom, it was his idea not to call me ‘Princess’ any more. I was getting used to it. And I was even managing to call him ‘Daddy’ until he started looking uncomfortable about it.” I stopped and took a breath. “But that’s not what I called about. I’m really confused and I wanted to talk it out. I’m not sure how to do this; I don’t have enough experience at this kind of thing. Do you think it might help to talk about, you know, the plusses and minuses? You know, to see if it resolves things in my mind?”
“Sure, you can try that,” she said. “I admit, I’m a bit curious. What did you like about being a boy, and what do you like now about being a girl?”
“OK, well, and this isn’t in any particular order; there are so many things, picking the most important ones is really tough. Um, I liked being tall. I used to be taller than Daddy – than Dad, I mean. I wasn’t the tallest guy around; I had friends who were even taller, but I was taller than most people. You get used to that. I liked being able to reach things and being able to pick up heavy things, and, um… well, I liked liking girls, and dating girls, and…” I hesitated. “How honest should I be, Mom?”
“This is for you, Honey, remember? If you think it’s helpful to mention it, go ahead – I’m not going to be shocked. I’ve been married for more than two decades and I’ve had two daughters, and I just cannot believe that you’ll have done anything, even as a boy, that would really gross me out. You are my child, after all.”
“OK, well…” and I still hesitated, but… “Well, I liked having sex with girls, and… well, there were a fair number of them. Boy that sounds like an incredible double standard, doesn’t it? Tina called me out on it months ago when I got queasy about the idea of her having sex with her boyfriend–”
Mom coughed. “And when did this happen?” she asked, her voice pitching a bit higher.
“The conversation? Over midterm break… Oh, I didn’t mean to imply… no, Tina never… we were just talking about… things.”
“Never mind,” Mom said. “I’ll have a talk with your sister.”
I winced. I was pretty sure Tina didn’t have any important secrets from Mom, and that she would have told me if anything much more than kissing had happened, but it wasn’t my place to make Mom worry.
“Anyway,” I hurried back on topic, “I liked the way I used to joke around with other guys – talking with Chad now just doesn’t feel the same, even though he’s really trying to be my ‘buddy.’ It just doesn’t work. I liked being really good with my guitar and playing in front of crowds and knowing they were enjoying the music, and, well, I was comfortable; I knew I was who I was supposed to be. I didn’t have any important secrets that I had to hide from the people I cared about; secrets that might hurt them, like this one did with Dad.” I paused. “I think that’s most of the important things.”
“And what’s nice about being a girl?”
“Oh, well…” I actually blushed a bit. “I like how I feel when I’m with Jeremy, I… this is going to sound really dumb, but I like how he’s so much taller than I am and I can sort of snuggle under his arm…
“I like the way I can fix things and create things with my sewing machine and I can look at some girl wearing them and think, I did that. I like the way I can sing now; I love being able to do leads in plays and musicals. I like the way I can just talk and talk with other girls and it doesn’t even have to be about anything in particular. And I kind of like the way I look; I have sort of a unique style, you know? There aren’t too many girls on campus who dress the way I do, with long skirts and all. I can be girly and not look as if my body is all I have to attract somebody.” I found myself blushing even more.
“So you really have enjoyed both sides,” Mom observed. “That’s pretty amazing. It’s not a chance too many people get.”
“I know,” I admitted, “and in some ways, I guess it’s kind of nice. But it just feels wrong for me to be a girl, and I don’t know how to get over that. It feels like I’m lying every time people assume things about me that I know just aren’t true. Being a boy again seems incredibly foreign, but I think it’s wrong for me not to change back.”
“But if you don’t have a choice any more…”
“It doesn’t change the wrongness, Mom. I have this horrible secret I can never tell Jeremy, and it might matter.” I explained about the conversation he and I had, and what Vicky had said it might mean. “And I don’t know how I can go on in a serious relationship with him not knowing the truth about me.”
“And you really can’t tell him…?”
“Mom,” I wailed. “I’ll lose him. I sort of accidentally did tell him, only I convinced him that I’d just misspoken or that it was a joke; only you should have seen the way he looked at me. It’s not a question of being afraid how he’d react, I know. And I can’t really blame him, either. If one of the girls I’d dated had told me something like that, well, I’d never be able to look at her the same way again. I wouldn’t have dropped her immediately, but I’m sure I’d have started backing out of that relationship.”
Mom didn’t answer immediately, and I figured she must have been thinking the same thing I was; this would be a problem with any guy I ever dated. But what could I do?
