Outcasts

by J. S. Frankel

  As for the media, they never mentioned us. No one asked questions in Congress. It was as if the committee that had formed us never existed.

  Joe’s father was just as bewildered as I was. His calls to Washington went unanswered. Our local politicians denied knowing anything. Finally, he gave up. “I’m sorry, Mitch,” he’d said to me when he dropped by one day after work. “I can’t find anything.”

  No wonder, because there was nothing to find. The only thing that remained was how everyone essentially ignored us. My mother refused to let things bother her and shut out anyone and everyone who thought me different. “We don’t need them,” she’d said.

  Maybe not, but all the same, it hurt. Going up against the City Council a month after our group had been disbanded turned out to be another shot of humiliation. The image of me standing before them with my mother at my side flashed in front of my eyes. It had been my mother’s day off, and Joe and his father had also come along to stand with us while the seven members of our fair city sat in self-satisfied smugness, deciding our fate.

  “Now that you’re officially retired,” Mr. Haskins had said with all the unctuousness a middle-aged man who ran a convenience store could muster. “There is the matter of what you’re going to do in our city.”

  Our city, he’d said our city. Wasn’t it mine, too? Wasn’t it Joe’s? We’d both been born here. “My son and Joe have done nothing wrong,” my mother declared, glaring at all the members of the council with defiance. “It isn’t his fault he has abilities. He’s also broken no laws.”

  “Getting into fights, dropping out of school, working for some secret organization that refuses to divulge who’s in charge... I think we have a right to be concerned,” another council member said. “I appreciate the fact that you’ve been here a long time, Mrs. Kessler, but facts are facts. We’re not sure Mitchell and Joseph can be, er, trusted.”

  At that remark, Mr. Chambers hit the ceiling, accusing the council of downright stupidity and bigotry. “Try anything against my son or Mitch, and you will regret it,” he thundered. “The law is the law. Don’t forget that!”

  He’d then stormed out. The rest of us followed suit. On the sidewalk, Mr. Chambers pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, blowing a puff of bluish-gray smoke in the air while uttering grunts of disgust.

  “That went well,” my mother observed without a trace of irony in her voice.

  Mr. Chambers turned around. From the pissed-off expression on his face, he didn’t appear to share my mother’s sense of humor. “It went like I expected—rotten.”

  He said nothing else, just strode off toward his car. Joe said he’d text me later, and my mother drove me home. Inside our house, she took a seat on the couch, staring aimlessly at the floor. Finally, she picked her head up, a weary expression at play. “What do we do now?”

  She was asking me that? Mothers were supposed to know things, or at the very least how to fix things, weren’t they? Guess not. She traced her finger around a black headline, something about the economy tanking under the current administration. When she spoke again, she sounded more than dispirited. It verged into downright lost territory. “I have a job, and you’re studying online. That’ll work—for now. But what about after?”

  Had to admit, I hadn’t thought about it much. “I guess I’ll get a job.”

  “Doing what?”

  Her question came out with no anger, no malice, but all the same, it hurt. What could I do? Who’d want to hire a kid with an online diploma and no experience, not to mention bat wings and claws? Piss me off enough, and I’d change. Maybe working in a circus would do. No, they probably wouldn’t hire me, either, and the thought of becoming a sideshow attraction made me want to heave.

  Tears began to trickle down my mother’s face, her body shook, and then she sobbed out, “It’s all my fault. I made you, along with your father. I did this.”

  Her words tore me in two, and I went over to hug her. “Mom, you didn’t do anything wrong. It just... happened.”

  God, those words sounded lamer than lame. I’d heard of genetic mutations, knew about some child prodigies—some kid in Portland had become a cat-person about a year ago and had moved to New York—but this?

  My mother had eventually stopped shaking and wiped her eyes. Her cellphone rang, and she answered it, listening and nodding her head. “I’ll be in around noon,” she said, hung up, and then turned to me. “That was my office. They need me to do some overtime work. Will you be okay here?”

  “I always have been.”

