ALL NOVEL PART THREE: Unwanted Critical Feedback
“Where are they?!” Her mother was screaming; she’d clearly broken her recent streak of sobriety. She was tearing apart Jamie’s room, looking for something.
Jamie was as terrified as she’d ever been when her mother flew into a black rage. Her intense moods had started erupting not long after her father’s death; she was a small woman, but with feelings that simmered too long and boiled over too easily, lashing out at whoever was around her. Jamie gritted her teeth and tried to play the role of an adult son, one of the “men of the house” having his privacy invaded.
“Where’s what, ma? What are you doing in here?” She tried to sound gruff, like Uncle Andy, or Uncle Will in a rare moment when he wasn’t joking around.
“I know you’ve been taking something!” the older woman screamed. “You think I can’t see what you’re doing to yourself?”
Shit. The jig was up. But Jamie was not going to have this conversation, not with a woman who’d been trying to get her to “stop acting like such a sissy,” often using worse words and homophobic slurs, ever since she’d hit puberty.
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about, mother. You think I’m on drugs or something? I don’t even smoke weed. Sure, go ahead. Let’s turn everything upside down, satisfy yourself.” There was nothing for her to find. Jamie was too paranoid for that; she kept all her girl clothes at Alexandra’s place. The security guards were used to seeing her arrive as a frumpy mess in baggy clothes and leave in a dress to go out on the town. They didn’t seem to mind; it was an art school dorm in lower Manhattan, after all.
Back home, in a very different neighborhood at the other end of the island, Jamie’s mother was infinitely less tolerant. “Drugs?” she said in a stage whisper. “Pot? You know I mean hormones. Female hormones!” She walked right up to Jamie and poked her in the left breast.
“Hey! Quit that.” Jamie recoiled, while swatting at Linda McConnell’s hand. “Mom, I know I’m getting a little flabby—“ she started ineffectually. What was she even going to say? She hadn’t rehearsed for this exact situation.
“Flabby?! You look like A WOMAN, James. You’re prettier than half the tramps in this neighborhood.” She sat down heavily on Jamie’s bed, looking as if she was going to burst into tears.
Jamie sighed. She knew there would be no convincing her mother otherwise. If anything, things had gotten worse since she’d started seeing Alexandra—over a year ago now. Linda had sensed something new and different about the relationship, struggling with the feeling of change as her kid started to leave the nest, stuck in a mixture of pride and trepidation. She was right to worry: more and more, Jamie wished desperately that she could just move in with Alexandra for good, despite the complete unknown of how she’d survive without the support of family.
“Mom… it’s not what you think, all right? I’m not taking hormones… if you want, if you think there’s something wrong with me… I’ll go see a doctor, all right?” Jamie kept her distance; when her mother was like this, she was incredibly unpredictable. Now she looked up at her only child with a miserable glare.
“I don’t know what I did to make you like this. I mean… I always knew you were a little funny, but I did my best. A single mother does her best. And it’s not like you didn’t have male role models! They ain’t perfect, that’s for goddamn sure, but…” Jamie was silent, letting her mother vent. It wasn’t the first time she’d expressed similar sentiments, but now Jamie was seeing them as if from the other side of a deep chasm.
Linda stood up abruptly. She stared at the floor for a moment, then turned and grabbed Jamie by the arm. For a second Jamie thought she might be going to hit her, but instead pulled her closer and hugged her tightly.
She whispered into Jamie's ear as she held her. "Maybe you're just gay, just confused, honey." She released Jamie immediately. "That wouldn’t be so bad. You swear to me that you’re not taking any hormones?”
Jamie stepped back from the embrace to look her mother in the eye. “Ma, I swear to you. I’m not taking any hormones. No pills, no injections or patches, nothing like that.” It was technically the truth. The afternoon sunlight glanced in the window, through the blinds, as the two of them stood there, in the middle of Jamie’s childhood bedroom.
Her mother’s face crumpled. “So, that’s it! It’s magic, then. Obviously it’s magic. What else should I have expected?” Her voice rose to a scream. “James, you have curves where you didn’t a month ago! Stop trying to lie to me! You’re a shitty liar, just like your father.”
