Meghanology – book 1 of girldragongizzard

I wake up with a start, the gash on my back burning and itching, with just one thought in my head.

Mayor?!?

I was having a dream where I was in the beer garden of Flounder Sound Brewpub, having a beer and a mint chocolate chip ice cream cone, while talking to Kimberly about Chapman and listening to live music. The ice cream cone was propped up in a beer glass, and the beer was in a bowl, and I was musing about how my own subconscious mind was so thoughtful to accommodate me in this way, when Kimberly said something about how lucky I was to have found Chapman. And that’s when I pressed the talk button on my tablet and said, “That’s nothing. On Monday, I have a meeting with the Mayor!”

And that word just grabbed ahold of my whole brain and dragged me right out of sleep, head snapping up and darting glances all around.

Fortunately, there is no Mayor on the rooftop, nor on airbound approach.

I’m safe.

But I have an interview with the Mayor? Just two days after an interview with Seagull Phil, arguably the only investigative journalist left working in town?

I mean, I suppose that’s how that works.

I get up to stretch and –

Dang! My back is starting to really bother me.

I look at it and, though I’m not going to describe it again, it looks a bit worrisome. Not gross, to me, and I can’t tell if it’s infected by the same ways you can tell with various human tissue. But I don’t see any indication that it’s healing, either. And it is deep. And then there’s that burning and itching thing.

I feel like I have memories of seeing wild animals with wounds like this on video. And they’re just stoically going about their lives. And I have no idea where those videos came from, whether it was T.V. back in the day or YouTube or TikTok or what, but I’m now sort of feeling like we dragons are just expected to do the same.

A dugong could have a nasty run in with a boat’s propeller and there’s no vet there to stitch it up. The dugong would just have to bear it and heal as best it could. And that’s how it goes.

And seeing Astraia with her wounds just walking downtown had reminded me of that at the time. And, I guess I assumed that’s what she was doing, and made up a story in my head about how the local veterinarians wouldn’t see dragons, because, holy shit can you imagine one of us in the waiting room of a vet clinic with the dogs and cats in there all panicking?

And we’re all suddenly fighting and hurting each other and creating a demand. And probably a lot of us can’t pay.

I certainly couldn’t.

But, then, also, I’m about to see the Mayor? With a nasty gash on my back? Down at my Seaside Park? With Seagull Phil and a photographer present? With a nasty gash on my back?

It’s not dawn yet, so I’ve got some time to quietly freak out about all this.

I remember one of the biggest elements of my daydreaming about being a “real dragon” when I was a kid (and later as an adult, because I never stopped) was that I wouldn’t have to deal with any of this kind of thing.

With a “proper dragon body” – and I’m putting that in quotes because I was a dragon back then, I’ve always been a dragon, and that means I’ve always had the body of a dragon whatever body that was – anyway, with a “proper dragon body” I wouldn’t have to worry about getting hurt because my armor would be impervious to it, and I wouldn’t have to worry about social expectations and money because everyone would see that I am a dragon.

I’m not sure why this memo didn’t get through to the universe. I wrote it enough times in my head.

I go over and over all of this in my head for a while, waiting for the sun to come up, to the point that I eventually teach myself how to say “Mayor” just by visualizing it as spoken by my tablet.

The word just comes out of my chest and open mouth, “Mayor!” Complete with exclamation point. A cry of incredulous exasperation, it’s the one thing I’ve learned how to say with any inflection.

That startles me and snaps me out of my ruminations.

I get a little excited about it.

I go through all the words I’ve learned.

“Mayor!”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Stop.”

“Meg.”

“Okay.”

“Mine.”

“Fight.”

“Peace.”

“Go.”

“Stay.”

“Now.”

“Shit,” which is still spoken in Caleb’s voice, so I’m not really counting it in my vocabulary yet.

As I think I’ve said, I figure that most of these are words that will be useful in critical moments of diplomacy or action. I’m hoping for diplomacy more than anything else. I’m hoping to surprise another dragon or human into listening.

