Amy 22: Let's Amy free porn video

Amy 22: Let's Amy Copyright 2014 by Amy Komori The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. This story is copyright (c) 2014 Amy Komori. All rights reserved. Chapter One: I Step Into a Timeless Zone We drove over to Martin's old house in Emily's semi-new black Toyota. Weird nostalgic feelings crowded in on me. Like for one thing, I kept thinking about Emily's Bronco II, which had been pretty much a piece of shit even back when we'd first met. And even though Emily was really and truly an unusually tall person, it had still seemed like a lot of vehicle for her. And a weirdly dude-ish choice, but the secret was it had been her father's and she drove it after he died because she and her mom couldn't afford to get rid of it and get her something easier to handle and in better shape. Now she had this little Toyota, which was a bit more standard-issue for college students in our town. It made me happy to see there were still Emily flourishes in her transportation mode, though, signs of the cool rough edges she'd never be able to buff away (at least I hoped she wouldn't). The backseat had her nylon backpack and some battered sketchbooks, plus some empty CD cases. Frente, Happy Monkey Do, Shonen Knife, Mazzy Star. Fuck knows where the actual CDs were. From the rearview mirror dangled the Seven Lucky Gods of Shinto and there was just this unmistakable feeling from all these little details and even the smell that this car was owned by a girl. Even the Bronco II had been like that inside, but since those days, Emily had girled up a lot more herself. When I'd first met her she wore odd elements like thrift store dresses and velvet jackets and fingerless knit gloves and sometimes guy's pants. She was the one who taught me about wearing toy jewelry, which was something I'd come to really enjoy. She wore jeans and old shirts when she painted, but she actually wore cute but boring skirts and even sandals occasionally now. Anyways, as far as clothes and Emily and I went on this particular Saturday morning, I was in a hoodie and some camo army pants I usually wore skating and Emily was wearing worn, comfortable-looking jeans this morning because of our destination. Which loomed closer as I drifted through auto owner gender signifiers and old and bitsy little fragments from memories and emotions from a guy who had vanished, leaving this girl I'd become in his place. The closer we got to the Yard Sale of Doom, the more I felt myself aware of how I was inhabiting my new sense of self. I was really conscious of my age and the way my body worked and my place in the world as a girl among girls. Emily was a girl, and so was I. She was my big sister, I was her younger. Adopted and all that, but she and her mom were all the family I had now and all the love you have for family resided in them. This was in my spiritual place within the universe and all that. Both Emily's body and my own were being transported by the Toyota to a physical space in that very same universe or one very much like it that didn't belong to either of us. Emily had the Pixies on and she was kind of talk-singing along with Frank Black, but I was being very quiet. I felt her hand on my thigh and then she squeezed so hard it hurt. "Are you awake over there?" she asked. I gave her a druggy, one-word answer: "Yeah." "You're being quiet this morning." "I guess." "What's up?" "Just thinking." "About Martin?" "Actually, no. About you." "Enjoy." "I am." "Good." "It is good." "I'm happy you think so." "I'm happy you're happy." "I'm about to happily give you an open-handed slap in the mouth." We started to wrestle, but when Emily almost ran through a stop sign we realized how close to death we came and after that she kept both hands on the steering wheel and told me about the first time she watched "Princess Bride," which led to her acting out long scenes from it with every line perfectly memorized even while she kept both eyes on the road. I half-listened while I watched as the streets and the trees that lined them became more familiar and then we were turning onto the street where my guy-self from a previous life had grown up. The house was in the middle of the block, and there were a few cars parked along the curb. Since it was almost 8 o'clock, there weren't too many. Most people hit yard and garage sales around 7 and picked over the good stuff. The house was a single story ranch like all the others around it, with oak trees in the front and pine trees towering over it in the back. The porch was where the action was, with what looked like card tables set up and clothes draped over some rocking chairs I didn't remember at all from when I was Martin. Emily pulled up behind a car and hopped right out, but I sat still buckled in. I heard her asking me if I was coming. I peered out the passenger side window at the people on the porch and there was Martin's mom, looking