Chances Are Omnibus (Gender Swap Fiction)

by P. T. Dilloway

  “Adjustment? But what if she doesn’t stay like this?”

  “Then we’ll help her grow up again. In the meantime, for her sake and that of everyone else, she needs to learn how to be a little girl again.”

  “She does not!” I say and hate how childish I sound. “She’s not a little girl.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion. Right now Madison has the mind of an adult but the body of a little girl. Therefore as far as everyone else is concerned, she is a little girl.”

  “Not to me.”

  Dr. Macintosh makes an interested grunt as he checks his notes. “You did say you’re still her father, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “In my experience, most fathers always see their daughters as little girls, a child who needs protection. Like you’re doing now.”

  My face turns warm. Once more Dr. Macintosh has used my own words against me. Jake and I could have used him in the interrogation room. “So you’re saying I’m not objective?”

  “I think that’s a good description. I’ll bet you remember when Maddy was born, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You remember holding her for the first time?”

  “Yes,” I say and start to tear up. “What’s your point?”

  “I’m only saying there’s some part of you that will always see Madison as that newborn who needs your love and protection. It’s that way for most parents I see in here.”

  “What about me? Am I a little girl?”

  “You already said you were, didn’t you?”

  “In the mirror, yes.”

  “But that’s not who you think you are?”

  “No.”

  “Then who are you?” He motions to the mirror still in my hand. I hold it back up to my face. “Are you little Stacey Chang? Are you Stacey Chance, the girl who used to sit in that chair? Or are you Detective Steve Fischer?”

  I stare into the mirror for a minute. When I can’t stand to look at my adorable little face anymore, I put the mirror down. “I don’t know!”

  The doctor takes the mirror from me. Then he takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Stacey, let me suggest that you’re all three.”

  “No. I can’t be.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because—” I need another minute to try to articulate what I’m feeling. “I can’t be a girl. I was born a boy. I still remember everything.” My face turns even warmer as I remember all the stuff I did that only boys can do, the kind of sex stuff a ten-year-old girl shouldn’t know about.

  “It’s not our memories who determine who we are.”

  “It’s not?”

  “Let’s try something else. Dr. Palmer said Stacey Chance was bright and a little shy. Is that how you would describe her?”

  “I guess.”

  “What else would you say about her?”

  I close my eyes and think back through my year as Stacey Chance. “She was sweet. People liked her. She was nice and polite most of the time. Sometimes she could be funny. And tough if she needed to be. She also had terrible taste in music.”

  “Those are all good things, aren’t they?”

  “Except for the music.”

  “OK, now tell me about Steve Fischer. What was he like?”

  “He was tough. Honorable. Combative.”

  “Those are good things too, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Except combative.”

  “Even combative, in the right context.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Do you remember what Lincoln said about the house divided against itself?”

  “It couldn’t stand.”

  “Right. I think you have a civil war going on inside you. Not just for the last couple of months since Stacey Chang entered the picture. I think it’s been going on since you first woke up as a woman. Maybe even longer.”

  “What should I do? Fight myself?”

  “I think you’ve been doing that already. That night at the karaoke bar, why did you run off the stage?”

  “I got scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “I think you do.”

  “Well I don’t.”

  “It’s not nice for a little girl to lie.”

  “I don’t remember!”

  “It was those boys, wasn’t it?”

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  “One of them yelled at you to take off your clothes. How did that make you feel?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “The last time we talked, you said you’d only been with women, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you attracted to boys?”

  “Some,” I say. I think of Seth and our disastrous date.

  “Did you find those boys at the karaoke bar attractive?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “How did it make you feel when they were ogling you?”

  “I said I don’t remember.”

  “Would you mind if I run a hypothesis by you?”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  “I think Stacey got a kick out of those boys ogling her. She might have even found them attractive. But I think Steve didn’t approve of that. I think it was Steve who made you run off that stage.”

  I know better than to mention that it wasn’t until I thought of Dr. Macintosh coming backstage to kiss me that I ran away. “You make it sound like I’m schizophrenic.”

  “I don’t think you are, yet.”

  “Yet?”

  “In time, if you don’t integrate your personalities, they could start manifesting themselves as separate entities.”

  “So that’s what you want me to do? ‘Integrate my personalities?’”

  “Yes. I think you need to take the best of all three and merge them into one person.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “You. Whichever name you want to use for that.” Dr. Macintosh gets up from his chair. I brace myself for him to give me a hug or something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he walks over to his desk. I see him write something down. When he returns, he holds out a prescription to me.

  His prescription is one word: Play.

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “Stacey Chang isn’t as developed as your other personalities yet. I want you to go out and interact with kids her age. Then the next time I see you, we can talk a little more about who Stacey Chang is. Deal?”

  “OK.”

  “I’ll see you in a couple of days then. Have fun.”

  “I’ll try.”

  I’m halfway to the door before Dr. Macintosh says, “I never got the chance to tell you before: I thought your singing was beautiful.”

