Finding Tranquility Page 5

  “Excellent choice!”

  Bo showed me how to brush the wig, which probably wasn’t necessary when he was doing all the work. Still, the knowledge could come in handy while I waited for my hair to grow. Then he arranged the blond locks on my head, fogged me with a hair spray bomb that made my eyes water, and declared the deed done before I even stopped coughing.

  “Are you ready?”

  Equal parts excitement and terror filled me. What if I still hated what I saw? My palms started sweating. But after all the time and effort Bo put into helping me, there was only one thing I could say. I’d spent years learning to “man up” at my brother’s insistence; maybe now was a good time to “woman up” and go out into the world with my head high. I could do this.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Okay. Ta-da!” With a flourish, he removed the towel from the mirror and stepped out of the way so I could see myself.

  My jaw dropped. A total stranger looked back at me. A totally strange, gorgeous woman. “Wow.”

  This—this—was me. The me I always knew lived somewhere inside. My heart pounded at the way dark green shadow outlined my brown eyes brought out gold flecks I’d never notice. Forest green eyeliner made my eyes larger, set further apart than I’d ever noticed them. The blonde wig looked more natural than I’d feared after seeing how Bo teased his own locks.

  For the first time in my life, I had cheekbones. My lips were full, red, luscious, stretched into the biggest grin I’d ever worn. Womanly. Concealer softened the angles of my face, covered the five o’clock shadow that never went away entirely, and created the illusion of soft skin. The longer I looked, the more alive I felt.

  “You couldn’t fix my nose?” My fingers reached toward the bump, a souvenir from the time Brad and I were wrestling in the living room. I was winning until he knocked a lamp off the side table onto my face.

  Bo slapped my hand away. “Don’t you dare touch my masterpiece. Besides, I like your nose. Gives you character. If there’s one thing we could all use, it’s more character. Don’t you dare ever change it.”

  “I’m just kidding,” I said. “I never dreamed I could look like this. I love everything about it. You’re a miracle worker.”

  “Not really.” He winked at me. “Just showing you what you could look like every day, if you wanted.”

  “Thank you.” Tears welled in my eyes. This was it. This was who I was supposed to be. “Thank you so much.”

  “None of that,” Bo said. “You cry, and you’ll mess everything up. Quick, think of something funny. Or gross. Like that episode of Seinfeld where George has a tiny cock after he went swimming.”

  I chuckled at the memory, which allowed me to dab at the corners of my eyes a bit and force the tears to stay in. Everything was going to be okay. For the first time in my life, I felt like everything was going to be okay.

  “But you haven’t said a word about the piece dé resistance! How do you like your cleavage?”

  My gaze hadn’t even gotten that far yet, so amazed by the rightness of the face looking out at me. When I finally noticed the area below my neck, a gasp escaped me. Without using any stuffing or padding at all, Bo had somehow given me supermodel boobs. Jess had the most perfect breasts I’d ever seen in my life, but these beat hers by a mile, from the front, anyway—and it was all done with just makeup. She’d never believe it. Too bad I could never tell her.

  “How on earth did you do that?” I asked.

  “I told you, girl! The magic of makeup!” Bo held up his hand for a high five, and I slapped it, chasing away the memory of the wife I no longer had. “You don’t need to spend hundreds of dollars on breast plates or miraculous bras when you’ve got some good highlighter!”

  “Wow. This is amazing.” I wanted to touch one, but I was afraid to mess up his hard work.

  “Don’t get me wrong. You need to get yourself a bra or two for everyday wear. But for a night out on the town, showcase that cleavage. All it takes is a good bronzer and a little highlighter. Next time, I’ll show you how. When we go out, all the boys’ll be staring. I promise.”

  My blood ran cold. “I don’t want… I mean… What if…?”

  His tone softened. “You worried someone’s going to look at you and think you’re a boy in woman’s clothes?”

  Wordlessly, I nodded.

