From the memoirs of a dead woman and reimagined through the lens of TSF classics.
Content Warning: TSF Series #019: An Exchange of Flesh contains content that some readers might find disturbing or uncomfortable. This includes sexually explicit activities, strong language, hateful language and slurs, gun-based violence, forced physical transformation, and incestuous activities. Reader discretion is advised.
Foreword
Following a three year “coffee break” where I wrote over 700,000 words of novels and who knows how much TSF Showcase, I am incredibly happy to return to TSF Series. Which, for first-time readers, is my TSF Anthology series. Yes, real creative name there.
For this grand return, I took inspiration from a rather peculiar source, a book by the name of A Change of Heart by Claire Sylvia and William Novak. The book is a memoir by a woman who, in 1988, underwent the first heart and lung transplant in New England. The first third of the book is largely Claire’s life’s story prior to surgery, particularly how she was a dancer since childhood and how her chronic heart issues became severe as she entered her 40s. These issues left her bound to her bed, depending on others, and becoming a stressor for her loved once. All of which after she was rushed off to the hospital and given the heart and lungs of Tim, a teenage boy who died in a motorcycle accident.
As Claire recovers, she realizes that she was not the same person she was before surgery. Her tastes, preferences in women, and even aspects of her personality all change. She becomes “more masculine,” and she begins having vivid dreams about the teenage boy whose organs rest within her chest. As Claire describes, she feels that she is no longer the same person, but rather, both physically and spiritually, she has become one with Tim.
It’s also worth noting that Claire was a very new age spiritual woman, and that’s reflected in how she tells her story.
To be incredibly clear, A Change of Heart is not a TSF story… but there were several points while reading it where I thought it very well could become one. There are many passages, moments, and anecdotes that straight-up sound like something you would see in the build up to a physical TSF transformation. So I asked myself what would her story be like if instead of merely developing the mannerisms and traits of this teenage boy, a middle-aged woman like Claire physically became that teenage boy. Oh, the drama, dread, and elation that would ensue!
This was the impetus for what I call An Exchange of Flesh, an obvious play on A Change of Heart that also draws reference to the 1911 short story An Exchange of Souls by Barry Pain. Souls is a story about a man’s soul entering a woman’s body, gradually taking over her mind, morphing her form to resemble his own. It’s an incredibly novel concept that I’ve wanted to mine ideas from for three years. Furthermore, due to conceptual overlap, many other ideas come from one of my favorite TSF stories of all time, Girl In My Dream by Sizzkun and Burntwitch. It’s a mahwa that follows a teenage boy slowly transforming into the girl in his dreams, and I trust you can determine the parallels based on that.
I was interested in the surgical angle, the recovery, emphasis on dreams, and particularly Claire’s relationship with her daughter, Amara, who was in high school as Claire’s health was declining. So, I spent a month, July 20, 2026 to August 17, 2026 reading, researching, outlining, writing, and editing the 49,000 word, debatably novel-length, story you see before you today.
Before beginning however, I want to address the fact that this story is inspired by the lived experiences of actual people. Claire Sylvia died in 2009, 21 years after her heart transplant, at the age of 69, so she is not with us anymore, but her family still is. However, in twisting the settings, name, era, concept, and personalities to my preference, I believe it is abundantly clear that nobody in this novel is meant to resemble any actual person, living or dead.
With no further ado, let’s begin the story of Mi-sook “Mimi” Ahn and how her life was forever changed when she received the heart of a young man closer to her than she could ever imagine.
Prologue – The Defective Heart
After months of waiting, I was finally here. My body was stripped down, strapped up, and as the IV drip flowed into my wrist, I was faced with the reality that… it was finally happening. The doctors finally found an appropriate donor, and it was time for my decaying heart to be replaced. I had waited nearly a year for this, thought it would never happen, that I would die before my fiftieth birthday, but through a miracle for me and tragedy for another, a heart was found. Waking up at 2:22 in the morning to this news was disorientating to say the least. I thought it had to be a dream. But sitting under these lights, watching these men and women, their bodies bound from head to toe, letting only a sliver of their eyes show, I knew it wasn’t a dream. If it was… I wouldn’t feel so calm from the medication they gave me.
It was in this calm… that I reflected upon how I got here, on my life.
I was born on May 14, 1961 as Mi-sook Ahn, though everybody’s known me as Mimi for as long as I can remember. My parents were refugees of the Korean War, skilled young tradespeople who witnessed their nation’s collapse and moved to America in pursuit of a better life. They had lost everything, their homes, their families, and did everything they could to make a life for themselves in New York City, before having me. Naturally, my parents wanted the absolute best from me. Lawyer, doctor, the overachieving Asia stereotypes. Instead, they got me. A girl who was far more enthralled by the arts, by music, and fought against them to fulfill her dream as a musician. I wanted to play the greats, the classics, and through spirit, drive, and connections, I saw success.
Playing for theatrical productions, concerts, and symphonies was always my dream, and for 25 years, it was my reality. It was hard work that required precise control of my body, copious amounts of travel, but it made me enough money to keep going, keep doing what I loved, and for years, I thought that’s all it would be. At least, until I met Kevin Kikansky. August 14, 1988, after an absolutely sweltering performance, he approached me, looking suave, handsome, and collected. He was a Lehman Brothers investor who secured great wealth right before his 30th birthday who was interested in me of all people. Looking back, he probably just wanted something novel. A Korean violinist sounds plenty exotic to a White guy on Wall Street. Still, I was young, I was struggling, and he promised me affection, promised me luxuries, and he delivered, taking my heart, still thriving with girlish glee, and on June 1, 1991, we were married.
The first year of my marriage was wonderful. Kevin was caring, attentive, and considerate of me as I went through my pregnancy before giving birth to our daughter, Jenny, on February 29, 1992. I still remember the moment I felt her body against my chest after her birth, the first time I looked into her soothing brown eyes, and the sheer euphoria I felt as I realized I had created life. I loved Jenny immensely, hated whenever I had to leave her to go to a performance, yet knew it would only get better as she grew, and my did she grow fast and wonderfully, so bright and enthusiastic. She truly was my North Star during those years… because my marriage was crumbling.
As his industry computerized, Kevin chose not to adapt, insisting that he knew things that no computer could ever hope to do. Yet, his employers felt differently, as did reality. Following a brief stint as an independent investor, Kevin’s ambitions faltered, and so did any respect I had for him. He had given up on his career, his life, so I felt I had to give up on him.
We divorced on our seventh anniversary. I kept Jenny, I kept half the money he didn’t waste, and decided to build my life elsewhere. I left New York City behind— as a resident— and moved to new Haven, Connecticut. As marvelous as the city is, I wanted my daughter to grow in an environment where she would receive every opportunity she wanted.
Making the move was not easy. I would not have been able to make it if Mom and Dad didn’t come with me, taking care of Jenny when I had to bounce between New York and Boston for different shows. I sacrificed two hours each way with how guttered traffic always was, but it all seemed worth it when I could return to Jenny at the end of the day. I did all I could to make it work, tried to sell myself in this competitive field, and to my surprise… I kept going. Things kept going as I grew older, as Jenny grew into a woman, until I hit a wall in late 2008. As the financial crash roared, my heart faltered.
I never had a great heart— just running a mile was enough to leave 16-year-old me a panting mess. Yet, this was something far worse. My doctor wrote it off as mild at first, giving me medication and shoving me out. I still felt weak, still struggled with anything beyond a mild walk, even a job, yet I kept going on. I went past the deaths of my parents, through whatever performances I could find, and until Jenny finally graduated from high school. From there… it was as if my heart said enough was enough, and I began to suffer.
It was a hot and humid July day when I collapsed, and I soon learned that my condition went from standard to severe. My heart was failing, and if I wanted to live, I would need a transplant. This was New Haven, in good medical company, so I took whoever would take me, got on whatever lists I could, and from there… I waited. I waited… and I got worse by the day.
I tried to take it easy, to avoid anything strenuous, but by the end of August I realized that even going out for my usual grocery run was too strenuous for my heart. I remember collapsing the moment I walked in, unable to lift myself off that couch as Jenny put away the groceries for me. She looked at me with sorrow, and she was right to. She was supposed to start school in just a few days, but she arrived home early on the first day, telling me she couldn’t bear to go to school while I’m struggling to survive.
Part of me hated that I raised her to be so damn selfless, but I truly needed her. I hated that I needed her. I should be independent for at least another twenty years, but there she was, making me meals while I was lying in bed. Of course, I had better days, but that did not change the fact that I spent the last few months laying around, feeling useless, unable to take care of myself, let alone help other people.
I spent the following winter cooped up, laying in my mountain of blankets what felt like every day, depending on my own daughter for nearly everything. It became my dream to survive, to get better, so that she would not need to dedicate her life to caring for me. I needed to make things better, needed to cling onto hope, and now… now my life was up to the hands of the man looking over me, his face shielded by a mask, and the figures around him. I tried to narrow my gaze, to peer into them, but once my eyes shut, they stayed shut, and the operation began.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011 – Dream
I had half-expected that to be the end of my story. I had already lost everything I loved as my heart gave out on me, so why would anything ever work out in my favor?
Instead, when under the knife, I had this woefully vivid dream. The sky was pitch black, without even a speck of a star shining through, while my body was covered in something thick, heavy, and wet. I did not know why I was in this dismal, dreary place, but I knew I had to leave as soon as possible. I tried to run, to move my legs, only to be met with a thick swampy substance as high as my knees. Just a single step was an ordeal in and of itself, yet I could not stand here. Standing here would not be good, I knew that intuitively.
I heaved with every stride, hoping that the next would bring me to solid ground, but I was not so lucky. My heart ached, feeling as weak as it was when I was put under, and my lungs were burning. It had been months since I attempted even a jog, and my body— or my mind— seemed to have forgotten how to do that. There was nothing I wanted to do but rest, yet I knew that I could not rest here. Nothing felt safe. The water, or at least I hoped it was water, had this terse acidic scent to it, and even the sandy ground beneath my bare feet felt like it would betray me if I dared linger.
So, I pressed on. Right, left, right, left, right… left… right… left… and then I stopped. Something in the water slithered across my foot, and I fell into the viscous fluid below. As I reached out my hands, I could not feel the ground. My drenched robe fought against me as I tried to turn myself around, my arms getting tangled on nothing while my feet brushed against sand that I could never fully reach. When I tried to breathe, I tasted the water. It tasted like how raw sewage smelled, and if I wasn’t underwater, I would have thrown up.
I panicked, flailed, and tried to bring myself upwards, fighting against my surroundings, but I knew it was no use. I was never a strong person, and I had only gotten worse after becoming bedridden. This was something only a strong person could do… and I guess I was not strong enough. Like with everything else, character could only get you so far.
Still, I tried, desperate to escape, when I felt something— someone— grab onto my hand, pulling me through the water. I gasped as my head lifted past the surface, and opened my eyes to see my savior. The next moment, I found myself in their arms. In his arms. My face was resting on his chest. It was warm, sturdy, and had a heart so strong, beating so fast, that I could feel it through my hand alone.
The man’s form was a mere shadow, an idea, or impression, of a person, yet I could still feel that much of him, and I wanted more. The man cast aside the robe I was wearing and wrapped his arms around me. I was in my rawest form, and so was he. I should have felt embarrassed, being caressed like this by someone I could not even see, yet his grip brought me a comfort that I relished. Resisting did not even exist in the realm of acceptable thought.
It was then that I felt my heart, letting out one pained beat… before growing silent. The rush of adrenaline that had pushed me forward has been extinguished, and I panicked, holding onto the man, trying to find it within myself to scream. I did not want to die here! I wasn’t supposed to die for another twenty, thirty years. I needed a heart, and… there was one right before me.
Desperately, I broke free of the man’s grip and lunged a hand at the man’s chest, piercing through it with my fingers in search of a heart. It was hot, pulsating with power overwhelming. With a heart like that, I would not have any problems. I would be better than ever!
Fear drove my hand to burst from the man’s chest, thrusting the heart through my own body, into an empty crevice, and the moment it landed there, I looked forward at the man, a smile creeping on his shadowy face. Was he happy that I stole his heart after he saved me? I wanted to know why, but his smile brought forth a light that eliminated the dark world of my dreams, casting me back into the realm of the living.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011 – Day
The dim lighting of LEDs and the uniformity of a tiled ceiling were the first things I saw as I woke up. It looked just like the one I saw when I was waiting for my surgery to begin. For a second, I wondered if the operation hadn’t happened, if they just left me here, but that’s before I felt the tube covering my mouth, shoving clean air into my lungs and taking out the crap. A dull throbbing persisted across my entire body, a combination of aches and bruises dulled by painkillers and an IV.
I tried moving my hands, only to find them bound, tied tightly with only my fingers visible. I wiggled them, confirming they worked, before craning my head ever so slightly to look down. The pillows propping it up gave me just enough leverage to see my chest. It was underneath a blanket, but I could tell it was sealed. My head fell down to the pillow in relief, and I felt a twinge go through my toes. That’s another part of me that was still connected it seemed.
My attempt at laughing only produced a groan, and that noise was seemingly all it took to summon a nurse. Her body was covered from head to toe, with only a sliver of her dark eyes showing. She looked at me, confused, relieved, and from the way her masked face curled, pleased to see that I woke up.
Nurse: “Mimi? You’re finally up! Tell me, are you feeling okay? Do you need something to write with?”
The nurse was reaching for a dry-erase board for me to use, but I managed to eke out a thumbs up with one free hand and speak the first thing that came to mind.
Mimi: “I… lived.”
As I said that, I felt it for the first time, beating within my chest. It was not the heart I had known, but it was a heart. One that, even from a single beat, left me shocked at its power. I had never known what a truly normal heart felt like, and feeling this one… it brought me an immense comfort.
I fell asleep then and there.
The next two days were a blur like that. I would effortlessly drift between the waking world and sleep, hours passing as I went to rest my eyes, yet I felt stronger every time I opened them.
I had died on that operating table, yet they revived me with a new heart. Of course, I would need to get plenty of rest in order to recover, and getting it was a blessing. Good rest had become a rarity for me, so even getting to sleep so soundly, feeling like I had more energy when I woke up, was a marked improvement already.
My mood was further brightened whenever a visitor wandered in, mostly a nurse. Their bodies were clad in so much PPE that they almost looked like an alien through my hazy vision, but the moment they spoke to me, looked at me with their bright caring eyes, I felt myself get a little better.
Though, that was nothing compared to when I saw Jenny. She was covered up like all the nurses, but I would recognize her eyes anywhere. They seemed red, irritated, like she hadn’t gotten much sleep. If I was in her position, I wouldn’t either. She almost lost me, was almost left all alone in this world, and while I still wasn’t in any condition to help her, I could already feel myself getting better. Months of dread, of things only getting worse, had made me unconsciously cynical, yet now, I had something to look forward to. Getting better, feeling better, being able to live a normal life. What was once a fantasy was now only a matter of time.
Friday, April 29, 2011 – Day
After spending two days drifting in and out of consciousness, I was finally freed from my respirator and wheeled over to my own private room. One up several floors, away from the sounds and activity of the ICU, with a large window looking over a weeping willow. My heart sang as I saw this sight, yet before I could so much as get comfortable, I was greeted by my surgeon. Doctor Daniel Decagon, a balding gray-haired White man with a… large frame all around. For a heart surgeon, he looked like he might have some heart problem himself, but I would never be stupid enough to make a comment like that to the man who saved my life.
Dr. Decagon was a jovial fellow, making slight jokes while clearly walking me through my medication routine. It was not glamorous. Some would be depressed at the idea of needing to take six different pills every morning and night, but if that’s what it took for me to live? That was a cheap price to pay. Besides, it’s not like I wasn’t taking my own set of daily medication for the past 15 years.
His nurse, Nina, a Vietnamese woman who looked to be in her late 20s, kindly gave me a written summary of what I need to take and when, leaving a cocktail of pills on my bedside table. I figured that would be all for this visit and that I would be given the opportunity to continue resting. …Then two men brought in a portable exercise bike into the room, setting it up within a matter of seconds.
Dr. Decagon: “You can see the bike, so I’d imagine you know what’s next.”
Mimi: “You… You want me to get on a bike? Now? I’ve barely walked after my surgery.”
Dr. Decagon: “Well, I didn’t operate on your legs, so I’m sure you could peddle for a few minutes— just enough to get your heart rate up.”
I looked at Nina for a potential out, but she just shot me a smile instead.
Nina: “Don’t worry, this is all standard procedure. Your recovery has been going great so far, and I’m sure you can handle five minutes.”
Offering to help me out of my bed, I followed Nina’s lead and moved over to the bike, slotting my feet into the pedals and starting slow. I could barely remember when I last rode a bike of any variety, and I half expected the fatigue to hit in after a minute. Instead… I felt fine. If anything, I felt good. Pumping my legs, feeling my new heart within my stitched and scarred chest, I was expecting something to go wrong, for a sudden jolt of pain to strike me, but it didn’t. So, I peddled fast, thrilled that I could do something that was beyond my capabilities for so long.
I kept going, elated that I was able to do this, excited as I saw my speed tick up, wondering what my breaking point would be… and then I felt Nina put her hand on my shoulder.
Nina: “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but please don’t over-exert yourself.”
Dr. Decagon: “Ha! I think you’ve proven that your new heart’s doing just swell.”
Mimi: “S-Sorry about that. I haven’t been able to do anything like that for almost a year and—”
Dr. Decagon: “Oh, don’t apologize! I’d love to see all my patients so thrilled to get their heart pumping.”
With that, Nina escorted me back to my bed and Dr. Decagon departed, saying he had to “make some calls.” I waited as Nina checked my vitals, jotting them down on a clipboard, quietly nodding her head.
Nina: “Everything’s going swell and then some! In fact, I think we can afford to bump you up to solids for lunch.”
I had been on a liquid diet over the past few days. Broth, tea, juice, Jell-O, and when I heard that I could actually eat something, I could not help but utter the first meal that came to mind.
Mimi: “Thank goodness, I would kill for a Whopper right now— with extra pickles!”
…I did not know why I said that. After putting on an uncomfortable amount of weight from it in high school, I had sworn off fast foods, forgotten what they even taste like. And pickles? After that rotten pickled radish, I had never been able to look at anything pickled the same way again. But for some reason, the idea of a burger, lathered in sauce and toppings, punctuated with the terse vinegar and crunch of a pickle, sounded appetizing right now. I tried to dismiss this as a joke after realizing what I said, but Nina took my comment for what it was worth.
Nina: “Hehehe! I think that’d be too much sodium for you right now, but we can get you a turkey burger from the cafeteria. How does that sound?”
Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
I never liked turkey, it always tasted like a perversion of chicken. I could have said no— this woman emptied my catheter, I had nothing to hide from her. Yet, I went with the path of least resistance.
Mimi: “Sure, that sounds good.”
Nina left after placing my order, and I sat there, waiting for my meal to arrive, shuffling about in my bed, wishing I had brought a book to bide my time. There was a TV, but silence was better than the drek that passes as daytime television these days.
Finally, my lunch arrived, featuring a surprisingly sizable beige burger with toasted buns, with onions on the side. I looked at it incredulously, wondering what I was thinking when I accepted it, yet I was not willing to waste food. Taking a bite, I found myself… strangely content with its taste. In fact, I actually liked it. Just feeling something substantial hit my stomach was enough to spur me on, and as I looked at my now empty plate, I asked myself why my tastes so radically changed. I had avoided meat after my health collapsed, and after barely eating, anything could taste delicious, but this was something different.
I remembered some of the reading I had done prior to my surgery, about side effects of a heart transplant, with a change in tastes being among the most common. The recipient would inherit some of the preferences of their organ donor, despite retaining their own tongue and brain. It raised question on how taste was truly determined… and reminded me that, as I laid on my bed, I had the cells of another person within me, melding with my own, pumping blood throughout my being.
As I mused over this, Nina returned to my room, quickly grabbing my empty plate and filling up my water.
Nina: “I can tell somebody was hungry. I’ll grab you a menu so you can place your own orders.”
Mimi: “Thank you, but, uh, could you answer a few questions before that?”
Nina: “Of course! That’s my job. Well, one of them.”
Mimi: “You wouldn’t happen to know who my transplant was, would you?”
Immediately, Nina’s chipper disposition faded.
Nina: “You know I can’t tell you that, Mimi. Especially not after the eclair incident in the 90s. …But if you must know, you can find out on the internet. Only so many people in New England die each day…”
I hadn’t the foggiest idea what “incident” she was referring to, and I was not happy with her “answer.” I didn’t even know the age or sex of the person whose heart was pumping in my veins. Surely, that much wouldn’t be confidential. I wanted to put my foot down and demand an answer, but this Nina girl moved fast. One moment she was by my bed, the next, she was out in the hallway.
With a groan, I let this non-answer sit with me. I was a curious person— I could hardly call myself an artist if I wasn’t— but if the hospital wasn’t willing to tell me, I could always figure things out myself once I’m discharged.
Saturday, April 30, 2011 – Night
As I brushed my teeth in my ensuite bathroom, I stared at the 49-year-old Korean woman looking at me. My shoulder-length black hair was disheveled from the amount of time I spent laying on a pillow, and I had little reason to keep it tidy while I was confided in here. My face, which I liked to think was youthful for my age, had regained some of the color I felt I had lost over the past few months, while still being pale, almost desperate for sunlight. I still stood at what it has been for 33 years, 162 centimeters, just tall enough to not feel like I was being looked down upon by society, and neatly slot into any seat without adjustments. Though, my weight was still quite low, hovering around 45 kilograms per the bathroom scale.
I was still myself, yet my fourth night here served as a restless one, and I don’t know why. Everything about my recovery has been going well. I went for a brief walk through the hall, cycled thrice throughout the day, and enjoyed three full meals. Yet, the ramifications of what had happened really settled into my mind as I stared out at the night’s sky, stained orange from the lights surrounding the hospital among other buildings.
The truth was that I was objectively not the same person I was a week ago, and that my body had been transformed in a way that I had ignored at first, too thrilled to be alive. Yet, within me beat the heart of a stranger. It was stronger, bigger, and its very beat was different, fuller, and warmer than that I could remember my heart ever being. Was this what an actual normal heart felt like? Was it particularly powerful? Or had I gotten so accustomed to my decaying heart that I forgot what any heart should feel like. I did not have a satisfactory answer, but the fact my heart was different terrified me at this moment.
As a musician, there were two part of me that were valuable more than any other. My fingers and my sense of rhythm.
If you cannot control and maneuver your fingers properly, you struggle to play any instrument, and I have seen far too many brilliant musicians lose their craft after a hand injury or the crippling plague of arthritis. I hoped that it would not come for me, but it it plagued my father. I naturally didn’t bring my violin with me, but I pantomimed the posture and finger movements as I did so, trying to imagine myself back in the pit, performing in darkness before a crowd of hundreds. The movements felt right, at least, from what I could remember following the months since I had the strength to play, yet I did not feel right.
To most, the sound of one’s heartbeat is not even noticeable. I not only felt mine, but I heard it reverberating in my ear. It was setting a tempo, and while the buzzing of the machines diminished its potency, I still could not escape it. Something like this could confuse me at the worst possible time.
Frustration and discontent over this left me restless, eager to get some sleep, yet unable to as I kept coming back to the noise of my own heart. I wanted anything to buzz it out, to knock me out, when I was met with the sound of muffled thunder. Looking outside, I saw raindrops plop on the window, and heard the faint sound of water striking every surface outside.
Through the calming presence of rain, I was able to finally fall asleep as the rain fell, reassured that, like with everything else, it would pass, leaving behind a bright tomorrow. A tomorrow full of promises, where I could finally resume my life on my terms. Oh, what a sweet, simple dream…
Saturday, April 30, 2011 – Dream
After several vacant, dreamless nights, I was greeted by another, and it was nearly as bizarre as the one I had during surgery.
The world was made of silhouetted impressions, everything clad in darkness and details of every flavor only vague or implied. Three dozen or so figures sat before me, their vacant white eyes glued on me as I stood on a platform. I felt small, vulnerable, as if any of these seated figures could tower over me if they rose up. Of the sea of faces, only two looked familiar, and as my eyes crossed with theirs, I felt a twinge of fear throughout my body. At least, I thought it was.
I found myself turning around to see a piano, looking massive, yet that did not dissuade me. I had the wherewithal to know what I had to do. I was here to perform for these people. My feet propelled forward and with a shaky step forward, I was sat down, my fingers spread over the keys. They immediately felt… different. Smaller, shorter, and unlike the fingers I was just exercising before I fell asleep.
Was I a child again?
I rarely ever dreamed about such things. Raising a child makes you disconnect from the child you once were. It reframes the entire concept of what a child is. However, regardless of my age in this shadowy dreamscape, I knew I had to perform, and before me, I could feel the sheet music. It was for Clair de Lune, one of Debussy’s most famous and endearing works, elegant in every regard, and one that I knew by heart. Even with these… unfamiliar fingers, I was confident as I pressed the first note, the sound of piano breathing life within me as I began to forget. Forget about my surgery, that this was a dream, and that there was an audience. After so long, I was making music yet again, and adored every second of it.
Still, something felt off as I played, and despite having performed this piece what felt like hundreds of times, I still made two or three mistakes. I hoped that the audience would not notice, for I did not want to be chided like in one of those dreams. Concluding the performance, I stood, bowing, and was greeted with the most reassuring sound a musician can hope for. Applause.
The heart in my chest fastened itself as this sound echoed throughout the room, and as I opened my eyes, I was met with a clearer image. This was a music room, that of an elementary school, yet the layout looked nothing like my school music room, nor did it look like Jenny’s. It was a strange room, full of unfamiliar faces, and before I could do anything but register this fact, the dream concluded, fading into white as my eyes were greeted with the sight of a tiled ceiling once again.
Sunday, May 01, 2011 – Day
Following a lonesome Saturday, Jenny arrived bright and early to spend the entire day with me. She arrived at the start of visiting hours, looking positively rejuvenated.
At 19, her youthful looks were without question and, despite caring for me over the past few months, she always made sure to maintain her figure, refusing to drown her sorrows in food. Though I sometimes worried she did the opposite. She was 168 centimeters tall, yet weighed less than 50 kilograms. At least, that’s what she told me when we last compared weights. Life and color had returned to Jenny’s face after several restless nights spent worrying over me, though no part of her visage was brighter than her smile. Her long black hair was flowing and freshly trimmed, carrying an airiness that accompanied her every move, making her feel like a more animated figure than she had in so long.
Even her outfit, a simple skirt and short-sleeved top, seemed to indicate a slight transformation. She was no longer marred by the chill of spring or the weight of caring for her dying mother, but a young woman as bright and eager as a woman her age ought to be. Just seeing her like this for a few seconds lifted a weight off my shoulder, and made me want to reach up and hug her. Though, the nurses would have some terse words with me if I got up without permission.