  A strained smile flashed for a moment and then disappeared. “I’ll see you later.”

  Then she’d gone out, and I was alone with my memories of how much my home city had not become one.

  Shaking off my memories, I noticed four-thirty had rolled around. In between stints of attempting to repair things around the house, I continued my job hunt. Easy to fix things, much less easy in finding gainful employment. Once half-past-five came to pass, I got my shower on, threw on a pair of jeans and a dark blue t-shirt, and I was just about to leave when the doorbell rang. Answering it, Joe stood there, munching on a candy bar. He appraised my togs and nodded his head as if to give me the ultimate compliment. “You going out?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I got a date with Callie.”

  His positive look disappeared. In fact, it was replaced by an expression that made me think of a crab with gas. Not that I’d ever seen one, but there had to be a first time. It also got me a bit pissed.

  The silence continued, so I made my position clear. Joe was my closest—actually, only—friend, but if I had to choose between him and someone who meant a lot to me, it didn’t take much thought to figure out whose side I’d take. “If you’re going to ask me about her being her—don’t.”

  For a guy so direct, right now he was doing a very good impression of someone squirming away from the whole idea. A deep scarlet suffused his features. “It’s cool. Just that, er, if she changes and you’re, uh, with her, how are you going to handle it?”

  Uh-huh, he meant that if I went for the gold, would the surface be smooth or rocky? “With style and grace,” I answered, going for pith and finally achieving it.

  A laugh came my way, and he turned to leave. “Then I guess I’ll go home.”

  Five-forty now, time to go. “Don’t wait up for me.”

  “You’re just full of the one-liners today, aren’t you?”

  “Mr. Comedian, that’s me.”

  Dusk had fallen, and the air was pleasantly cool as I winged my way over to Callie’s place. My shirt had slits cut out the back that allowed my wings to come out without ripping the fabric apart. While flying over, I checked the city for anything of a criminal nature happening.

  Found nothing of note, but I did see two young women who looked to be in their twenties walking together and holding hands. They seemed happy, talking and laughing about something, and then they stopped under a tree to share a kiss.

  It was a light kiss, but for them, it had a special meaning, as one woman leaned her head against the other woman’s shoulder. I flew on, realizing it was just two people kissing and what difference did it make to anyone else?

  Callie was sitting outside on the front steps, wearing a pink skirt and blouse combo. It was different from the outfit I remembered her wearing, but I had to admit that the color suited her. “Hi,” I said after touching down, feeling more than a bit shy and tentative about being here. She hadn’t exactly sounded negative on the telephone, so maybe the gods would be kind.

  “Hi yourself. Sorry I didn’t answer your emails.” She bit her lip and offered a slight shrug. “Things weren’t so good. I’ve been out of school, studying online. I’ve got issues,” she added, somewhat defensively.

  She then looked up at me. “Do you want to take a walk?”

  “Okay.”

  Our journey took us down the narrow street past the other houses. A few other people were out taking their
evening constitutional, and some of them nodded in Callie’s direction.

  When they saw me, though, they turned away. Callie looked up and caught their expressions as I had. Disagreement, disgust, hatred—they all shone out of those passing by. Her voice had a catch in it. “People stink. They only nod hello because they know my mother. They think I’m a mutant, but won’t say it.”

  I could relate to that, big time. “They don’t say anything?”

  She shook her head. “No. They’re waiting for me to shift, just so they can tell their families or friends.” She spat out that last word. “That’s why I’m wearing these clothes tonight. I’m determined not to.”

  Her voice held a defiant tone, but that tone faded with her next words. “The kids at school put me through a lot of crap, though. I quit because I didn’t know what I was and no one would leave me alone. The administration didn’t know what to do with me. I couldn’t use either bathroom because the kids didn’t like it, so I ended up taking a leak outside when I was a guy.”

  Damn, that was harsh. Portland was supposed to be one of the more progressive cities in the union. What it came down to, though, was it depended on where you were and more importantly, what you were.