pretty much the same as she did when I looked at her in his memories. Reluctantly, I got out. Now I really didn't feel like talking. I felt meek, so I simply followed Emily across the grass to the concrete walk and we sauntered up there, just two sisters out on a Saturday morning. "Hi," Martin's mom said cheerfully, and if she recognized Emily, she didn't show it. They hadn't really met but two or three times and that had been years ago. "I'm afraid most of the best stuff is long gone, but have a look." "Sure," Emily said. She glanced back at me and I was shaking my head no, no, no, by which I meant, Do not engage Martin's mom in a conversation. My heart was thumping all the way up into my ears as we went onto the porch, which was really too narrow for the tables and chairs and stuff piled on them. Martin's mom was right, too. There wasn't a whole lot. But what there was had belonged mostly to Martin. All I could think was how fucked up it was to see this stuff again in this state, from this side of the gender and biography divide. Things that used to mean one thing now meant another, but I wasn't sure what that meaning was. It nagged at me but didn't coalesce into something I could articulate. The nearest emotion to it was regret, but not for lost lives. It had something in my current life, something undone. But what? Frustrated, I decided it would come to me when I least expected it, so the best thing to do was to stop trying to figure it out and just start experiencing the moment and look at the Martin leftovers. My stuff or his stuff? Did I still have rights of possession? There were some Beatles and Bob Dylan cassettes, a Sebadoh and a Pavement CD, a box of baseball cards that was almost empty, a few books. Charles Bukowski and Jack Kerouac, plus an old Spanish textbook from his Spanish 101 class at the community college. Emily and I browsed the physical bits that seemed so familiar and so alien at the same time. It seemed vastly guy-like, and I could almost hear my brain making up smart ass comments about how typical Martin had been. A dude. It felt mean, though. The clothes were more interesting. REM and Tom Petty plus some random branded sports tees, a gray Toyota factory work shirt he'd bought at a flea market and wore out with his buddies getting drunk in the months before he'd met Emily. It had mysteriously disappeared from his apartment and I guessed now he had left it here on a rare visit home. There were jeans from high school, some of which I thought I could use skating. The best find was this blue-gray Alien Workshop tee, which his mom had stickered at one dollar. I picked it up and put it against my nose and it smelled like Tide laundry detergent. "Those are my son's old clothes," Martin's mom told us and I almost jumped off the porch from surprise. It was like she'd sneaked up behind us, and when she saw how I was kind of startled, she apologized. "I-it's okay," I said in this squeaky little kid's voice. Suddenly, I felt very small and very distant from her. And weirdly connected, not because she'd given birth to the guy I'd been shaped from, but because in a strange way, I was now on the same path she'd already traveled. A baby had come out of her. Emily could do that, and I could do that, too, if I cared to. And maybe I would one day, years from now when I was re-grown up and capable of making those kinds of decisions for myself, although it would probably have to be from artificial insemination. I wasn't this woman's son anymore, but I was her daughter, her daughter from some other reality. Then I felt my brain swimming in what felt like warm, soapy water and the next thing I knew, I was sitting in the rocker on top of the jeans and leaning back against the t-shirts and Martin's mom was fanning me with the Alien Workshop tee. "Are you okay, Amy?" Emily was asking, her black eyes wide. Nothing but muzzy underwater thoughts. My head felt empty and light, kind of rocking and tossed about, a beach ball thrown in the surf. I tried to tell her I was okay, but I knew I wasn't. "You fainted," Martin's mom told me, and I must have been coming back into myself because I almost said, "No shit" out loud. For a moment I was afraid I had, but she was still smiling this concerned smile. "Your knees gave way. Lucky we were there to catch you." "She didn't eat breakfast this morning," Emily said. That was true. She hadn't given me time to eat or shower or anything. Come to think of it, I hadn't even brushed my teeth. "Oh, you have to eat breakfast!" "Well, she was just so... you know... so excited to come to your yard sale. She's kind of a fanatic about them." That was a lie. Emily was good at them. I was learning from her and becoming increasingly skilled that way, too. "Oh, well bless your heart. Are you two sisters?" "Yeah. I'm Emily and this is my little sister Amy." A definite truth. "But you're so tall!" "Just lucky, I guess." I