Taller? I mean, no particular order, but TALLER? (facepalm) Gonna send that girl some ginkgo biloba…
@Scott: Obviously, the heels she’s wearing aren’t tall enough. Time to break out the 8″ stilettos. *grins*
I can’t imagine what it would be like to go to bed one day and wake up, what, 8, 10 inches shorter? I’m not certain how tall Marshall was. It’d probably be more disconcerting than I think it would be on the face of things. Although not exactly the same thing, I once spent a year and a half of my middle school years in a wheelchair, due to a hip injury. I remember it being deeply frustrating not being able to reach things and having to ask for help all the time.
On another thing in that list, I don’t think it’s dumb at all that she enjoys having Jeremy being tall next to her. Alas, I am a tall lady (5’10”) who is interested in women, and so it’s not an experience I get to feel very often. But, occasionally, I’ll get to hug or cuddle with one of my really close male friends who are in the 6’3″ range. It’s a really disconcerting feeling, feeling small, that also manages to feel really good and safe at the same time.
I find it amusing that her height is in both the plus *and* the minus column. Har.
I find the list interesting as well, altho I can’t figure out how going over it relates to where the story is now. The most important thing on the boy list is ‘not haveing to lie’, while the girl list includes some creative and productive issues.
The most important part of either list was left completely out, however. Interesting.
Marshall was 5’11”, Marsha is 5’3″. It would be a noticeable difference, and Marsh did angst about it for a while in the early chapters.
>> Marshall was 5’11″, Marsha is 5’3″. It would be a noticeable difference, and Marsh did angst about it for a while in the early chapters.
We remember, Russ. It was a little odd then, too. I always figured you were making a point about Marshal being shallow: “My entire life history, my gender, my interactions with the universe at large – all changed in an instant. AND I can’t reach that can of pork-and-beans!” Same for the contrast in physical strength. I’d certainly be aware of the changes as a trivial annoyance, but not a concern worth mentioning.
April: I’m your same height, supposedly the average for American men. I see Marsh’s point in that respect; looking back, I don’t think I’ve had a girlfriend of average height. Either under 5’3″ or over 6′. I guess I’m just a xenophile.
I personally don’t think it’s that odd that Marsh would start with the most obvious (and possibly shallow?) thing first. I’ve asked a number of transwomen I know what they miss the most about being a guy, and almost universally the first thing that comes to their mind is their body strength. Of course, then they lead into more nuanced things: being able to walk around safely at night, having a much easier time earning respect in the workplace, not having to deal with people making sexist assumptions, and so on. But, the obvious answer is obvious, I guess.
I can’t imagine, were I rendered in the same situation, that my changed history would matter much to me. Why would it? It’d be in the past, not something I’d have to live with or remember. As for interactions with the universe at large – not so much – interactions with people certainly but it’s not as if that’s a unique to this sort of event. Move to the other side of the country and most of your old relationships tend to die or be significantly altered without excessive angst. Maybe you’ll chat on facebook once or twice, maybe you’ll go stay at each others houses… relationships as they were are effectively over though.
So I can see how Marsha could acquire an ‘easy come, easy go’ attitude towards his previous relationships – to be fair he’d just gone off to uni so it’s not as if he’s losing much anyway. A year of first year relationships maybe, a few tenuous ties to the more important of his secondary school friends? What’s his investment at this stage of his life; what can it screw up for him that badly (besides the inherent feeling of wrongness)?
Now if he had children and suddenly found them gone – or had a close relationship with his parents – then I might agree with you. If this was the first time he’d ever lost anyone it would also be more important. But he called his parents once in a blue moon; they actually had to blackmail him to get him to call them on any sort of regular basis. He doesn’t seem to spend an excessive amount of time interacting with them when he’s home. They’re effectively something he’s focused either on avoiding or using as a sounding board, more than having fun with.
Maybe the lie of it all’s a part of that – the deceit involved in playing the role – he doesn’t seem to have tried to interacting with them as people though. If they had previously been important to him, I think he would have.
Doesn’t necessarily make him shallow of course, they may just be boring.
>> I can’t imagine, were I rendered in the same situation, that my changed history would matter much to me. Why would it? It’d be in the past, not something I’d have to live with or remember.
Wow. Really? Not knowing the details of your own past could be socially, even legally, embarrassing or worse. Also, while I’ve always been a loner, and don’t have that many people I interact with in person – having those interactions change, and even the manner in which I’d be expected to relate to them – would be shattering to me.
And again I bow to Aprils superior knowledge.
