“Oh, let me grab-”
Chris ducked down and snatched it off the ground before she laid hands on it.
It was a dildo. Or, at least it would have been if it wasn’t flaccid. It was a silicone replica of a penis with a scrotum and everything.
“What the hell is this?” Chris demanded. A few people at the nearby tables peaked over.
“Would you quiet down?” Kili hissed, “Give it back and I’ll-”
“No, fuck you, you holdout, cock-teasing shit!” he yelled and threw the… thing back at her. Everyone in a twenty-foot radius was silent and staring. He marched back to the entrance and burst out the door.
He was almost to his car when he heard Kili shout back after him.
“Hey, wait!”
“Fuck you!” he shouted back, “Go back and fool somebody else with your bullshit!”
“You’re the one who made a scene! Now I can’t go back in there!”
“What, so you can waste more people’s time?” Chris said, “You know what, it’s guys like you who gives the rest of us a bad name. I’m adjusting. I’m trying to make this work and dudes like you are still clinging to the past.”
“I’m not a fucking prism, you asshole!”
“What, you just walk around with a rubber cock stuck in your pants all day? Quit living in the past. Your balls aren’t coming back, Kili.”
“I never had-” she swallowed and composed herself. “I never had balls. I was never a guy. I was just packing.”
Chris scrunched his face. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re specifically not packing.”
“No, I was… Jesus, why couldn’t they have picked a different word?” she seethed, almost to herself. Chris just looked more confused.
“Listen, I was wearing my packer because that’s what I do. I’ve been doing it for years. I’ve kept doing it ever since January and I’ve been doing it all the rest of the times I’ve come here and you’re the first person to pitch a fit about it.”
“You’ve been wearing a fake dick for years?”
“Yes, I’ve been packing. That’s what that word means. Or, you know, meant.”
“Wait, were you, like, a trans guy?”
“Fucking Christ, how many times do I have to tell you I wasn’t a man?” she sighed.
“Then why do you wear a fake dick?”
“Because I like doing it! It’s good for, you know, confidence. I have a secret and it makes me feel, I don’t know, powerful.”
Chris’ fists unclenched for the first time since leaving the hotel. He crossed his arms.
“Well it’s still shitty to lead people on like that.”
“I wasn’t trying to lead you on; I thought you wanted to do Sapphic stuff.”
“What stuff?
“Sapphic stuff.”
Chris just blinked.
“Shit, you really were a straight guy, weren’t you?”
He folded his arms tighter.
“You know, girl on girl stuff,” she said, “Or what used to be girl on girl stuff. No dicks.”
“Look, if I wanted to eat someone’s pussy I’ve got friends for that,” Chris said, “I go to clubs when I want dick.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Kili muttered.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Come on Chris, you’re dressed like a parody of a lesbian.”
Chris’ eyes wavered as he itemized his outfit and noticed for the first time since morning he was wearing his plaid shirt, overalls, and boots to match his buzz cut and ear gauges.
“I, uh, I just came from work like this,” he said weakly, “I’m in construction.”
They each stood there under a street lamp for a few moments.
“So you’re not interested then,” Kili said.
“No,” Chris sighed, “I’m kind of in the mood for something specific.”
“Gonna go back in and get it?”
“No, I caused a scene in there. I’ll pull something out of my closet that’ll get me through the night.”
They shuffled their feet a bit more.
“Well, sorry if I sent the wrong signals,” Kili said.
“Me too, I guess.”
Chris turned towards his car.
“Oh, if I ever run into you again in there I’m a newbie,” Kili said, “In case you’re in the mood for something specific.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Chris said and waved back to her. He stepped inside and backed out of the parking lot wondering if he should memorize a third phase.
Morning
Torres Residence
Roswell, GA
Monday January 1, The day of
Tracy crept up to the door frame of the bathroom to find Scott still in front of the mirror. She clutched her phone to her chest and breathed as silently as she could. She almost turned to walk back to the living room and the television she could now just barely hear. Every time she had stood up from the couch she sat back down thinking surely there would be some new information.
The news was full of information. There was more information than she’d ever seen on it. Videos of men and women reacting to their new bodies. Dozens of astrological and environmental phenomena to hook some kind of explanation on. Thousands of pieces of information, but no conclusions.
She found her other hand nervously stroking the hair on her chest for the third time that day. Every time she noticed she scolded herself for doing so, for somehow having the temerity to act as though it was a natural tic to indulge. It couldn’t be natural, but her unconscious mind refused to agree.
Scott remained there, inspecting himself silently. His face verged on serene. The clearest emotion was surprise, but one of purpose, as though he was discovering something.
“Is there anything new on TV?” he asked in his new voice, not averting his eyes.
“It’s still everywhere,” Tracy said, “Everyone’s the same. Well, actually, they’ve said some people have, um, penises but they don’t know why. They think it might have something to do with periods.”
“Huh,” Scott grunted, as though he heard the result of last night’s Hawks game.
Tracy gripped the door frame, preparing herself for the question she knew she was about to ask.