  “Thanks, but my singing career is on hold for a while.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, there’s no bar that will let a ten-year-old sing in it, but there are other venues. I’m sure Mrs. Madigan will take you to church. You could join the choir.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You could even look into vocal lessons. I’m sure there are plenty of great teachers around here who would be happy to train a girl with a voice like yours.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Great. We can talk about it next time.”

  I nod and then walk out the door. At least I’m not crying this time.

  Jamie and Caleb are still in the waiting room. Jamie touches my arm before I can hurry past. “How did it go?” she asks.

  “OK.”

  “It gets easier,” she says. Then the receptionist calls for her and Caleb to finally go in.

  Chapter 23

  A few hours later I lie on the couch with a Nancy Drew book. Maddy is upstairs to take a nap before dinner. So far I’ve enjoyed Nancy Drew more than I thought I would. To break it down like Dr. Macintosh would, Stacey Chang likes to see a girl solve mysteries the adults are too stupid to figure out. S
tacey Chance feels a little nostalgic for being a teenager again. As for Steve Fischer, he’d just as soon throw the book into the fireplace. It’s as bad as those shows on TV where they work out a crime from arriving at the scene to the trial in sixty minutes. As if any real case is ever that simple. Real cases take weeks or even months of work and the trial—if there is one—can take more than a year. The Staceys tell Steve to pipe down so they can enjoy the book.

  As I start a new chapter, there’s a knock on the door. I look up from the couch. Tess is in the kitchen, to make dinner. Jake is in his study to work on a case. He didn’t want any help from me, the real-life Nancy Drew. I could always go fetch one of them, but I decide the big girl thing to do would be to answer the door. Besides, thanks to that old fart at Wal-Mart everyone knows about Maddy and I.

  I open the door and nearly faint to see Dr. Macintosh. “Hello, Stacey. Are your grandparents home?”

  “Yes. I’ll go get them. You can sit down on the couch if you want.”

  “Thank you. I think I will.”

  I leave him to find the couch while I jog over to the door to Jake’s study. I rap on the door. “Grandpa Jake, Dr. Macintosh is here to see you.”

  Jake opens the door a moment later. He looks over me, towards the couch. “Stacey, go up to your room.”

  “But Maddy’s sleeping.”

  “So be quiet about it.”

  “What are you going to talk about?”

  “Nothing important.”

  “It’s about us, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then I should be allowed to hear it too.”

  “Please, Steve. Just go upstairs and look after Maddy.”

  I stamp my foot. “No! It’s not fair to talk about me behind my back.”

  “I’ll carry you up there if I have to.”

  I flinch when I feel a hand touch my shoulder. I look up and see Dr. Macintosh behind me. “I think Stacey has a point, Mr. Madigan. She deserves to know what’s going on. And I think she’s mature enough to handle it.”

  Now that it’s two against one—and one of the two is a doctor—Jake relents. “Fine, she can stay.” He waves a finger at me. “But none of that whining or I’ll drag you upstairs. Got it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go and fetch Tess then. If she’ll leave the kitchen.”

  “I’m sorry I got here so early,” Dr. Macintosh says. I don’t hear the rest of the conversation as I run to the kitchen to get Tess.

  As Jake figured, she’s reluctant to leave her chicken untended, even for an important conversation with our shrink. She opens the oven to study the pieces of chicken. “I suppose they’ll keep for a bit if I turn down the temperature.” As she adjusts the temperature, she shakes her head. “I didn’t make enough for five. I hope your doctor is a light eater.”

  “He probably is.”

  Tess takes my hand to follow me out to the living room. Jake sits in his old recliner while Dr. Macintosh is on an armchair. That leaves the couch for Tess and I. I climb up and snuggle close to Tess for protection.

  “I’m glad you could see me on such short notice. Just so you know, I don’t usually make house calls, but this is a special situation.” Dr. Macintosh sets his briefcase on the coffee table.

  From the briefcase he takes out some colored pamphlets. I peek around Tess’s chest to see a dark blue cover with a coat of arms, complete with a lion on one side and a griffin on the other. ‘“St. Andrew’s Academy?’” I read off the cover. “Is that some kind of special school for troubled girls?”

  “Not at all. It is special, though,” Dr. Macintosh says. “St. Andrew’s is the most exclusive private school in the city.”

  “Oh dear,” Tess says as she opens the brochure. There are pictures of tennis courts, swimming pools, and even a food court like the one in the mall. “I don’t think we could afford anything like this.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that. I’ve spoken with the headmaster and she’s willing to take Stacey and Madison as scholarship students.”

  “You mean charity cases,” I grumble. “The poor Chinese orphan girls. They’ll probably have us pose for pictures so they can say how diverse they are.”

  “Don’t look the gift horse in the mouth,” Jake says.

  Dr. Macintosh turns to me. “Stacey, do you remember what we talked about before you left?”

  “My singing career?”