Well, it’s a bit different for me now that I’m an adult and have a small group of friendships that have been stable for a long time. Losing those would be devastating. But, I don’t *really* remember more than a couple people from high school, and even those, I’m not in touch with. Heck, I don’t even remember more than a handful of the people I met in my first couple years of college. Marsh is only a sophomore at college, and probably is still in the process of setting up those kind of friendships that can last for decades.
Oh, and even if those friendships did exist, there’s no certainty that would continue to work. No guarantee those friends would even know Marsha, and even if Marsh did tell them the truth, the relationship dynamics in m/m relationships are totally different than m/f relationships. Besides Chad, I don’t know if Marsh even mentioned any major long-term friendships?
Now that I read your comment again though, Scott, I think you have a good point about not knowing the details of your past in general. Not remembering things like the activities one was in, or the adventures one had, would be quite tragic. If Marsh did things like boy’s baseball, Boy Scouts, or the like, he would have to omit or lie about his history. Or asked things like who was the first boy she kissed, or when did she start menstruating, or what theatre/choir roles she played in high school, again, all has to be made up on gleaned from Tina or her parents. I imagine the weight of having to hide your history would be quite heavy.
It’s also why I think that she is going to have to eventually tell Jeremy, if she continues the relationship: someday, somehow, Marsha or one of her family, will slip up. Better to find out now how he’ll react, than three years down the road after their relationship is far more serious.
>> Wow. Really? Not knowing the details of your own past could be socially, even legally, embarrassing or worse. <<
Well I have the ability to write things off once I've taken reasonable steps. To accept that I might lose. Guess at heart I'm a gambler.
Embarrassment is a small, short-term emotion. Oh Marshall didn't recognise one of Marsha's friends – what's the consequence? A few second of red face. 'Oh crap, sorry, I was pre-occupied!' If you're really bothered about it, spending some time running around appologising. If you lose a friendship over never having recognised them or called them all summer – that's fine; they were never *your* friends, they were the previous inhabitant of this body's friends. And in any case they didn't call you either, otherwise you'd have know about them. Through your lack of knowledge you essentially drop off the face of the earth to anyone who's not in your physical proximity. And they don't call to see what's up? Are those really people you'd want to be friends with anyway?
I can't pretend that I wouldn't flick through the contacts on my phone or look around my room, that's just common sense. But it's a low-investment exercise, the work of a few minutes. Having it up there as a big angst; something that would occupy a lot of thought-time? No. You take reasonable steps to secure the data and anything else that happens is just what happens; nothing you could have done about it. Stuff is going to happen whatever, you accept that, take reasonable steps, and if it happens you deal.
Adulthood, from what I can see, comes with a far greater degree of control over your relationships and physical environment; it makes sense that when/if I get to adulthood I will think relationships are more valuable. Marsha is, I imagine, in a position fairly close to my own however. Low stakes gambling with her relationships.
>>It’s also why I think that she is going to have to eventually tell Jeremy, if she continues the relationship: someday, somehow, Marsha or one of her family, will slip up. Better to find out now how he’ll react, than three years down the road after their relationship is far more serious.
Besides the moral obligation to Jeremy and his own complaint of feeling like a ‘fake’.
I can empathize with the height thing – I’m taller (6’1″) than my father(6′) was, and my mother was (5’1″) a foot shorter than us. One of the things I remember not-so-fondly from my adolescence was whacking my head on the wooden cupboard doors that my mom had left open to “see what was there”. It also affected my school relationships, due to my skipping a grade; just an assumption, but I imagine that being one of the shortest girls in my class wouldn’t have been as much of a big deal as being (until sophomore year of high school) one of the smallest boys. For me, though, there was a distinct association between being tall and being a man, which would be lacking.
Also the whole body strength thing – April, if you’d tell us what it was like, the first time you had to push your car by yourself, that would likely be another eye-opener.
Most of my friendships and life experiences were intimately tied to my sex. Not that I couldn’t have had the same experiences, or the same friends were I a girl, but there wouldn’t have been the same motives for them.
>> Also, while I’ve always been a loner, and don’t have that many people I interact with in person – having those interactions change, and even the manner in which I’d be expected to relate to them – would be shattering to me.
Same here, especially at age twenty. My friends weren’t to blame for my goofing off in college and not getting a degree, but it’s tough to play contract bridge without at least a few “partners in crime”, so to speak.