  “What about when you turned girl?” After thinking about it, using the word shifting might have been better. Too late now, although she didn’t get angry.

  “I held it in.”

  Silence fell, and it seemed to be the best thing for the moment. Right now, all was peaceful, and I inhaled the heady scent of pine. Summertime rocked. It had to be my favorite season. Taking a seat beside her, I looked out at the greenery. “Can I ask you something?”

  Callie turned her head to me. “Yeah, sure, go ahead.”

  “Did you always want to be a girl?”

  Her mother had once told me about Callie’s orientation, but I had to hear it for myself. The question must have triggered something, for she inhaled a shaky breath, her lips working. Finally, she exhaled. “Yes. I always knew. My mother knew, too. I mean, ever since I was small, like four or five, I wondered why I had a dick instead of looking like all the other girls.”

  A frown creased her face. “It was all about gender dysphoria, not feeling like you’re in the right body. I didn’t like guy’s clothes. Women’s clothes just felt natural to me. Some transgender girls do that. Some don’t. I did.”

  Her voice came out softly, yet it held a pain only she knew. I could never know how she truly felt, even though she was laying her life out in front of me right now.

  She’d told me she liked me from the moment we met. As corny as it sounded, I’d felt the same way. But I still couldn’t get over the idea of being with her, as in more than kissing her, as in all the way. What if she changed to—

  No, screw that. I was prepared to be with her, no matter what. This, I promised myself. “Kiss me,” I said.

  Genuinely startled by my request, she shied back. “What?”

  “Kiss me.”

  Callie’s mouth worked in a dozen different directions. “Mitch, we haven’t seen each other in almost a year. I—”

  Her protests stopped when I shoved my mouth against hers. After a moment’s hesitation on her part, her tongue sought out mine. When our lips parted, I asked, “Did that light your lamp?”

  A laugh, somewhat breathless and perhaps self-conscious, came from her. “I remember saying that to you. And yeah, it’s been lit. Burning pretty brightly, too.”

  Her good humor then faded, and a more skeptical tone entered her voice. “Are you sure?”

  After that lip-lock, now I was. “Yeah, and if you change while we’re together, I’ll handle it. All I want to do is to be with you.”

  I said those words, meant them, and hoped she’d understand. When she leaned against me, her arms snaking around my waist and she sobbed into my chest how much she’d missed me, I knew she did.

  Chapter Seven: Imposter

  After our reconciliation, telling my mother about it was the next step. A pensive look came over her face, but at the very least, she listened. Her only question to me was, “Are you happy with her?”

  “I am.”

  “Then be happy with her.”

  I think she was relieved I’d found someone. At least, she didn’t object.

  If only I’d been as lucky in the job-finding department. All of my calls to prospective employers got me the proverbial sorry-no-openings answer. Most of them gave me the, “You don’t have any experience,” line. They then finished with, “You’re that gargoyle kid, right?”

  I tried not to scream from the idiocy. Reality sucked, and realitards like them made it suck worse. At least Callie was there for me. At her place, we strolled around the neighborhood, holding hands. The street lights were on, casting a friendly yellow glow, and the night air was cottony soft and warm.

  Only a few people were out, and they passed by quickly once they got a good look at me. “It’s that freak,” one of them whispered just loud enough for me to hear.

  Perhaps it was the tone or the words that got to me. I didn’t care which. Total strangers passing judgment on someone who was also a total stranger. Thanks so much. My reply of, “Say that to my face,” sent them scurrying for the nearest shelter.

  “Don’t take it personally,” Callie said after the jerk had gone.

  How could I not take it personally? The man who’d spoken, a short, paunchy middle-aged sort, had looked absolutely terrified. Another person who’d been with him had muttered, “Don’t stare at the bat-kid.”

  Bat-kid, thanks a lot, really appreciate it. At least they hadn’t called me gargoyle or garg-boy or something equally dumbass. “How do you know I’m taking it personally?”