I guess I’m willing to fight anything if I absolutely have to, up to and including a space shuttle or maybe even the sun, but even a fight with a cat seems like it might be too costly, really. Either socially or physically.

And that’s not even thinking like a human, which I’m not sure if I’ve ever done, but I’ve watched a lot of human made movies.

It’s just my sense of things. And of what little experience I’ve had.

My shoulder really burns.

It’s just, everything seems like it’s been spinning wildly out of control. And a lot of things have been happening behind my back or out of sight, and I’m not entirely sure what all is going on, and I have to trust my friends that they’re setting things up well and OK, the best they can. And I’m not sure I feel like I’ve had a lot of agency in even my own actions, to be honest.

A lot of the time, I’m just reacting. And that seems like a problem.

I can only imagine the amount of damage my flailing has done politically, locally and maybe even more broadly than that.

I have a lot of questions that are still unanswered, including and maybe featuring the question of the mysterious helicopter. Maybe it was just a police helicopter. Maybe it was actually animal control. I don’t know!

I don’t like not knowing, but I’ve done my own searches now and I still can’t find the answers.

I might not ever know.

I’m old enough to have heard from people involved in direct action, who have come into contact with police work and military support of it, and they’ve said that sometimes they’ve encountered things they don’t ever expect to learn the explanation for.

And I’d love for my life to be this really cool narrative where I eventually learn the thing, but maybe I need to stop chewing on it and focus on what I can work with.

There are a bunch of social, political, and physical wounds that need repairing, and I don’t know the extent to how bad they are. I’m one of the wounded.

My first responsibility is probably to relax and let people help me, honestly.

That is something I’ve learned from my time amongst humans, definitely, from reading blog posts about trauma and injury and from talking to therapists extensively about C-PTSD. It’s nice to have a moment where I can just remember that advice about priority and try to apply it.

But then, I’m left wondering again what parts of me are draconic and what parts are human? I know I’m all dragon and have always been a dragon, identity-wise. But I’ve been raised by humans who thought I was human for the first fifty years of my life.

It’s.

OK.

If I’m truly, genuinely, entirely a dragon, then it seems to be in draconic nature to learn from humans, understand them, and emulate them in some ways.

If I focus on that, I think I can live with it without fretting too much.

But it also comes part and parcel with the relationship dragons have with humans and the question of what it could possibly be. Like, where did we come from? And, where are we going?

I’d thought about this the first few days of realizing my reality, but I haven’t had a lot of time since. And while I definitely speculated and daydreamt about it prior to my – I guess I’m going to borrow from my trans peers and call it my hatching – I didn’t have any of the evidence I have now.

Without any stressors, it seems like dragons and humans can get along just fine. Almost like we’ve been living with each other for millennia.

Mind you, a lot of the humans in my life have been taking that further, and are super close to me now that we all know what I am, and they’ve been taking care of me. They’ve been taking it for granted that they would. Almost like a parental role. Or a partner taking care of a disabled spouse. They even let me fuck up and help me straighten things out.

Which is more than humans often do for each other.

And my own reaction to them?

Now that they are clearly mine, I don’t want to lose them. 

But there’s more. I’ve even been holding back. I’ve not really let myself think about this, except a few times where it was awkward, but I want to be closer to them. I find myself wishing we could all have the quiet and space to cuddle and share our warmth. One big pile. Even if some of them aren’t very close to each other.

I wonder if Caleb and Astraia have taken the time to do that, since they’re already partners.

And when I think about other dragons?

Not very cuddly.

I just really need to know where we stand with each other.

We could be allies. We could be mates in the Spring. But we clearly need our space.

So, if we evolved at all, and weren’t just created by some magical force out of thin air, it seems like we’ve evolved to be symbiotic protectors of human communities. Maybe we were bred that way. But we’re clearly intellectually on par with humans. At least, we are now. So I tend to prefer to think we evolved that way.