We spent an hour discussing anything and everything, I peddled for ten minutes to show her that I really was getting better, and once I was slotted back in my bed, we began talking about my “next steps.”
Jenny: “So Mom, when did you say you’re leaving here?”
Mimi: “I think the doctors said I should be discharged on Friday.”
Jenny: “Really? From the look of things, you seem like you’d be ready to leave today. You certainly couldn’t peddle like that a month ago…”
Mimi: “Trust me, I want nothing more to go home— no offense to the staff, they’ve been just lovely— but they are especially cautious with heart transplants here.”
Jenny: “I guess, and your doctor probably doesn’t want to make an exception.”
Mimi: “He said he’s already made one. Normally he doesn’t let patients out until after two weeks, but he said my recovery is among the best he’d ever seen.”
Hearing that caused Jenny to jump in her seat. I had told her my recovery had gone well, but perhaps not that well.
Jenny: “W-Well, I’ll be sure to keep the place spotless for when you come back. But are you going to be okay when you’re back?”
Mimi: “Why don’t you give this a read? The doctors gave it to me on my second day, but I fell asleep when I first tried reading it.”
I dug through my folder of papers, disclosures, and instructions— it’s something you accumulate when recovering from surgery— and gave Jenny by post-surgery dos and don’ts. She looked at the document intently, reading them off to me.
Jenny: “Okay, looks like you have some dietary restrictions— avoid salty and fatty foods. Daily exercise is a must, but nothing intensive, saying walks and light aerobic exercises should be fine.”
Mimi: “Maybe I can finally take up yoga again.”
Jenny: “They specifically mention that as a do. Let’s see… shower every day, be diligent about hygiene. You’re not, uh, immunocompromised or anything, but a sudden illness could be a problem. Just avoid crowds, wear a face mask if you’re around someone you suspect of being sick and… I’ll add that to my supply list right now. Uh… You can have sex in about six weeks, and can start driving again at the same time.”
I could not help but laugh at how matter-of-factly she just said that.
Mimi: “Bahahaha! Why did you say those two things together, and so casually? Whenever I talked to you about sex, you always pretended not to listen, or scurried off to your room, yet here you are, brining up your dear old mother’s sex life.”
Jenny: “I, uh, but it, uh… I was just reading the list, okay! It’s a medical issue, not a s-sexual one.”
After I teased her, Jenny looked away to sulk, and I suddenly felt like things were getting back to normal. Jenny had been playing caretaker for so long, watching me as I was on the verge of death, yet here we were, bantering like a mother and daughter should, about petty little things, and not my will.
Jenny: “B-Besides, I didn’t know what you were getting up to whenever you brought home those trumpet players. I didn’t know if ‘making music’ was just a metaphor!”
Mimi: “One was a trombone player, the other played the saxophone, and there was no metaphor. Sometimes, your mom likes to jam out.”
Jenny’s look on her face said it all. “How do you jam out with a violin and saxophone?” Oh, you sweet winter child, there were many ways.
Jenny: “C-Clearly you’re doing pretty well, but I have to ask if you’re feeling any, you know, regrets, depression, or… anything of the sort. Did you just go through the five stages of grief without me?”
Mimi: “Sweetie, I went through the stages long before I came to the hospital. Now… I do sometimes feel a sort of melancholy. I received this heart because someone else lost their life, but that was not my fault, and I cannot bear to dawdle on the misfortunes of the world when I am so relieved to be alive. The nurses told me that many patients like me are filled with a sense of longing or depression, having lost their very heart. Yet, I don’t feel that way. If anything, I feel fuller and richer.”
As a gesture, I knocked on the wood topped table next to my bed.
Mimi: “Everything has gone well so far, and I’m just looking forward to getting on with my life, whatever that will be.”
Jenny: “I’m surprised you’re so enthusiastic… but I wouldn’t have you any other way. I just hope that, when I get to be your age, I’ll be half as strong as you are.”
Mimi: “Oh, Jenny. Do me a favor and come in for a hug. It should be fine, so long as you’re gentle, and I know you always are.”
With her face beaming, Jenny slowly approached me, wrapping her arms around my back and bringing her head to my chest. It was an awkward hug, but the gesture was more than appreciated. She lingered in this spot for a few seconds, as if listening for my new heart, before pulling away.
Mimi: “You know, when I was lying on that table, getting pumped with all sorts of drugs, I kept worrying about what you would do if my surgery wasn’t a success. I might have been more worried about you than I was about me.”
It was a heavy topic, something I wanted to get off my chest— no pun intended— yet upon hearing these words, Jenny looked back at me, her eyes blank, before she turned away, muttering to herself.
Jenny: “Y-Yeah… and I’m glad I didn’t need to figure that out.”
Friday, May 06, 2011 – Day
I was positively restless during the final five days I spent in the hospital. You would have thought that all those months would have taught me to enjoy the act of sitting around, without any fatigue, aches, or pain, and enjoy it, but they didn’t. I wanted to go out, wanted to return to the world, and tell it that I am here, that I survived, to greet it with renewed vigor. Alas, the most I got was a few walks through the courtyard, Dr. Decagon insisting that I stay hooked up to the machines that monitored by vitals. Apparently it was not unheard of for rejection to happen abruptly, but after displaying “excellent” results, I was finally discharged at 15:00, and two hours later, I had returned home.
It was nothing special. Some would call it a “starter home,” and while it worked when my mother and father were living with us, for just me and Jenny? It was more than what we needed, but we would never want to give it up. It’s the home I bought after everything collapsed with Kevin, where Jenny truly grew up, and over the years, and within these walls, there were countless memories. The sight of its familiar living room was enough to set my heart aflutter with joy. I was finally back home, and the first thing I did was collapse on the sofa, my arms and legs splayed everywhere.
Jenny: “Geeze, Mom. Aren’t I supposed to be the one acting like a teenager?”
Mimi: “It was an hour-long car ride, sweetie, and despite how I was feeling, I can tell I’m definitely still recovering.”
Jenny: “I told you it was a mistake to go grab groceries.”
Mimi: “It wasn’t a mistake, more of a… testing of my limits. And now we know it was a bit much.”
I don’t know where I got this sass from. Perhaps I was just enthralled to be back home, eager to be cheeky and jokey after so much of my life has been serious for so many months. I was happy to be alive, happy to be free, and happy to be home.
I laid back as Jenny futzed with the groceries, turned on the TV, and looked for something to watch. It was Friday night, but there was precious little to grab me. Umpteenth episodes of shows I didn’t care about, reality TV trash that had infiltrated prime time, and whatever sensationalist dreck the news stations could peddle. As I muddled through channels, I dug through a grocery bag for a little treat, a Snickers bar, unwrapping it as I finally found something that seemed endearing enough to watch. Just a few seconds of watching some basketball playoffs was enough to sufficiently hook me, and get me to sink into my sofa, taking the first bite out of my Snickers. Then, just as I was about to lose myself in this state of bliss, I heard Jenny laughing at me.
Jenny: “Bahahahaha! Okay, real funny. Who are you and what did you do with my mom? Are you sure you got a heart transplant and not a brain transplant?”
I took a moment to think about myself from an outside perspective… and I was wondering the same thing.
Mimi: “I’m pretty sure it was a heart transplant. But you have a point.”
Jenny: “I’d say I have more than that. You never had a sweet tooth, never wanted me to just sit around eating candy— you stole my candy after I went trick-or-treating, yet here you are eating something with ‘wretched caramel.’ And since when did you care about sports, let alone basketball? Didn’t you go off on that scree about how exploitative the industry is, chewing up and spitting out players, like the… what was the phrase? ‘music industry on steroids?'”
If she was trying to peg me as an imposter, she was certainly making a good case, but I had reasons for my actions. Or, at least, I felt like I did.
Mimi: “You could say I’ve gotten some strange food cravings as of late. They say it’s a common side effect of a heart transplant, and it’s just one candy bar, not even one of those ‘king’ variants. As for sports… looking at these athletes perform, dashing, throwing, collaborating without words, and intercepting others, it shows a level of skill and craft that I find more compelling after everything I’ve been through. I can see it as a performance, as a… sort of art, using the body to achieve great feats, and how is that so much different from a musician? I guess you could say I learned to appreciate it through my lived experiences.”
Jenny: “…You learned how to love basketball by lying around for months?”
Mimi: “Need I explain how you can appreciate the feats of professionals able to do things you personally cannot?”
Jenny, who was still in the process of putting away our groceries, pondered my words for a second before letting out an exaggerated eye-roll, accepting my assertion.
Jenny: “I guess you don’t. It’s just kind of weird. My weird mom got a new heart and got weirder in the process.”
Mimi: “Hey! I’m not weird, I’m an artisté.”
The recitation of a little in-joke was enough to bring both of us to laughter. I still could not get over how good it felt to laugh. The air and energy required for a heartfelt laugh was beyond me for so many years as my heart declined. Yet with this new heart, still beating vigorously within my scarred chest, I felt laughter come both easily and seamlessly.
Mimi: “…But in all seriousness, I am still coming to terms with everything, and how I’m feeling. I might be a bit off here and there, trying to get back into a groove for the first time in so long, but I’m still me. I’m still the same woman I’ve always been. Just without the same… limitations, I guess. Hell, I feel like I could wake up tomorrow and do a 5K!”
Jenny: “Uh, no? You’re not allowed to run a single kilometer for four weeks, let alone five.
Mimi: “I know, you graciously made that very clear to me the other day.”
Jenny: “Well, if you have all this excess energy you feel the need to burn, how’d you like to handle the kitchen and make something for the first time since… when did you last make something? Christmas?”
Mimi: “Hmm… cooking something sounds nice, but I really should pack things up and take a shower first. I should have done that before I flopped down on the sofa like this.
Jenny: “Uh-huh. So I’m on dinner duty for the hundredth time?”
From the tone of her voice, I could tell that she did not mind this. She was just seeking out the humor of the scenario in her distinctly Millennial manner. Frankly, it was elating to see her adopt her previous level of snark, rather than try to be little miss perfect around me.
Mimi: “If you would be so kind.”
Jenny: “Then what do you want?”
Mimi: “After being in the hospital, I could really go for some dak-galbi.”
Requesting a spicy stir-fried chicken dish surprised even myself. My family’s love for spicy foods skipped a generation with me, and while I would eat it, I would never seek it out. Now, however, my body positively craved something spicy. Jenny looked at me as if I were a Martian as I made the request, but let out a snicker before pulling out some chicken, rice, and cabbage.
Jenny: “Was your heart keeping you from liking real food? I’ll make it my way, and we’ll see if you can handle it. …Or, maybe I shouldn’t. I don’t want to upset your heart or risk any—”
As Jenny began prepping our dinner, I rose from my seat and wrapped my arms around her, where I felt a wave of calm rushed across her body.
Mimi: “Remember, I’m the mom here. I should be doing the worrying. I know I’ve relied on you too much over the past year, but I cam getting better, and I hope I can go back to being your mother sooner than later.”
As Jenny thanked me, I broke off the hug and began situating myself in my home. I had spent so much time confined in here, slowly moving through it in the way that was most comfortable to me. Now, I was cruising through it, from room to room, from my suitcase to the washing machine, and to my bedroom, the sheet freshly washed and laid out by Jenny. She had switched my winter flannels to my thinner summer sheets, illuminated by the evening sun. I swung open my window, inviting the late spring air in as I looked out at the backyard. Our great red maple tree had adapted to the changing weather, its budding flowers fading as dark green leaves took their place. I had spent so much time just staring out at this tree from my bedroom, watching its leaves fall and snow consume it, but now it had regained its luster, ushering in a new beginning. In fact, looking at this field, at the unkempt patch of dirt off in the corner, it made me want to try gardening again. I now had the stamina for it.
Following such musings, I drifted toward my true destination, my ensuite bathroom. It was compact, just home to a sink, toilet, and shower stall, but that was enough for me to get in and get out. Rather than laboriously undress myself, I tossed my clothes aside before entering the shower… only to pause as I saw my reflection in the mirror.
I had just been discharged from the hospital and did not bother with any makeup, so I expected to look pale and disheveled. Instead, as I looked at my face, I saw that my complexion was a touch darker. It reminded me of that summer internship I did with the park district back in high school. That tan stuck with me for months after school began. Despite barely being outside the past few weeks— past months, really, my face, arms, legs, torso, and everything else were a shade darker than they normally were.
“Was this a side effect of my medication?” No, that didn’t make sense. If there was a drug that made your skin whiter or darker and actually worked, I would have heard about it one way or another.
Despite the change in hue, I still looked like myself. The face looking back in the mirror was the same face I had all my life, but… something was off. At first, I thought I was merely standing taller, but as I stood in the shower, as naked as could be, I could tell something was off by a full inch. There were a few explanations that came to mind. The house shrunk in my absence— impossible— I had grown an inch despite being closer to my shrinking age— implausible— or I was simply misremembering things— entirely possible.
Frustrated by this conclusion, I began my shower, letting hot water wash over me, clearing away whatever grime I had from the hospital before lathering myself with my body wash. I hoped this would be procedural like with everything else, yet I found my arms to be a bit… firmer as I rubbed them, while my hair felt different as I scrubbed it. It was thinning as my heart gave out on me, and I could tell that as I went from the tips downward, but as I reached the base of my scalp, the hair abruptly became thicker. And not by a subtle amount. It was as if it suddenly became 25% thicker. Curiosity compounded as I went to wash my private areas. My breasts were more sensitive to the warmth and movement of the water while my lower regions drew my attention away as a drizzle of watered down bodywash reached it, producing a curious stinging sensation.
I tried to focus on my current task, yet my mind was aroused by what I was feeling, and I needed some rationalization better than I forgot what I felt like. Firmer muscles, thicker hair, sensitive nipples, and sensitive privates? None of these were outright bad results— the sort of thing that many would actively pay for. However, I still felt that something had to be off, especially with these more sexual sensations.
When had I last masturbated? Perhaps my body, which craved physical activity anew, had developed a taste for that type of activity? Would that be permitted, or would that fall under intercourse?
Mimi: “Mimi, what the hell are you talking about?”
I chided myself as I turned off the shower, my body feeling tender in a way it hadn’t in a considerably long time, yet I carried on, drying my hair for the first time in weeks and dressing. I grabbed an old T-shirt and shorts, the sort of thing I wore around all the time during the summer months, yet as they embraced my body, something felt off. I looked down at myself in my bedroom mirror, thinking I looked fine in them… while also thinking they shrunk in the wash. I groaned as I affirmed how much tighter this T-shirt was then it was months ago, but I didn’t bother changing it. It was an old shirt, with holes developing along the neckline, but it would be good enough for dinner and sleeping.
In just these past 20 minutes, I had found no shortage of things to worry about, but I was not going to let that discourage me. I would have a meeting with my doctor soon enough. For now, I should be happy that I’m healthy, that I’m home, and that… I could smell a delicious meal cooking in the kitchen.
Friday, May 06, 2011 – Night
With my daughter in the other room, a wonderful meal resting in my stomach, and my own bed, my own sheets, embracing me, I thought I would have no problem falling asleep. Instead, I was staring at a clock reading 23:32, wanting to sleep, but unable to get comfortable. Frustrated, I turned on my lamp, looking over everything and confirming that I was alone. My window was closed, there was no awkward rustling outside, and I did not have to deal with the hum of those… life-saving machines.
I looked at the side of my bed, wondering if I was thinking of Kevin again. Instead, I could barely recall his face. Good. That’s what I wanted. That ass definitely knew that my heart was dying, that I just had surgery, yet he hadn’t even attempted to contact me in three years. Was it the fact that I was back here, that this was home? No, not entirely. Instead… was I me? The very beat of my heart was different. One of the most important parts of my being was stripped out, dissected, and replaced with someone else’s, the combined remains sewn together. I wanted to think that this new, reconstructed self was me. Who else could it be? But as I laid here, I felt a twinge of guilt in calling myself Mi-sook Ahn.
If I was not me, then… who was I?
This heady question seemed to be all my conscious needed before the weight of staying awake became too heavy. My eyes drooped, heartbeat slowed, and looking up at my oh-so familiar ceiling, I went to sleep. And as I slept, I dreamed once more.
Friday, May 06, 2011 – Dream
I found myself standing in the wilderness, trees in full bloom, seeds twirling down onto the ground. The pollen was so rich you could practically taste it, and there was not an inkling of civilization in my periphery. I was clad in a light dress, barefooted as my toes dug into the verdant field that laid at the forest floor. The trees spanned the full spectrum of colors, painting a gorgeous landscape of rich reds and lush greens, and for as mundane as this sight was to me as a lifelong New Englander, it was beautiful all the same.
Without direction, I gently traipsed through this array of nature, soaking in the sights as I meandered without a care, until I happened upon someone else. It was a young man. A young Black man in particular, dressed in a gown that would look more appropriate at a hospital, but it did little to hide his figure. He was over six feet tall, carried a strong figure, and from his face to his short black hair, he was quite handsome. …For a kid. His eyes locked with mine, he smiled, and as I returned with a small wave, the man began to walk away. That walk soon turned into a jog.
I could not simply let him go, so I walked, jogged, and then ran after him, my heart racing as I accelerated my pace. I did not think of my doctor’s warnings, nor did I think about my bare feet. By now, I knew this had to be a dream, and merely wished to indulge.
The man brought me through the forest, running for several minutes before he abruptly stopped. So abruptly that I crashed into him, wrapping my arms around his chest as we both tumbled down a grassy hill, landing in a bed of wild flowers. I was frazzled, confused, and before I could so much as remove my arms from this man’s chest, he began to laugh, heartily and fully as he looked up at the afternoon sun. Hearing him, I couldn’t help but join. I was fully aware of the absurdity of my situation, and I wanted to rejoice in what I could.
So, we laid there, like a pair of fools, laughing into the sky, for us and for us alone. We persisted until the air left our lungs, and turned our heads to face one another. Seeing him up close only made his age all the more apparent, looking like he was still in high school, or maybe college. I had no reason to feel anything for him, but as I saw his face draw closer, pushing out his lips, I could not deny the spark going through my body.
And so, we kissed. As we kissed, I felt his breath enter my mouth, flooding into my throat, and entering my lungs. I took in all that I could, feeling my heart accelerate as my lungs were strained, before I brought an end to this passionate kiss, opening my eyes and soaking up all the air I could. I looked, yet the young man was nowhere to be seen. There was not even any indentations in the grass, but somehow… I felt he was not gone. Whoever he was, he found me… and left me with a part of him.
Saturday, May 07, 2011 – Day
I woke up shortly after 7:00, too rested to go back to sleep. I questioned why my body acted this way, before recalling this was my schedule was before my heart issues got bad.
Mimi: “I guess I really am getting better.”
Jenny was still asleep, so I decided to resume my mom duties after shirking them last night, heading into the kitchen to make up some eggs and oatmeal. A bit more than what I usually settled for, yet I felt I needed to get back to my usual weight after losing so much, so a little overeating wasn’t a bad thing. This thought occupied my mind as I cooked, but once the stovetops were off, I had to ask… what was my weight? I checked a week ago, but what was it now? I plopped my feet on my bathroom scale… only to see it show 50 kilograms. How was it even possible to gain five kilograms in a week?
It was just another mystery being thrown into my face, inexplicable, just like my skin’s darker shade, and how I felt like I was a proper inch taller than I ought to be. It was enough for me to think back to Jenny’s comment, that I had gotten a brain transplant, and wonder if something else had been exchanged along with this heart— this mythicized pump that your whole body depends on.
I wanted an answer… and my mind went back to that dream. That dream where I was running with that young man, and how I breathed him in. I knew better than to put stakes in baseless fantasies, but the more odd one’s circumstances become, the more plausible absurd explanations become as well.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011 – Day
After a few days to reintegrate myself to daily life as an able-bodied person, I was called back to the hospital for my first checkup. Four days did not seem like it was long enough, but I wasn’t a doctor.
Jenny and I were in a bog-standard examination room while Doctor Decagon was sitting a chair that was definitely too small for him, going over questions while making scribbles on a clipboard. He was so attentive that I almost wish that I had something wholly negative to report, but I… didn’t. My darker complexion and extra inch were odd, that much was to be certain, same with my increased weight, yet none of them were problems, as it were. And if they were, he would bring them up… wouldn’t he?
Dr. Decagon: “No, aches, no pains, no heart issues— but how are you really feeling?”
Mimi: “I’m feeling great!”
Jenny: “She, uh, she really has been. I got so used to her lying around, struggling to do things, but Mom’s just been all over the place the past week.”
Mimi: “Can you really blame me, Jenny? I’ve got a new heart, I feel like I’ve just lost five years— maybe ten— and after lazing around for so long, I felt like I owed it myself to start getting out there. I just wish that I could do a bit more, but I don’t want to push myself too much, doctor.”
Hearing our little banter, Dr. Decagon could not help but laugh, producing a positively jolly cadence before clearing his throat.
Dr. Decagon: “Now, that’s what I always like to see. Patients who don’t just want to take it easy, but want to take life by the gonads and never let go. Going through your records, everything looks great. You’re at a far healthier weight, I can already see some muscle definition coming back, and all your vitals are looking excellent. You just might be one of my biggest transplant success stories at this rate! Now, as a doctor, it is not my duty to restrict what people can do, I merely want to give them guidance and help them make decisions. So, if you want to start exercising more, being active, than by all means. Go for a jog, a swim, or even a light sport.”
Jenny: “…Hold up, are you sure about this? It’s barely been two weeks since her surgery, and you’re telling her to go play sports?”
Mimi: “That’s what I understood.”
Dr. Decagon: “That’s because that’s what I said. I want people to use their hearts, their bodies, and to experience life.”
As Dr. Decagon made his claim, Jenny stared at his ample gut. He admittedly wasn’t the shape of person to take fitness advice from, but given his line of work, I could only imagine the stress he would be under. I thought being a violinist was stressful, but even in my biggest screw up, I wouldn’t kill someone.
Jenny: “I… I guess you would know what you’re talking about, more than anyone. It’s just hard for me to accept that Mom’s changed so much. She went from bedridden for months to practicing her yoga routine every morning just like that.”
Mimi: “Don’t make it sound like a routine when I’ve only done it for three days. I’m just trying to get back some of my old flexibility.”
Dr. Decagon: “See, that’s what you should be doing. Now then, I’ve got other patients to see, but Mimi? Two things. If you have any questions at all, call my office. And always keep your phone on you or go out with someone. You might feel great, but you should cover your bases.”
From there, Dr. Decagon left, we booked an appointment scheduled for two weeks from today, and we filtered out of the hospital, taking a long, sedentary car ride back home.
By the time we returned, it was the middle of the afternoon. The sun was still shining, the midday temperature dropped as a crisp northern wind came in, and rather than rush back inside, I decided to heed the good doctor’s orders and go for a jog. I just wanted to go on a quick trip around the block and left Jenny behind, as she was never the sporty type. I wasn’t either, but I felt like I was becoming one.
Slowly, I began my job, trying to temper myself, yet after a minute of warming up, I was hooked. The wind flowing through my hair, the feeling of beads of sweat dribbling across my face, and the intensity of my heartrate accelerating as I tried to go further and faster, without ever breaking out into a full-blown run. I never enjoyed running before, as I would always get tuckered out, and always wound up slogging my way through the semi-annual mile run at school. Yet now, as I finished my fourth rotation down the block, I realized I definitely exceeded a mile, and it was probably my best time ever.
As I finished my fourth lap, I breezed up the steps to my home, seeing Jenny sitting in the patio chair, reading a book. I didn’t mean to scare her— how could I went stomping around— yet she positively jumped as she looked at me. Her book fell to the ground, she nearly fell out of the chair, and she looked… well, like she had just seen a ghost.
Mimi: “Jenny, sweetie, are you alright?”
As I tried to go in to hug her, Jenny flinched, freezing at my presence. My mind became abuzz with worries as I tried to understand why my little girl was so afraid of me. I had gotten a little sweaty, but not that much.
Before I could devise a better theory, Jenny shut her eyes and took a breath, immediately apologizing.
Jenny: “Sorry, I, uh, I almost didn’t recognize you.”
Mimi: “Well, that’s no good. How could you not recognize your mo-ther?”
As I tried to speak, I felt a twinge in my throat, like something had just brushed against the front of my esophagus. Except… it did not feel right. Not at all. In fact, just looking at Jenny, something within me felt… off.
Jenny: “I guess I’m still used to you being—”
Mimi: “I need to head in-side.”
Leaving Jenny on the porch, I went in and made my way to my ensuite bathroom, splashing some water over my sweaty face and taking a long, hard drink. I took calm, deep breaths as I let my body cool down, hoping that I hadn’t pushed myself too far, so soon. As I tried to find my calm, I thought back to Jenny, how scared she looked, but more than that. She was dressed lightly, in just shorts and a light T-shirt that was loose enough to give a slight look at her cleavage. She was always better endowed than me.
I splashed myself with another handful of water— colder this time— as my head went to the gutter against my will. I hoped that would stop these weird feelings going through me… only for a tender sensation to pulse within. As a groan escaped my lips, I sat on the toilet, pulling down my pants and panty, before pausing as I saw my clitoris. It normally stayed well out of sight, but I shaved after coming back home, so it was not too hard to find. However, I did not recall it being quite so large, let alone the last time it was firm to the touch.
Looking for a cause, I stared at my panty, thinking it had to be the source of my irritation, but how? These were pure cotton, only a year or so old. Was my body still sensitive? Was this a side effect of the medication? I could have asked, but I frankly did not want to ask my male heart surgeon about clitoral irritation.
I rose up and put my pants on… pausing as I realized the pants seemed to be hanging higher than I remembered them. Fishing my room for a measuring tape, I decided to hold it down with my heel and measure myself, going out the process three times in disbelief before seeing that I was a resounding 168 centimeters. That was the same height as Jenny, who had been taller than me since she turned 15.
Mimi: “The hell is this?”
49-year-old women don’t have growth spurts. That’s not a thing that happens. Yet, looking down at myself, at the restroom, and at the clothes in my closet, including those that hadn’t been washed in a year… I was taller. It was not by much, and not necessarily a bad thing. I was never necessarily fond of being shore, and I was not in a career where this would affect me.
My train of thought was completely derailed as I realized that I was so absorbed with my surgery and recovery that I had forgotten something vital. My instruments! I felt this good, yet I hadn’t touched them upon returning home? This was a bigger mystery than anything related to my sudden uptick in stature, and taking one last look in my bathroom mirror, to see my tanned complexion, I realized that I needed to try my hand at music again. Right now.
Filled with shame over forgotten my status as a musician for nearly two weeks, I sat at my electronic piano and placed it in the living room. I was unable to play it properly after becoming ill. Now that I was able once again, I owed it to myself to try again, to prove I still had what made me myself.