Jamie blushed furiously. The last thing she needed was for everyone in the building to hear her mother calling her "James" again. She hated it when her family called her that. It made her feel like she was fifteen years old all over again, even worse than “Jimmy,” which she could still pretend was a slightly slurred version of her real name. She let out a deep sigh. Guess it was time to come clean.
“Okay… Okay, Mom. I’m sorry I was trying to evade the truth. I… I’m transgender, I’m a girl.” She stammered out the words she’d imagined saying.
Linda stared at her daughter for several seconds before bursting into tears. Jamie didn’t know whether to keep talking or comfort her; would the feeling of her daughter’s body close to her make things worse, or better?
Linda looked up, through her sobs. “Goddamit, Jimmy. Hormones would have been one thing. But you know how this family feels about magic. You’re damning yourself to hell and playing with fire!” Jamie just stood there, chagrined.
“It’s that Alexandra, isn’t it?” Her unerring maternal instincts were homing in again. “Did she persuade you to do this? Is she a witch? I should have known! There was always something about that girl…”
Jamie shook her head as Linda sniffled and wiped her eyes. She didn’t know what to say; there was no way she could tell her mother about the stylus, and no way Linda would understand what she’d been through. If only they’d had this conversation half a dozen years ago… but now, in the present, she couldn’t let her mother badmouth her girlfriend. She already felt the hackles rising on her neck.
“Mom… no, that’s not it. I’ve felt this way for a long time, forever. I couldn’t tell you, I’m sorry! I was so… so afraid of how you’d react. Obviously… obviously, not saying anything was worse, for you to find out this way.” The words poured out of Jamie; she realized she was babbling.
“I’m not any different than I’ve always been, I promise! I’m still your kid! I’m just… being myself, does that make sense?” Linda winced and rubbed tears off her cheeks but looked up at her daughter with a mixture of sadness, and maybe a hint of sympathy. Then her face fell in shock.
“Jimmy… Jimmy, are you hurt?!” Jamie’s mother was staring at her midsection.
Jamie looked down. A red stain was spreading across her gray sweatpants, between her legs. “What the… what the fuck?!” she gasped. There hadn’t been any pain, she wasn’t sick… only a weird stomachache, a feeling like. Her mind froze in horror. A feeling like… cramps.
Linda was already pulling Jamie toward the bathroom they shared. She yanked open the door and pushed Jamie onto the toilet seat before turning on the light above it and peering down at her daughter's crotch. "My God," she whispered. “What is this?”
Jamie tried to protest, but her mother pushed her hands away. "No, stay there! Oh god, oh god! Honey!" she wailed. Frantic, she pulled down Jamie’s pants and briefs, to stare in horror at the perfectly healthy flesh underneath.
Jamie shrieked in panic as her mother's fingers probed her private parts, making her squirm. "Mother! What are you doing?"
Linda ignored her question and continued examining her daughter's genitals with an expression of disgust on her face. “What in God’s name, James? You’re… you’re having a period?!” she exclaimed, clearly horrified and enraged.
Jamie struggled against her mother as she tried to pull up her pants again. She managed to grab the waistband and hold them in place with trembling hands as her mother recoiled. Jamie’s face was burning, her eyes tearing up. Nothing so humiliating had ever happened to her—exposed, shamed, accused.
Her mother laughed, a short, sharp bark. “I thought you were dying. But you’re just… you’re just bleeding, you complete idiot. How can you bleed if you don't have a womb? I was right, obviously—it’s a spell. Well, you cursed yourself in the way all women are cursed. You damn fool, James. Or whatever you call yourself now.”
Jamie felt her world collapsing around her. She blinked away tears. “Jamie.”
Her mother was staring down at her where she sat on the toilet. “I think you’d better leave, JAMIE.”
Jamie wanted to argue, to insist that she was still the same person, still part of the family, but all she could do was nod silently and stand up slowly. She adjusted her clothes, trying not to cry in front of her mother, wishing she could take off the overly tight compression bra. But she’d already been exposed to her mother’s angry gaze enough for one day. She’d had enough nightmares about this moment to know what it felt like… and now that it was happening, it felt worse than any nightmare.