>> Not that I couldn’t have had the same experiences, or the same friends were I a girl,
Not to get too deeply into the butterfly effect, but not, you couldn’t have had the same experiences. They would have been profoudnly different, even if they had been ‘the same’. The male and female brains, for example, process things extremely differently.
The first time I had to push a car? I have had to push a car, and it wasn’t pleasant, but I don’t know why it would be particular eye-opening? I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned pushing a car either here or on NL… maybe you’re thinking of somebody else’s story? But, I like telling stories, so I’ll humor you. 🙂
Let’s see, the first time I had to push a car, it was about six months after my social worker — whom I consider my Dad in lieu of ever having had one — had taught me to change my oil. I thought it would be cool to try to do it on my own, so that’s what I did. I jacked my little Protegé, scooted under the car, and drained the oil. So far, so good. I reached up to try to get the oil filter off, no luck. I cranked and cranked, but couldn’t get it loose. I tried the oil filter wrench thingie I had from when my Dad taught me… no dice. Still would not budge. Just did not have the muscle to break it loose. And it’s not something you can take a breaker bar to at all.
At that point, I was starting to panic… it was my first time trying something like this, and it wasn’t going well. My choices were to either pour the oil back into the car, and drive to someplace to get it removed, or push the car to the body shop that was, literally, directly across the street from my house. It’s just out my super short driveway, into the alley, take a right, cross the street, and into their driveway. If I was being generous, I’d say it was about a half a city block to get there. And so that’s what I decided to do: push it to the shop.
I had Tracy get into the car to steer, and pushed it out of my garage without any issue… it was on a downhill slope. It took me about 15 minutes to get it to the end of my alley (about three house lengths), and I was panting and exhausted. After another bunch of shoves, I managed to get it turned partway into the street, but it was on a very slight incline at that point, and I was fighting to get it to move at all.
After struggling to get it to budge for a few minutes, some guy pulled up alongside me in his car and offered to help me push. I was kind of stuck at that point, so I accepted. He got out and pushed the car the rest of the way to the shop in about thirty seconds without breaking even the tiniest sweat. I thanked him profusely, he said no problem, and drove off, leaving me feeling that weird combination of both embarrassment and gratefulness. While I was saved by the kindness of strangers, I wish I had been able to do it myself. :\
As an aside, the *next* time I changed my oil, I didn’t have any problems with it at all. I felt super awesome, being able to change the oil myself. 😀 I think the shop that had done the work previously had forgotten to put any lubricant on the oil filter gasket, which makes it stick really really tightly. I promise you that *I* never forget to lubricate that O-ring. *grins*
Staying resolutely on the off-topic topic, difficulty changing an oil filter is not a girl thing. I’m not a small guy, and at various times have been reasonably athletic. But if a shop put the filter on, it can be quite a struggle. I once had to cut one apart and peel the shreds off the flange. On the other side of the coin, smaller, feminine hands would be a big plus working on my VW. (Coolant temp sensor, anyone?) It wouldn’t even occur to me to feel bad about not having them, and isn’t that the same thing?
Oh, don’t worry: once I figured out what the previous tech had done wrong, I stopped blaming my lack of strength and starting blaming their lack of foresight. 🙂
I won’t deny that there aren’t times where having smaller hands comes in handy. And most things on cars can be handled with the judicious use of penetrating oil, heat, and levers. My cheater bar and I are close friends! There are times though, where I wish I had a guy’s strength: you would laugh your arse off if you had to see the contortions that I have to go through to get wheels back on cars. Especially on my Volkswagen: I mean, lug bolts? Seriously?!
>>Staying resolutely on the off-topic topic,
Best comment in days 🙂
There are some really important things about being a man, or being a woman. But what is the point of the list anyway? He doesn’t get to choose, at least that is what he seems to be saying to himself. So why this morbid introspection? How does this help him cope with his current situation?
And how does it help him answer the question that Jeremy posed that started this whole thing… do you want to have kids? Now there is an important issue.
I dunno, usually when I’m having a problem, it helps me to talk it about it, even if it won’t necessarily solve anything. It helps me clear my head, cope, or whatever. Often, even when I have a solution to the problem, I can’t act upon it unless I’ve fixed my head by crying or talking things out.
As to the children thing, it is an important issue. I can’t wait for Russ to have Marsh deal with it. 🙂
K. Maybe it’s a girl thing 😉
Well, in the meantime, anyone that wants to can comment on my latest book, three chapters up so far:
http://vonsbooks.blogspot.com/p/coming-into-kingdom.html
(Warning: No one get’s turned into a girl. Or a boy. But they do get turned into some other things…)