“Does it look anything… similar? To before?”
She flinched, furious at herself for asking. She’d never seen pictures of Scott from before. He’d done it years before they met, and she knew it wasn’t how he wanted to be seen. It wasn’t him, after all.
“It… doesn’t,” he said after a long, intense bout of scrutiny. “For one thing, I transitioned twenty years ago. I don’t look twenty years younger, right?”
He turned to her for confirmation.
“Uh, no. I mean, you still look like…” Tracy faltered, “Like… oh god Scott, I don’t want to-”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said and reached out a calming hand. The panic in her stomach subsided, though not entirely.
Scott turned back to the mirror.
“It’s… baffling,” he said. “I just don’t see it. It’s still just me.”
He turned to her again.
“It is!” she said, a little too quickly though not insincerely, “It’s you.” The Scott she knew somehow resided in the face she saw. It’s like she had become aware of a synonym for her husband’s face. She could imagine it smiling at her as he came home from work. Hundreds of versions of that memory somehow contained the potential for this new him.
Scott rubbed his cheek.
“It’s like,” he struggled for the words, “It’s like for years there was this incessant fog that haunted me, this disconnect. That only disappeared when I transitioned. That I associated with,” he touched another part of his face, “But it’s still gone. It’s not there.”
“So, I mean, do you think you’ll be okay?” Tracy asked.
“I think so,” he said, “I feel weird saying that. I feel there should be more there. Like, I should be having a bigger r
eaction, but I don’t. I don’t get it.”
He shook his head as if trying to knock something loose.
“So it’s really everyone?” he confirmed.
“Everyone.”
“Everyone...”
He scratched his chest through the buttons on his pajamas. Tracy noticed she was doing the same. She didn’t stop herself this time.
“I guess I could go back to binding,” he said, “Or maybe not. They’re actually smaller than…”
A thought struck him.
“Crap, what are the guys going to be doing at work tomorrow?”
“Do you really think there’s going to be work tomorrow?” Tracy asked.
“Oh, maybe not,” he realized, “Maybe I should make some calls.”
He almost brushed past Tracy before stopping and kissing her on the cheek. The last remnants of anxiety in her belly dissipated.
Tinder Date
SideBar Cocktail Lounge
Phoenix, AZ
Saturday December 22, 355 days after
Roselyn sat at the table that had the best of view of the entrance. It had been twenty minutes since her chat with Jessie ended and fifteen minutes since everyone else in her party moved on to the next destination. She hugged everyone goodbye and said she was tired and was going to cut the evening short there. She even claimed that when she was hugging Miguel goodbye. He knew what she was doing but limited himself to one discreet wink.
After everyone drove off she ducked back in the bar and found her perch. There was even a little bit of dipping back into the well in case Jessie didn’t show up. None of the profiles were worth designating as a backup.
No one matching Jessie’s description walked through the door. Roselyn realized neither had specified if another text was due when she was there or getting close. She thought about sending another message, but realized Jessie would probably be driving. Instead she sat there waiting and wondering how long a reasonable time to wait would be.
Just as she started to wonder if she was being rude by taking up a table while only drinking water Jessie walked in.
She was wearing the grey dress she said she’d be wearing. The one that had the bandana-like paisley pattern. She turned her head from side to side looking for Roselyn, her curly hair taking its time to catch up with every turn. She looked just as good as her profile pictures suggested.
Roselyn sat more forward in her chair and put a hand up. Jessie looked passed her. She sat up even more and waved and caught her on the next pass. Jessie smiled and waved back.
She squeezed past a few tables and extended her hand before Roselyn could get out from her seat.
“Hi, you must be Roselyn!”
She pronounced it wrong. She did it the two-syllable way. “Rahz-lin.” Roselyn bit her tongue. She didn’t need to invest the emotional energy if the date didn’t go well.
“Yeah, and you’re Jessie?”
“Yep, that’s me!” she said and set her purse on the table. She hopped up on the stool and took a few seconds to straighten out her dress. “Would you mind if I got a drink?”
“No, go ahead.”
Jessie looked around and flagged down a waiter that was walking past. A little impatient, Roselyn noted.
“Hey, what do you have here that’s interesting?” Jessie asked.
“We do an authentic mint julep served in a silver cup,” the waiter said.
“Ooo, that’s interesting, I’ve never had that. And a julep has…”
“Bourbon.”
“Bourbon, great. I’ll get one of those.” She gestured towards Roselyn. “Did you want something?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? My treat.”
“Yeah, I had plenty earlier.”
“Okay, just the one.”
The waiter left the two alone.
“Thanks again for meeting me here,” Jessie said.
“Yeah, you too.”
“So I think your profile said you were local?”
“Yeah, Mesa born and raised.”
“Scottsdale for me.” She chuckled to herself. “Say, you wouldn’t mind if I was a huge cliché for a bit, would you?”
“Be my guest.”
“So, I basically never use Tinder,” she said and rolled her eyes at herself, “But I got on today because I thought there’d be a bunch of people visiting from out of town for Christmas. Then I actually start looking and end up picking someone from around here.”