was feeling a lot more energetic and would be ready to bolt as soon as my brain started functioning normally enough that I could trust it to control my extremities. "Your color's coming back," Martin's mom told me. I gave her a wan smile. "I don't think... Is that the first time I've ever fainted?" "Are you talking to me or to your sister?" Martin's mom asked. "I don't know..." They told me I needed to just sit for a little bit and if I didn't feel better soon they'd call an ambulance. That was enough to really perk me up. But like the nice girl I was, I just sat there and kind of rocked a little while my sister and Martin's mom went off and had a quiet little conversation about things I couldn't guess. The yard sale customers kind of gave me these sympathetic glances, but I was becoming really aware of how foul my breath must smell and it was starting to make me uncomfortable in a social kind of way. Also, now that I was fully aware of my lack of dental hygiene, I started feeling like my teeth were furry. I licked them inside my mouth and silently begged for Emily to get this over with. Holy shit, I fainted! Wow, what a fucked up sensation. One second we'd been talking and I'd been experiencing all this weird input and the next I was out. It had lasted about as long as it took to say it, too. Emily came sauntering back and asked me how I felt. "I'm fine," I whispered. "I'm ready to go. I want to brush my teeth." "You didn't brush before we left?" "You know I didn't!" "Stand up, but like don't do it too fast, okay?" "I'm not a baby. I know how to stand." "You didn't a few minutes ago." I frowned and gave her an eat shit look as I rose carefully from the rocking chair. The gingerly quality of how I stood wasn't lost on Emily and she answered my look with a smug one of her own. "Thank you for coming," Martin's mom said as she handed Emily a plastic bag which looked full of t-shirts. "Did you buy all that?" I asked. "Yep," Emily said. She told Martin's mom, "Nice talking to you." Martin's mom put her hand on my forehead and my heart kicked. "No fever," she told me. "You take care, sweetie, okay?" I could barely unstick my tongue to tell her I would and then we were off across the grass and in the Toyota and a huge wave of relief washed over me. Martin's mom was waving at us from the porch until a customer approached her. I sank down in the passenger seat and tried to shrink down to microscopic size so no one could see me. Emily had to remind me to buckle up. It seemed I wasn't completely back to normal. That almost-regretful feeling was still there. Something I hadn't done. Something I needed to do. Or something I'd done wrong. That's what it was. I didn't know what. Well, I knew a lot of wrong things I'd done recently, all the things I was currently wondering how to repair. This was not one of those things. Something new. Chapter Two: I Feel Like I'm in the Milky Way We went back to Mrs. Komori's house and I finally brushed my teeth. Feeling very grungy and still weirded out over the morning's events, I decided I really needed to take a shower and put on some other clothes. That gave me time to process everything, soaping myself and rinsing and steaming up the bathroom. Standing there afterwards with a towel wrapped around myself, I listened to Emily and her mom chatting away. I couldn't make out what they were saying. I plugged in my hair dryer and went to work on my heavy helmet of hair. The mirror unfogged gradually while I brushed and dried my hair, in my ears nothing but the jet engine sound from the dryer, the hot hair comforting me. Martin's mom, huh? I wondered where his dad had been. Looking at myself in the mirror, I couldn't see a single trace of the guy I had started life as. There was just Amy there, with all the new body language and expressions I'd picked up over the past few years. When my hair was dry enough--which took forever--I went to my room and put on some fresh clothes. Dark boy jeans and a light blue longsleeve pullover shirt. Again, Amy in the mirror. My face and body reflected with my room behind me, the paper umbrella having been Emily's when she lived in the next bedroom. The mirrored room, framed like one of Emily's paintings, but in true photorealism. So real the central figure moved and emoted as she looked at all of the backwards objects. Below me was my jewelry box full of necklaces and bracelets, and around that, makeup in jars and tubes. I didn't wear makeup very often and even when I did, it was usually not a whole lot. Like mascara and maybe lip gloss. A couple of bottles of scented oils. I put on my puka shell necklace and my beaded bracelets again. I felt refreshed. More than that, I felt fresh. I felt new. I bit my lower lip and made a funny face and kind of liked what I was seeing. Not in a conceited way. I was more cute than pretty as far as I was concerned and nothing all that special. I liked me as a