  “Yes. St. Andrew’s has a first-rate music department. My nephew’s piano teacher used to play in the London Philharmonic. He’s one of the foremost teachers in the world.”

  “So? I don’t play the piano.”

  “Their other teachers have credentials just as exemplary. I’m sure they could help with your singing. If you’d be interested.”

  “Why do I have to go to school? I already graduated high school. I’m in college. So is Maddy. You want me to go back to fifth grade?”

  “I was thinking fourth grade, but yes,” Dr. Macintosh says.

  Fourth grade, that’s even worse. I shiver at the thought of sitting in a classroom with a bunch of spoiled rich kids as they talk about the ponies their parents bought them or whatever snobby kids yap about. “I don’t think that’s for me. Or Maddy.”

  “I think Madison especially would benefit from going to school. She needs to retrain her brain to read and write at a more advanced level.”

  I can’t argue that point, not with the trouble Maddy has with words more than one syllable and how unsteady her handwriting is. “We could do that here. Tess could teach her and I could help.”

  “Do you think that’s fair to Tess?” Dr. Macintosh asks. Before Tess can say anything, he adds, “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind, Mrs. Madigan. I know how much you care for the girls. The fact remains, it’s not fair to ask you to home school them along with everything else.”

  “I don’t need to go to school anywhere,” I say. “I can already read and write just fine.”

  Jake snorts. “I’ve seen your report cards. You could probably use a refresher course.”

  “That’s not fair!” I say. “My grades are fine.”

  “They’re average to below average,” Jake says. “Not enough to get Harvard knocking on your door.”

  Tess puts an arm around me and glares at her husband. “Stacey was doing just fine in school, all things considered.”

  “What do you mean by that?” I ask.

  “The way you were brought up, I’m sure it was difficult for you to focus on your studies—”

  “I’m not dumb!” I shout.

  “That’s not what I mean, dear—”

  “I know what you mean! You’re saying I’m ignorant. Well I’m not. Maybe I just don’t care about school as much as the rest of you do.” I turn to give Dr. Macintosh a nasty look. “You don’t need much education to be a singer anyway.”

  “That’s a good point,” Dr. Macintosh says and I hate him a little for being reasonable enough to agree with me. “I think if Madison goes to school, it would be much easier for her to have her big sister there, don’t you think?”

  “Maddy won’t want to go to school either. She’s happy here. So am I.”

  The doctor nods. “I think I see what’s going on here. You’re worried about interacting with other children. That’s perfectly normal. Most of the patients I see have some anxiety about that, especially those who have been through traumatic situations.”

  “I’m not scared!” I try to glare at the doctor, not that it seems to faze him. “I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to goad me into going to your school. It won’t work.”

  “I’m sorry, Stacey. I should have known you were too smart to fall for that.”

  “Don’t try buttering me up either.”

  “You shouldn’t talk to the doctor like that, dear,” Tess says. “He’s trying to help you.”

  “I don’t want to go!”

  “Do you remember what else we talked about, Stacey? I think going to school would help
you with those issues we discussed. It would allow you to interact with children your own age and in turn you might learn some things about yourself.”

  “I don’t want to,” I say again. I embarrass myself further when I bury my face against Tess the way Maddy does when she gets upset.

  “I’ll just leave the materials and let you four talk it over. My card is in there too if you need to get in touch with me,” Dr. Macintosh says.

  “I’ll see you out,” Jake says.

  A minute or so later, Tess pats my head and then eases me back. She wipes the tears from my cheeks. “It’s all right, dear. No one is going to make you go to school if you don’t want to.”

  “But you want me to, don’t you?”

  “I think perhaps Dr. Macintosh is right. You can’t sit here on the couch for the next eight years or however long it will take for Dr. Palmer to find a way to change you back. You should go play with children your own age.”

  I look down at the floor; my defenses weaken. “If I don’t like it, can I stay with you again?”

  “Of course, dear. And I’ll be happy to have you around.”

  “Thanks, Grandma Tess,” I say and then give her a hug.

  ***

  Jake and Tess talk to Maddy about the school idea over dinner. As I expected, she’s not thrilled with the idea. “I already went to school,” she says. “I graduated high school.”

  “We know, sweetheart, but we think it’s a good idea. You could learn how to read and write better, plus play with children your own age,” Tess says.

  “Can’t I stay here and play with Stacey?”

  “Stacey’s going to be at school too,” Jake says.

  “She is?”

  “Yes, dear. She’ll be in the fourth grade.”

  “Where will I be? Kindygarden?”

  “We were thinking first grade,” Jake says.

  Tess reaches over to take Maddy’s hand. “Then you and Stacey can go to school and back together.” The secondary benefit of this is Tess doesn’t have to make another trip into the city or entertain Maddy for a few hours until I get out of school.

  Maddy looks over at me and I force myself to smile. “It’ll be fun,” I tell her. “And since you’ve already been through it, you should be the smartest girl in class.”

  “You think so?” Maddy’s always been an above-average student, but she isn’t a valedictorian. Maybe this time she can be.