  Without missing a beat, she replied, “Your face is shifting. Even though it’s dark out, I can see everything. That only happens when you’re pissed-off, right?” She gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “So cool it. I’m here, we’re here, and that’s all that counts.”

  After taking in a deep breath, yeah, I got the message. Nothing else counted. Words only hurt if I let them. “Fine, I got it.”

  We found a bench near a park and sat. Just us, it was quiet, and I felt the tension leave my body. Once mentally ready, I was about to ask her more about her gender dysphoria. She’d mentioned that word to me before. It meant not feeling comfortable in the sex you were assigned to, but she beat me to it.

  “I started changing when I was sixteen. I shifted one day in school, the kids started laughing, and I didn’t know what was going on. It happened more and more, and before long, everyone was staring at me like I was a freak.”

  Freak—a recurring five-letter word for prejudice. “Did you, uh, go to any counseling?”

  She nodded. “Mm-hmm, I told you before I’d been trying on my mother’s clothes for a long time. She caught me one day, but she didn’t freak out. Instead, we had a talk, and she figured I was more female than male. It was something I knew all along.

  “Then she took me to see a specialist. They found out I had more female hormones in my body than male ones. Even when I was a guy, I had ovaries. I was classified as being intersex, but not. Still, that kind of diagnosis sort of sealed it for me.”

  She picked her head up, and her expression became more reflective. “After my mother understood that, she took me to some LGBT counseling sessions. The other kids there also had a lot of problems, but they didn’t judge me, and that helped me get more comfortable with what I was.”

  In an abrupt transition, her voice grew quiet. “School sucked. The other kids just didn’t get it, so... I quit. I got tired of being asked, what I was all the time. I got tired of the abuse. No one ever tried beating me up, but finally, I couldn’t take it anymore, so my mother let me stay home. Then Mr. Lucas showed up.” She turned to face me. “After that, I met you.”

  “And you met me,” I echoed, and put my hand on her cheek. Warm and soft, she was everything I wanted.

  Callie
patted my hand, stood up, and brushed off her skirt. “So what happens now?”

  I got up, searching for the correct word. “Now, we perambulate.”

  She giggled, and we set off. Along the way, I thought of telling her the truth about the attack. Last night I’d almost mentioned it, but I’d held back as I didn’t want her to worry. Things had changed, though, so I gave her the basics, and she stopped dead in her tracks. Her voice tinged with worry, she asked, “Did you call the police?”

  “Chief Sullivan’s helping us out. He sent a sample of that thing to Portland. We should know something soon.” It was only half a BS story. I made a mental note to check early next week, as Neil would be arriving on Tuesday.

  Callie didn’t take it lightly. She smacked my arm—hard. “Mitch, if you care for me, you’ll tell me, okay? I don’t want to be left out of this.”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  The corners of her mouth curved upward in a slight smile. “Thanks. I’ll be careful.”

  She seemed determined, but all the same, I was still worried. Our date finished with a deep, lingering kiss on her doorstep, and her mother came out to interrupt us. Callie abruptly pulled back and cast her head down demurely while I wiped her lipstick off. It didn’t matter. Mrs. Winston had already seen us smooch, but she was a pretty decent actress and gave a great performance. “Oh, Mitch, I didn’t hear you come out. Is everything okay?”

  I was prepared to lie like hell if she was. “Yes ma’am, everything is.”

  Callie waved goodbye, but the concern shone from her eyes, cutting through the darkness. “Be careful,” she mouthed.

  After giving her a wink, I lifted off and winged my way home.

  Tuesday morning, nine sharp, and the sound of tires crunching over gravel accompanied by the honk of a horn broke the stillness of the air. It was followed by a deep voice yelling, “Hey, is anyone home?”

  That had to be Neil. When I opened the door, I saw a massive pickup sitting ten yards away from our house. As he got out, the truck groaned and seemed to spring up a few inches. “Yeah, it’s specially reinforced,” he said as he walked over to shake hands. “I weigh four hundred-plus, and the shocks don’t wear well, so I had it reinforced.”