Her mother couldn’t resist talking further. “I don’t need to tell you why magic isn’t welcome here. This kind of thing has done enough damage to our family, and now—well, we can’t have you here. Andy and Will can’t see you like this, who knows, they might try to beat it out of you. If you can reverse it somehow—“
“Stop, Ma.” Jamie’s voice was cold and level enough that her mother did just that. “I’m going. I’m not reversing anything. This is who I am now.”
Her mother’s face was twisting in outrage again. “You’re only twenty-one, James, you don’t know—“
“My name is Jamie, mother. Don’t call me anything else.” The walls were slamming down between them. Her mother’s expression resolved into a cold mask. She reached under the sink and thrust a plastic package into Jamie’s arms, then walked out.
Jamie looked down. It was a package of tampons. She looked up at the mirror above the sink. In the reflection she saw herself as she was: a young, dark-haired woman with a tear-stained, angular face, dressed in unflattering sweatshirt and bloodied pants, her jaw a little too broad, her brow a little too prominent, the faintest trace of stubble visible without any makeup covering it up. A girl trying to act like a boy and failing. No more of that, she thought. No more of this life.
***
Alexandra opened the door, and Jamie threw herself into her girlfriend’s arms, sobbing. Alex squeezed her tightly and stroked her hair until Jamie regained control of herself. When Jamie finally pulled back and took a deep breath, Alex smiled gently at her and said, "It's okay."
"I'm sorry," Jamie choked out. “Can I stay with you for a while? I can’t go home.”
Alex nodded and led her inside. Her dorm room was small but comfortable, decorated with tasteful pieces of furniture and art that seemed to flow from wall to wall. Jamie noticed that everything was chosen for its size, to fit into a tiny space, and it all had an artist’s sensibility for the visual. She let out a ragged breath and began to cry again.
Alexandra put her arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead. "It's alright, sweetie." She paused a moment before adding softly: "You're still my best girl. Wherever I am, that’s home for you too."
Jamie looked up at her with teary eyes and gave another shuddering sob. They sat on the love seat and for a long time, just held each other quietly. "What are we supposed to do?" Jamie asked after several minutes had passed. "How do you fix something like this?"
"We'll figure it out together," Alex replied with a smile. “But why don’t you tell me what happened first?”
Jamie told Alex everything that had occurred since she arrived at her home that afternoon: the conversation with her mother, their argument, and then finally discovering that she had begun bleeding uncontrollably.
When she finished, Alexandra sighed and looked away briefly before returning her gaze to Jamie and putting both her hands on Jamie's knees. She leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss upon Jamie's lips.
“Babe… I take it you figured out how to put a tampon in?” Jamie nodded quietly, looking down at the floor.
"Well," Alexandra murmured, "I guess you know what we have to do next."
***
Jamie was lying naked on Alexandra’s bed again, in an attitude she’d started to think of as “human canvas.” Just let Alexandra work her magic, bring her vision to life through Jamie’s flesh. Then, maybe everything would be all right.
Alexandra exhaled. “I was hoping to do a few more sketches before we got to this point. But it’s not like we haven’t been thinking about it. Now that you don’t have to hide anymore… you’re sure about that, right?”
Jamie looked up at Alexandra through hooded eyes and nodded mutely. She bit her lip as she waited for Alex to begin drawing again.
“Okay. How about those muscles you’ve worked so hard for. Are you still planning on going back to the station, keeping your job? They can’t legally discriminate against you, you know.”
Jamie frowned slightly. "I've been considering it. Thinking about it in the back of my mind for weeks. But I don’t think I can go back. Even if I’m not staying at home, they all know my family. Will is there half the time I am. They’ll all consider me a traitor, and… do you know how many firefighters in this city are women?"
Alexandra gave her a grim smirk. “You’ve cited the numbers for me before. A little more than one percent?”
Jamie nodded. “And how many are trans women? Zero. There was supposedly a trans guy at one point, but…” she shrugged. “I need a break from all of that, at the very least.”
Alexandra tapped her lip with the stylus, looking over her girlfriend’s lanky, naked body. “So how do you feel about your muscle tone? The original concept I had was ‘Jamie if she’d been born a girl.’ You’ve seen all the sketches of her: a tall drink of water, soft and lithe, but not an athlete. Of course, I could be wrong about the path you would have taken in life! Maybe you would have lifted weights, or even followed the family tradition and become one of those hundred-something badass fire-fighting women?”