whole. Life was a complete pain in the ass, but I had a fleeting moment of self- satisfaction and I was glad to be a girl, and glad to be Amy Komori. It didn't last but for a second, then I thought about Martin and his missing father and how his mom was probably still selling the debris of the life he'd been forced to abandon. Well, at least I've made a new one, I thought. Patrick, Gina, Dallas and Heidi appeared in my brain and there was this new Big Wrong. They mushed together like different colored Play-Doh, a big ball I'd made, it left me feeling kind of nervous about even leaving my room. So much for feeling good about myself and my special new life, I thought. The ugly, lumpy colors and complications! Why was it so complicated? My temperature started rising and I could almost feel my forehead steaming. I winced, quickly turning angry with myself for being such a downer. I was going to figure it all out, right? Then I was like, Fuck it. I'm going to hang with Emily today and that's good for something, right? "Right," I said out loud. As a final flourish, I took the two white barrettes from that morning and pinned my bangs to one side. Now I had a little bit of forehead and it made me look different. I realized it was eyebrows had reappeared. I hadn't seen them in a long time and it was like meeting two old friends. Hi, girls. There they were over my eyes. Black hair, black eyebrows, black eyelashes, black eyes. That's when I realized what I had done wrong was not do something. I had something to do. Now I just had to figure out what it was, and I had kind of an idea what it might be. I trotted down the hall leaving all the negative thoughts behind in my room and then I made a surprise pronouncement to the two other Komoris, the biologically-related ones. It was time to get my ears pierced. "Why? No one can see your ears anyways," Emily told me. She was sitting on the sofa in the living room talking to her mom. "Well, then it's time to get a haircut, too," I said. "Oh, but I like your hair like that," Emily said. I did this sick expression and Mrs. Komori asked me to stop. I was growing increasingly sick of my hair and all the stupid shit about Molly Ringwald people kept saying, and as spring was here and summer on its way I wanted something more appropriate for hot weather. As far as the piercings went, all my friends except Michelle had them and I thought it was time to symbolically declare my complete allegiance to the tribe I'd joined. And the whole fresh start theme I'd briefly hummed to myself in my room. Or something like that. Basically, for the last couple of months I was starting to get a jones for earrings of my own, which was yet another sign of how much I'd changed since I changed and how far along my new path I'd come. Maybe I could start up a new fork. You know, with a new look. "Well, we can go out to the mall and look," Emily said. "I mean for a place to get your ears done. Where do you usually get your hair cut?" "I usually go to Connie Lynn's," I said. Connie Lynn was actually Mrs. Walker, a friend of Mrs. Komori's who cut and styled hair even though she and her husband were rich enough neither one of them had to work. But she'd been doing it since they were both so poor they both had to work and she wasn't about to stop now. She cut Emily's hair when she was little, and she cut Mrs. Komori's hair. "You don't have an appointment," Mrs. Komori reminded me. You had to have an appointment to get Connie Lynn to cut your hair, even if you were on her Christmas card list, which we were. "I know. I thought we could just go to Dollar Cuts," I said. "It's at the mall, too." Dollar Cuts was this cheap-ass chain of shitty haircutters, but it would do for what I had in mind. Which was to have my head buzzed. I got an all-over buzz with the half-inch cut on electric clippers, which was something even the butchers at Dollar Cuts couldn't fuck up too badly, although I did end up with a very small totally bald spot from where she wasn't so careful waving the clippers while she was zapping me guard- free to fix the collar line around the back of my neck. When the Dollar Cuts woman finished with me, there was a huge pile of black hair on my shoulders and lap and all over the floor. Goodbye, Molly Ringworm. "You could have sold that for a wig," Emily joked from the chair where she was sitting. The woman who chopped me showed me myself in a handheld mirror. She looked horrified, and she'd apologized three times already for the nick. "Is that what you wanted?" she asked. I raised my thick friendly eyebrows and said, "Well, even if it wasn't, it's what I got. Can you glue it back on?" The woman kind of laughed, but it was an uncertain one. Emily had joked earlier that I looked like a gay 12 year old boy. It was even truer now. My hair was really dense and thick so there was still this ample carpet of black on my skull (except that one spot), but now