After taking a minute to adjust to the sound and positioning of my old friend, drawing the attention of Jenny, I sat down to begin the performance of one of my favorite pieces, Golliwog’s Cakewalk by Debussy. It had a wide range, a playful, jovial tone, and one that tested one’s tempo and rhythm, with bursts of energy and slower, somber, sections. I had learned it as a flex as a child, to show my ability over my peers, and still remembered the joy I felt in performing it, moving my body as the sound flowed through me, feeling every note. Even to this day, it was hard for me to not jaunt as I played this song, trying to make it look like a cakewalk, despite hardly being one.
I tried to let the muscle memory go through me, but I could tell that I was rusty, I made mistakes, missed notes, and knew my timing was ever so slightly off as I played. Like any true musician though, I powered through it, seeing the song to its end, and feeling a sense of relief. I needed some practice, but I still had it.
Jenny: “Nice job, Mom! I knew you had the goods.”
Mimi: “I hope I do. I made far too many mistakes there…”
Jenny: “Well, duh. What is it you used to say? ‘Practice makes perfect, and unless you practice, how can you be perfect?'”
Mimi: “When did I… oh, that. Kids really do remember the darnedest things. Yes, that is true, and you know I’m out of practice. However, it’s more than that. Something feels off about my fingers. It’s as if they’re still swollen.”
With Jenny sitting on the couch near the piano, I held my right hand out to her. She investigated it with precision, being well versed in giving me hand massages after my performances. …For the record, she’s the one who wanted to give them to me, and I was deeply grateful to her for that. She had done this to my hands many times before, yet I felt something was… off here.
As Jenny kept her eyes on my hand, my eyes drifted to her body. She had taken off her shirt, was clad only in her skin tone camisole, and delicately rubbed her fingers against me. I looked at the black hair that gracefully slid down her shoulder, at her figure. Jenny had become an attractive woman over the past few years, more attractive than I was at her age. While I had noticed that before, encouraged her to look her best, I found myself looking at her with a different lens. Her very image was making my heart race like a teenager on their first date when… this was my daughter for Heaven’s sake.
Jenny: “Hmm… they do feel different. Your hands were thinner when you were sick, and it’s hard to remember the exact weight and texture, but this seems about right. Just a little swollen, like you said. I’m not a hand doctor though, so this is way beyond me. Maybe they’re just full of excess blood because of your new heart? Ugh. This is why I wish I took anatomy!”
I had barely registered what she said, and merely pulled my hand away. I needed a distraction, now, and looked at my violin case. As much as I would not care to admit it, I often turned to music to help me ignore my problems. I knew this, yet I kept doing it because it was easy, it was cathartic, and it made me feel better.
Mimi: “I’m going to try my violin now. I’d imagine that this one would give me more problems.”
Jenny: “Uh, why? You’re a violin player first, pianist second.”
I chose not to answer Jenny as she made her valid point, and merely tried to get myself in the right position. Even just standing, placing my chin on the groove and positioning my arms, I felt everything had taken a turn for the uncanny. I was too tall, my chin was digging into the violin in a skewed manner, and my arms felt almost lanky as I had to further bend them.
It was off, it was not what I expected, yet I could not let myself get discouraged. Even when I was carrying Jenny inside me, I performed before thousands. Even when I was getting divorced, I performed before thousands. For decades, I have been performing this instrument without faltering, and I would not let a few insecurities get to me. So, I looked within my mind, imagined the sight of a darkened crowd, and brought my bow to the strings. As I shifted, feeling heavier and stronger all the same, I felt something grasp my hands. Something tender, warm, yet ethereal all the same. My body straightened, posture perfected, and I began The Lark Ascending by Ralph Vaughan Williams.
Lark was a staple violin piece that I have performed hundreds of times before, having been determined to perform it when I was a teenager. I still remember getting chided for doing the full version in class, but pulling it off well enough that my instructor could not be mad. Oh, the joyous rebellion of youth.
Much like with Cakewalk, I always admired Lark for its more playful elements. How it tasks the performer to imitate the eponymous lark through the violin alone, turning notes into coos and caws as the bow slides high and low, shifting in range, while the fingers jitter across the neck. It was not a small feat for any performer, tasking them to maintain the illusion and cast a vivid image through a violin alone, yet I always admired the challenge, wanting to use my music to create something evocative.
It was so enticing that I found myself walking through the living room as I performed, eyes shut, my feet guiding me around as the music flowed through me. With this presence still guiding my hands, my fingers as they slid about, it almost felt like we were dancing, becoming one. Naturally, the performance was imperfect, yet the music resonating through my ears was as delightful as it always had been, urging me to keep going as the song billowed into its second half.
…Only for that plan to be shattered as my dancing feet betrayed me as my toes slammed into the leg of an end table.
Mimi: “Shit.”
I chided myself for hitting the table, and then for swearing, putting my violin down in order to attend to my foot. Looking down, it seemed to mirror my hands in being swollen, or somehow larger than they should be.
Jenny: “Mom, what were you thinking? I know you like to shuffle around a bit when playing music, but you were dancing around with your eyes shut when you know our living room’s tiny.”
It wasn’t, we had enough room for an electronic piano, TV, sofa, and table, but I understood what she was saying. I was being careless, and she was right to chide me.
Mimi: “I wasn’t thinking. I was just… following my heart.”
I could feel her eyes roll as I said that.
Jenny: “Well, your heart still can follow a rhythm, but don’t let it send you off a cliff. …Or down a platform. …In all seriousness though, you’ve still got it, Mom. That was as beautiful as I remember.”
Mimi: “Aw, thank you, sweetie. You know, I still remember those nights where I would bring this violin into your room and play until you fell asleep. To this day, those were some of the happiest moments of my life.”
Jenny: “Well, yeah, I was just a little kid back then. But now that I’m a fully grown woman, so I can appreciate the finer things in life.”
As Jenny declared herself a “fully grown woman,” she cast her hands over her body, urging the eye to look over her to confirm this fact. I did… for a second too long.
Before she could notice, I offered to get some dinner started, as while I would love to play for an hour, I was feeling hungrier than usual lately.
Wednesday, May 10, 2011 – Dream
As another day came to a close, I was greeted with another vivid dream. It reminded me most of the piano dream I had on April 30th, in that the world was bathed in static, but here, the image was far clearer, sharper, like I was looking at something rather than a vague impression. The faces were still obscure, the words were muffled noises, and there was a palpable surreality to everything. Yet, it felt more literal, less interpretive.
My dream began… with waking up. I found myself in a bedroom, in an unfamiliar home, my body moving on my own as it rose from the covers. I could not even look around, yet I felt everything. The weight of this body, the feeling of tossing the blanket aside, and the chill of the wooden floor. I monitored my surroundings as my vision shifted, and could confidently tell that I was seeing through the eyes of a teenage boy. One with a wall lined in posters, a shelf of books and CDs, and a clock that read 6:00. It was a bit messy— what teenager’s room isn’t— but rather than linger, my eyes took me through this boy’s whole morning routine.
Making his bed, shedding his pajamas, putting on a shirt and sweater over what certainly felt like a tall, strong body, throwing things into his bookbag. Only when sufficiently ready, the boy wandered down the hall, where he was met with the sight of a woman. I could tell it was his mother, brewing coffee as she just got up, speaking to her son in what sounded like car radio during a thunderstorm. Still, she spoke to me— that is to say the boy— in a reassuring considerate tone, inviting him to chat as he ate a fresh apple and crunchy granola bar for breakfast. The words were of course beyond me, but the love and affection could be felt within this boy, meaning I felt them as well.
By the time the boy was done with his quick breakfast, he was greeted by another figure, larger, taller, and a fatherly aura. They greeted one another, joining in an exceptionally warm hug. The beating of two strong hearts wrapped in strong bodies was a sensation that left me aghast at the moment and wondering… why didn’t more men hug each other when it felt like this?
I mused over this as the two exchange unintelligible pleasantries that, once complete, led to a change in scenery. The modest home deconstructed into noise, rebuilding itself a small meeting room, one that had the feeling and texture of a school, with many young adults sitting around as they engaged in discussion. It was like watching a foreign language play as they argued, if not bickered, over some matter well beyond my understanding. Frustration swelled within the air, through the body of the boy guiding me through this dream, leading him to rise up and quell them. His words, punctual yet calm, seemed to convince the small group on the best approach to this matter, leading to what sounded like complements, and what was absolutely a modest response from the boy. Clearly, he was the smart type who knew when to speak out.
A moment later, the scene shifted to a location I absolutely recognized. I was standing tall in this crowded hallway of students shuffling to get to their destination. It was always an anxious experience for me as a student, yet from this boy’s vantage point, I was able to see past nearly everyone. It was exhilarating in a sense, no longer being the short little Asian girl shoved aside as these tall athletic boys moved like they owned the place. Now, I was behind the eyes of one of these boys, and I could not say I did not feel a sense of authority in how people parted ways. Suddenly, those two inches I had gained seemed like they weren’t quite enough.
As the boy continued his course to what I could only assume to be his class, he stopped to look down at a girl, over half a foot shorter than him, and who literally radiated within this patchwork of vagaries. Her presence was comforting, warm, and made the boy’s heart purr with affection. It took only a second to tell that the boy and this… luminous girl had mutual feelings for one another, and these feelings followed the boy as the two shared in classes throughout the rest of the day. They would always sit together when possible, focusing on their teachers and taking regimented notes 90% of the time, while making sure to pass glances and murmur comments with one another.
I would call it cute, but even in this vague representation of the world, I could tell the boy thought like a boy and admired the luminous girl’s features. Specifically her above average chest, a butt wrapped up in skinny jeans, and her long, slender… neck of all things. Was that something men lusted for nowadays?
From there, this out-of-body experience continued. I was merely observing a young man’s day, and while skips happened, the scenes would last for dozens of minutes at a time. It was an hours-long affair as I experienced the life of a teenage boy in the most intimate manner possible. From the awkward hunching required to take notes on a short desk to the sense of speaking with a deep resonance, the voice of a man, before a crowd of people, while being unable to understand a single word. What he said, where he went, was up to him, and I was along for the ride.
This was even true for lunch, where I tasted everything he did, unable to do anything but consume the sensations being fed to me. The soft texture of a pear always turned me away, feeling like it had gone bad with how mushy the center would be even at peak ripeness. Yet, with this borrowed mouth, the texture simply felt better, the mushy texture lacked the same fear response I always had, and the flavor was more pronounced.
The sweetness and fat of the milk surprised me as I felt it sift around, clearing the mouth before landing the stomach. I rarely touched the stuff on account of my lactose intolerance, yet I could suddenly see the appeal. Even the chips, a bag of cool ranch Doritos, were disarmingly palatable. I had taught myself to dislike such processed foods out of principles, and peer pressure. However, the tangy flavor of the chips mixed with the addicting crunch that came with every bite certainly made it hard for me to view them with such scorn. Perhaps if I had my palate, but I didn’t have that. As for the pasta… It was just wheat noodles and tomato-based meat sauce. Certainly not my cheap and easy dinner of choice— due to how my parents raised me— but it was a filling enough lunch.
The lunch put an extra pep in the boy’s step as he went through the remainder of the school day. He wrote intricate yet focused notes, walked away from a test with a sense of triumph that I could scarcely ever recall having myself, and gym class? Well, he was playing basketball today, achieving physical feats I could never dream of as he darted across the field, dribbled with gusto, tossed with precision, and never faltered as he scored point after point. His academic performance and early morning activities made him out to be a studious student, but I guess that didn’t stop him from also excelling in athletics. After finishing that game with the winning team, feeling the sense of comradery with his teammates as they went back to the locker room… I could suddenly see the appeal.
Who would have guessed? Sports are more enjoyable when you’re good at them.
As the final bell rang and the post-class baccano flooded the hallways, the boy found his way back to the luminous girl, and they departed the school together, walking out an alternative entrance as the scene faded away and to what I could only describe as a date. The season crystallized itself as winter as snow lined the ground, but that did not dissuade shoppers as they moved through this outdoor shopping center. The sky was dim by the time they arrived, but that did not stop the boy and girl as they made merry as a few teens with ample times but little money. They browsed the smaller shops for bobbles of intrigue, most giving the two an excuse to talk about things they desired as they pointed and pondered. They grabbed some cheap snacks from a small shop, sharing in each other’s treat to bring each other closer, to share in the experience. Then, once evening gave way to night, the two scurried into the mall’s theater to see a film.
I would say which one, but both the boy and luminous girl were clearly too preoccupied with each other, in this sparsely occupied theater, to pay the screen much mind. They were more enjoying the act of being together, in such a compact and dark place, throwing up the armrest so they could get ever so slightly closer. The feeling of the luminous girl grabbing my arm— I mean the boy’s arm— sent his heart racing, and as the two’s eyes locked after this brief stint of contact, they could not help themselves. Under the cover of darkness, they shared a kiss, pulling away as they stewed over the sensation and the movie drew to its conclusion.
The moment the credits began, the two were off, wanting a greater intimacy as they scurried past the outdoor mall and to the first patch of darkness wedged between two buildings. With no one looking and both clad in their coats, hoods up, and breath lingering past their lips, the two went in for a second kiss… and did not let go. Time flowed slowly as their innocuous kiss from earlier was succeeded with a make out session under the cover of darkness. The two were unflinching as they opened their coats so they could wrap their hands over one another, relishing the warmth as the world outside seemed so cold.
It was invigorating, a sort of passionate affection so distant to me that it seemed foreign, and I could tell the boy was more than a little excited himself. I always had an inkling of what a male erection would feel like, yet my dream made it feel enticing, intimidating, and exotic all the same. The boy was clearly driven by this sensation, he wanted to cross the bridge, but with a gentle nudge from the luminous girl, he understood. It was neither the time nor the place and he, unlike other men I could name, respected that.
The two then ended the night with a more reserved hug, muttering words that could only be “I love you” before their paths pivoted, exchanging a single joyous glance as they returned home.
It was then, as the boy’s heart returned to normal, that the world around me deconstructed itself into a bright light, ending this dream.
Friday, May 13, 2011 – Day
Since Wednesday night, I kept having dreams about that boy. Every night, I was met with another day in his life. May 11th was a dream of him and his family going on vacation, when he was just a little one. While May 12th had him and his school friends go out to a day-long Science Olympiad competition, stressing out over how they could trounce the competition, yet only walking away with a silver medal. Being a humble boy, he was thrilled to get any medal that conferred status.
I enjoyed these dreams immensely, as they allowed me to vicariously live out another life. Not better nor worse, but one that made me into a different person for a few hours as I rested. I would say it was a great supplement to my current life, where I have bid my time recovering, reconnecting, and taking care of odds and ends. However, they had quickly turned into reprieves from the worries affecting my life, ones that only seemed to get worse every time I looked in the mirror. I… was starting to struggle to see myself in my own reflection.
My height had grown another two inches in just two days, now standing at 173 centimeters, so tall that I nearly had to bend over to see myself in my bathroom mirror. My nose had become bigger and flatter, changing the entire composition on my face. What first started as hair that was growing thicker at the roots had extended across the hair on my head. It was becoming wavy all over despite my efforts to keep it straight after my daily shower, with the hair near some of my roots being so wavy they were almost curls. My skin was only getting darker and darker, becoming darker than what should have been possible for me unless I spent all day laying under a tropical sun.
Hell, just looking at my reflection, I did not look like a woman about to turn 50. I looked like someone about to turn 40, tops.
I emphasized someone, as the first changed I noticed this morning was my face. Like most women, I was accustomed to getting tufts of short vellus hair on my face and arms, it was part of being human. But that’s not what I saw or felt. My jawline was covered in dozens of dark, thick, prickly hairs, and I knew for a fact that this was not normal. Menopause doesn’t do that! Nothing I could rationalize could possibly do this!
Wanting to suppress this awful sight before beginning my morning, using my razor to address the hair across my face… before looking down at the rest of my body. Every layer of clothing I discarded revealed new tuffs of hair, thick, black, begging to be quelled. I was used to shaving my legs, but this was something else, with hairs invading my naval, arms, and… even my butt.
Why? Why was my body doing this? My heart felt fine, as good as it ever had, yet every time I looked at myself, I found something else that I KNEW was wrong. With a razor in hand, I attempted to quell this influx of hair, and while I felt better, I still looked down at my hands in fear, unable to use the same “swollen” excuse. These were simply larger hands. Fingers were longer, thicker, even my palm was wider. I knew my hands incredibly well, and while I moved them all the same, these were… not my hands.
This was no longer a one-off, no longer an issue that I could ignore. I had put it off for too long, wanting to believe that I truly was fine after such an intensive surgery, and that Dr. Decagon would have spotted something when I visited him three days ago. He didn’t. Something was deeply wrong with me, and I would need to begin fixing it. Today.
…But first, I had to make breakfast for myself and Jenny.
My “growth spurt” had made my regular clothes too large for me to even think about wearing them. So, I grabbed what I could, an oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants that didn’t come close to my ankles. It was out of season, far too warm for a 26 degree day, but what other choice did I have?
Stepping out, I hoped that I could find an excuse to give to Jenny, to ease her concern. That girl has worried about me too much for too long, and the moment I went past her door, she swung it open.
Jenny: “Mom, did you just get out of bed? Is something wrong?”
Mimi: “N-o, Jenny. Ev-erything’s fi-ne.”
What was that? I had trained myself to be a quiet person, hadn’t spoken a word since I woke up, and as I let out the first words of my day, I could already tell something was dearly wrong. My voice was deep, and trying to speak made it feel like some phlegm had freed itself from my esophagus and crumbled down. I needed water, now.
I ran over to the kitchen, feeling what had to be extra pounds as I stomped forward and poured a glass of water. I downed half of it in a single gulp in hopes of addressing the irritation in my throat. It did not help. Things still felt tighter, rougher, in there, and drinking the water just led me to cough. Each cough was a concussive blast fired into the sink, some bearing spit, others bearing stray drops of mucus, as I tried to clear what ailed me. I hoped that this could all go away, but as I heard my coughs, how hoarse and deep they were, I could tell that was merely wishful thinking.
Jenny: “Mom? MOM! What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
Mimi: “Just something in my throat.”
That was a lie, I knew that she would know that was a lie. But when faced with the weight of the truth, I chose the easier way out. I had grown too used to dismissing my pain and weakness with a vacant “I’m fine” over the past year to tell the truth, especially when I did not know the truth.
Jenny: “No, Mom! You’re lying to me! I’m going to call Dr. Decagon, right now!”
Before I could try to convince her to stop, Jenny’s cell phone was already ringing. I drank like a fish as I listened in, trying to quell my throat while piecing together the conversation.
Jenny: “Hello? I’m Jenny Ahn, my mother Mimi was… He’s in surgery right now? Well, we really need his help and… Okay, Nina, was it? My mom, she’s in an awful shape, she looks like a completely different person… her skin is darker, voice is hoarse, she’s getting taller and… No, I’m telling you the truth! …I know it sounds like it’s medically impossible, that’s why I… What do you MEAN there’s nobody who can see us? This is a medical fucking anomaly here! …She’s not herself, it’s like she’s becoming another person, this is an emergency! Something like this never happened before and… No, I don’t think she’s in any pain, or that her heart is… Oh, don’t you get snippy with me, bitch. Has YOUR mother ever gone through heart surgery after suffering for months? Be my age, try that, and you tell me that I’m being too emotional! …Hello? Hello?”
Frustrated, Jenny smacked her phone shut and looked to be on the breaking point.
I had… never seen her this angry before. When I was suffering, she was always concerned, sad, and considerate, but this rage was beyond what I thought my little girl was capable of. I had to comfort her somehow, and before I could think my arms were wrapped around her. My face rubbed into her hair as, for the first time in 4 years, I was taller than her. I hoped that she would confide in me, let it all out, as I reminded her that I’m still here, still alive.
Instead, she broke free of my arms.
Jenny: “Mom… I knew something was going on, but you need to tell me… what the fuck is happening to you?”
Mimi: “Jenny, please, I…“
My voice was still deep and raspy, even worse than if I had a sore throat. It was as if I went down a full octave.
Jenny: “Please, don’t talk. I know that your voice isn’t supposed to sound like that. Just… take off that hoodie.”
I couldn’t bear to say no to Jenny when she was like this, and stripped away my hoodie, throwing it onto the counter. I didn’t have a shirt underneath, only my bra, and only my… reshaped figure. Jenny looked at me with widened eyes. She stepped forward without shifting her vision and placed a hand on my skin. I had tried to ignore it. How it lacked the same softness it once did, and the same feeling beneath the first layer. What was soft now had a firmness behind it, and what I could only consider to be muscle. My workout routines should have spurred the development of muscle, but a week of light exercising would not have any significant impacts, let alone a hardened abdomen. My body simply lacked the same curves one would expect from a woman who had given birth.
Jenny: “Mom, you were never curvy, but you weren’t shaped like this before. I, uh… I remember from when I helped you in the shower.”
As she spoke, Jenny poking a finger against the bra and pushing it into my breast. She could have just asked me to take it off, but I could feel what she was getting at. Of course, I could feel it. My breasts were no longer filling out my bra. Breasts did not shrink, they only got saggier, and now, they were so small you could say I didn’t even need a proper hook bra, that I could go for a bralette.
Jenny: “Your arms, your legs… did you just shave them?”
Mimi: “Yes, Jenny, I—“
Jenny: “But why? You were never hairy there, and you… hold up, did they give you testosterone pills or something? I have heard they could make people taller, get deeper voices, and get muscles faster, but this—”
Mimi: “It’s not that, Jenny. I know what I take every day, and can you even imagine how a screw-up like that would work.“
Jenny: “Well… then what IS happening to you? Ever since you got that new heart, you… have been… changing.”
As Jenny stared off into space, I tried to situate myself in our small kitchen, looking at my pills with wonder… before dismissing such an absurd notion.
Mimi: “Nothing like this was remotely covered in my surgery documents. The heart is a heart, it is just an organ, and while I know many are spiritual about the idea of a heart, a heart cannot just change my arms or hands. This is beyond anything that we—“
Jenny: “Mom… I think you’re turning into a man.”
I had already suspected as much, but hearing that comment from Jenny somehow made it sound all the more plausible, all the more real.
Mimi: “I… I think you’re right. I know you’re right. We just need to—“
Jenny: “Find out how the hell that works. …When bitch nurses let you down, there’s only one place we can check. …To the internet!”
Friday, May 13, 2011 – Night
We spent all day hunched over our MacBooks as we tried to figure out what the hell was happening to me. …And we didn’t find anything but a bunch of irrelevant crap. Spiritual hoopla that was obviously fake to anyone with a modicum of intelligence. Anecdotes and resources for women who wanted to become men through hormone redistribution treatment or whatever. And porn. Strangely, mostly porn of men turning into women, and not the other way around. I did not need to ask why that was the case.
After a full work day spent on this, making zero progress, I was near a breaking point. I needed a win, some good news to redeem this categorically terrible day, but instead I was staring at two pictures, allowing the weight of reality to sink in. In my left hand was a photo I plucked from the wall. It was of Jenny and myself two years ago, when we went to New York for a day trip to congratulate her on the completion of her junior year. In my right, it was my cell phone, sporting a tiny image of what I now looked like. It was small, not as good as a real photograph, but the differences were all the same. The person in the left photo was clearly a middle-aged Korean woman, and in the right… I could neither tell their race nor their sex with how boxy their frame had gotten and how the curvature of their face had shifted.
I wanted to see myself in what I looked like now, but… I couldn’t. Jenny said I was turning into a man, and turning into a male version of me, that would be one thing. But that’s not what was happening. I was simply becoming another person, robbed of my sex, my race, and even my age. All my life, I had taken pride in myself, as anyone would, but now… without that, what even was I? Who… who the fuck was I?
Mimi: “MOTHERFUCKER!“
As rage swelled within my shifting being, I could not restrain myself. I threw the photo in my left hand at the wall, snapping the frame in four and sending a shower of glass that rained down to the carpet below.
Jenny looked at me like she didn’t even know who I was, and I couldn’t blame her. I detested violence as a rule, and she could probably count the number of times I swore around her on two hands… maybe four. I should have apologized, should have tried to reassure her and clean up, but I lacked the emotional range for such reserved behaviors. I needed to leave before I did something I regretted. Now.
Mimi: “I’m going out for a run.“
I was dressed in a gray hoodie, tight sports bra I changed into around lunchtime, and a pair of oversized purple school gym shorts Jenny had lent me. My shoes no longer fit me, so I upgraded to Jenny’s. It felt wrong jamming my engorged feet into my daughter’s shoes to get away from her, but what in this situation was right?
As I slid on her shoes, Jenny rose up from her seat, begging me to stay.
Jenny: “M-Mom, it’s nighttime! You should just stay here, and we can do—”
Mimi: “Jenny. I need this.“
I hated how deep my voice was becoming, how I was sounding less like me with every passing syllable, and did not want to say another word for her. I just wanted to leave. So, I tied my laces tight, grabbed my wallet from my purse, and shoved it in my hoodie pocket before leaving my daughter. I did not look back at her face… as I knew it would be full of tears.
With nothing but rage and confusion within me, I ran. I no longer cared about the fact that I had just undergone heart surgery, that Dr. Decagon advised me to only jog. I was at risk of losing everything that defined me as a fucking person.
…Maybe part of me actually hoped that this stranger’s heart would give out, that I would experience rejection now, as I ran through Allingtown, the sun having set. At least then… then I would die while still retaining some sense of myself. I didn’t want to believe it, but what other option was there at this point? It was the heart that was doing this to me.
Nina and Dr. Octagon wouldn’t tell me who this person was, but from the look of my hands, from my face, it was clear that they were a young Black man, and that… I was turning into him. His heart had a sort of dominance over my frail, aging body, and now I was becoming him. And… I knew what he looked like. I knew who he was.
The man who saved me from sinking into that murky abyss? The boy who attended that piano recital? The boy whose very essence I breathed into myself after we rolled down that hill? That boy with a passion for school and that luminous girl? It was all him. When I got his heart, he made his way into my dreams. His cells were now a part of my body, coursing through and touching every drop of blood in mine. His heart, my body, or whichever mechanism was responsible for this… the results were the same. He was taking over, while Mimi was disappearing.
Just thinking that was enough for me to sprint across an entire block, cooling down as I lowered my pace to a jog. Even at my peak physical fitness, I would have collapsed if I tried sprinting that long. I wanted to hate this, and I did, but as I ran, looking at a world that seemed ever so smaller than normal, my stamina not giving up… I could not hate everything about this. My heart was powerful, and so was my body. I felt like I could keep this up as long as wind blew. And that… that felt like I was achieving a dream, I had never thought to dream. A mile was a struggle to me, but I could already tell that I had exceeded two miles in just fifteen minutes.
The boy in my dreams… he seemed like a nice young man, smart, strong, and kind, musically inclined, scientifically minded, and capable of a love that felt truly genuine. He seemed like a good person, yet had died when he was still so young. …And I could tell that I was getting younger. I know that I looked 35, but I felt even younger than that.