  Bo’s hand connected with the back of my skull. “Who cares what those assholes think? I’ve turned you into a beautiful woman, and that’s the only thing people are going to see when they look at you. A beautiful woman with spectacular cleavage. Just don’t let anyone get close enough to touch. You may be boobalicious from ten feet away, but no one’s going to be fooled by the illusion after placing a hand on your flat chest.”

  More things I’d never thought about. Men finding me attractive. Wanting to touch me. If I wanted that. It all seemed so fast. My head swam.

  His eyes watched my expression. “Do you like men? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

  I shook my head. “Never thought about it. The only person I’ve been with is my wife, and we’ve known each other since we were kids. We were teenagers; I could’ve rubbed up against a tree and gotten off.”

  “Hold up. You’re married?”

  “Not really. Not anymore. Long story.” The last thing I wanted was to ruin this evening by talking about my abandoned marriage, my failure to be the man Jess deserved, and, oh yeah, by the way, I legally died last month. I changed the subject. “How did you learn all this?”

  “When I was growing up, other boys played with Star Wars toys and Legos. I played with my sister’s makeup. I liked pretending to be other people.” Bo looked like he had more to say, but maybe he figured we’d pushed my boundaries enough for one day. “Let’s see if we can find you something to wear.”

  Much of Nina’s wardrobe was too flamboyant for my tastes, but we managed to find a tasteful gray skirt—once I closed the slit with a row of safety pins. Bo showed me how to tuck my testicles up inside my body and pull my penis back toward my ass, giving the front a smooth look. It wasn’t as easy as he made it sound. I spent a good ten minutes twisting and tugging at my junk, which made the eyebrow plucking feel like a loving massage by comparison.

  By the time I finished, my friend had transformed into Nina, fully ready and tapping one red vinyl platform boot.

  “It takes some practice,” she said, giving me the once over. “Here, put on a second pair of pantyhose to hold everything in place. You should be fine.”

  Finally, I was dressed. The navy blue bustier showed off my now-narrow waist, slimmed by months of eating only what we grew and working hard. My cosmetically-enhanced cleavage winked at me. My heart sang at the image. I refused to move from the mirror until Nina tugged my hand, reminding me that the movie theater wasn’t open all night.

  She happily offered me any pair from her collection of five-to-eight-inch platform heels, guaranteed to break my ankles—or worse. When we discovered that our feet weren’t the same size, I feigned disappointment.

  “But you can’t go out barefoot!” Nina said. “It’ll ruin all my hard work. Hold on. We’ll see if someone else left anything we can use.”

  When Nina first suggested dressing me up, the thought of going out, talking to people, let them see me like this terrified me. But now, after seeing what I could be—who, I could be—the thought of hiding from them seemed scarier than going out and talking to Val and Henny, who knew what we were doing. They waited at the front desk.

  My heart beat a thousand times a minute on the way down the stairs. Had I moved any slower, I might have been going backward. However, Nina stood behind me, making sure I kept going. When I stopped and gripped the railing, trying not to hyperventilate, she cupped my chin. “You can do this. You’re not some boy who doesn’t know his own self anymore. You’re a strong, powerful woman. Who is not afraid of a little thing like showing off her new look.”

  Her words oddly reminded me of my own brother, telling me over and o
ver to be a man. Be a woman, I told myself. Grow some ovaries.

  Standing here all day wouldn’t make it any better. I took another deep breath, smiled a thank you to Nina, and held my head high as I finished the trip to the lobby.

  When Henny saw me, a smile split her face in two. She clapped with delight. Val never wore her emotions on her sleeve the way Henny did, but it was clear she approved as she swept her eyes up and down my body.

  “You clean up real nice, kid,” she said.

  Blushing, I thanked them while Nina explained our mission to find footwear.

  Lost and Found contained only an old pair of fifty-inch-waist jeans, a condom that expired in 1996, three mismatched socks, and a hijab. No women’s shoes. We were about to stuff the toe of Nina’s heels with tissue when Val offered to loan me a pair from her closet.

  Nina gave her the once over and snorted. “Girl, Chris is not putting those nasty orthopedic things on. We’ll come up with something.”