But, then, there’s this one statement by one scholar of dragons, I can’t remember who or in what book, about mythological dragons. It went something like this. 

If you do a deep and broad analysis of what constitutes a dragon, you learn a few fundamental things. The things in common with all dragons are that they are monsters, they tend to live on the edges of nature while still in intimate contact with human communities, and their personal foibles or vices are often caricatures of one or more of the seven deadly sins. Where they are venerated, they are sought out for their wisdom and even rulership. Where they are reviled, they are slain, usually in the service of conquering or “saving” the people they are associated with. If anything, it seems as if dragons are like proto-gods, or minor deities, themselves. Created in humanity’s image melded and fused with the other apex predators of the natural world to be liaisons between us and the chaos of the wild. And, maybe, sometimes, to help us deal with other humans.

I think I’m remembering that right. I read it way, way back in the late 90s, when I was just starting college and found that amazing campus library. I may have embellished it over time and through hypesharing about dragons to everyone I’ve talked to.

Or, to put it more simply, what if dragons are the supernatural children of humanity? Maybe, up until now, we’ve only ever existed in myth.

It doesn’t completely line up with the prior awakening of the wizards. Nor with how my life and my body aren’t exactly like how myth would suggest it should be. There are loose strings there that I bet we could all pull at for centuries.

However, I’ve got a date with the Mayor tomorrow, and maybe sharing that would be a politically good idea, even if it’s wrong. Because maybe it speaks more to what we dragons could be.

And, of course, there’s the counter theory, that I tend to mention in the same breath.

That we dragons, being found in the artwork of humans long, long before any civilization was built, have always been here. And maybe it’s the other way around, and humans are our children, raised by us from the primordial world.

Maybe that’s why I sometimes feel like I have some kind of responsibility to them, to keep them. But I can’t do that well enough now because maybe I’m a very young dragon and have a lot to learn yet.

And, for whatever kept us hidden for so long, all my ancestors are in story books now, and they’re not here to look over my shoulder and say, “No, do it this way.”

Hm.

Maybe the symbiotic relationship is the one to focus on tomorrow.

If the Mayor even wants to talk about that. The Mayor who is a literal parent of a dragon.

Oh, right.

If humans are the parents of dragons. Doesn’t that mean that humans are dragons, too? At least, just a little bit?

The sky is getting brighter.

It’s time to sing.

There were no sirens.

We got away with it again. Singing to each other over the rooftops of the world.

Some people say they love it.

“I couldn’t get a vet to come up here, nor this early. And they were all reluctant to work on a dragon,” Chapman says. “But, that’s OK, because I got some advice, a link to how to do my own sutures on scaly hide, and I’ve got an idea. Did you know that there is knowledge on the internet on how to give a crocodile stitches?”

“No.”

“I don’t know if it’s legitimate or good advice, except that Dr. Park sent me the link,” sie says. “However! We need to clean and close that up, I’m sure of it. And if I do the sutures, then I can put my own spin on them. I can put my art into it, and maybe help with the healing that way.”

“Okay.” I feel nervous about all of that, but it still feels like it’s better than doing nothing.

“You’re going to love this part,” Chapman says in as encouraging and enthusiastic a voice as sie can muster, which sounds not at all sarcastic, but like it should be. Especially with the next sentence. “I spent all night staying up and researching how to do it! I’m going to need to pass out after this.” Which sie speaks as sie takes medical sewing supplies out of hir purse, including a small glass bottle with a worn out label and packets of sterile medical grade gauze. “Rhoda got me this stuff. I hope the needle is thick enough for your hide. And that I have enough thread. I’m supposed to do several layers to get it all closed safely without air stuck in the wound.”

“Okay,” I say, without betraying any of my emotions at all in my voice, because my voice doesn’t work that way. I figure that not saying “yes” will be enough to get my reticence across. Also, I’m very deliberately turning my head to watch everything but what Chapman is doing.

That’s a sign of trust, really. But also, I just don’t want to watch.