I… I did not want this, I did not ask this— I just wanted to keep living my life! Why couldn’t I just stay myself and get younger, get stronger, get the opportunity to rebuild myself? Maybe I could try my hand at sports for once in my life, do something where I used more than my hands? Why do I need to stop being me? Why do I need to become him, this… this boy in my dreams whose name I still don’t know. And… did I even want to at this point?
As evening gave way to night, I drifted away from society. I did not have anywhere to go, any place I wanted to be, much less home. So, I hopped around someone’s backyard and got on a trail surrounding Maltby Lakes. It was a beautiful freshwater lake, bordered by expansive nature. It was dark, yet with the sky dark and only the two-thirds full moon and faint stars shining, there was just enough light for me to see past the trees.
I remembered taking Jenny down this trail when she was just a baby, strapped up in her stroller. …And I remember walking through here last autumn, as the leaves painted the trail and Jenny held my hand on the way back, so I didn’t fall. I had changed between then, gotten older, and the trail stayed the same. Same trees, same dirt, same path. Only I changed and… boy, did I ever change now.
Forlorn at my situation, I walked aimlessly through the trail for however long. There was not a soul in sight, nobody to confide with, just me, and a trail I had walked dozens of times through my life, always with Jenny… until now.
I wanted to keep this up, but as the hours passed, I eventually had to stop. My legs were feeling sore, and I had… to relieve myself. I cast the trail aside and entered the heart of the woods, using my adjusted vision to find a place where I could squat down and hope that nobody ever found that I took a poo in the woods. I mean, how would they ever know it was mine?
Casting aside my shorts, the only thing covering my lower regions, I did my business, contemplating if I should try to use leaves as toilet paper before deciding against that. Instead, I plopped my shorts back on as I sought a place to sleep. A bed of grass was my best option. After finding a clearing with just enough moonlight to feel safe, I laid down, sinking my bare legs and sweat-covered hoodie down, the aroma sure reminding me of a teenage locker room.
I wanted to just lay down and sleep, yet my body just… refused to do that.
Why? Because despite burning up so much excess energy, I still felt that inexplicable urge within my crotch. Frustrated, I cast my shorts off again, and under the faint glow of moonlight, I saw it. My “clitoris” standing tall, erect, and looking thicker than it had ever been before. I wanted to say something, but I knew what was happening. It was two inches long, pointing upwards, and had made me want to cast off my shorts more times than I’d care to admit as I ran. Even without that dream where the boy made out with that luminous girl, I would know what was happening. It was a penis. I was growing a cock. And that cock had been calling out to me all damn night.
I didn’t want to be a man, so why would I want to touch myself like this? Wasn’t that just giving up?
Such thoughts of maintaining principles meant little as I just wanted to get some sleep, be done with this day, be done with these emotions, and reset my mind with the promise of a new day. It had been months since I touched myself, and the rush of hormones, of a body trying to go back to being some kid, it was a good excuse to indulge. I— whatever I meant in this context— wanted it.
Mimi: “Fuck. I… I don’t just want it. I NEED it.“
Throwing away my resolve, I cast aside my hoodie and stared down at myself, wearing only sports bra, stretched to the point where it felt like a binder. I threw it off to reveal my scarred chest and breasts so small they barely registered as breasts. It was as if they had lost half of their volume and were barely able to poke out from my chest. You could almost believe they were the breasts of a man, and the abdomen that followed shared a similar level of masculinity.
Combined with the clitoral penis between my legs… I did not want to say what I thought. I just did it.
I lurched my hand forward, at my shifting genitals, and began rubbing my fingers against it as I laid on my back, eyes shut.
The sensitivity of the thing made me shiver. The hardness of an erect penis was there, the skin taught around the firm nub, yet it was also basked in a gooey, sour-smelling, fluid that only urged my fingers to move faster, for they didn’t need to worry about friction.
It was so foreign that I hoped that stimulation alone would get me through, yet my mind reflexively wandered to fantasies. I was not a woman of nuanced tastes, having a genre of men that I found attractive. Men who were tall, handsome, gentle, caring, yet not afraid to be men and getting things done. There was one Korean actor in the 70s who became my go-to as a teenager, but even his dashing good looks were not enough for me.
I looked down at myself. We were not of a similar build, but the idea of being with a man, like this, did not resonate right. So, I began from scratch yet again, eager to just get off and sleep after my brain produced the first pleasant scene I could manage. For whatever reason, this vague anything took the form of a woman, her figure shifting, becoming short, adopting shoulder-length hair, and developing features that were all too familiar to me, because… she was me. Still, I did not stop my fingers. I was in too deep to bail on my mind, and I focused on the “me” in my mind, watching her pose, speak to me, and crawl onto me. Or rather, speak to the boy in my dreams.
…Except this time, I was in control. I was the one who threw my doppelgänger to the ground, who wrapped my arms around her, pressed my lips against her, and grinded my cock against her vagina as she cooed in anticipation. I bit my tongue at my brain’s degeneracy, wanting this to end before the fantasy continued, and my desire was granted.
I spasmed as I felt a liquid bubble up from behind my vulva, spurting out and bearing with it a distinct odor. It doused my hand.
Groaning, I wanted nothing more than to wake up from this bizarre nightmare and return to the Mimi I always was. Alas, I was trapped in this nonsensical reality. I threw my shorts and hoodie back on with a disgruntled huff and curled up into a ball, filled with shame over what I had done, and the fact that, on some level… I loved it.
Saturday, May 14, 2011 – Day
After waking up at dawn, I rose from the clearing, my throat heinously dry, and my home six kilometers away. Less than an hour later, I was there, at my door, exhausted, hungry, sweaty, and above all else… thirsty. Shame was of course lingering in there too, but my need for water overpowered all other desires, so I opened up the door… only to be met with Jenny, sitting in a chair, her head hung low and eyes shut.
She must have been waiting for me all night, and I would need to confront her eventually. Still, water came first. I slowly navigated my way to the sink, pouring a cold glass full as quietly as I could manage and downing it was quickly as I could. It was as if life itself was injected into my body, and the moment I finished it, I saw Jenny raise her head. She looked around, darting her eyes, before acknowledging me. I could tell she barely slept, that she had cried herself to sleep. Red eyes and dark bags made that clear. She stared at me, the person responsible for her night of grief, and leapt toward me, pushing me into a corner.
Jenny: “WHY WHY WHY?!? Why would you do that to me? You can’t just LEAVE me like that! You’re not allowed to, Mom! You’re so STUPID STUPID STUPID!”
Seconds after waking up, and she was hysterical, slamming her hands against the walls and shaking her head as she spoke. I wanted to say something, yet the words were not coming to me. There was no good reason why I left and slept in the woods other than… I felt I needed to be alone. I knew she would hate that excuse.
She would have scared me, but as I looked at her, I looked down, standing at 175 centimeters or so, I was clearly taller than her, and as I looked down at her arms, and back to mine, I was stronger. Strong enough to restrain her, so… I did. I took her arms, pulled them off the wall, wrapped my arms around her, and lifted her above the floor. She screamed, shouting straight into my ear as she demanded I let her down, but I couldn’t. She needed to get all these feelings out of her system. I took the verbal abuse, the ugly unintelligible dribble that followed as she began to cry, snot dripping down her nose as she let everything out, smacking her face into my shoulder. I just held her tight, rubbing my hands against her back, as I hummed a song as best I could with my shifting vocal cords. Even without saying a word, I could already tell I no longer sounded like myself, at all.
As the minutes compounded and sorrow faded, Jenny regained her composure.
Jenny: “…Please, let me go.”
I did just that, removing my hands from Jenny as she grabbed the counter top, looking at me… before looking away.
Jenny: “I’m sorry for that. I know this is something you’re going through, but… you’re my Mom. I rely on you. I love so, so much, and… the way you left like that, it… hurt me. I was so terrified of losing you for months then and now that you’re back, I… I don’t have it in me to lose you again. Please, promise me, you won’t leave the house alone until we figure out what’s going on. I need… I need to know you’re at least somewhere safe. Because… I thought I might never see you again.”
She resumed crying halfway through saying that, grabbing a towel to blow her snot into. Ever since she was a baby, she was an ugly crier, as if I needed another reason to hate the sight of my little girl crying.
Mimi: “I’m sorry.”
There it was. My voice had shifted from sounding like a deep voiced woman with a cold to that of a man with a higher than usual register. I didn’t get a chance to look at myself in the mirror, but after last night, I sure felt like I had crossed the Rubicon of manhood.
Mimi: “I won’t leave the house, I promise.”
Jenny: “Thank you. Thank you… Mom. …And happy birthday.”
I paused as I heard her say that, before looking at the calendar hanging off the fridge. I had not crossed out the past two days, but Jenny had written “Mom’s B-Day” on May 14th. Between my transformation I had forgotten that I was turning 50. Pfft. If anybody saw me, I’m sure they’d sooner believe that I was turning 30.
Jenny: “If you look in the fridge, I’m sure you’ll find what I, uh, prepared for you last night.”
Truth be told, I was starving after running so much and bailing right after dinner. Anything sounded great, and I expected Jenny to make me the same thing she always made for my birthday. Ever since she was 10, she had baked a lemon cake to celebrate my birthday, and got better as she got older. It was a simple gesture, but as a child, she couldn’t realistically do more, and I wasn’t a “card” person. I expected to see the usual lightly dressed lemon cake when I opened the fridge. Instead, I saw a distinctly yellow cake that lacked the same layer of frosting. I pulled it out, cautiously, and saw that it was a cheesecake. New York style, fluffy and yellow, surrounded by a shortbread crust.
As I placed the cheesecake on the table, Jenny snagged a jar of strawberry jam. I didn’t even notice she bought jam, or milk. I suppose I was just… preoccupied the past few days.
Jenny: “I know cake’s not really a breakfast food, but I think we can both use a pick-me-up right about now.”
I wanted to say something, but as I saw Jenny dig through the drawer, I decided to silently play along. As I took a seat, she she lit her novelty 5 and 0 candles, watching the flames flicker for a moment as I adjusted to just how tall I truly was in this chair. Looking down at the cake, feeling like a giant sitting at this low table, I blew out the candles, making the most obvious wish I could. I wanted to be myself again. Considering the insanity of my situation, I would half-believe it if I did turn back, but I remained… whoever I was at this point.
With the candles removed, Jenny carefully cut the cake into six slices and served one to me on a plate. Her change in demeanor over just five minutes gave me pause, but… an unusual Jenny was better than a distraught Jenny. It was best to play along, keep my frustration at bay, and eat the damn cake. I had never actually tried cheesecake— lactose intolerant and all— yet my palate had been shifting along with my body and, given my newfound fondness for dairy, I had high expectations. Expectations… that were unanimously met. Its texture was soft, effortlessly melting in one’s mouth, retained the sweetness of a cake, yet had a greater sense of substance. If anything, it reminded me more of a hearty pumpkin pie than your typical cake, but above all, it was delicious.
I scarfed down the first piece in a matter of seconds, and with Jenny’s guidance, I lathered the second one in jam. I did not expect the blend of cheese and strawberries to go well, but softer cheeses had a different, milder taste, allowing other flavors to flourish and build upon their base.
Before I knew it, I had eaten five of the six slices, with Jenny having one herself, eating it with care and grace as I let my table manners leave my mind.
Mimi: “Thank you, Jenny. That… that was just wonderful.”
Jenny: “I had a feeling you’d like that. Your tastes had been changing so much and I just, well… I guess you could say I… guessed.”
Something about the way she said she “guessed” did not sit well with me, so I pried further.
Mimi: “What do you mean guess? Sure, I’ve been liking new foods, you’ve seen what I’ve gotten from the grocery store, but how could you know I would like cheesecake this much?”
Jenny: “Well, that’s because you’re… you’re changing, and I thought it might… it might be a good idea to try to find an upside, I… I guess.”
She was lying. Jenny was a good liar when around other people, but terrible when around me. I knew her every tell, and she was deliberately obfuscating the facts. In another context, I would have pressed her on this. But now… I was just happy to see a smile on her cute little face. She knew she could tell me anything, yet rather than approach things that way, she was shuffling in her seat.
Jenny: “So, um, I bought you another present a week ago, when you got on your fitness kick, but, uh, I don’t think it will work for you as you are now.”
Mimi: “You… Sweetie, you don’t need to get me anything, you know that.”
Jenny: “I know, but I felt I needed to tell you that and… do you want to see it?”
With an affirmation, Jenny scurried off to her room while I put the dishes in the sink, wondering if I should really accept most of a cake for breakfast. I was expecting clothes from what she had said and… that’s what I saw in her hands. A box containing an exercise outfit from a reputable quality brand, containing a sports bra and leggings. I held them up to my person, still clad in my hoodie and shorts, and they were at least two sizes too small. Even if I could fit in their elastic bindings, I knew they would look just awful on my figure. For my own modesty, for whatever facsimile of modesty I had of that after masturbating in the woods like a damn teenage boy, I handed them back to her.
Mimi: “I think we need a bigger size, and… a different brand. But I will need more clothing. It would be best for you to get me things from the men’s section. Something baggy, as we don’t know how much I’m going to grow.”
Jenny: “Y-Yeah. I guess we’ll need to head out today, or tomorrow, to grab some shirts, pants, and… underwear.”
I could feel Jenny’s eyes on me as she said that. I had already checked this morning, and it was already looking more phallic.
Groans ensued as I stewed with the fact that this would eventually end, that I would become some young Black man by the end of this. Any one of those things would be a massive change, but… I would think I could accept that. I had nearly died, and while losing my identity was still a cruel, disgusting concept… at least I would be alive, be able to do the things I loved. Or… so I hoped.
I looked down at my hands, unrecognizable as my hands, like the rest of me. They were bigger, wider, and just different. Yet, if I could still make music with them, then… then maybe this would not be all that bad. After all, this boy played the piano, per my dreams. Perhaps, I could retain this love of mine, it could be a part of the new me. The young… Black… male… me.
Looking on at my electronic piano, I took a gulp, and decided that I should not even bother waiting. I should face the music here and now, and see if I could still… perform with these hands.
I adjusted my stool down to a more comfortable height, touching the lever for the first time in years before looking down at the piano, planting my fingers against it as I refamiliarized myself with these keys. I had graced these keys for thousands of hours since I bought this back in 1994. Or… was it 1993? Regardless, the keys still sounded the same, resonating through our small house with the same grace they had when I first brought it home. The only thing that changed was me, was my fingers as they braced the keys, nearly hitting two at once, forcing me to be diligent with where I placed my fingers and how they moved. I had grown accustomed to swift and slender movements, grazing keys with fingers without pressing them down as I aimed to make deft movements. Now, such innocent little touches packed with them a power, a strength, and a not so pleasant sound.
Jenny looked on as I exercised my hands, sitting on the couch behind me, before I had the courage to try a song. I chose a staple I had played more times than I would care to count, Nocturne in E Flat Major by Chopin. Not overtly complex or too fast, yet it required immense precision in order to make it sound right. I would not get it right on my first try, but I was determined to make it at least sound decent.
With a sigh, I planted my fingers atop the keys and began, listening to the music in my head as I shut my eyes and tried to find my center in this new body. From the first somber keys, I felt my heart swell with confidence, as if something clicked throughout my being, a muscle memory unlocked, that allowed my fingers to dance with grace. I stretched, reached, and released as I strived to stay the line, only blinking in flashes to retain my place as I reached my left hand across the keyboard.
Every gorgeous note only urged me to go on, and while some inadvertent brushes occurred, the dignity of the composition was retained, filling my home with a beautiful melody that has enraptured me for as long as I can recall. A smile subconsciously crept along my face and my body, the fact that I was turning into someone else… it was no longer the dominant force within my mind. And not just because I had to focus. Rather, just knowing that I could do this… it brought me an assurance that I dearly needed. This was proof that, even if I turned into another person, music could remain a part of me.
As I pressed four fingers against the keys, concluding this song on prolonged notes, I rose up and looked down at Jenny, her eyes aflutter as she sprang toward me, landing on my chest in another hug.
Jenny: “That’s my ma— mom, you’ve still got it!”
Mimi: “Thanks, sweetie. It means a lot knowing that I can still perform like that. But it will take a lot of practice to get used to these new hands.”
As I said that, I knew fully well that these hands could further change, yet… I did not want to think about that. I wanted to think about what I had at the moment, and what I could do. Yes, I could play the piano, but what about the violin? On May 10th, I played it with grace. Now, I was taller, bigger, and little about my arms felt truly the same. Still, I would not know my limits unless I tried, and… I had to try.
Needing something to focus on, I cast open the curtains of the living room and looked outside. A gorgeous dawn had ushered in a beautiful day, where the last facsimiles of spring were fading away as summer came into its own, my maple tree looking utterly radiant. It was always my favorite time of year, yet now… now the rebirth it represented had a radically different meaning.
I removed my violin from its case as I stared out at this beauty, gently placing it against my chin and struggling anew to find the right groove for it. Not every violin fit every person, I learned that the hard way, yet I had what I had, and I did not want to give mine up. Searching for a song to play, my mind went to Spring by Antonio Vivaldi, a bit on the nose, yet a classic piece nonetheless, carrying with it a lovely mix of playfulness and elegance.
If I focused… I could achieve the solace I needed to tread through this. Please, if there is any just force in the universe, at least grant me this blessing.
I began by practicing using my hands, dancing my fingers across the neck of the violin, slowly moving my bow across the strings. I still felt the movements in my muscles, telling me how to move, yet the distance and pressure required to make a violin sound decent were always more precise than a piano. The benefit with the violin was the range of movement you had before you, using your head, arms, and fingers. That’s part of why I loved it, why I was always a violinist first, and the struggle was… evident. I practiced a few notes, hoping that I could find the right angle to approach from, that I could move my hands without having them bump into each other as I made small precise movements along the strings. Alas, my hands failed me.
Frustrated, I stopped practicing, bursting away from routine and veering into Spring. I had to prove myself, needed to show that I could still do this. For me. I refused to accept that the violin was beyond me, especially after I felt so transfixed playing The Lark Ascending. I wanted that experience to happen again. I… needed it.
The first few notes came to me with ease, being such a staple of my countless music classes. Fingers had to move precisely, and my bow had to rise rapidly and with precision, yet I remained steadfast, carrying myself with the grace of a rusty pro, the most I could hope for. Yet, as I reached the midway section, requiring me to make a precise shaking of my bow, it escaped my hand, falling to the floor. Annoyed, I picked it up, trying to resume, to force myself past this moment and into frantic second half, but… I kept making a mistake. Every few seconds of success was followed by failure. Again, and again, and again as I tried to get through this song, desperate to reach its end before trying again from the start.
Each failure brought with it a new frustration. Innocent mistakes became beginner’s follies became the signs of a reckless player. This should be easy for me. This was easy for me. Yet it just wasn’t working. My chin kept sliding out of its slot, my left fingers kept smacking into each other, and I began butchering the strings with my bow, causing it to play such viciously ugly sounds. I needed to get a win, needed to succeed in my goal, so I kept trying to play, again and again, my performance becoming sloppier each time, going through four, maybe five, full plays of the song. As I struggled, Jenny looked on, concern wrapping her face as she saw her mother, the acclaimed violinist, struggle with such a basic fucking song!
Mimi: “This… fucking… BODY!“
A burning rage sweltered through me, enough for reason to leave my being. I stared at my violin, my beloved companion, one who I had been mutilating through my terrible play. I had it for over twenty-five years, it had been a part of my life for longer than Jenny had even been alive. Yet now, after hundreds upon hundreds of performances… it was beyond me.
I did not think, I merely acted, raising the violin high and throwing it onto the ground.
Regret immediately followed as I saw it inch closer to the floor, yet I could not move in to save it. All I could do was watch it in slow motion as it inched closer and closer, where it would assuredly shatter, never to be played again.
That’s when Jenny swooped in, arms stretched out, where she grabbed the violin, by its base, the top of the neck merely tapping against the floor, no worse for wear.
I looked down at Jenny, speechless, she looked up at me, aghast… before her expression shifted to what could most generously be described as utterly pissed.
Jenny: “Mom… what the HELL do you think you’re doing! I know you weren’t playing like you used to, but—”
Mimi: “I can’t.”
That was it. I had tried to cling to things, but I found my limit. I had lost it, lost my skill with the violin, one I had been honing for over 40 years. It was gone, just like that.
Jenny: “You can’t what?”
Mimi: “I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry, Jenny. I… I need to be alone until this is all over.”
Jenny: “W-What? But you promised that—”
Mimi: “I’m going to my bedroom. I’ll stay there until… until I lose the last of what makes me who I am. And… I don’t want you to see me as I… as I die a second time.”
Saying that, I felt my voice shift yet again, further down the male spectrum and into something deeper than I would have ever imagined coming out of my throat. It was still happening… and it was getting faster.
As Jenny looked at me, stunned, I made my way out, grabbing my laptop, grabbing my water bottle, and heading into my bedroom, locking the door behind me. I looked at my open window with disgust, casting out the sunlight from my room before plopping my unpleasantly bony butt onto the bed, sitting in darkness.
Jenny did not knock on my door, but from the shadow cast by the door, I could tell she was standing there, struggling to understand what had become of her mother. She wasn’t the only one.
I waited for her to leave, but she stayed there for several minutes, crying whatever tears she had left before muttering to herself as she departed, saying “I can’t lose you too.”
Sunday, May 15, 2011 – Day
The past day and a half were listless, aimless, full of me seeking some distraction, anything, as I stewed in the darkness, feeling my body shift beyond my will.
I would search for answers on my laptop in a vain hope that I could find a remedy to my transformation, but it was just more spiritual nonsense, transsexual crap, and porn. So much porn. So, I just laid in bed, drifting between sleep and the waking world, wanting time to move faster.
A month ago, I was in the same position, too weakened by my dying heart to leave my bed, too drained to do anything but stare at the clock at my bedside table. I was dying, had already lost so much of what made me “me,” until I got this heart. It was a new beginning for me, I was beyond elated, yet… here I am, in the same position. Except, this time, I knew it was terminal. Even if I lived through this, I would not be Mimi anymore. I would just be some boy in my dream… whose name I don’t even know.
The irony was sickening to me. My parents assured me that there was no God as I was growing up. After losing their home and my older brother when he was only three, that belief was sensible. But as I laid here, I was starting to believe a different theory. That God is real… but he just wants to watch us suffer. It’s all TV for him. Hell, maybe even porn.
That crude joke was all it took for my resolve to weaken and for my eyes to shutter, bringing me into yet another dream.
Sunday, May 15, 2011 – Dream
The dream was similar to the one I was graced with four days ago. I was seeing the world through the boy’s eyes again, acting as a passenger as he drove through another day in his life, yet a more modern day, rendered with more clarity. The dark opaqueness of prior dreams was not as pronounced, the texture of everything felt more real, yet the words were still obscured, faces were still blurred. It made me fear how vivid these dreams would be once my transformation was complete.
The sound of an alarm clock introduced me to this boy’s life yet again. No longer was I in a house, but a cramped New York City apartment. I didn’t even need to look outside to see that much. The boy had a roommate who grumbled as he stayed in his bed, slow to get up, while the boy was practically eager to get going, dressing himself sharply, and venturing out into the world with his backpack in tow. The same enthusiasm, yet in a different context.
Even with the sun hanging low, the streets of NYC were buzzing with activity, with people scurrying to begin their day, drifting in and out of shops, buses, and everywhere else, as everyone had a place to be. The spring air was crisp, sky was mildly cloudy, and there were still lingering puddles from a shower the night before. Veering into a bodega to nab a bacon, egg, and cheese to start the day, the boy was no different, enthusiastically munching into the hot and filling bagel as he walked to his first destination. It was a large ornate building with a scattering of young people about, socializing, digging through their backpacks, reading through their books, and cramming in some last minute studying. None of which had the same strict rigor as high school, endearing a more reserved yet passionate atmosphere.
This seemed to be reflected in the group that the boy met after traipsing up the stairs. Rather than meeting with a student council, he was instead meeting with a group of friends, colorful characters all at the forefront of adulthood, yet there was a particular face lacking among them. The luminous girl from the prior dream was nowhere to be found, and everything felt a bit darker as I realized that.
The boy, however, was not discouraged by her absence, and with no bell to guide him, he scampered off to class, to these large lecture halls that housed nearly a hundred people as the professor bellowed out his lectures. My peripheral awareness was such that I could tell that most of the students were not listening with rapt attention. However, the boy was as diligent as ever, with his book and notebook out as he took careful notes following each new nugget of information.
It was reminiscent of my college days of pursuing a “real degree” to appease my parents as I put most of my passion into music, just without the latter part. One class led to another, before concluding with a test, one that carried an immense weight behind its questions, all written. Still, the boy did not falter, his mind abuzz with the right answers and jotting them down with precision, wrapping up his test with plenty of time to spare.
Leaving the building to end the day, the boy looked up at the pink afternoon sky, smirking at its beauty while announcing his pleasure to be done with the day, before feeling someone grasp his shoulder. Turning, he saw his roommate, a Puerto Rican boy, the same age as him, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, stood half a foot shorter, and sporting a patchy beard. He talked as casually as he looked, luring the boy away from the school and to a house located a few blocks away, home to a vibrant party of dozens of college students.
Modern pop blared through subpar speakers, the girls were wearing as little as they could, while the kitchen was full of nothing but pizza, beer, and chips. The scent of weed percolated across every room, and despite being the start of a week, everybody was trying to cut loose as best as they could. Well, except for the boy, who walked in with a confident stride yet carried reservations in his chest, bickering with his friend before being handed a Solo cup full of cheap beer. The taste was pungent and harsh, yet he drank it all the same, deciding that he should try to enjoy himself now that he was here. Emphasis on try.
He was sociable, popular, and even approached by drunk girls, but there was something within him that refused to let loose. A sense of responsibility that went unsaid, but could be felt within his chest. I was left to passively wonder what that may be, watching him meander about for an hour or two before quietly bailing from the house. The sky was painted a soupy orange, yet the streets were still aplomb with life, allowing him to comfortably walk his way home, murmuring to himself as he checked the time in despair. Somehow, I could just tell he had a project to finish and knew he needed to pull an all-nighter to get things done.
Proving my hunch, the boy ducked into another bodega to grab a soda and some snacks to keep him going, and began jogging through the streets as he made his way back home. He zoned out the world around him as he pondered whatever project he had to do. Brushing against crowds, he moved forward, ignoring some shouting, as it sounded like it was nothing. He was in the zone, something I had experienced during my “exercising” the past few days, emphasizing that, beyond his well-dressed visage, he was a strong and fit young man. I found myself enjoying this sensation… when everything went awry.
There was a loud noise— painfully loud— enough to leave the boy’s ears ringing. My window to his world tilted, shifted, and loss its detail as everything faded out of focus. I’m not sure which happened next, the utterly agonizing pain or the fall as the boy’s body crumbled down to the ground. The last thing I felt was his head touching the concrete. Then… nothingness.