Jamie snorted. "I'd rather die first. If I’d had a choice… no training for physical aptitude."
"Okay, fair enough. So... what if I drew you as the athletic type? You're built well, but you didn't spend hours pumping iron every day for years like some guys do."
Jamie looked like she was going to cry. “I can’t figure out who I was supposed to be right now, Alexandra.”
"Well, it's not like you were destined to end up as a fireman," Alexandra pointed out gently. "I mean, you can still do that later if you want."
"I'm afraid I'll always be that person at some level, Alex. But I need to be someone else right now. Please, just redraw me.” Jamie’s tone had a note of desperation that sent a tingle of fear down Alexandra’s neck… or was it pleasure?
“You want me to draw you as…” Alexandra trailed off.
“Your perfect fantasy girl! Yes, please!" Jamie rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up on elbows and forearms, presenting her ass to Alexandra and giving her a challenging stare with her chocolate-hued eyes.
Alexandra smiled and lifted her stylus. “First part of my dream is… grabbing that delectable ass of yours. Making it even more delectable. An ass I could take a big juicy bite out of.”
Jamie grinned wickedly and wiggled her butt enticingly at her girlfriend. Alexandra licked her lips hungrily and lowered her head until she was staring intently at the smooth expanse of flesh above Jamie's thighs. She sighted along the tip of the stylus and nodded. “Perfect. I know just the shape.”
She ran the stylus lightly across Jamie’s backbone, resting at the very tip and pressing inwards. “This may feel funny.” Jamie felt a sense of pressure, a pop, and then her back arched into a new configuration, changing her posture on the bed. “Waggle that ass for me again like a good girl, Jamie K,” said the artist.
Jamie complied happily, wriggling her rump in circles in the air. It felt surprisingly different, her hips swaying the weight with significantly more gravity. Her spine was still changjng slowly, making her feel like she needed to flex and stretch it.
“Whoa there, little kitty. Plenty of time to arch your back when I’m done adjusting your pelvic tilt. There we go!” Alexandra sounded self-assured. “There’s no good human drawing, or redrawing, without studying anatomy.”
Alexandra returned her attention to Jamie's lower half. She made a series of slow strokes around Jamie’s buttocks, then ran the stylus along the length of Jamie's thigh, drawing on the outside of Jamie's hipbones as she went. "You have such nice legs. I just can’t part will all this fine muscle, I’m sorry… and some of it is genetic, too! But maybe girl Jamie put that talent towards… dancing!”
"Dancing? You mean like ballroom stuff?" Jamie wondered. She felt happy but drowsy, as if floating in a dream, as if her body were using up energy to grow and change.
"Hmm," Alexandra laughed. "Maybe a ballerina! No, too girly. Maybe modern dance. Samba, Afro-Cuban styles, hip-hop… this is New York City, after all!" She moved her hand to the center of Jamie's thigh and pressed the stylus firmly against the tall girl’s flesh. “Strength, but also flexibility and endurance. Long muscles. Well, yours are plenty long already, but I think dancers’ long muscles are used to being stretched out, not bunched up tight.”
Jamie felt the stylus sink into her, a bizarre tingling sensation, but not painful. With sweeping motions, Alexandra outlined the entire length of the outer leg muscles, then traced the line of the inner ones as she continued upwards to the knee. She stopped there, and then resumed tracing up the front of the thigh from the hipbone until she reached the top of the kneecap.
Then she moved on to Jamie’s arms, back, and shoulders, testing the range of motion, massaging her girlfriend’s body, reshaping her muscles and bones with the Burin of Destiny. Jamie felt as if she were floating on an undulating sea of sensations, a feeling of fullness in her chest, an ache between her legs, a tickle of sweat on her brow; but none of them was unpleasant.
In fact, it felt like the most natural thing ever: to lie naked while another woman examined and touched her with loving care, making her over into the form she most desired. When her thoughts drifted to what she might look like as Alexandra's fantasy lover—the muscles of a dancer, a tight ass, full breasts—the twinge in her groin was undeniably erotic. She wanted to let go, just become. Her drowsiness overwhelmed her, and she fell into slumber.