I need to make sure we’re not going to be interrupted by another dragon or a helicopter, anyway.

My tablet is handy, and within knuckle reach, so that I can talk calmly about anything while getting my shoulder stitched.

But, at first, I don’t have anything to say. I’m too focused on being OK with the pain and the discomfort of the procedure.

But after the shock of the antiseptic, even during the sharp poking of the needle, it does start to feel better. The burning and itching subsides quickly.

“Being disguised as much as you were yesterday probably actually did this some good,” Chapman says. “It was kind of like bandaging it up and keeping it away from exposure. But only when you were disguised. This is a little infected, still. But I really drenched it in the stuff, so we should be good.”

“How work?” I ask, impatient with everything, but curious.

“How what work?” Chapman asks.

“Art,” I say.

“Ah, hm,” sie tightens hir lips and pulls on the needle. “I suppose I might as well tell you. It hilariously doesn’t break my vow, because when I made it I didn’t take dragons into account.”

I wait while sie continues to work silently for a while. After a bit, though, I feel like sie isn’t actually going to explain, so I talk.

“Yes,” I say.

“Just a second, gathering my thoughts,” sie replies.

Of course.

“From what I can gather, it’s really a lot like programming or chip design,” Chapman says. “There are probably other ways of manipulating reality like I do, and I suspect that you dragons do it naturally in your own way. But the way I go about it is by making physical circuits that tell the forces of the universe what to do in a specific area and under specific circumstances. But, it’s different, too. I’m not a good programmer in any way. I’m an artist. I can’t code for shit, but I can do this. It’s like creating and cultivating a path for the beholder’s eye to follow through the composition, only, in this case, the eye of the beholder is often Entropy Itself. And I’m provoking an emotional reaction in it to the point it does something.”

Sie falls silent again for several stitches. Then continues.

“It still has to be precise and specific, which is fortunately also the way I think a lot of the time,” sie explains. “In this case, what I’m doing for your wound is to create channels through which heat and electricity can flow to create a barrier against pathogens. And I’m putting that over a latticework that is designed to help oxygen and nutrients to find the cells that need them the most, and to coax them into reproducing and bonding more rapidly in what I hope is the healing process. If I’m wrong, I might be giving you melanoma, so we’ll have to keep an eye on it.”

“Why?” I ask.

“I don’t want you dying of sepsis,” sie replies.

I flicker my tongue briefly and regret it. The antiseptic and the wound odor together do not taste good. Then I look at Chapman with my left eye. I want to stretch the wing that sie is hunched over, but I know that’s not a good idea. So, I ask another question.

“Why?”

“My younger brother was two once, you know,” Chapman says. “I’m familiar with this game.”

I turn my head to look at hir with both my eyes, and flicker my tongue again very deliberately, as an expression rather than to taste the air. I still taste the air, and I learn a lot from it. Chapman is sweating and hasn’t showered in over a day. But sie has also sanitized hir hands and arms thoroughly, and is wearing gloves.

Chapman sighs, “I like you. I don’t live here, and I don’t work here, but I come here for the coffee and we have the same counselor, and you’re my dragon anyway. I don’t have a relationship with the dragon of my neighborhood, so, I like you.”

Hearing that makes me feel stronger and more calm, and the needle bothers me so much less afterward.

“What think Rhoda?” I ask.

“Can you take the time to add a word or two more to that question?” Chapman suggests. “I don’t know which question it is.”

I huff and do that, “What you think of Rhoda?”

“Oh, damn, yeah,” Chapman says. “The world is a better place with her in it. She reminds me of my Grandma, in a way. Always doing things for others above and beyond what anybody expects. But she seems to know her limits better. I don’t think she’s really done it in front of you, but she delegates. And she does it with a finesse that is above and beyond anything I think I’ve done with my art, honestly.”

“Even pendant?” I ask, genuinely incredulous.

“Oh, yeah, absolutely,” Chapman replies. “I told you. That took me years.”