I awoke from this dream in a cold sweat, knowing what I had seen. The boy in my dreams was the boy whose heart I had been given, the boy I was transforming into and that… that was the last day of his life. I didn’t know his name, but I knew how he died.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011 – Day
After my Sunday dream, I did what I should have done three weeks ago and looked up this boy’s name. I recognized the geography enough to narrow down the borough, and found his name with ease. His name was Trey Thorne, age 19, university student, only child of Marcus and Louise Thorne. On April 25th, at 20:30, he was shot in the back of the head by a police officer, who claimed it was a “mistake.” A mistake that cost the young man his life… but also saved mine. Or, well, changed mine might be a more neutral term.
I looked at the photo of him on my laptop, taken during his high school graduation last year, and as I stared at my face, we looked nearly the same. We could be cousins, brothers. And within another day or so, I’m sure I would look exactly like him. The transformation is only getting faster, and if I had to guess, there was less than 20% of Mimi inside me now.
My breasts were barely there, no longer that of a woman’s chest but rather a lingering mound of fat splayed over the pecs of a strong young man. Well, excluding the red line going down my chest. My abs were firm, arms felt at least twice as strong as mine were before my heart faltered, and my mighty heart was sealed in a cage that was more appropriate given its size. My clitoris had nearly finished its metamorphosis into a penis, growing five inches in length as my vagina sealed itself, leaving behind only the sagging remnants of a vulva. The idea of my ovaries turning into sperm producing testicles was hard for me to believe, yet I could feel them shifting just by standing up.
My feet were at least three sizes larger than they had ever been, making the idea of wearing my old shoes— let alone heels— an absurd notion. While my hair… was growing all over the place. Hair began growing across my arms, legs, chest, and face days ago, yet it continued without end, coming in thick and coiled. I let it grow unimpeded for three days at this point, and it was disturbing how densely it reshaped how I looked. The last vestigial of femininity was erased from my person as I nestled into the image of a tall, strong, hairy man.
I had hoped that the hair on my head would at least stay as it was, but no. The coiling expanded from my scalp and across my shoulder-length hair, condensing my straight strands into something tight and beyond my comprehension. I witnessed it grow from the type of hair I knew into a genuine afro, resting atop my head, so large it looked ridiculous. It wasn’t even a firm afro, being so fuzzy on the top. I wanted to take a pair of scissors to the blasted thing, yet… why bother now? I could feel the changes creeping within me, moving bit by bit every time Trey’s heart beat within my chest. For all I knew, my hair was going to morph into whatever style he had when he was shot.
Turning off the light, I returned to my room proper, sitting on the bed… when Jenny knocked on my door. After I’ve locked myself inside here, she’s been leaving meals by my door. Every one was good. She must have figured out my taste buds faster than I did and wanted me to have at least some joy as I went through this painful, depersonalizing experience. Sitting here, in the dark, not even bothering to wear anything beyond these damn shorts, the kindness made me feel more human.
I went over to the door a minute later, long enough for her to have left, expecting her to have breakfast for me. Instead, I was greeted with a pile of clothes, freshly folded, with new sneakers and a note on top. I looked around, wanting to call Jenny to ask her, but as I felt a grumble through my throat, knowing that my voice was leaving baritone and entering the bass range, I discarded that idea. Slinking back into my room, I read the note under lamplight.
Mom,
I managed to get an appointment with Dr. Decagon for 11:15 today. We should leave by 10:00. I know your clothes won’t fit you anymore, so I sneaked out to buy you some yesterday. I tried to keep things plain, but I’ll get you anything you want. Breakfast should be ready in 20 minutes.
With love, Jenny
Mimi: “How? How did she get an appointment?”
No. Now was not the time to question what my brilliant daughter was able to accomplish. She gave me an opportunity, so I needed to make the most of it. I was going to see my surgeon, and the worst he can do is say he has no idea what’s happening to me. That would make three of us. I just needed to figure out how I would present myself. This hair and beard were unruly— there was a reason Trey kept his face clean and hair short— yet I did not want to destroy the trail.
Frustrated, I decided to go as I was, to let Dr. Decagon see me with my frizzy fro, but I needed to bundle myself up first. Fortunately, Jenny got me a decent spread of clothes. Jeans that almost fit properly, but not quite. I guess my hips must have still been shrinking. A basic black T-shirt that was half a size too small, all around. And after viewing myself in the mirror, only seeing some young Black man, I decided that I needed to throw on my oversized hoodie. Well, once oversized hoodie. Now its roomy sleeves were two inches from my wrist. I guess there was no hiding these big man hands that couldn’t play a damn violin. Though, the new black and white sneakers, paired with some of my oversized socks, somehow fit like a glove. How Jenny managed to figure out my measurements was a mystery to me, but I was not in the mood to pry.
I dug through my drawer for a spare surgical mask that I was given as part of my take-home care package, nodding as it obscured my face, while my hoodie just barely wrapped around my voluminous hair. While not satisfied or confident in my look, I knew this was the best I could do, and opened up my door, eager to tear off the bandage and bear my wound for the world to see. There, I saw Jenny standing before me, carrying some French toast and breakfast sausages on a plate. She gasped at the sight of me, pressing her back against the wall.
Her long dark hair flowed freely, body dressed in a simple tank top that was low enough to grant a generous view of her breasts, while her slender legs were clad in only a short skirt. I stared down at her, feeling something swelling in my body, in my pants. I wanted to say it was just a result of lacking human connection for over a day, but I knew that wasn’t true. I knew what my body wanted.
Mimi: “Hi, Jenny.”
My voice surprised both of us as it escaped my mouth, but Jenny was quick to recover.
Jenny: “Mom, you… do you think your transformation is—”
Mimi: “No, I’m… I’m still changing. Which is good. So long as a part of me is left, they might be able to fix this.”
Jenny: “G-Good, good. Uh… I wasn’t expecting to see you just yet, so— let’s have breakfast together, okay?”
Not willing to say no to Jenny after all she’s done for me today alone, I agreed. I followed her as she went to the kitchen table, where she ate her fruit and cereal while I ate the sausages and toast, finding them surprisingly tangy and palatable. Though, still not as good as that bacon egg and cheese from that dream. I wanted to talk to Jenny, but as I looked at her, she looked away. I knew her, knew when she was upset, and she absolutely was at the moment, unwilling to connect with someone who she had complex feelings about. And who could blame her? I neither looked nor sounded like myself. To her, I was just some strange man with her mother’s memories, I was sure.
A quiet breakfast was followed by a quiet car ride, neither of us saying a word, no music either. Jenny drove, I stayed in the back, realizing why people over 180 centimeters tall always insisted on riding shotgun. I wanted to talk to her, to apologize, but in this awkward transitory state, I did not want to impose myself on someone else. I wondered if this was a rush of teenage hormones, the last bit of my womanhood clashing with a dominating male force, but I knew there were no answers to those concerns. The world was not quite so kind.
…And it similarly wasn’t kind when we finally arrived for my appointment. We were called to check in, but the receptionist, a young Black woman with hair more voluminous than even mine, immediately looked at us with suspicion.
Medical Receptionist: “Uh, I think there might be a screw up, this appointment’s for a Mi-sook Ahn, and she’s supposed to be 50-years-old. Only one of you are a Korean woman, and you sure don’t look a day over 18.”
Jenny: “I’m actually 19, but thanks… I guess. Look, I know it’s weird, but if you check my mother’s documents, you should see me as having… medical power of attorney.”
The receptionist gave us the stink eye as she loaded up my documents on the computer, seeing that Jenny had a limited medical power of attorney, for if I died or was unable to respond after surgery.
Medical Receptionist: “I’m sorry, miss, but I need to see Mi-sook— sorry— Mimi here before I can let you or this man in to see the doctor.”
Ah, the first time someone called me a man. Somehow, it did not sting as much as I thought it would.
Jenny: “Look, Mimi is going through a very unique situation, so if you could bend the rules—”
Medical Receptionist: “I’m sorry, but no. I can’t do that. You can call the doctor if you want and he’ll—”
Nina: “Oh for Athena’s sake, Vita. Just let them in!”
The familiar voice of Nina shouted from behind the receptionist’s window and with an exaggerated eye roll, “Vita” permitted us inside, telling us to go straight to the doctor’s office. Once we were there, he looked at us, confused, before asking us to sit down. I decided to keep it short, telling him that I was Mimi, that I had been transforming slowly since he gave me a new heart. He listened silently as I recapped my story, before revealing myself, casting off my surgical mask, hoodie, and shirt, showing him what was unambiguously the upper body of a man. I expected him to poke and prod me, but his eyes went toward the center of my chest, where the scar still remained.
Dr. Decagon: “That… That is absolutely my handiwork. …And it looks about three weeks old.”
Mimi: “That’s what I’ve been telling you. You… Do you know whose heart you put inside me?”
Dr. Decagon: “It’s best that I don’t.”
Mimi: “Well, I’m turning into him. His heart is transforming my body into a copy of his!”
Dr. Decagon: “…Do I need to explain to you why such a thing is so implausible?”
I clenched my fist in frustration at how stubborn this guy was, wanting to scare a better response out of him, only for Jenny to take the first step.
Jenny: “Yeah, but it happened! I know, I saw my mom transform ever the past few weeks, and you… you have to know something, to do something about this!”
Dr. Decagon: “Miss, I’m a heart surgeon. Even if I could help, how do you think I would be able to do anything about this inexplicable phenomena? I wish I had known earlier so we could have—”
Jenny: “YEAH! I wish so too! But you didn’t seem to question my mother about how she was getting taller, getting darker. Your BITCH of a nurse didn’t let me schedule a fucking meeting with you, and now look at her! Look at what happened to my mom! I don’t know what you did, you motherfucker, but you—”
I grabbed Jenny by the shoulder and pulled her away
Mimi: “Jenny, stop.”
With a gasp, the fury on her face dissipated, and Jenny looked down at the floor in shame.
Mimi: “Dr. Decagon, is there anything I can do? Do you need a blood test or something to examine and—”
Dr. Decagon: “We examined your blood on the tenth, Mimi, and there was nothing irregular amount it. As far as I can tell, you’re still a ‘healthy’ person, but… not the person you want to be. I’ll be honest with you and say this is a ripe mess, that I feel like I’m in over my head just hearing about this situation, but I’ll try to find ways that I can help you. …Head over to the lab, tell the phlebotomist to call me if she gives you any flak.”
Seeing the jovial Dr. Decagon act like this, so serious, made me feel that something had to be dearly wrong. He likely knew more than what he was sharing with us, but was unable to say. I was not in the mood for secrets… but I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.
I did as the doctor requested, getting blood drawn from my big strong arms, learned that I was 72 kilograms and 184 centimeters tall, and forked over some cash after that Vita woman refused to process my insurance. We left with reassurance that we did something, that we worked within the establishment, but that was it.
Once Jenny and I were back in the car, I pulled out my wallet again… and realized that I was losing something else. Not just my identity as Mimi, but my identity as a person. My old face stared back at me in my ID photo, but this could never pass for me. I wasn’t the 162 centimeters 45 kilogram woman listed on my ID. And I didn’t even have an ID, I had no papers. How was I going to live like this, as a man who should have been dead, without an ID to his name? I hoped an answer would come on that long car ride. Instead, the only thing that became clearer was my frustration.
I slid off my shoes as I returned home and, not even stopping to wash my hands, I turned to Jenny, looking like she was on the brink of something.
Mimi: “Jenny, what is it? If you have something you want to say to me, please, I need to know.”
Jenny: “I… take off your hoodie.”
I had put it on in the car as a coping mechanism, so that I could repress what my body was becoming for just a little longer. Yet now, I guess there was no need. I threw it off, revealing my exposed arms, the black shirt she bought me, and my face in its hairy glory. Jenny looked down at her shoes, murmuring to herself as she tried to find the right words.
Jenny: “I… I know who you are becoming. I didn’t want to think this, but… you’re him. You’re Trey.”
…What?
Mimi: “H-How did you know about Trey? Did… Did you look him up to? I was going to tell you, but I—”
Jenny: “Trey was… my boyfriend. Ever since I ran into him Freshman year, I had a crush on him. …You know how teenage boys are. So loud, gross, and full of themselves. They think they know everything and want to screw around, hit on girls, and just be pigs. Even the smart ones are when away from prying eyes. But Trey… he was different. He was always friendly, always outgoing, throwing himself into this, that, and everything else, and always with a smile. He was confident, but could back it up, and seemed so much more… emotionally intelligent than any other boy at school. I thought about asking him, stupidly trying to think of this grand gesture. Then, when I had a class with him in Junior year, I… I just asked to hang out with him, and he said yes.”
As Jenny recollected her thoughts, tears began to well in her eyes, and I braced myself for what was to come.
Jenny: “He was everything I had hoped for, so considerate, so caring, yet not… obsessed with me, or trying to push me. Well, not in a way I was uncomfortable with. I felt like I had found someone who I could really be with, who I could love. But… after the summer, when your health was going bad, I couldn’t join him in college. Whenever I went out in high school, it was for him, and… I loved him. I loved him so much, but he… he died. He died on April 25th.”
Tuesday, April 26, 2011 – Jenny Version
After Mom went in for surgery, I didn’t know what to do. I had spent so many months looking after her, and she was finally going to be saved, her heart would be replaced. It’s exactly what she wanted and, I could just tell, she needed it. I hated seeing her decline, hated seeing someone so strong become so weak. I did everything I could to try to help her. Now… now I just had to wait however many hours until she was let out.
I could do anything to pass the time, but… I couldn’t. I was too anxious to sleep, too freaked to focus on even one of those crappy hospital magazines. All I could do was sit here, watch people pass by, and hope that damn clock ticks faster. Move! I can’t take the suspense! Stop telling me it’s 6:30! All that makes me want to do is go back to bed, but I’m on less than two hours of sleep, and that needs to be enough!
With nothing to do, I took to my phone, flipping between my messages as I waited for something to crop up, anything really, just a distraction, but what was I expecting. Everybody with any sense was asleep. Well… except for him. Trey was always the early bird and… just thinking about him bummed me out. Sighing, I decided I needed some fresh air and went outside, to a little park placed outside the hospital for patients to get out, walk around, and boost their moods by being surrounded by nature. At the very least, it was a distraction.
I walked around in circles for I don’t know how long, checking my phone every lap or two as I waited to hear from the doctor, or anybody who responded to my texts. It was then that my phone vibrated in my pocket, while I was alone in this little park. I figured it would just be best wishes for my mom, as my friends knew what I was going through, and why I wasn’t around anymore. Instead, I got this message:
Oh god
I just saw the news
Trey is dead
I froze. I could not comprehend what I was seeing. How could Trey be dead? He was in New York, going to school, living out his dream, without being held back by me. Everything was going great for him, right? This… this was all a bad joke, right? RIGHT?!?
As I wafted in denial, another text came in, it was a link. I immediately clicked it and was met with a local news site, the headline “College Student Shot By Police” had some ambiguity as to who, but the article featured a photo from our high school graduation. A photo I took for him! It… it was Trey.
My brain was not cooperating— how the fuck could it— but I eventually managed to piece together the words. Trey was running down a street, snacks and soda in his bag, when he was shot by a police officer, pursuing a young Black shoplifter. He mistook Trey for the shoplifter and said that shooting him square in the head was… a mistake.
A mistake… a mistake… A MISTAKE?!
I was furious, I was enraged, the world did not exist to me beyond my body, it was all just this fucking obnoxious noise that wanted me and everything I cared about DEAD, in the ground, GONE FOR-FUCKING-EVER!
This had to be a joke, a fucking dream, the worst, most vivid nightmare of my goldarn life!
I had to escape, had to get out! Because this is not reality!
IT CAN’T BE MY FUCKING REALITY!
I can’t lose him, I can’t! I love him more than anything and anyone! I already gave up on him, because of Mom, but I needed to know that he was at least happy!
But he’s not!
He’s FUCKING DEAD!
Dead! Dead! Dead! Dead! Dead! Dead! Dead! Dead! Dead! Dead! Dead! Dead!
And if he’s dead… what about Mom? They said the odds were high, but so are the chances of not getting shot by a fucking cop! Do you hate me world? Do you just want to steal the two most important people in my life from me, and leave me with fucking nothing? You do, don’t you? Because all you do is take, take, take, and fucking take! You took away my mother’s gigs, you took away my chance to go to school with my friends, and you’re going to take away every last scrap of joy I have in my sad fucking life, aren’t you? AREN’T YOU?
In my blind rage, I found myself on the rooftop of the hospital. I don’t know how I got here. It should have been locked. But I… I was here, looking over the railing… and the fence they erected… curved inwards to make any suicide attempt impossible for everyone who wasn’t an acrobat or rock climber.
I fell to my knees. The easy way was out, and the painful way was all I had left. Either live… or take a knife to my fucking throat. I lost Trey forever… and now my mother could die today, or tomorrow, or the next day. Heart rejections happen… and I will need to bear that fear for the rest of her life.
Why me? I’m just 19. My life barely started! I’m too young to lose people like this, too young to be a damn caretaker! And if the rest of my life is going to be full of all this suffering, all this heartbreak… what is even the point? I could end it all, but… what if Mom gets through this? She’d be alive… and alone. I… I couldn’t do that to her. I need her and… she needs me.
I cried. I cried until I ran out of tears, and then I cried some more. I stayed there until the sun was high in the sky, waiting hours upon hours, not wanting to go down, not wanting to face reality, and instead wishing. Wishing that both the people I loved came back, some way, somehow. I wanted my mother to be healthy, as alive and vibrant as ever. And… I wanted to see Trey again. I needed to see him again.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011 – Night
For hours, Jenny talked about the time she spent with Trey. All those times she said she was going to hang out with her friends, she was probably hanging out with Trey. All those hours she spent out late, making me worry, were because of him. I asked her why she would keep a secret like this from me, and apparently it was a mutual decision.
Even in the 21st century, interracial relationships are a sore subject for many people, and any bad experience with one goes to skew the perception of them. I always tried to tell Jenny that she could love whoever she wants, but, well, my parents did not see things the same way I did. They were old country parents, built on tradition, and gave me hell for getting with Kevin. With how often they helped me raise Jenny, maybe they told her “don’t trust the White boy, go with the Asian boy, because the Asian boy will never leave you.” Such crap.
Trey had his own reasons, whatever they were, but for Jenny, it was a bit more complicated. She knew how open I was, but after seeing the romantic fallout I went through when she was a little girl, she wanted to try romance her way. She wanted something that was hers alone, a secret, and a place where she could figure out what she liked or wanted. Put that way, it made sense, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get the appeal. But as a mother, I still felt a twinge of disappointment that my daughter shielded me from such a major part of her life.
Jenny said she had every intention of telling me about Trey this summer, introducing me to him. Unfortunately, just a few days beforehand, my doctors found out what was wrong with my heart, and told me that… it was going to get worse. I still remember the look on Jenny’s face as I told her that. It was like telling her that her heart was going to fail. She took it hard, and could tell that this would be a challenge. So, she decided that a sacrifice was in order. Between me, college, and Trey, something had to give, and she chose Trey, telling him that she could not commit to him while I was in a state of decline.
The breakup was heartbreaking, as it was for all the wrong reasons, but for Trey, it meant he had the opportunity to change the trajectory of his life. He had received a scholarship offer to a private university in New York City, but intended to turn it down to attend Southern Connecticut State University. Yet, with no Jenny… there was nothing to hold him back. He took the scholarship, while Jenny was off to SCSU, or that was the plan.
On the first day of class, Jenny drove up there, reached the door to her first class… and decided that she could not do this. She could not focus on her education as I was dying, and headed to the administrative office, canceling her classes and receiving a refund, claiming “financial difficulties.” Jenny had a great life ahead of her, great opportunities, but… she gave them up, for me.
Jenny… had always been there for me. A shoulder to cry on, someone to keep me going when work was drying up, a ray of sunshine to brighten up my life. After losing my parents, after my divorce… she was the only family I had left, the only person I truly loved. She was bright, resourceful, always eager to help— she was even the luminous girl I saw in my May 11th dream.
She had been suffering in ways I could scarcely imagine all this time… and I felt terrible for not being able to tell.
Desperate for something to eat, I threw a frozen pizza in the oven to keep us going as we continued our hours-long talk. Twilight was encroaching outside, and we still had more pressing matters to discuss. Namely… my body.
Mimi: “When did you know that… I was becoming Trey?”
Jenny: “I had suspicions the first time we hugged, but do you remember a week ago, on the patio? That’s the reason why I was so frazzled. Your appearance, basked in the sun… I thought Trey was looking down at me. After that, I kept noticing things about you. Your skin, your build, even your smell, they were becoming less like you and more like him. I thought I was crazy. I just had to be. I attended his funeral while you were in the hospital, I finally met his parents, and they told me that his heart was donated to someone. I didn’t believe it could be you, but… it was. If it were just a transplant, that would be one thing, but this… this is so much worse.”
Through our long discussion, Jenny had exhausted her tears, yet still held her head in shame as she muddled over the words in her mind.
Jenny: “If you were just you, that would be one thing. But now… you’re both Mom and Trey, but you’re also neither. I lost Trey’s mind and my mother’s body, and just looking at you… I don’t know what to feel. I love you, I want to love you, but… love is not some simple thing.”
For all the terror I had felt watching my body morph against my will, it somehow felt wrong to focus on such narrow feelings, when Jenny was so clearly suffering before me.
She loved this boy… but could not tell me about it.
She loved this boy… yet had to cut him out of her life to take care of me.
She loved this boy… and now I’m becoming him.
This divine cruelness manifested within me as I tried looking at Jenny, forlorn and small from my perspective. I wanted to look at her as a mother should, yet I couldn’t. I kept finding my eyes wandering, away from her adorable face and toward her chest, thinking back to what it felt like to feel up the luminous girl. My boxers shifted as these thoughts of lust arose despite my best intention, and I sighed, trying to focus on something less disturbing.
Mimi: “…Jenny, there’s something I didn’t tell you yet. You say I don’t have Trey’s mind, but I have been seeing his memories. When I sleep, I dream about days in Trey’s life. His childhood, his high school years, and even the day he died. His feelings, his actions, and… even his love of you, I’ve seen all of them. I don’t know if they will continue after my transformation is finalized, but I do feel a part of Trey growing within me, for however flakey that may be. Hell, even the name Trey doesn’t sound as foreign as it should.”
I felt like I was playing with fire as I said these things, but I needed to give Jenny some sort of reassurance, tell her the truth, and… be honest with myself, with who I was going to be.
Mimi: “I hope that I can keep having these dreams because… I can’t very well live as Mimi anymore. Maybe it is for the best if I just accept being Trey. He was a great guy, pretty much everything a mother could ask from her daughter’s boyfriend.”
Jenny: “You… you’re okay being Trey? You… you feel like there’s part of him inside you, like really inside you?”
Mimi: “It’s not like I can resist at this point, and yes. I have been carrying his heart in my chest for three weeks, and even if my dreams weren’t exactly clear, they… might even feel realer, or clearer, than ‘my’ memories of high school. For whatever that’s worth.”
I felt something squirm inside me as I spoke, feeling like allowing this young man’s heart to erase a part of me. I wanted to resist out of principle, as a person. I wanted my heart to win for the ease of conformity. Yet I was unable to decide. How could I decide the rest of my life now? That’s when I decided I needed to leave. I had not left the house in two days, and some fresh air would do me well.
Mimi: “Jenny, I need to step out for a little while. I… I’ll be back in an hour—”
Jenny: “NO!”
As I walked to the front door, Jenny latched herself around me, pulling me as tightly as she could, yet… I barely felt it.
Jenny: “Mom… Trey, please, don’t… Don’t leave me. I need you and I… I love you. I love you so much that… it hurts.”
From her shaking, I could tell she was afraid to say what she really felt, and she wasn’t alone. Feeling her breasts brush against my back was doing something to this almost teenage boy body of mine, and part of me would die if I admitted it. I had to put her down before her feelings could compound.
Mimi: “I know I look like Trey, I know you love him, but I’m not—”
Jenny: “You love me too, right?”
Mimi: “Of course I do. But Jenny… I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you need to—”
Jenny: “Yeah, you don’t know what I’m thinking! I know you almost DIED, but that does not make you an expert on human emotions!”
Was there any clean way out of this? As much as I wanted to say otherwise, I could not see it. So, I just rushed forward.
Mimi: “You’re… attracted to me.”
As much as I hated to say it, I was attracted to her too. She was an object of my sexual desires in my dreams, and my eyes had been all over her throughout the past day. I felt disgusting for these desires. I was supposed to be her mother. I gave birth to her. Yet… what fool would believe that looking at me now?
Jenny: “I want to FUCK you. I didn’t know why I felt this, but now it makes sense! P-Please, Trey, could you—”
Mimi: “No. Jenny, you… you are going through a lot—”
Jenny: “Understatement of the fucking century!”
Mimi: “And I love you with all my heart— well, not like that, I mean I—”
Jenny: “You have to feel the same way, right? I saw how Trey got when I teased him, and just the right nudge is—”
She was going for my penis, and I could tell that, if she grabbed it, my resolve would crumble. I could not take that chance.
Mimi: “JENNY!”
Without thinking, I flailed my arm. Months of being near death made me underestimate my strength more than once, and this was one such time. I didn’t just smack away her arm, I smacked away her entire body, tossing her onto the couch.
Jenny: “AH! It… it hurts!”
She was gripping her arm as she said that. It was probably just a bruise, but that was no comfort. I… I just hurt my daughter. I could storm out, leave, and try to work out these feelings raging through my mind, but that would leave her alone, again. And as I looked into her eyes, full of self-loathing and love, I could not leave her here alone. …But I also could not be in the same room as her. Looking at the clock, it was only 19:15, but that was… late enough, I suppose.
Mimi: “We are going to bed. Now. Not together, but in our own rooms, and we will discuss this in the morning. I… I hope you can get to sleep.”
I loved her, but I could not do that to her. I could not do that to myself. I was disgusted by the idea, yet I could not deny there was an allure, as much as I hated it. I felt my body jolt when faced with this flash of a fantasy, and I left the hallway, slamming my door, locking it, and throwing myself onto my bed. All I could do was wait for the morning, wait and hope that I would find clarity within my dreams.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011 – Dream
Sleep came quickly, and so did my dream. Except, it was different from what I had expected. I was not merely observing as I went through a chapter of Trey’s life. Instead, I was in a large vacant room with no walls, no ceiling, merely a floor, a dark void, and a single armchair in the center. I could move however I saw fit and as I looked down, I saw… that my body had been changed. That… I was back to normal. My hair was straight, breasts graced my chest, there was nothing poking out from my crotch, and the world seemed ever bigger from my lower vantage point. Though, the scar still remained on my chest, splitting my chest in twain. There was nothing to clothe me, but after everything I had been through, seeing myself with a female body was a blessing.
The reveal itself exhausted me, and with a chair before me, I sat down, taking a satisfied breath and resting my eyes for a moment. When I opened them, I saw someone standing before me. It was Jenny, clad in purple lingerie and looking down at me with a positively seductive look on her face.