  “Will these work?” Henny stepped forward, holding out a pair of silver glittery shoes with a two-inch stacked heel and straps around the ankle. Not quite as big as Nina’s, they should fit. They were the most beautiful shoes I’d ever seen. They reminded me of the pair Jess when we got married.

  “Oh, Henny!” Val said. “Not your wedding shoes.”

  “If the day ever comes when we can marry, I’ll get a new pair,” she said. “But I trust Chris to take care of these for me. Glad these canoe feet the Lord gave me can finally serve a purpose.”

  “I’ll take care of them,” I promised. “And I’ll buy you any shoes you want when you get married.”

  Val set them on the floor. I approached, almost reverently, before bending down to remove one sock, then the other. With great care, I slid my right foot into the first shoe and bent down to buckle the strap.

  Instantly, my ankle appeared slimmer. My entire foot became more delicate. I stepped into the second, fastened it, and stood. They fit perfectly. I wobbled but held myself upright.

  “See if you can walk in them,” Nina said.

  The only time I’d dared to try on Jess’s shoes, I’d quickly discovered that my feet were much larger than hers, and I couldn’t walk for fear of stretching them out. Now, I wasn’t quite sure what to do. I slithered one toe forward along the floor, not trusting myself to put any weight on this beautiful contraption attached to my foot.

  “Not like that,” Nina said. “Walk. Put one foot in front of the other. The heels aren’t that high. You’ll be fine.”

  Like a toddler finding her footing for the first time, I finally took one step, then brought my feet together. When I didn’t fall, I beamed at my friends. “I did it!”

  “You took one step,” Val pointed out. “Try another. It’s at least fifteen feet to the car.”

  Under their direction, I walked the length of the room, turned, and walked back. On the third pass, they started correcting my posture and stride. After the fifth turn, they pronounced me ready.

  “You look great,” Val said. “But how do you feel?”

  Biting my lip, I thought before I answered. It would be easy to make a joke, to say something flippant, but this moment felt more powerful than that.

  “I feel like I’ve finally found my truth,” I said finally. “For all these years, I’ve felt wrong, and now I feel right.”

  “Then you are right, honey child,” Henny said. “You can’t be wrong as long as you’re being true to yourself.”

  On the way out the door, I pulled them both into a bear hug. “Thank you so much for everything, both of you.”

  “You’re welcome, Chris,” Henny said. “Good luck out there.”

  Behind me, Nina spoke up. “Girl, you’re not going by ‘Chris’ after I spent all that time to make you so gorgeous. You need a name that stands out, that grabs attention. Who are you tonight?”

  In all the flurry of activity surrounding the night out, I’d never stopped to think about using a female name. Jess was out, for obvious reasons. All the other names that sprang to mind were people I knew: Val, Henny, Julie. But I’d chosen to go by Chris for a reason—the female passport in the bag, a woman about my age with not entirely dissimilar features. And it could help me one day to have an ID I could use, just in case. It was like added insurance.

  There were lots of forms of Christina I could use, including the full name. But one diminutive fit me so much better than the others. Fit the person I wanted to be. The answer came easily to my lips.

  “Call me Christa.”

  Chapter 6

  Nothing earth-shattering or terrifying happened at the movie theater, so Bo and I made similar little trips. Some people looked at us, but no one pointed or laughed or approached. Vermont was a pretty open-minded place, and most people took no interest in us. When I was Christa, the world made more sense.

  A few weeks after our first night out, I finally felt ready to try a real outing. Vermont unfortunately wasn’t exactly a haven of gay activity, and while we weren’t too far from New York City, I wasn’t ready for the big time. The nearest large city was over a hundred miles away. However, we were living in probably the most liberal state in the U.S., so we decided to give the only bar in town a shot. We didn’t have to stay long.

  Low light and a smoky haze filled the room. The place was a dive, with a jukebox in the back corner blaring songs old enough to drink, a pool table near the middle of the room, and overflowing ashtrays on each table.