I huff again and really carefully write out my next two sentences to the letter, “Rhoda took decades to learn her finesse and to network. She got me a date with the Mayor.”

“Then you’re saying she’s as dedicated as I am, too. My point still stands,” Chapman says.

“Not competition,” I say.

“I don’t think I ever said it was.”

“Implied it. I think.”

“OK, sure.”

I really search my feelings about this. I rely a lot on subtext and context when I use as few words as I do. So, I’m not really sure how much the other person is getting when I talk to them and ask leading or pointed questions. And, also, I think my motives are often more different from other people’s than we all want to admit.

I experimentally say, “I like you both.”

“Can I scan you to understand that better?” Chapman asks.

I laugh to myself, which externally looks like my tail rotating and slapping the roof and my head turning away, tongue flickering. Then I decide to consent and say, “Yes.”

This time I get to watch Chapman more closely when sie does the scan.

Sie puts the inside of hir left wrist over the back of hir right wrist, connecting a couple of tattoos there that I hadn’t really paid attention to before. And I feel a shift.

“Oh, like that!” Chapman raises hir eyebrows.

I cue up a couple words, then say, “Yes, but different.”

“Different how?”

“Dragon different,” I say. “Not mate. Yet. Maybe. But family. People. Yes.”

“OK. But, still, as partners? Or potential partners?”

“Yes. If OK,” I affirm.

“Let’s get past this crisis, and then talk about that some more,” Chapman says. “I know I am at least amenable to the idea, to a certain extent. But I’d rather we all see each other under more stable conditions, I think.”

I scroll up and hit a previous question, to say it again with new context, “What you think of Rhoda?”

Chapman stands up and back from hir work and leans over a little bit to look me in the eye and says, “I’ve noticed that you smile like a cat. You know cats, I think. Everyone I talk to about Rhoda and you say things that lead me to conclude that she’s been leaving metaphorical dead mice on your doorstep for years, and you’ve just finally started to eat them this past week. Because you have to.” Sie watches me for a bit, seeming to try to evaluate my expression, then says, “I’m not sure if she knows she’s been doing that. But she looks more content than before, apparently. And I think she looks like she’s really in her element. But who am I to say what either of you have noticed or not, or what you’re really feeling? We’re all queers. We’re all disastrous fuck ups when it comes to this.”

“Yes,” I say.

“Anyway,” Chapman says, getting back into suturing. “You’re a dragon and we’re a couple of humans. Even if I wasn’t polyamorous and ace, being in a partnership with you, if that’s what we end up calling it, I don’t think it would get in the way of any human romance I might need to pursue. If I’m reading things right. And Rhoda probably feels the same way. And I’m guessing you do, too. Like. Come spring time, you’re going to want to try to mate with another dragon, right?”

“Don’t know,” I reply.

“Then we all take our time and feel it out, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t talk to the Mayor about this stuff. We don’t need the romantic lives of dragons getting mixed up in your fight for your, uh, human rights. At least, not at this stage,” Chapman says. “And we don’t want the Mayor worrying and confused about her daughter’s life any more than she already is.”

There’s a story going around social media about this guy who’s become the husband to a crane. He works in animal husbandry, or wildlife rehabilitation, or something like that. And one of the cranes he works with has decided that he’s her life partner, her mate. Cranes mate for life, and she bonded with this human. And, in order to make sure that she’s safe and lives healthily and happy into her old age, he’s just gotta stick with her. He, of course, is legally married to a human woman, and they have their own family.

I wonder if something similar is happening with me. A mix up of my instincts with my social situation. Or what?

None of the advice I’d ever learned from anybody regarding human relationships, and nothing I observed from watching everyone around me try to navigate them, feels like it’s relevant here. Except for maybe the “relax and see” bit.

But, Chapman’s right. The Mayor doesn’t need to think about that. And neither does the press, as much as I may like Seagull Phil.

I don’t think I would have ever been in danger of bringing it up with them anyway, though, really.