Jenny?: “Well, well, well, it looks like you’re at an impasse and finally learned how to lucid dream, bravo. I guess even middle-aged women can learn new tricks. Though, you really aren’t a middle-aged woman anymore. Not anywhere except your mind. And that’s a problem, don’tcha think?”
Her words carried with them a potent sass, and something about her seemed off. This… this was all a dream, so who was this Jenny?
Mimi: “Who are you? You’re Jenny, but—”
Jenny?: “—But just looking at me in this hot number gets you all riled up? Makes sense. You’ve still got a boy’s heart beating behind your reconstructed ribs. …Look, Mimi, we both know you’re in a dream, and you’re having this dream for a reason, so let’s get to the ultimatum. You’ve been through a lot of shit, and resisting your new body, the new identity that whoever the fuck has imposed on you. You know you have two choices here. The first choice is that you resist. You deny the fact that you’re becoming Trey, break Jenny’s heart, and leave her behind as you forge your new identity from scratch. Because you can’t be Mimi anymore. You can in your dreams, but I trust you’re literate enough to understand the symbolism of your own brain on that front. Option two is simple. You embrace it. You take your new life by the balls and become Trey.”
I wanted to give this Jenny, Dream Jenny I guess I should call her, some pushback for this ultimatum. Yet, I knew she was just saying things I was too scared to say.
Dream Jenny: “Now, I know that it’s going to be hard, going from Jenny’s mother to her boyfriend, but let’s be real. She wants it. She said she wants to fuck you, didn’t she? But lemme ask you— us— whatever the fuck— what is the best for both of you. You’re a mom, you know a thing or sixty about sacrifice, and that whole mother schtick, that needs to go, pronto. I know, I know, it’s hard to adjust, to just give up a core part of your identity, accept that it will only live on in fragments. You didn’t want this, didn’t ask for this, boo-fucking-hoo. It’s time to decide if you are strong enough to become someone else. If you can sacrifice this final part of yourself to make your and Jenny’s lives better. Saying it out loud, it sounds like a choice so clear it’s mathematical.”
Mimi: “I know! I… of course I know. You’re just a part of me, and… you’re right. I hate to admit it, but you are right. I know this, I just can’t seem to—”
Dream Jenny: “Give up yourself? Yeah, I know. It is hard to let go over something you’ve known for 50 years, and embrace something that’s new, different, and scary. Being a Black dude! What would mom and dad say about that?”
Mimi: “Do NOT make me think about that. How they could be so racist after everything they’ve been through, while being a clear minority, always disgusted me.”
Dream Jenny: “Hey, you’re the one thinking about it. But what you should be thinking about is being less like you and more like him, the new you, Trey Thorne. So let me help you lucid dream your way to being a bit better. First off, the dick.”
Immediately, my body shifted. My normal form as an adult woman, was compromised with the sudden introduction of a penis, six inches long, erect, with accompanying balls resting below. Acting purely on reflex, I tried lifting myself from the chair, only to find my forearms bound, locking me in place. A similar binding wrapped around my calves, and soon my abdomen, preventing me from doing anything more than wiggle in my constraints.
Dream Jenny: “Sorry about the precautions, but I don’t want any unnecessary roughness on your behalf. So, sit back, relax, and enjoy the fruits of a man. It won’t be the first time you sampled them, nor will it be the first time you’ve fucked yourself in a fantasy.”
I wanted to resist what she was doing, yet… I knew deep down that she was right, that she was a sort of twisted representation of my psyche that knew what I needed to do, and was just helping me. Still, her demeanor, her behavior, was enough to give me some sense of righteousness as I stared down at her as she got on her knees and wrapped a hand around the penis. …My penis, I should say.
Mimi: “You… Do what you must.”
I shut my eyes, desperate for some sense of protest over what was about to happen, but perhaps I did it just to focus on the sensation. Having a penis shaking around in boxers and shorts, dealing with unwanted erections, and peeing out of the thing were all enough for me to develop an understanding of what having one was like. However, I still felt a jolt jet through my body as this dream woman began caressing her fingers around my penis. She brushed across the thick vein of its underside, around the head that was once my clitoris, and flicked the frenulum that served as leftovers.
Years of sexual inactivity had led me to dismiss, regret, and ignore whatever sexual desires I once had. Hell, I could not even remember the last time I bothered to masturbate before that night in the woods. This distance had caused me to underestimate the thrills that could come from… erotic stimulation, and as I felt these deft hands over my penis, I was enthralled. There was no need for foreplay, no need to caress the rest of my body, or interject even a hint of romance. It took me a matter of seconds before I was soaring through a high beyond what most of my sexual encounters had offered.
Pleasure pulsed across my mind as the dream girl used her deft hands against it, rubbing up and down, applying something wet and smooth to make her movements all the more captivating. Nuance and fear became distant murmurs as the crescendo of excitement followed, billowing toward a climax that I knew would come, and greeted with rapt anticipation.
After a final pause, I felt it. Something fiery and powerful burst from within me, filling my body with a delectable a sense of supreme satisfaction. I opened my shut eyes to see my penis, semen splayed over the head, dripping onto the floor, and covering the hand of Dream Jenny, who smiled as she saw me open my eyes.
Dream Jenny: “Good job, big boy. I knew you had it in ya, Trey!”
Mimi: “Trey?”
Just uttering that single word was enough for me to realize what had happened. As I was enraptured by the dream girl’s handjob, my body shifted. My arms were a rich brown, and resonated with a strength at least twice as anything I could ever muster, and the same was true for the rest of me. My hardened chest was free of any breasts, my hips were as straight as a board, and my legs felt like they could speed through a 5K without any problem at all. Even my head felt lighter, without any hair brushing against my ears.
To eschew any doubt, Dream Jenny pulled a mirror from the nether to show me my face. Features were harder, sharper, and bigger overall, without even the faintest of impressions of my… former visage lying within. This was the boy I had seen in those articles. This was Trey’s face, down to the finest of details. Right down to his face, free of more than a speck of hair, and his scalp, dressed in a thin layer of freshly buzzed black hair.
Dream Jenny: “So, do you like it? Well you accept it? Will you follow your heart as you begin your new life? …If the answer is no, you’re just making everything harder for yourself.”
I wanted to give a concise answer, but uncertainty wracked my mind yet again. My body shifted and I began feeling the same decline that men always had after their orgasms. It was almost soothing, losing sexual drive as your body physically contracts.
Dream Jenny: “…Alright, how much time are you going to spend in post-nut clarity, Trey? Are you ready to live the life as a big strong man yet, or do you need a bit more conditioning? Do I need to take this little number off and show you—”
Mimi: “No! I… I don’t want to do it in a dream like this, with my psyche… puppeteering my daughter’s body around like this! I just… I don’t know if I can be Trey. I’ve had dreams where I was him, seen his memories, but that’s not—”
Dream Jenny: “Is that all you need before you’re ready, Trey? To see who you were in the past, until that starts feeling more real than your old life’s memories? Well, lucky for you, those seem to be eager to enter your mind, so all you need to do is let them in, maybe make it a nightly thing. In fact, it’s only midnight, so I’ll get you started with one.”
The figment of my mind that was Dream Jenny then snapped her fingers, disappearing herself and freeing me of my constraints. I was now floating in a dark void of nothing. For a moment, I worried that I was just stuck here, when I saw a flickering light grow brighter in the distance, growing exponentially as it sought to consume this dark void and anyone inside it.
I shielded my eyes as this illuminance enveloped me, only to find myself elsewhere.
I was outside, sitting beneath a shady tree, red bricked buildings all around me, and the humidity of a midsummer afternoon lingering in the air. My movement was disabled, driven by Trey’s memories, and his eyes were pinned on two things. The chilled sparkling beverage in his hand, and the gorgeous girl before him, Jenny, clad in a summer dress, enjoying a brownie topped with a scoop of ice cream.
This was a date, and within Trey’s heart, I could feel both a deep satisfaction and fraying excitement. He was happy to be with Jenny, yet also afraid of something. He waited until Jenny was done, sipping his drink while admiring her… everything. The way she wielded a fork, how she squirmed in a chair when excited, and the way her face beamed as she felt something delectable grace her palate. As she finished, he was about to speak, but silenced himself as Jenny spoke first.
Jenny: “Trey… I love you. I love you more than anyone I’ve ever met, and while I know we shouldn’t do anything drastic until we get older, I can’t think of anyone else I want to spend my life with. …But I’m not sure that I can. You know how my mother has been having all those heart issues? Well, she met with a specialist, and it’s not going to get any better. She needs a transplant, or she’s going to die.”
Trey was speechless, nearly dropping his glass as he heard the news.
Jenny: “Mom needs someone to take care of her, and I’m the only one she can turn to. She’s not doing well as it is, and from what the specialist said, she might need full-time care if this keeps up. And… I don’t think I’ll be able to… make time for you. I want to, so, so much. But between her and school, it sounds like I will barely have enough time for me, let alone a boyfriend. So… I’ll just say it. Accept that offer. Get out of Connecticut, and pursue your dreams, don’t stick with some public university. You’re brilliant, smarter than me at least, and I don’t want to hold you back. In… In a way, this just made things easier for you. Now, you don’t have me w-weighing you down. J-Just know that it’s nothing you did wrong. I’m… I’m sorry, Trey, but… this is goodbye!”
Those words left Trey paralyzed in disbelief, and even hearing them… I was hurt. I could feel how much Trey cared about Jenny, see on her tearful face how much this breakup hurt her. Despite this, she was still strong enough to get up and run away, keep on going with her life, and give up everything for me.
I felt tears swell in Trey’s eyes, stunned and with no words he could mutter, but… I could not let him do that. I could not just sit idly by and watch Jenny give up like this. Within Trey’s mind, I shouted, implored him to approach her, and when that failed… I imagined myself as Trey, in this memory, and moved my legs.
The memory diverged, and I was in control. I sent my metal chair failing to the ground and sprinted after Jenny. The chase only lasted a few seconds before my arms were wrapped around her back. She squirmed and whined, begging me to let her go, but I refused. Instead, I looked down and kissed her lips, silencing her.
???: “Jenny, I will never give you up. No matter what happens, no matter what you’re going through, I want to be there. Because you’re the most important person in the world to me. Because I love you.”
These simple words were enough to shatter her convictions and send her into an ugly crying mess. She poured her face into my shoulder and I held her as firmly as I could.
Then, I felt everything crumbling away, this facade of a memory dissipating into nothingness as I was called back to the waking world.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011 – Day
I woke up early following that dream. Darkness still lingered, and dawn looked to be an hour away. The clock read 4:40. Early to sleep early to rise, I suppose.
Looking down I saw that my dreams had had an impact on the waking world, as there was a discernible wetness in my sheets, located right where a six inch bump was standing. I snickered at the sight and cast off my sheets, not even bothering to tidy up, for the mirror took priority.
Turning on the bathroom lights, I looked forward, and I saw a young Black man, age 19, weighing 76 kilograms and 188 centimeters tall. His body was strong, toned, and most of all, handsome. His hair was short, cut down to less than a centimeter, and his face was clear from even a speck of hair. I did not see a single fragment of the woman named Mi-sook Ahn in the mirror. All I saw was a young man by the name of Trey Thorne. All I saw… was me.
Trey: “Hey, Trey. It’s nice to meet you in the flesh.”
My smooth bassy voice lacked any of the unevenness it once carried, coming out of my throat with ease, appealing to the senses.
Looking down showed a similarly masculine form, with muscular arms and legs covered in hair and a chest, flat, covered in its own dark field of follicles, broken only by a long vertical scar going down the center. Beyond this scar, past my abdomen, was my penis, pointing outward and upward. brimming with excitement over a new day. …Because this was going to be the day where I ended it. The confusion, the loathing, the conflicting desires. I was done with it. Done running away, done being afraid of who I am becoming. Though part of me still squirmed with fear, though part of me would always mourn the loss of what I once was, I had to move forward. And the key to all of that… was just outside my bedroom door.
The next minute, I walked out this locked door, dressed only in a pair of boxers. The home was quiet, dark, and as I ventured into the living room, I found her. Jenny, sleeping on the couch, curled up in a blanket, with a sorrowful look on her face. Approaching her, she flinched, waking herself up from so little, and immediately pinning her eyes on me, my body shrouded in darkness.
Jenny: “T-Trey? You’ve come back to me!”
Immediately, she leapt from the couch, casing the sheets aside, dressed in her pajamas. She ran toward me, planting her face into my hairy chest… only to pause. As she nuzzled me, she found a hairless scar covering my chest and brought a hand to it, confused. It was then that she seemed to remember what was going on, and she immediately stepped away.
Jenny: “W-Wait, you… you’re not actually Trey? R-Right, I… you’re just Mom, right?”
She just woke up, from god knows what kind of dream, and I could not bear to lie to her.
Trey: “Jenny, please, don’t call me Mom. She’ll always be in here, always be a part of me, but for my good, for your good… just think of me as Trey. I’ve come back from the dead… for you.”
As I said that, I reached for the light switch and turned it on. Jenny gasped as she looked at me and only saw Trey, looking as he should barring the unignorable scar on his chest.
Jenny: “You… you really became him, didn’t you.”
Her eyes then followed the line down to my boxers, where my thoughts on her were made clear.
Jenny: “And you… do you really want to—”
I could see her face turn red with anxiety and moved forward to curb the frustration. Jenny walked back, planting herself against the wall, and I stretched out one arm before her. She looked up at me, I looked down at her, and the sexual tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Trey: “Jenny, last night I wasn’t listening to my heart. But today… is a new day. And my heart wants nothing more than to be with you. Not as a parent and child, but as lovers.”
She looked up at me, dazed, as my words settled into her mind, gulping before she responded.
Jenny: “Are… are you sure?”
This was it, where it all ended and where it all began, my personal Rubicon in leaving her behind. This is who I am now. This is the price I must pay to stay alive after facing death. So, I guess I don’t have a choice. If I want to live, this is the life I have been given. And, at least, I can still be with the only person I love in this world. I was Mimi. I still felt her within me. Her mind is still my mind, but it has been blended with another. She will always be a part of me, and I will forever cherish that facet. But now… Now I am Trey. I am he. I am a man. And Jenny… is my daughter, but that is secondary. Before all else, she is my lover. And as my lover, it was best to not follow my lagging mind with her, but the certainty of my heart.
Trey: “I’m sure enough. How about you?”
The next thing I knew, I was tasting Jenny’s lips with mine. Hers were chapped, rough, and soft. Mine felt strange, larger in some places, thinner in others, and lacking in the same softness I had known. They were the firm lips of a man, touching the soft lips of a woman. Jenny could have let that kiss serve as her answer, but she then gripped my face in her hands, looking me dead in the eye as she spoke.
Jenny: “I’m not sure. I’m abso-fucking-lutely certain. Trey… fuck me. Here. Now.”
Saying those words, Jenny flung off her pajamas and panty, tossing them across the room, presenting herself before me in her rawest form. Her perky pink nipples, the curves of her hips, and her shaven crotch all captured my eye, demonstrating how she truly wasn’t my little girl anymore. She was well and truly a woman in mind and body, absolving me of a twinge of guilt sifting through my mind. Following her lead, I cast my boxers aside and looked toward the couch, smirking, before grabbing Jenny and tossing her onto it. She bounced and blinked from the impact, frazzled yet excited, and I loomed over her, dancing my fingers over her neck before addressing her lips.
We smothered each other into the couch, sucking up each other’s air as we felt ourselves becoming one. Our eyes were so close we could barely even see each other, and our bodies rubbing against one another. Mine was strong and coarse, hers was thin and smooth, yet once our chests touched one another, we could not get enough, smacking our lips against each other before I redirected my approach. I kissed her face as she squirmed in delight, and bringing my lips to her neck, as slender as any bit of hers, lacking the same bump as mine. This was where her mind connected the rest of her body, and I knew from experience just how sensitive it was to a touch, even a simple kiss or a loving lick.
Jenny recoiled from my tongue brushing against her neck, yet she did not resist. Her heartbeat only grew faster from this loving motion, and her hands embraced my back in turn, caressing me with vigor. Between licks, I chuckled at her enthusiasm, and as a layer of saliva developed across her neck, I decided to continue my trek downward, toward her nipples, already standing erect. She jumped as I made contact, squirmed as I smacked my lips against them, and whimpered as I took a free hand to one, offering it the softest pinch I could manage. Her voice squeaked with every other one of my tender touches, and I felt something warm and wet strike my abdomen as I gave her a firm lick.
I’ll admit, it was all a bit elaborate, a bit too focused on foreplay, but when in this situation, I found myself doing to her what Mimi would have wanted a man to do to her. If only Kevin wasn’t a fucking jackrabbit. If Jenny was anything like Mimi, and I know she was, I figured she would love this.
Tilting my head, I looked at her vulva, already damp, with a layer of discharge painted onto me. Smiling, I returned to her face, wanting and clearly not satisfied, and gave her a wink, feeling like she would get the picture. Instead of responding, she took her hand and grabbed my penis, squeezing it gently, confirming how hard she had made it, and began shoving it inside her… only to miss, ramming my dick into her thigh.
After she let out a frustrated grunt, I did the aiming for her, laying on top and rubbing my penis against her vulva, watching her face as she squirmed, titillated by the anticipation yet eager to feel the real thing. The seconds probably felt like minutes to her, and after shooting a knowing smile, I slowly stuck it in. My face tensed as I felt myself shoving through such a tight hole, gliding through on the wet surfacing that seemed to never end, only concluding as the base of my penis kissed her vulva. Opening my eyes, I saw that Jenny was just as frazzled as me, her eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head as she felt a man’s penis enter her for the first time. Well, at least I would assume it was the first time. I’d figure something like that would have appeared in my dreams if it ever happened.
Jenny: “K-Keep it up!”
With Jenny squeaking words of encouragement, I began to start the centerpiece in earnest, slowly pulling my dick out, and in, out, and in. I normalized the feeling, and she moaned as the tension, the friction, and pressure surrounding my penis brought me back to my dream from just a few minutes ago. All the sensory joys of a handjob were coating my penis at this very moment. Everything was being pressed, wet, and hot, This feeling combined with the sight of Jenny’s face twitching as I moved to and fro… suddenly I understood men on a whole new level.
A youthful vigor swelled within my heart as I reached this revelation, and with a laugh, the attitude of this event shifted from a sexual experience into something more primal. With each thrust, I got a bit faster, moved a bit harder, and heard Jenny get a bit louder. I kept focused on her eyes, watching for any disapproval, but as our eyes met, I could tell we were on the same wavelength, both eager to press on, press harder, and finish our first time together. We nodded as we felt it coming, and just as I prepared to remove myself from her, Jenny grabbed my hand, winking at me.
Jenny: “Do it! Don’t worry about me.”
I could never not worry about you, Jenny. …But if you insist.
Rather than quell or temper myself, I carried forward, pressing myself against Jenny as I reached the grand finale, and planting my lips onto hers just seconds before it happened. A geyser of heat burst from me and through Mimi, both of us recoiling from the shared intensity and murky mess of emotions roaming for us.
I was elated, achieving a high that I could only compare to my latest dream, but with a potency that made the dream feel like a farce. Everything was enhanced by the build-up, the affection I had for her, and the manic rush of feeling one of the most pleasant things a person can with entirely different parts. I was floating, drifting through clouds of delight, and in doing so, I was truly leaving part of myself behind. I wanted to feel bad about it, but… what was that saying? If something feels so good, how could it be wrong?
It was not just my pure teenage male biological systems that were riled by this experience. The fact it was with Jenny made my heart soar, the fact I had completed this journey was elating for my mind. And I… spiritually, perhaps, felt like I was at peace with my body in a way I had been forcing. Now, after this, it felt… natural. It was as if I had truly claimed this body for my own… by cumming with it.
The post-orgasm reflection and sensation were enough to make me laugh, and Jenny was the same, quietly chuckling as she stewed in her afterglow.
Jenny: “Aaahhh… I just realized we broke doctor’s orders. He said not to have sex for six weeks. It’s been three.”
Trey: “Heh. Sure, but he also said that he didn’t want to restrict us, just offer us guidance, and how much has his guidance really helped?”
Jenny: “Ha! …Thank you, Trey. I really mean it. I know it was stupid to wait so long, until I was ready, but that was amazing.”
Trey: “You were amazing.”
As I gave her such a schmaltzy response, I leaned in to kiss her yet again, this one tasting ever so slightly sweeter than before. I was prepared to lay there, to wallow in the afterglow, but my eye could not help but wander to my instruments. The electronic piano, standing and ready to use at a moment’s notice. My violin, bound tightly in its case after I tried to destroy it. I then looked at my hands, bigger than Mimi’s, big enough to be a glove, and a “hindrance” that led me to despair just three days ago. Hell, these hands were even bigger than they were before, but… I was different. I was no longer fighting against my heart, its rhythm, or my new self.
So… maybe, just maybe… it would be different this time.
As Jenny laid in her afterglow, I stood up, looked at these instruments, and decided to play. She watched me go, but did not have any questions as I sat before the piano, looking out at the sky, dark before the dawn. My mind raced as I tried to think of something fitting, yet as I laid my fingers against the keys, only one came to mind. Vers la Flamme by Alexander Scriabin.
The piece began slow, foreboding, with lengthy gaps between any notes, only requiring simple movements, with long-drawn-out keys. My eyes shuttered as I played, feeling the weight and width of my finger with every movement, the length of the notes in a sense symbolizing the weight I was now carrying with my hands. For two minutes, this somber, subdued piece played, setting a stage for the true test of my abilities. Three minutes in, the true song began, and the difficulty burst exponentially. It was not uncommon to see pianists struggle to adapt to the abrupt change in tempo. What was slow and laborious became fast and frantic, blistering with energy and demanding precise motor skills to perform with grace. Grace that, to my surprise, I had.
My eyes shot open as the intensity became severe, and my hands continued to cascade across the keyboard. They hoped with grace, not missing a single note, as I found myself soaring, crossing my hands with ease, twiddling between keys with precision, and beaming with delight. This was what brought me joy, what brought me pride, and I felt myself achieve it after succumbing to such despair. I soared, I saw, and as I cast my hands off to opposite ends of the keyboard for the final notes, I felt as if I was ascending.
Jenny clapped as I stood up, bowing before her with the biggest smile I could muster. She could see for herself. Despite becoming Trey, I still had Mimi’s skills. …At least with the piano.
My heart was still racing from that triumph, the excitement still as potent as could be, and as I resided in this high… I looked at the violin, confident that, this time, it would be different. Jenny looked at me with concern as I freed it from its case, but a gentle smile was all the assurance she needed.
With the violin in my hand, bow in the other, I looked to my heart for the right song to play, and it said Pachelbel’s Canon. A truly classic piece that cropped up everywhere, and while not the greatest test of skill, it would let me know if I still had the spark. Shuttering my eyes and expelling doubt, I got myself in position and began to play.
The bow slid across the strings with grace, creating a beauteous sound free from the screeching that ensued last time. My fingers, despite their size, were able to dance across the neck without clashing. A slow start billowed, growing richer over time before achieving its true form with the iconic and precise section just over two minutes in. Once I got there, moving my bow with great precision as my fingers moved and shook just as I knew they should… I heard only beauty. For as minor as such a feat seemed, this meant that I still had it.
I might have lost a lot in becoming Trey. My sex, my race, and my entire professional reputation. But as I played this music, in this home, before Jenny, I felt positively rich. Rich in health, rich in life, rich in skill, and rich in love.
As the song came to its conclusion and I stood with my violin and bow high, I looked out the window. The sun peeked over the horizon, painting the dark sky a radiant orange as a new day was ushered in.
That’s right. It was a new day, a new beginning, and a new me.
Trey: “My name is Trey Thorne, and I am thrilled to see what my life will be.”
Friday, May 27, 2011 – Night
After May 18th, I’ve been trying to put together… whatever my life is now.
The transformations have stopped, and I am still Trey Thorne. As far as the wider world is concerned, Mimi is just gone, and we’ve been trying to move on from her. Prior to her surgery, she put together a will, assigned Jenny as her beneficiary, and attempted to get everything organized in the event she died during or after the procedure. That sure was smart thinking of her.
Accessing joint accounts has been no issue, the house was put in joint custody months ago, and with Kevin’s alimony, she had a good amount of savings tucked away. I’d love to get everything in her name, but that’s easier said than done. Mimi is gone, will not be coming back, and while it would be clean to say she died from a heart rejection in her sleep, who would believe us without a body? We eventually decided to say she went missing. The police are saying they’re “searching” for her, but there’s truly nothing to find.
Dealing with these Mimi matters has kept both of us busy, and when we weren’t dealing with her… we were dealing with me. While I am Trey, and it would be hard to argue that I’m not, we struggled to think of the best way to prove that, prove that I was still alive. That’s hard when you get a death certificate issued by the state and your family hold a funeral for you. We’ve mused about getting a fake ID, continuing to use my social security number, or even just show up to the DMV to prove that I am alive. Sadly, the risks of doing things the wrong way was enough to leave us in a holding pattern.
My biggest hope for finding a solution was, strangely enough, in my dreams. Once sporadic, they were now a nightly occurrence, greeting me with a snippet of Trey’s life, from when he was a little kid to an outstanding college student, all rendered in clarity, voices and all. It’s how I even learned his social security number, which I’m sure will be a big help, but I’m hoping for something more, and I’m not sure what I need at this point.
Rather than spend another night just worrying about this, Jenny and I decided that we needed a break, to cut loose and enjoy the start of summer— the start of the rest of our lives, as it were. High school was out, college was out, and the city was celebrating this with an all-ages festival. Locals, out-of-towners, elitist… jagoffs from Yale, there were people of all sorts enjoying the festivities, us included.
It was nothing lavish, just some catalog rides, basic games, and food that smelled better than I thought fair food could. I was tempted to indulge, take advantage of my metabolism while I still could, even if I knew better.
With a new body, new chemicals pumping through my brain, and new memories coming every night, I’ve felt like a work-in-progress of a person. I was slowly coming to terms with myself as Trey… while knowing that I will never be exactly who he was. Mimi’s experiences, her memories, will remain a forefront of my mind, possibly forever, and every time I try to say something definitive, my stance changes a week later. All I know for certain is that I am changing, and that the best way to handle these changes is to be loose, accept that I am an unprecedented person, and try to find a certain joy in being that.
As part of that, I decided it’s best to try new things, just for the hell of it. So, while on this little date with Jenny, I decided to try my hand at a prefab festival stall, one of those cork shooting games with a bunch of targets and giant plushies on display.
Trey: “Hey, Jenny, do you think I’m a good shot?”
Jenny: “What? Well, Trey— you liked to play Halo in your free time, and that’s a shooter, but I don’t know how—”
Trey: “I’ll give it a shot!”