  Nina led the way to the bar, hips sashaying to Let’s Get It On. Trying not to meet anyone’s gaze, I followed. The shoes still wobbled a bit. A few steps from the door, I slipped on the sticky floor, catching myself on the edge of a table. The top slammed into my side, thankfully missing my hipbone. I winced but kept walking in hopes no one else noticed.

  The battered bar, like the rest of the place, had seen better days. Tranquility sat ten miles outside the nearest town, which mostly served the local college. We didn’t exactly have loads of entertainment options at hand. Just going to the movie theater meant driving almost an hour each way.

  At least thanks to the cluster of guys in the corner wearing khakis and dark blue button-down shirts and guzzling beer, Nina and I didn’t appear to be the youngest people in the bar. We were probably the youngest people who were actually over the drinking age, but that wasn’t my problem.

  The bartender approached, wiping down the counter in front of us with a grayish towel. “What’ll it be, ladies?”

  “Sex on the beach for me, baby,” Nina said. “And an orgasm for my good friend here. She needs one.”

  The bartender winked, then vanished.

  “Did it hurt?” A voice at my left elbow drew my attention.

  One of the college guys must’ve peeled himself from his identically-dressed friends. He stood behind a few inches behind me, invading my personal bubble.

  The bar was deafening. I cupped one hand over my ear and tilted my head with a questioning look.

  He stepped closer and repeated his question. “Did it hurt?”

  So much for hoping no one witnessed my stumble. I shook my head, hoping he didn’t notice I inched toward Nina. “Thanks, but no. Won’t even bruise.”

  Confusion crossed the young man’s face. “No, I mean. Did it hurt? When you fell from heaven?”

  Beside me, Nina was quicker on the uptake. She slid one hand across the bar and grasped the young man’s hand. “Thanks, doll, but we’re not looking to be picked up tonight.”

  That was a pick-up line? Really?

  Every single time Jess’s friends complained about guys in bars suddenly made sense if “Did it hurt?” was the best thing this dude could come up with to show interest. Here I’d always hugged Jess and thanked her for being less picky than her sorority sisters.

  Now a wave of shame washed over me, as I realized what a jerk I’d been. If only I weren’t dead, I’d have called them and apologized.

  “Who asked you?” the guy said to Nina.


  I smiled up at him. When Nina and Christa ventured out of the inn the first few times, we visited movie theaters, a coffee shop, a restaurant. I rarely spoke more than a few words at a time, and never above a whisper. To be heard in this place, I’d have to shout. No matter what my friends said, I worried that my deep voice gave me away. I didn’t feel like an imposter dressed this way; far from it. But I was still self-conscious about my voice. Plus, this guy didn’t look like he was the most accepting of people who weren’t like him.

  Before I thought of what to say or how to say it, Nina come to the rescue. “My friend’s mute. And she’s not interested, are you, Christa?”

  The guy scowled at her obvious lie. I looked down and shook my head.

  The bartender returned with our drinks, so we threw down ten bucks and headed toward a table on the far side of the room. We’d made it only a few steps when one of the guy’s friends stepped in front of us. Other than the fact that he had thick, wavy dark hair instead of his friend’s buzz cut, they could’ve been twins. Inwardly, I groaned.

  Maybe I hadn’t fully thought through what it meant to be a woman inside and out. But I needed to know now, so I could make a fully informed decision before I started taking hormones or bought a whole new wardrobe and changed my name. The type of life changes I was contemplating weren’t something to enter into lightly. This wasn’t a lark, a game. My entire body would turn into something I didn’t recognize. People would treat me differently. A lot of people wouldn’t understand my decision, and they’d think I was some kind of freak.

  He squinted at me, then glanced at Nina, and back. “Dude, Trent! Your girlfriend here’s got an Adam’s apple! So does her friend! You’re hitting on a couple of homos!”

  My fists clenched reflexively, and my first instinct was to punch this guy for talking about my friend like that. Before I could step closer and teach him some manners, Nina grabbed my arm and started toward the restroom. I staggered but managed to keep up, making it to the door without incident. My drink wasn’t so lucky; half of the liquid sloshed onto the ground in my wake.