“I’m glad my profile was that enticing then.”
“Are you kidding? You looked gorgeous. And that picture with the puppy? God, I was gonna die it’s so cute.”
Roselyn interrogated her brain.
“Oh right, the one with Baxter. I always forget what photos I have in my profile. Yeah, he’s a cutie. That photo is from a year ago so he’s all grown up now. He’s actually my brother’s dog, so we’re not a package deal.”
“Well, this date’s over,” Jessie announced and pantomimed getting up to leave. She sat back down and laughed. Roselyn laughed too, though not as much.
“No, really, you seemed really nice. At first I was just sort of absentmindedly swiping during timeouts but by the fourth quarter I’d basically stopped watching the game. It was out of hand at that point anyway.”
“Oh yeah, you said you were at a basketball game?”
“Yep, the Suns were hosting the Mercury. It’s the first time they’ve been back since they left.”
Jessie could tell Roselyn didn’t quite follow.
“Oh, the Mercury were Phoenix’s old WNBA team. Then the leagues merged and they moved to Austin. My allegiance has been sort of split since then.”
“I guess I haven’t been following it that much,” Roselyn said, “So, like, are the teams still all prisms and all women?”
“Not entirely. There was a dispersal draft and trades and stuff. It was a whole thing. But yeah, the Mercury’s roster has a lot of the same ladies as last year. I kind of feel like I should still root for them. Support fellow women as they try to prove they belong in the NBA, you know? But then the Suns are still the hometown team, and it’s all just rooting for laundry anyway, right?”
“I guess so. Sorry, I don’t follow sports much.”
“I probably sound super tedious then, don’t I? ‘Jeez, which group of strangers should I get emotionally invested in?’” Jessie said and laughed. “I don’t know, I’ve just been following this stuff for so long I sort of can’t help it.”
There was a lull in the conversation.
“So, what do you do for work?” Roselyn asked.
“I’m a nurse over at St. Luke’s Medical Center.”
“Oh yeah? I don’t think I’ve ever been. Next time I break my wrist I’ll be sure to go there.”
“Yeah definitely. I can hook you up with all the good drugs.”
She thought about laughing but cut herself short.
“Actually, I really should stop saying that on dates. Someone might eventually take me seriously. I mean, not you, but someone else.”
“No, that’s fine. I’m actually kind of curious about what working in medicine is like these days.”
“It really depends on the field you’re in,” Jessie said, “OBGYNs and urologists are still in the dark about a lot of stuff. They honestly have no clue how fertility even works now. Since people don’t menstruate they can’t go by that schedule anymore and they don’t know if presenting mirrors it somehow. I do not envy them. But for the kind of stuff we do at the hospital it’s not too different honestly. When it comes to drug dosages we just use the average of what we used to give men and women. It’s working out so far.”
“Huh, that’s almost reassuring that not too much has changed.”
“Well, I mean, the actual medical care stuff itself hasn’t changed much. Some of the personal stuff is tougher. Sometimes with really old patients they don’t always remember The Shift happened. It’s pretty tough when they wake up sometimes.”
Her
voice softened as she reached the end of the sentence.
“I’m sorry, that’s really depressing, isn’t it?”
“No, I mean, you’re just telling the truth, right?” Roselyn reassured.
“Yeah, but I mean it’s…” Jessie paused, “I feel like I can’t ever have a conversation that isn’t about The Shift, you know?”
“I know exactly what you mean. Anytime anything happens I always think ‘Would that have happened anyway?’ I mean seriously, for everything. Especially stuff like fashion. Like how vests got super popular all of a sudden.”
“Oh my god, I know!” Jessie said and put a hand on Roselyn’s. Neither of them noticed for a few seconds. “I thought no one else noticed that!”
“Seriously!” Roselyn said, “It’s everyone! I even bought one myself. I look fantastic in it but I never wear it because I’m paranoid that I’m falling for some weird trend that prisms started.”
“I did the exact same thing!” Jessie said and moved the hand that was on Roselyn’s to her chest.
They both sat there smiling, vindicated that someone else could see the truth.
“So how about you?” Jessie asked, “What do you do?”
“I’m a paralegal for a LGBTQ rights organization. The regional office is in LA so I go over there a lot, but mostly I telecommute.”
“Oh really? What, uh, what kind of stuff do you do these days?”
“Well, the cases for people who were fired or kicked out of their apartments for being gay before The Shift are still in the court system,” Roselyn said.
“Oh, huh. I guess I hadn’t thought about that.”
“Yeah, even now we get a few new cases here and there. Stuff about people’s presentation changing a lot since The Shift, or having non-standard presentation. We’ve got this case of this one guy who basically used The Shift as the impetus to transition. Started using a male name and pronouns right after. People at work didn’t like it and he got fired.”
“Oh wow,” Jessie said, “I didn’t know stuff like that was still happening. I’ve seen a lot of people change that kind of stuff over the year but most people seemed okay with it.”
The Shift: Scenes from the Year Humanity Lost Sex Page 5