I threw down the money to play a game and decided to see if I had truly mastered these hands at this point. Jenny would probably say I had after what we got up to three nights ago, but a growing competitive edge in me wanted a more objective measurement. I took aim, fired, and hit the targets, one after another with this crappy gun that I swear was meant to hit off-target. Actually, scratch that, I was certain of that after I hit the smallest target, just barely knocking it over.
Trey: “Hell yeah! That’s a win. So, what do I get?”
The man at the stall shrugged in disappointment after I saw through his cheap tricks and offered me one of a few oversized stuffed animals, over a foot tall, and I decided on the giant rabbit. Immediately after the hefty guy landed in my hands, I turned to give it to Jenny, who looked at me like I was crazy.
Jenny: “Y-You seriously were trying to get this for me, weren’t you?”
Trey: “Yeah, of course. I guess you could say I was feeling nostalgic about things, and felt like you could use a second bunny after you lost Kiki.”
Just making that slight reference only her mother would know was enough to make Jenny frazzled. I remembered giving that rabbit to her when she was 3, and she would go everywhere with her, only to lose her while at the courthouse when I— that is to say Kevin and Mimi— were getting divorced. Even when I bought her the exact rabbit, it wasn’t Kiki. It was just an imposter. She never came around to the net rabbit, but if I’m any indication, she can eventually learn to love even an imposter. The parallels were obvious to me, and after taking a moment to look over the giant rabbit, I think she got it too.
Jenny: “…It’s no Kiki, but it will be nice to have something cuddly to hold at night.”
Trey: “What, am I not good enough?”
Jenny: “No, you’re not cuddly enough.”
We shared a laugh as we walked through the fairgrounds with this giant novelty plush in tow, trying to decide if we want to hit up a rid or a snack shack, going back and forth like a typical couple. Or, I suppose, mother and daughter, but I was a bit too masculine to be either. We eventually decided on grabbing some food, when we found a gathering of young people, just standing around, chatting, and presenting us with an interesting opportunity.
Trey: “Hey, you think now’s a good time to break the ice? You said I need to talk to more people ‘my age.'”
Jenny: “Well, you’ve been getting better at talking like a college kid, but a bit of practice couldn’t hurt. Besides, you’ll probably never see these people again.”
Trey: “That is certainly true…”
Jenny: “No, that’s too formal. Try saying true that.”
Trey: “True that? Kids always try to say things with as few words as possible. Generations change, but that fact doesn’t.”
Despite my clapback, I still walked up to these people, hoping to break out into a conversation… only to immediately stop as I head a voice say my name.
???: “Trey?”
I recognized that voice from somewhere, but couldn’t quite place it at the moment.
Darting my eyes around, I saw two people standing 12 meters away from me. My heart jumped as I saw them, completely unprepared.
They were not just some colleagues or friends, they were far more than that.
They were… my parents.
Saturday, May 28, 2011 – Day
I woke up to the sound of some petulant rustling from outside my window. In my half-asleep state, with the dark of the night lingering outside, I chose to ignore it, returning to the comfort of my bed as I attempted to sleep. Whatever it was, if it was anything, it could wait. Laying there, my eyes shut, my body relaxed, I heard the same rustling again. This time, from behind my door. This couldn’t wait. I sprang out of bed as I heard this, dressed in only my boxers. My eyes darted across my bedroom, looking for something, anything I could use, when I heard a heavy and aggressive knocking at my door. They were trying to break in and, after finding the doorknob within the darkness, they succeeded.
With only the light from beyond my window illuminating this room, their face was cast in darkness, but from their silhouette I could tell that they were… familiar. Standing at 188 centimeters, with a broad figure, they were shaped like me. As they drew closer to me, closer to the light, the light trailed up his tattered pants legs, to his open suit jacket, to the massive hole in his chest.
I could not move. I had been through a lot of impossible shit over the past month, but this was something else. However, any doubts I had were eschewed as I saw his face, mouth agape, and eyes vacant. His skin was cracked, rotting, and his person stunk to all the high heavens, but it was clear who this was. This was… me. This was the real Trey Thorne, reanimated through means beyond my comprehension.
As he drew closer, he cast his arms onto my shoulders, thrusting me backward and against the wall. His grip as tight, carrying the full weight of his being, and as I looked on, he spoke to me in a frayed and frustrated voice.
Other Trey: “You… you stole it. It’s not yours. Give it back. GIVE IT BACK!”
My body refused to move when confronted with this horrific mirror image of the man I had become, too overcome with shock and guilt to comprehend this in the slightest. In this state, the other Trey reached forward, bringing his decaying hands into my chest and grabbing at my surgical scar, pulling at it with a strength so great and precise that I could only compare it to a machine. Blood splattered, I screeched with pain, but the reanimated corpse did not falter, he merely looked on at the beating heart and grasped it with one hand, ramming it into his chest.
With no heart, I fell onto my bed, blood pouring onto the sheets, as this undead man laughed in a harsh agonizing tone. My body refused to move, and as these final few seconds played out, everything faded into darkness.
The sound of an aggravating alarm burst my eyes open and in my panic, I found myself rolling off of a bed, slamming my head into the carpeted floor.
Trey: “Son of a bitch!”
Frustration and confusion muddled through my mind as I looked over my situation, patting my chest, looking for that damn zombie before gaining the awareness to realize that… that was all just a nightmare.
Trey: “I guess with all those dreams, something like that was an inevitability.”
Discarding that matter, I began to get on with my day. I untangled myself from my sheets, turned off that way too loud alarm, and made my bed before looking over my bedroom… which was truly my bedroom.
After running into Marcus and Louise Thorne last night— that is to say, my parents— I was invited to spend the night at their house, in what was my old room. I vividly recognized it when I first saw it, illustrated across many dreams, and still looking like a standard teenage boy’s room, just with more cardboard boxes of stuff strewn about. They probably wanted to keep all of my stuff here after moving me out of my apartment over the past month. It was heavy seeing all of this last night, seeing that my memories were real with my own eyes, and waking up to it… only heightened that reality.
Seeing as how I accepted that I was Trey, I knew that I would have to one day meet my parents. Even if I kept a low profile, they would eventually find me, hear about me, or whatever. I just didn’t expect to run into them at a festival like that. Everybody was surprised, baffled, but overjoyed more than anything.
They drove me home, let Jenny tagalong, and we spent the rest of the night talking, answering whatever questions I could and being showered with love. Per my memories, I was always an independent kid, wanting to do things by myself, and didn’t spend a ton of time at home as I got older. So I didn’t have a ton of memories of my parents, of Marcus and Louise, yet I knew enough to know that I had every reason to love them. The feelings baked into my memories were powerful, and the moment I hugged my mother and father, I knew I wanted to love them as much as they loved me.
We talked about so much that night it’s hard to remember where one conversation began and the other ended, but before discussing anything, I had to follow my heart and… lie to them. I could not explain to them that I used to be a 50-year-old Korean violinist. Nobody would buy that crap from a guy that looks like me, so I told them something more plausible: That I didn’t know what happened.
I said I woke up in West River Memorial Park and made my way to Jenny’s house, unable to remember anything that happened this past month. Jenny took the fall for “dragging” me out to the festival instead of sending me home, but as a girl in love, they couldn’t blame her for wanting some time with her boyfriend after attending his funeral.
It sounded suspicious, arbitrary, but what were they going to believe? Their eyes, which showed them what they wanted to see? Or their brains, which told them to reject this pleasant reality?
This was a question that both of my parents grappled with last night, but the results spoke for themselves. I was here, back in my home, putting on my clothes as I headed to join my parents, and my girlfriend, for breakfast.
It was a small kitchen, part of a small single story home, with every sort of wear and tear that one could imagine from squeaky floorboards, cracked tile, and table that was cramped for three and cluttered with four. However, it was home, and just seeing it like this, with Louise at the stove, Marcus reading his paper, it felt right, it made my heart sing with a nostalgia that I never experienced firsthand. I stood there to gawk for a minute, giving Jenny a wink as she sat awkwardly next from Marcus, before announcing myself.
Trey: “Hey guys, I can see you got started without me.”
Immediately, Louise Thorne turned away from the hot stove to look at me. She was about as tall as Mimi was and, well, I could tell she found comfort in the simplicity of fat. At 47-years-old, she was getting on in the years, her hair covered by a bonnet and form covered with a willowy dress that had a slight slimming effect in what it covered. While she immigrated here from Haiti when she was 5, she never quite lost the accent, carrying it with her to this day, giving her words an added flourish that added to the rich tapestry that is Mom. As I gave her a good once over, she slapped her wide arms over me, latching the bottom of my rib cage, while I bent down to embrace her.
Louise: “Oh, we just had to let ya sleep after all you’ve been going through, Trey. Was it strange sleeping in your childhood bedroom again?”
Trey: “Mom, please, spring break was just two months ago, and I came home for that, didn’t I?”
Louise: “Well, of course ya did, and you know I appreciated it. I appreciate having ya around no matter the circumstance. Now, take your seat, I’ll get your eggs ready just how you like them.”
I wanted to take my seat, but right as Mom left me, Dad rose from his chair, looking at me with a somber expression. Marcus Thorne was 45, stood at about an inch or three shorter than me, and had a similarly larger frame, easily clearing 100 kilograms. His hair was kept short with a receding hairline while a respectable salt and pepper beard rested on his face, looking like it could use a touch up. He was dressed in a simple shirt, suspenders, and jeans, looking like he could head off for his day job at any minute, but I knew enough to know that’s just how he liked to dress.
Unlike Mom, Dad was born and raised in New York City, just like his gramps before him, but after meeting Louise he moved out to New Haven to raise a kid away from the big city. He also thought it would be good for his plumbing business to enter a less “saturated” market, but I had a feeling that was a crock. Crock or not, that did not change the warm feeling I had as he opened up his arms, inviting me in for a hug. It felt even better than it did in my dreams.
Marcus: “Words can’t express how good it is for you to be in my arms again, Trey.”
Trey: “I could say the same thing about you, Dad, but Jenny’s right there.”
Marcus: “Ha! I’m so glad that I get to watch you grow up like this, but before I forget…”
Breaking out of the hug, Marcus reached into his pocket to pull out a wallet, handing it to me. Its unassuming dark brown color made me unsure at first, but as I felt it, I was sure I knew what it was. My wallet. Everything was right where I remembered it being, credit card, $37.63 in cash, and even a small photo of me and Jenny, taken during our graduation. Wow. I guess Trey really didn’t forget about her, huh?
However, the part that really mattered here was right in the center, with my driver’s license, Trey T. Thorne, born September 19, 1991. It was just a piece of plastic with some shiny stuff sprinkled on, but it still made my heart sing on some level. It was proof that I was real, that I was a person recognized by the systems of the world, and that I was who I said I was, who I looked to be.
…But was it even valid? They didn’t take it, but anybody who checked it would see that I was dead, right?
Trey: “…Great, now how am I going to go about reinstating this thing?”
Marcus: “Eh, we’ll figure it out, Trey, don’t worry.”
Louise: “Yes, but not today. The DMV is a zoo on most days, but a circus on Saturdays. Now eat up, Deary.”
As I put away my wallet and sat down, Mom placed a plate of scrambled eggs mixed with green peppers with a side of hash browns. From my culinary adventures this past week, I learned that I loved green peppers. So the smell of them, cut up, fried, and mixed with eggs, was enough to make my mouth water. By comparison, the hashbrowns were frozen patties, that much was clear from their shape, yet from their texture I could tell that Mom worked some magic on them.
Louise: “…Now, what can I get you, darling?”
Right as I was about to dig in, Louise was looking over Jenny, who sat awkwardly yet relived across from me, looking at me before looking back at her.
Jenny: “Oh, I don’t want to impose, whatever you normally make should be—”
Louise: “Nonsense, darling! Now, let me show ya what we’ve got and fix you something special. It’s been a long time since Trey brought any girls home, and just from the way he looks at ya, I can tell you’ve got that spark.”
Dragged out of her seat by Louise, Jenny looked on at me before accepting her fate, following my mom as she guided her through the fridge and cabinets, giving me a chance to dig into my breakfast. Immediately, I realized that dreams were just a poor substitute to the real thing, as the mixture of oil, spice, and the almost caramelized peppers was downright delectable. And when mixed with the hashbrown, giving it some starch and crunch? It was the sort of thing that, if they charged you $12 at a breakfast place, it would still seem like a steal.
I scarfed the food down, eager to go in for the next bite, all as Dad chuckled at my enthusiasm.
Marcus: “Hahahaha! The food’s not going anywhere, son. …But I guess you really are just that happy to be back, isn’t that right?”
Trey: “Yeah, of course. I wish that I didn’t need to leave like that, or…”
Marcus: “Oh, you don’t need to try to come up with some reason to me. I won’t pretend to understand what happened to you, I didn’t last night, and I’m still damn mystified by all of this. All I know is that you look like Trey, sound like Trey, and know things only he should know.”
From the wily smile that appeared on Marcus’s face, I could tell what was coming. Another round of Trey trivia, or Treyvia as he deemed it last night.
Marcus: “I mean, you do remember the first girl you brought here, right?”
This was taking me back to elementary school, when I had a crush on a Black girl in another class, her name was Rubette, and her brown eyes shimmered like gemstones. Some of Trey’s friends egged him— Some of my friends egged me on to ask her to be my girlfriend, and she said yes. It was only about a week before we broke it off. Neither of us actually understood what that meant, but I did take her home to introduce her to Mom and Dad. I didn’t think of it as anything but the peak of romance at the time, but they thought it was the cutest thing ever. And, looking back, it was.
Trey: “Rubette Rarette was her name, but I think she went by Ruby.”
Marcus: “That’s the ticket! Let’s see, what next… you do remember about what I got you for your twelfth birthday right?”
How could I forget? That was one of the strangest dreams yet, and if that was how most men were raised, that would explain a lot. After my friends left following my twelfth birthday party, while Mom was cleaning up, Dad gave me a stack of magazines and a bottle of lotion. Magazines with plenty of articles, but mostly Black women dressed in revealing outfits— no nudity though. I didn’t quite get it, but with some of Dad’s direction, I decided to spend that night trying our his technique, looking at these utterly gorgeous woman. The curves on here were amazing, dresses just clung to her crazy hips, and I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with her, just that it involved my penis. The rest was, well, lost in a layer of lotion.
I hoped that the humiliation and lust painted on my face would be enough to answer his question, and that appeared to be the case.
Marcus: “What can I say? It’s a Thorne family tradition, and based on the way that Jenny girl looks at you, I’d say that practice makes perfect.”
Trey: “Dad, can we not discuss my sex life over breakfast? And not with my girlfriend in the room?”
Marcus: “You sure you want that?”
Trey: “Do I look like I have a humiliation kink?”
Marcus: “I dunno, hard to say from sight alone…”
For as awkward and mortifying as this exchange was, there was a part of me that unemphatically felt alive as I talked with Marcus. He was pushing, teasing, and pressuring me as he saw fit, but he did it from a place of love, to test my hide— to have a bit of guy talk with his son. It was just his way of showing he cared for me, and my heart already knew how to feel about it.
Trey: “Just move onto the third one, because it’s always three.”
Marcus: “I can make it seven if you want.”
Trey: “I don’t.”
Marcus: “Then… you remember what we did the first week of summer break after your sophomore year?”
God. Fucking. Damn it. I was glad I had enough memories to know exactly what he was talking about, but for the worst reason. In addition to taking some summer school elective, Dad also wanted to show me the tools of the trade for his plumbing business, having me tag along as he took on a few jobs, and I just hated it. The smells, the grime, the asshole White people who looked at me like I belonged in their drains. I couldn’t stand getting yelled at or needing to carefully move things so that I could take apart a pipe or stick my hand down a toilet to snake something down the drain. Maybe there was a good day here, but I just remembered the final day, when we had the nastiest diner toilet I had ever seen, and it exploded after unclogging it, spraying shit everywhere.
Trey: “How could I ever forget? That was when I decided that I would not become a plumber, that the family business would die with you.”
Marcus: “C’mon, it wasn’t that bad.”
Trey: “I got backed up shit and piss in my mouth, dad!”
Marcus: “It was just a few drops!”
Trey: “It was half a cup!”
Marcus: “You’re overexaggerating!”
Trey: “You’re underexaggerating!”
Marcus: “Hahahaha! I just wanted you to see what was out there, maybe give you a bit of motivation to focus on getting one of those cushy jobs.”
Trey: “I’m not going to say you’re a bad teacher, Dad. But your methods are… all your own.”
He chortled and slapped my back for that backhanded complement, and I couldn’t help but join him in laughter. I know that Mimi would have been holding up her nose at a guy like him, but at the end of the day… he was Dad. Not the cleanest dude, but he loved me, loved Mom, and was the reason we had this place. Though, to break my attempt at immersion… I was really glad that Trey wasn’t like him. Being around a guy like this could be fun, but being him? Woof.
Louise: “Now, now Marcus, ya can’t be teasing your son so much right after he got back. You’ll have the rest of his life for that.”
Trey: “Hey! Don’t I get a say in that?”
As Mom came back, so did Jenny, with a plate housing two fat blueberry pancakes and a single fried egg on the side. How she came up with such a breakfast was a question worth asking, but before I could get a word in, Mom tapped me on the shoulder thrice, a familiar gesture from my childhood memories.
Louise: “Trey, could I talk to ya in the living room?”
I could just feel like this was going to be a follow-up to last night, so I didn’t bother resisting. My plate was already cleared, and I could check in with Jenny later. I just hoped that Dad would spare Jenny his… worst eccentricities.
Mom guided me into the living room, where I looked over the decorations lining the walls, finding some I remembered and others that weren’t quite noteworthy enough to have earned a spot in my dreams so far. Like those ominous looking masks that I thought should look unnerving, but weren’t.
Joining beside Louise as she settled on the couch, she grabbed my hand, pressing a thumb into my palm. I felt like I should remember this gesture’s significance, but this was another unfortunate gap. I waited patiently for a response, and she greeted me with a smile.
Louise: “I can tell it’s really you, but try as I might, I can’t tell how you came back to us. I still remember seeing you after you were shot, crying my heart out at the funeral, and asking God why, oh why, did you have to take my baby from me, saying all sorts of nasty tings. But now, I can see He didn’t take ya away from me, and I said I was so, so sorry to Him last night. ‘Cos you’re here, and that’s what’s important. It’s a miracle, and we were told to not question miracles, but to accept them for what they are.”
Having the, uh, memories of a child of two people who witnessed the strong arm of the US military in the 1950s, seeing their homes destroyed and infant son crushed under rubble, I was not a believer of God. I understood the importance of religion for some, to rationalize a complex and scary world, to find hope, but I had not become Trey quite enough to appease her like he would.
Trey: “Well, like I said last night, I would love to tell you more about this miracle, but I can’t say I remember anything. For all I know, maybe God did heal me.”
I felt like such a phony for giving that lame excuse, but what else could I say?
Louise: “That he did, Deary, that he did, and you’re looking stronger than ever. Now, you don’t waste this opportunity. You’ve got a good life Trey, and I want ya to appreciate it. Especially that girlfriend of yours. My heart was crying when I met her that day, and I wanted nothing more than to take her home with me, she loved ya that much. I can see in her eyes that she’s bright, and after what happened to her mother… you’ve gotta take care of her.”
“What happened to her mother?” Just what did those two talk about in that cluttered noisy kitchen? As much as I wanted to give this woman some pushback, telling me what I needed to do… I couldn’t. Her sweet smile, knowing that she was my mother, it was too much for me to resist her wishes.
Trey: “Of course I’ll take care of her. I’ve been with her for so long and I truly love her. I’m just glad that you approve of her.”
Louise: “Oh, don’t give me that. I might not have ever pictured you with an Asian gal, but I know how love can be, and if you lasted over two years with her, you’re on the right track. It just warms my heart to see my little man growing up. It feels like just a couple of years ago I was still holding you in my arms. In fact… let me show ya something.”
Stepping away from the couch, Mom returned with a cardboard box she plopped on her lap and began pilfering through, pulling out a book adorned with a photograph of a small Black baby. It didn’t take much intuition to realize that baby was me, and this was my baby book, a collection of photos, little mementos taped inside, and photos that ran the gamut. One side of my brain thought they were cringeworthy, the other thought they were adorable, and I think it was obvious which was which.
Trey— me getting a bath, making a mess as I ate pasta, walking around without any diaper on. Most were warm, cute, and swaddled in a veneer of innocence, yet the disconnect most people feel with their infancy made it hard for me to reconcile that this was me, and not some adorable baby I was seeing. I hadn’t had any Trey memories before he was… maybe 7, yet that also made this all the more alluring. I was seeing something that only Mom and Dad remembered.
Mom continued to dig through the box for more mementos. Baby shoes, a baby bath, an umbilical cord— because every mother had to keep that. Yet the only thing that truly resonated an emotional reaction out of me was when she produced a teddy bear. Its white coating was grayed by a layer of dust, yet seeing it produced a reaction in me, as if I had seen this bear before. I cautiously grabbed it, plucking away the dust as Mom attempted to jog my memory.
Louise: “Ya know I could never throw away your little bear, not after I made her for you. All it took was for ya to see one commercial, and you just kept on begging for one. Bear this, bear that, it was adorable, but I couldn’t leave you wanting. So, I went and got the supplies and sewed her up for you. I’d say I did a pretty good job, wouldn’t you?”
The craftsmanship on the bear was not stellar, its face was a bit lopsided and arms were ever so slightly asymmetrical, yet it made my heart feel warm as I touched it. No memory surfaced, but this reaction, this fondness, was enough for me to hold onto the bear tightly, so small between my big arms, yet it still resonated with an affection that was almost inherent to me. In fact, I could feel what this bear’s name was.
Trey: “You sure did, Bea’s held up great over the years.”
Louise: “Ah! That was the name! After all this time, it went and fell out of my head. I’m glad that ya remember at least.”
Trey: “Yeah. In fact, do you mind if I keep her out?”
Louise: “Ya can do whatever you want with your bear, I’m not gonna stop you with any of that. But I think that’s enough reminiscing over thngs.”
Leaving me with Bea, Louise left to put the box away, this time down into the closet. I’d ask why it was out there, but when you think your child dies, of course you would want to look over where it all began.
I stood up, needing a bit of a breather, and trying to decide what to do with this bear in my hand, when Jenny poked her head around the corner, calling me over to my bedroom. She shuffled me inside, shut the door, and sat with me on the bed, about to speak… before noticing Bea.
Jenny: “Uh, where’d you get that bear?”
Trey: “Mom made it for me as a kid, and I felt like it shouldn’t go away. Maybe she can find a place with your stuffed animals.”
Jenny: “Oh for the love of, you make it sound like I’m some plushie hoarder. I own less than a dozen.”
Trey: “With this and the giant rabbit, it’s thirteen.”
Jenny: “You… You really are becoming more like Trey by the day.”
Trey: “I feel like I need to be. For my life. For myself. And for you.”
With nothing supporting her back, Jenny flopped onto the bed, and I joined her, both of us looking at my ceiling, white but stained from blue sticky tac all over. I didn’t know what the story behind that was, but I figured it would come to me eventually.
Jenny: “Hey, so… How are you really feeling about this? And I mean your real feelings, not what you want to feel, but what you actually feel?”
Trey: “It’s overwhelming as fuck. In just over 12 hours, I went from it just being you and me to being a whole-ass family. I had fond memories of them, just being around them feels right, but I have been forcing myself to think of them as Mom and Dad. It’s hard doing that after what happened with my folks and—”
Jenny: “You don’t need to tell me, they were… sad in the end, and I still miss them.”
Trey: “You get older, things get taken from you. True words, and I’m not sure if I should count as an exception.”
Jenny: “Hey, so, I know they are relative strangers, and you just have your dream memories, but… How does it feel having Black parents?”
Trey: “…Do you mean something specific with that? You already know that I’m just accepting my race. I’m sure there’s a bunch I don’t know about being Black, and I’m going to be spending a long time learning that, but it’s the price of living like this. I have a mostly fresh start, I have you, and I have a heart that just won’t quit. It’s weird looking at Black people with such familiarity, I guess, but I’d feel the same way with anybody else. You don’t need to lecture me on how racism goes in all directions. I’ve been alive for 50 years. I remember being a little girl and watching Martin Luther King’s speeches in school just a few days after he was assassinated, that’s how old I am.”
I felt a twinge of unease with how I was discussing this, like my diction needed some alterations, but it was Jenny, she knew what I was getting at.
Trey: “I don’t think that’s the thing we really need to discuss though. I think what we need to discuss… is how this is going to be my home, and you’re going to be all alone in that house. After almost losing me, Marcus and Louise aren’t going to let me go.”
Jenny: “Yeeeaaah, both of them seem very protective of you. They’re fine with me— from what they were willing to say to my face— but I’m going to miss waking up next to you. …And don’t tell me to hug the rabbit. That thing’s too cheap to be a good body pillow. I swear, it’s half stuffing and half packing peanuts or something.”
Trey: “Don’t worry, I’ll spend plenty of time with you and, hey—”
I got up off the bed to go onto my desk, where my lovely parents so graciously left my cell phone. I flipped it open to send Jenny a text, watching her squirm as the phone in her pocket buzzed, displaying “I ♥ U” when she opened it. She rolled her eyes in response.
Jenny: “My mom’s trying to text like a Millennial? That’s going to take some getting used to.”
Trey: “What, and fucking your former mom isn’t?”
Jenny: “…I try not to think about that.”
Trey: “Smart.”
As our bickering continued, I heard a knocking on the door.
Louise: “Trey? Jenny? I hope you two are decent in there…”
I couldn’t help but snicker.
Trey: “We’re still dressed, Mom. You can come in.”
Opening the door, Louise gestured at the two of us to follow her, directing us back to the kitchen, the dishes washed and place cleaned up as best as it could be. That black spot above the stove was never coming out without a fresh layer of paint.
We all sat down, the table feeling a lot less cramped without so many plates on it, and I braced for whatever topic they had in mind. Dad was the first one to make a move, flipping over a piece of paper and looking at its contents.
Marcus: “Trey, it’s a miracle that you returned… but it’s going to be hard to convince other people about that, especially the government. I’ve been making a list of things we’re going to need to take care of.”
Trey: “Heh. Really? No, that’s smart, I just didn’t think to write them all down after I ran into Jenny yesterday. If I did… seeing you would have been on the top of that list.”
Marcus: “I would hope so. We’re going to need to head to the DMV to get your license reinstated, contact Social Security about getting your number reactivated, find out how you can revoke a death certificate, and of course, the school.”
…I had thought of every one of those, except for the last one.
Trey: “Sh— Shoot, that’s right, let’s see… I had to finish that one project and my finals, but aside from that, I was pretty much done. I think I was set to pass and—”
Louise: “We’ll contact the school about that when everything else is taken care of, they can’t really do much without the right documentation, ya know.”
Trey: “I know, and… who knows what they’ll do with the scholarship.”
Jenny: “Uh, I don’t want to distract you, but I think that school is not a key priority for Trey. Documentation is, and dealing with other matters… immediately tied to whatever happened to him. Like Evergreen Cemetery.”
Marcus and Louise looked at Jenny with concern… before seeing that was missing from their list, writing it down with some trepidation in their hands.
Louise: “Hmm… I did not want to think about that, but you’re right, Jenny. We’ve gotta.”
Marcus: “…You think it would be too much to ask for our deposit back?”
For making such a comment, Louise smacked Marcus’s back, but he swiftly laughed it off.
Louise: “And then there’s the lawsuit… we set up for ya. Our lawyer is going to be so confused.”
Trey: “You were trying to sue the cops for shooting me?”
Marcus: “Of course we were. Though… it’ll be a lot harder to make a case. You don’t really look like you’ve been shot, Trey.”
Jenny: “Yeah, but they have pictures of what they did to him! I get sick just thinking of what that bastard is doing now. He shoots someone, called it a mistake, and then got paid leave from work for a month!”
I groaned at hearing this, my body heavy with frustration. It was one thing to know about the sheer breadth of injustices of this world, and while I had decades of experience with people treating me like a lesser for being me, every race and sex was treated differently. It became obvious just going to the store to grab food, going out and about, or in paying extra special attention to my memories. I might not even think it was as bad as people say… but I remember what it was like to get shot and fucking die. Can it get worse than that? …Well, yes, but I’d rather not think about such scenarios.
As I visibly stewed in frustration, Louise planted a hand on my back, trying to temper me.
Louise: “You have every right to be angry, Trey. Like we say, it’s a rigged system, but ya can’t stop an institution, all ya can do is break it or reform it.”
Marcus: “Neither of which are easy. Trust me, there’s a reason I settled for a trade.”
Louise: “All we can do is spread awareness. The ladies at Church know my troubles, but they just cannot understand what happens when there are bad apples. If ya find just one, ya gotta clear out the whole batch to make sure it didn’t spread to nothing else.”
The phrasing and presentation of their words were new— there’s only so much you can glean from two weeks of someone’s life— so I merely nodded along, acting as if I had heard this all before. For, in my heart, I felt that was the case.
Trey: “I know, I know that very well. …So, what now?”
Louise: “Well, we can’t just have you all to ourselves today.”
Marcus: “Damn straight! This is a miracle, and people need to know, pronto!”
Louise: “Trey, we’re going to have a long day showing you off to everybody, ‘cos they won’t believe the truth unless they see it with they own eyes.”
Marcus: “And on that note, Jenny, you are a—”
Jenny: “‘A nice girl but not family?’ I sort of got that impression, and I understand. I can’t hog Trey all the time. Family… family comes first after all.”
With a wistful yet forlorn intonation, Jenny stood up from her chair and walked over, wrapping her arms around me and planting a kiss on my cheek. I did the same to her, and we said our goodbyes. Jenny drove here, as it was two miles away from our home— her home, I should say— though knowing she was even that far away was no comfort.
The thought of Jenny being alone there, even in that starter home, did not sit well with me. My— Mimi’s maternal instinct would be the last part of her to ever die, yet as Trey, I had more responsibilities than just her. I had a family who wanted to bring me in, wanted to shower me with love, and whose presence made my heart swell the first time I laid eyes on them. It was another complexity that my wild situation has brought to me… and like with everything else, the right move was to embrace it.
Saturday, May 28, 2011 – Night
After a day of traveling around, meeting cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, and so forth, people who I had to bullshit interactions with, as I didn’t remember any Thanksgiving get-togethers or what have you, I was beat. My social battery was drained, I was overfed by people so thrilled to see me they just had to make me something to eat, and despite being such a strong young man, my body demanded sleep.
I had hoped that it would come quickly, as it did most nights, yet I found myself laying in bed, eyes wide, after my latest nightmare.
It was Trey, me, the undead version— the zombie version. I was in a cemetery, dressed in black, attending my own funeral, watching faceless men bury the coffin into the ground, and once they were done, once it was dark, a tremor pulsed beneath my feet. I anticipated the worst, yet I was unable to move as this decaying corpse appeared, shouting at me, demanding that I “give it back.”
This was just guilt.
I was guilty of not only taking this man’s identity, but his parents from him, knowing that he is down there, in his grave, rotting away. The dead don’t walk… and heart transplants don’t make you turn into somebody else.
Trey: “Fucking hell, am I going to be a paranoid nutcase at this rate?”
Talking to myself, looking at a clock reading 2:22, I realized that there was no point in asking. At this point, I simply HAD to know. I had to confirm that Trey was indeed buried there, that he was just a bunch of rotting body parts in a box. And considering the confusion here, considering all the legal liability I was going to be dredging through… that coffin was going to be opened up eventually. But that could take weeks, and would these dreams stop? Would I be able to sleep without this assurance? At that moment, I didn’t feel like I could. I HAD to know, what was in that coffin? And… was he angry that I was replacing him?
Trey: “The adult in me knows this is a felony that could haunt me for the rest of my life… So why do I want to do it anyway? …Because something in my heart tells me this is the only way to free my soul.”
By 3:00 in the morning, I had arrived at Evergreen Cemetery with a shovel, crowbar, and flashlight from Dad’s shed and a brain abuzz after I jumped the fence. It was tall, but I was taller. Entering the cemetery and seeing hundreds of headstones, I groaned. There was no way I could just know where my gravesite was, it’s not like they had a labeled new graves section. Yet, as I mulled around, keeping my flashlight use to a minimum, I noticed that my heart was beating faster… and faster… as I headed in a particular direction.
My rational mind thought it had to be pure fear, or paranoia, yet I carried forward, expecting nothing while hoping for the best. Amidst a sea of forgotten graves and large ornate headstones, I saw a bouquet of flowers resting on a small stone rectangle. The grass below it looked overly green, as if it was recently laid to maintain appearances, and I knew this had to be the spot. Taking a deep breath, I went in to confirm it myself, moving away the flowers to reveal the name on the small headstone.
Trey Timothy Thorne, September 19, 1991 to April 25, 2011.
So young, taken so soon, and both accurate and inaccurate all the same. I had to know what was in there, who was in there, and with only a sliver of moon overhead, I didn’t have much light to go on. But that just meant I had a better chance of getting in and getting out without anybody seeing me. Dawn was in just over two hours, so I had to dig like a madman. Heh. As if I wasn’t a madman for doing such a daft thing.
Without thinking any further, I began to dig as fast as I could, piercing the freshly laid earth and casting it aside like a machine. Inch-by-inch, foot-by-foot, I thanked my predecessor that I was in good enough shape to attempt this. Mimi could never hope to ever achieve something like this with her heart. But as Trey? It wasn’t easy work. Nobody ever said digging ditches was easy. But it was easier than I expected, for whatever that’s worth. I was only sweating one bucket when I was through, as opposed to sweating several.
The coffin was just barely visible, and through the sheer determination of will, I managed to prop it up, laying sideways in this uneven ditch I had made. It was sealed tight, but that’s what the crowbar was for. Driven, I cracked the top of the coffin off, gagging as the smell of rotting flesh filled my nostrils. Still, that did not stop me from opening it to see the corpse inside, half expecting it to jump me. This was the second reason I grabbed a crowbar. Wouldn’t be the first time I bashed a zombie with one, but the first one I bashed in real life.
Impatiently, I threw the coffin lid open, forcing myself to look on at the corpse in its totality and…
No.
What?
How is that even possible?
I know what happened, so how could that… be… here?
What I saw was not the body of Trey Thorne, it was not the original, and he was certainly not eager to reclaim his body. Instead, what I saw was… Mimi.
The body of Mi-sook Ahn rested in that coffin, dressed in an ill-fitting suit. Its eyes were missing, its chest had a gaping hole revealing its lack of heart. Her skin was being consumed by maggots as I stared on at it, picking away the decaying flesh with restless vigor as there was no will, no person, to fight back or resist. It was no longer a person, but gristle for the lifecycle. One a person, now just food for bugs and crap to be eaten by the soil.
For all of humankind’s aspirations of beauty, such things would always decay or be destroyed, leaving behind nothing but rot, bone, and dust.
For all of humanity’s high and mighty sense of self-importance, this was our natural end state, to be fucking fly food.
…But that was not what was important here!
Trey: “How the fuck am I here?!”
I was long past caring about getting caught. I kept encountering the inexplicable, and kept trying to force myself to have it make sense. Dream memories, transforming into someone based on their genetic tissue, there was some sort of cause and effect to that? But how? How was my body in this coffin? How can a dead person transform? Did Jenny not recognize her own mother’s corpse at the funeral? Did Marcus and Louise FORGET what their son looked like? Did someone else swap out the coffins? But where did the body come from? Mimi is dead, but she left no body, so what is this? WHAT THE FUCK IS ANYTHING?!
I was on the brink of shrieking into the night… when a light was shined on me.
Middle Aged Man: “Get out of the grave, boy!”
From the authoritative tone in this man’s voice, I could tell I was in deep shit. All I wanted to do was affirm that the dead were really dead, and now I was going to get slapped with a felony. Dropping the crowbar, I slowly turned around with my hands up, looking at a man silhouetted by the high beams of a parked car. However, even from that silhouette, I could tell that he had a gun, pointed at me.
I gulped, I froze, and my heart began to panic. The memory of getting shot in the back of the head replayed once per second as I feared the worst case scenario. I quivered, and if the man with the gun couldn’t see my fear, he was blind or stupid. I wanted to fall down and wait for the man to go away, but I knew that anything but absolute compliance would only make this harder for me.
Lifting myself out of the grave, I stayed on my knees and held my hands up, showing as much compliance as I could as the man drew nearer. I was hoping that he was just someone tasked with guarding the cemetery. However, as he drew near and away from the lights, I could see the dark navy shirt and slacks with a badge and emblem to make him look like anything more than some armed goon. All it would take is a slip of a finger for me to die… what is it? Once by a cop, another on the operating table, once when I became Trey— die a fourth fucking time in five weeks?
My breathing became heavy, arms started shaking, and my desire to just run away and hope his aim is hit rose as high as my heart rate. I needed to calm down, needed to seem like one of the good ones for him to cool his resolve and not “stop a problem before it becomes a problem.” II held my breath, forcing myself to stay calm, when I heard someone shout through the night. It was… Jenny.
Jenny: “STOP! DON’T SHOOT HIM!”
Dashing between the graves, Jenny ran forward, leaping over the dug up grave and throwing herself onto me. I fell, the air knocked out of my lungs, as Jenny stood tall, her arms stretched, and though I could not see them, I could hear the tears trialing down her face from the sound of her voice.
Jenny: “He did NOTHING wrong! If… if you want to shoot someone, sh-shoot me, you motherfucker!”
Cop: “Miss, stand down. I’m taking both of you in.”
The cop sounded a lot calmer when he was pointing a gun at a pretty young woman than he did when pointing at me. But what did I expect? I did not want Jenny to take the brunt of this, but he was one cop, we were two teenagers, and in the paranoid mind of a cop, that was cause to blindly fire like some kid playing Modern Warfare.
So, I just laid there, waiting for the cop to slap handcuffs around Jenny, then around me, using his gun to intimidate us until we got in the back of his car. It wasn’t a far drive to the police station, but sitting in the back with Jenny, neither of us willing to speak with a cop listening in, made it feel like a small eternity.
Sunday, May 29, 2011 – Day
As Jenny and I sat in a locked interrogation room at the police station, she didn’t need to say anything to make it clear how pissed she was at me. Though, that didn’t stop her, and I couldn’t blame her from whisper yelling at me.
Jenny: “All you had to do was wait, or ask! If the parents asked to dig up the grave of their son, the folks running the cemetery would have probably been okay with that! You’re old enough that you should know this!”
Trey: “Just because I know better doesn’t mean I always act on it…”
Jenny: “Is this the Trey side of you or the Mimi side of you, because this is completely out of character!”
Trey: “I told you, I believe I should follow my heart and—”
Jenny: “If your heart told you to jump off a cliff, would you do it?”
Trey: “Hey, who’s the mom here?”
Jenny: “Well, if you’re not going to be, I guess the responsibility falls on me!”
I rolled my eyes in frustration, switching up the subject to another, more pertinent, question.
Trey: “How did you even know I would be at the cemetery?”
Jenny: “Your parents called me and woke me up! They were worried sick about you! I put things together after that. And I was right.”
Trey: “Who the hell wakes up at 3 in the morning?”
Jenny: “Uh, middle-aged women who need to pee? Do I really need to remind you of all people?”
As we spoke quietly enough for the camera mic to struggle to make out what we were saying, the cop who found me barged in, folder in hand, no gun in his holster, looking ripe pissed. From the name on his shirt, I could tell his surname was Davis, and from when we were getting thrown in here, I heard another officer call him Dick. Fitting name for a cop. He was a man in his late 40s, with a thinning blonde hairline, dead blue eyes, a tall stature, and the figure of… a divorced cop.
Officer Dick Davis: “Alright, you two have got a lot of explaining to do. Firstly is the fact that… you’re supposed to be DEAD!”
He pointed at me like that was some big surprise, when it was the most obvious observation you could make.
Trey: “Yes, I was reported dead, but as you can see, I am very much alive. And as a living person, I was disturbed by the fact that there was a grave claiming to be for me, and I had to investigate it. In the process, we found out that someone else was buried in what was meant to be my gravesite. It’s quite confusing, isn’t it officer?”
Officer Dick Davis: “Don’t give me any sass, boy! Now, I’m not very good at telling Blacks like you apart, but looking at this photo here, I can tell that you’re Trey Thorne, deceased on April 25, 2011! Far as I could tell, he didn’t have any twin brother or cousins who looked like him, so explain how I have all these photos of a dead man when you’re right here.”
The cop threw open the folder, tossing photos like the sheer volume of evidence would make me vanish from thin air, not giving a fuck about what was landing in my face. One photo showed the original Trey after getting shot in the head, lying in a pool of blood. Another was the body after being examined before getting cut up. There was the body after they had extracted the heart, eyes, kidney, and liver for transplant recipients. And even a photo of the body during the funeral which… how the hell did they even get that?
It was damning photographic evidence that Trey was dead… but which was more convincing? Photo paper or flesh and blood?
Trey: “I’ll agree that this looks damning, but you assuredly have my DNA on file. You already took a blood sample from me, and once you compare the two. I’m sure you’ll be able to tell that’s me in these photos.”
Officer Dick Davis: “Even if that is the case, that does not address the crime here. You broke into a cemetery and dug up a corpse, and that’s—”
Jenny: “He dug up his grave to find the corpse of my mother. Tell me, where is the crime in that? It’s his headstone, and my mother! If you want to slap us with some fine, go ahead, but I will not sit down and see you try to punish my boyfriend for offering me closure!”
The cop looked at Jenny with the eyes of a wife beater, or maybe the sort of man who choked women whenever he could get away with it.
Officer Dick Davis: “Well, if you have all the answers, Miss Ahn, tell me why your mother’s corpse was in your boyfriend’s grave, how you knew she was there, and why she looked like that? The boys looked into this and saw you filed a missing person’s report for her a week ago. I’ve seen a lot of corpses in my day, and that one sure as shit didn’t seem like a week old.”
Jenny: “Are you seriously asking me that? She’s my MOM for Christ’s sake! You’re asking me to explain why she looks to horrifying?”
Trey: “Hell, we just did you a favor by solving this case.”
Jenny: “Yeah, if I relied on you people, then I would have gone the rest of my life without knowing that my mom was dead! Do you know how that feels? Can you even imagine, being all alone in this world, at 19, with no mom?”
We were both playing this up, trying to get the officer to yield and let us go, but everything we were saying, every emotion, was genuine. I could not believe this guy even had the audacity to talk to Jenny about her mother like that.
Officer Dick Davis: “I… It’s been a long night. But you have to know something about what really happened and have a reason to—”
The door behind the officer erupted with noise, interrupting his trail of thought. He looked outside, looked at us, and shut the door. Through the metal and concrete, it was hard to parse out anything but the vague impression of shouting between two men, lasting a minute as Jenny and I looked at each other. We thought we put the officer in a logically compromised position, making his job harder, but we were still playing fast and loose with our approach, without any lawyer to back us up. However, as the cop swung open the door and sat down, a frustrated look on his mug, I felt like we had gotten one step closer to victory.
Officer Dick Davis: “Nothing about this case makes any damn sense! They just got done with the labs. …You were right. Your DNA matches the corpse we the guys in New York got back in April, and the DNA in the coffin matches what we have on file for Mi-sook.”
Jenny: “Oh? So it’s like I said! My boyfriend and I dug up his grave, which had my mother’s corpse in it. Are you seriously going to say that’s a felony or something?”
The cop rose from his seat to slam his hands on the table with such veracity that I worried it would crumble.
Officer Dick Davis: “At the very least, you were breaking and entering into a cemetery at night!”
Trey: “I will not deny that.”
The cop responded by giving me a death stare, like he wished he could get away with shooting someone like me at a police station. Unfortunately for him, there was no way to make that fly. Or, so I hoped.
Jenny: “I believe you have received our testimony and uncovered the necessary evidence. You know where we both live, so please let us know our court date, and we can defend ourselves before a judge.”
Frustrated, and likely realizing the sheer amount of paperwork he’d need to do here, the officer stood up from the table and shot us the dirtiest of all looks before escorted us away. There was something dreadful about not knowing if how you were going to be punished for a crime until weeks after you commit it, but that was simply how the bureaucratic system of American justice worked.
We were both handed papers as we were let out of the police station, what seemed like standard affair. As I sighed at the mess we got ourselves in, Jenny pulled me aside, or as aside as she could in this cluttered room, whispering into my ear.
Jenny: “Gotta say, that went better than I expected, but I wouldn’t need to be in this situation if you weren’t such a headstrong dumbass! I guess Trey… I guess you might be the best man I’ve ever met, but you’re still a man, too independent and eager to do things his way than work within a system, or involve his girlfriend!”
At the receiving end of her frustration, I needed to do something to calm her down. With our faces to close, the action was obvious. I planted a kiss on her lips, letting the passion heal our worries before we broke apart, both out of breath.
Trey: “If I promise this will be the stupidest thing I’ll ever do in my life, would you believe me?”
Jenny: “Yes, because I don’t think it would be possible for you to make another blunder this bad.”
Groaning in frustration at my own recklessness, I followed Jenny to the police station lobby, where we were greeted by none other than Mom and Dad, both waiting, looking restless. The moment they looked at Jenny and me, they sprang out of their seats, rushing toward me.
Louise: “Trey Timothy Thorne! Tell me what in the hell you were thinking going out to the grave site like that?”
Trey: “That there was something wrong, and somebody had to do something about it.”
Marcus: “Son, I don’t care if it was your own grave, you’re too smart to do something so stupid!”
Jenny: “He did it for me.”
As Jenny tried to defuse the situation before it could crank into full gear, Mom and Dad turned to face her, looking incredulous.
Jenny: “He found my mother’s body. It was buried in his gravesite. I was crying and telling Trey that I just knew it had to be there and… he did it for me. I told him to stop but… Trey’s the type of guy who can’t let a girl cry like that, I guess. And when it’s her mother, well, I guess he thinks family is just that important.”
The lingering remains of a mother in me was simultaneously proud that Jenny could come up with such an emotional lie on the spot like this. …But she was also disturbed that her daughter was so good at it. The dominant Trey part of me though? I thought my affection with her was already to the max, but I guess I was wrong, because I loved her even more now.
Louise: “Jenny, darling… I can’t be mad at ya. Lord only knows how it must feel to lose a mother at your age. C’mere.”
With her heart swayed, Mom wrapped her arms around Jenny and the two hugged, while Dad looked at me… and just sighed.
Marcus: “I want to tell you how you messed up for doing all of this, when there was such a simple option available, but… it wasn’t simple, none of this is, I’ve never been ‘dead’ before, and… lemme let you in on a secret.”
My interest piqued, Marcus dragged me a couple feet away to murmur a story into my ear.
Marcus: “Back in ’83, I really wanted to impress your mother on our first date, more than anything, and to just snatch her heart right from the get-go. So… I borrowed my neighbor’s car for the night, a convertible, real beauty she was. Louise, she thought I was a big shot, and just taking her down the streets, feeling the wind in my fro— it was the 80s— it was just magical, and I think that’s when we truly fell in love. Of course, that all came to an end when after I dropped her off and went to return the car to my neighbor, stopping to fill up the tank for him… when the cops caught me. I talked to the guy, plead and begged him to not put me in jail, that I’d put it back. Then, we settled out of court. Had to mow his lawn for the rest of the summer, and pay $50 as an apology, but that was it, no charge on my record. What I’m trying to say is that… you do stupid shit when you’re in love. Sure, I was a year or two younger than you, but you’re a late blooming generation, so what is a few years anyway? Just try to be less like your old man in some ways, alright?”
I couldn’t help but laugh at Marcus’s story. It was cheesy, yet I could see where he was coming from, and I was grateful that he was trying to speak to me on my level, rather than act like he’s holier than thou. That’s when I was sure he was a good dad.
We joined in a hug. I squeezed him tight while he did the same, taking a moment to relish in his warmth, before Louise and Jenny walked over to us. We had a lot to do, a lot to cover during this summer, but with people like them, with my new family… I was sure it would all work out in the end.
I was still mystified by the corpse I saw there. However, much like with my body, my dreams, and the fact that I’m even alive at this moment… there were some things in this world that I simply didn’t understand. Things that I didn’t need to understand. And things that were beyond my grasp of ever understanding. I would have the rest of my renewed life to figure everything out and, until then, I just wanted to get settled in, to enjoy being Trey before asking why I’m Trey.
Monday, August 29, 2011 – Coda
As summer neared its end and hints of autumn began percolating through the air, the campus of Southern Connecticut State University blossomed to life anew. People fresh out of high school were beaming to start the final volume of their educational journey, seasoned students returned to their old home, and grad students continued down the same old grind. I know it wasn’t as luxurious as the Ivy leagues just a short while away, but it was still a damn fine institution.
The campus was teeming with life as students muddled about, socialized, and looked for their classes this morning, while I was slowly looking for a parking spot, Jenny sitting beside me. When we finally found one, I breathed a sigh of relief, eager to go, but Jenny grabbed my hand, keeping us in the air-conditioned comfort of her car for the time being. We were both dressed up for our first day, as we wanted this to be a time well worth remembering, maybe snagging some photos in the process, just for us. With new backpacks, laptops, and a desire to learn, we were physically prepared, just… not necessarily mentally.
Trey: “Some days, I still can’t believe it.”
Jenny: “This speech again?”
Trey: “Well, yeah, think about it, Jenny. Heart surgery, becoming a young man, trying to piece my life together, re-meeting my parents, and all that legal shit we had to do over the summer… it almost makes me never want to look at paperwork again.”
Jenny: “Well, good thing we’re going to school, they never give you papers! …But I am glad that you decided to transfer over, and take classes with me. After a gap year, I figured I’d be rusty.”
Trey: “Please, the New York school said I failed the scholarship requirements because I got shot. Like that’s my fault! Besides, I couldn’t leave you. You’re my girlfriend, my lover, and… I need you more than you need me! Let’s just say… musicians aren’t known for their GPAs, and you can only learn so much from dreams!”
Jenny: “Oh, so that’s all I am to you, a study buddy with benefits?”
Trey: “You know that’s not true, you little tease!”
Jenny: “I tease because I know you love it and because I love you too. Now, let’s get out and get going!”
Trey: “I was waiting for one of us to say that…”
Throwing open the car doors, we began to walk through the parking lot and into the tree-laden campus of SCSU, continuing to chat as we walked, hoping that nobody would be nosey enough to butt in.
Trey: “Social Security restored, ID reinstated, felony avoided after talking to the guy at the cemetery, financial accounts transferred, organ recipients located and vetted—”
Jenny: “Oh my gosh, Trey! We’ve been over this, we did everything we needed to, and you don’t have a bunch of doppelgängers running around. I guess the heart is just a special organ.”
Trey: “I guess, but the sheer amount of work we needed to do to figure that out was…”
Jenny: “No need to tell me twice. I never want to see Detective Raiyne Underwood ever again, for the rest of my life. It’s all behind us, and now everything’s great!”
Trey: “I know. I have a beautiful girlfriend who I see every day at school, loving parents who let me live with them, and that legal settlement…”
Jenny: “Yep, I still can’t believe that went through! Southern District NY courts are crazy sometimes. But what do we say?“
Trey: “Sometimes, it’s best not to question it.”
Jenny: “Exactly!”
As we shared in a laugh, we managed to arrive at the door to our first class of the school year. Jenny was about to pull open the door, but right before her fingers touched the handle, I grabbed her face, looked deep into her eyes, and planted a kiss on her face.
Trey: “You ready to begin our new tomorrow?”
Jenny: “Of course. I’m not the girl I was a year ago, and the same’s true for you.”
With that, we grabbed the double doors leading into the lecture hall and took the next steps into our future. It wasn’t what either of us ever imagined, but that did not make it any less radiant.
DAS ENDE
Afterword
Well, this was an idea that got away from me, though what else is new? While I enjoyed working on TSF Series #019, I admittedly pushed it out with a few things I’m not quite sure about, and areas that could be expanded. I tried to keep the number of scenes to a bare minimum, wanting to only cover things I felt were necessary. This results in more time skips and a lack of certain details I would have liked to include, particularly regarding character backgrounds.
Mimi’s background was streamlined to a more digestible orchestra musician, removing details about her familial wealth, any economic struggles, and other pursuits beyond that. However, I wanted to keep the piano and violin “double” angle, as I found the angle interesting and more realistic, as seasoned musicians tend to be proficient in multiple instruments, violins are sexy, and piano is THE instrument.
I wanted to get more into Jenny’s career goals and give her a remote side job that she did while supporting her mother. However, I felt these details muddled an already thick story, so she was simplified to a devoted and capable daughter with a reasonable amount of emotional issues and need to be with others.
Then there’s Trey. In my initial conception of this story, I did not have a set race for any character, but I came up with the dead daughter’s boyfriend angle early on, and wanted the death to have some meaning or push behind it. An accident did not seem fulfilling, so I decided to use gun violence, police gun violence. From there, I pretty much set myself on the path to making Trey a Black man, as they are disproportionately subject to police homicides. It worked well with the personality I had assigned, making Trey out to be a great dude, an overachiever who was moving onto great things, as I felt that was a nice contrast to Tim from A Change of Heart.
Alas, the racial examination/playground of this story is fairly mundane, mostly appearing in references and a unsophisticated portrayal of a standard working class Black family and racist New England cops. I effectively made up the personalities and backgrounds of Marcus and Louise on the fly after I ran into outline pacing issues, and neither them nor the cop are particularly compelling. Though, I think they have enough to supplement the actual protagonists.
As always, my goal with TSF Series is less about creating polished greatness and more about creating a good enough story that explored ideas I found interesting/novel/weird. …While avoiding the 50,000 word limit, which I just narrowly did.