my eyes looked larger and my little ears were exposed and for some reason my neck looked extra long and graceful. Total mixed signals. Androgyny leaning more towards femininity but still not completely one or the other. I looked at myself and thought, There. Now I'm really a new person. "Let's get my ears punched," I said, as the hair cutter person brushed me off then took the plastic sheet from around my shoulders. I felt naked in a way, with my head many degrees cooler. But it was a clean feeling. And my skating helmet would fit better, I was sure. I paid for the crap job and Emily handed me my barrettes. Little white plastic clips, they clicked in her palm as she handed them over. I put them in my jeans pocket. "How about a tattoo?" Emily joked. The more I stared at myself in the Dollar Cuts mirrors, the more I liked what I saw. I started feeling like really proud of myself, like just a total brat. I smiled and finally I actually looked as wicked as I always wanted to. "Everyone's gonna freak out," I said happily. "You look like that chick from 'Foxfire,'" Emily said. Not really, but the same general idea. Sarah loved that movie, so she'd probably say the same thing. I didn't want to look like anyone else, though. I wanted to look like me. We found a place to get piercings, but it was kind of like a pink dentist's office but with jewelry displayed on spinners and all kinds of hair ornaments and clips and extensions all over the shelves and on the walls. The woman working there looked like someone's grandmother, but really clean despite having tattooed forearms. Emily and I kind of looked warily at each other. Then the woman smiled at us and said something in greeting which was so mumbly I couldn't really understand it and that settled it. I was going through with it. Once we got inside, I felt a little wobbly kind of like a lesser version of what had happened to me that morning, and Emily, more experienced in this kind of thing, told the woman I wanted just simple piercings, one in each earlobe. We picked out these simple gold studs the woman told us would by hypoallergenic or resist infection. "I can get an infection?" I asked, totally horrified. "Only if you don't keep them ears cleaned," the woman said. With visions of green, rotting earlobes falling off in the shower and washing down the drain in a swirl of blood and pus, I nodded and promised to follow the after-care routine, which she then explained in painful detail. After she finished, she asked if I still wanted to do it. "Yeah," I said wanly. "Like before lunchtime..." "We can do that," the woman told her and smiled open-mouth enough we could see the stud in her tongue. I gave Emily another look, this one wide-eyed. A granny with tats and a tongue stud! Holy shit. Emily radioed back the same thing with her eyes. The granny lady sat me down in a chair and put on rubber gloves like a dental technician might wear. She spent what seemed like forever piddling around with papers and things I couldn't identify on the table next to me. Finally, after I'd decided not to do it after all, she marked both my earlobes with some kind of pin, dabbed my right earlobe with alcohol and took out this white piercing gun thing. Clip, pinch, ouch and the first one was done. I could stop there and be like a pirate or something. The woman repeated the procedure on the left ear and it hurt a little more than the first time. She cleaned them again and showed me how I looked in the mirror. Two golden globes glinted on either side of my smooth-skinned face. "Are you okay?" Emily asked. "Better than okay," I told her cheerfully. I'd completed a rite of passage. I mean, maybe it wasn't so special since a lot of guys at our school also had one or both ears pierced, but now I had gone ahead and done it. I was officially a clich?! We paid then went to Sbarro for pizza. Standing in line, my legs felt trembly and I couldn't stay still. I kept feeling my ears. Not with my hands, but just through my nervous system. I really felt different now. Emily and I didn't talk while we waited our turn, but I felt bursting with energy. If I started I was going to talk a book's worth. Once we had our slices of cheese pizza, we hit the food court and found a table that wasn't absolutely crawling with flies and put our trays on it and then our asses in our seats. "Wow," Emily said. "You've had quite the day, huh?" "Oh... What did you and Martin's mom talk about when I was recuperating from the vapors?" "She didn't remember me. So I didn't let on who I was. I just asked her why she was selling all this young dude stuff." "What did she say?" "That her son moved out and he was missing or out of communication with them and they didn't know what else to do with his stuff." "What about his dad?" "Golf." "That fucker. He never used to play golf. She didn't say anything else?" "Just they wished they knew what happened. Did they do anything wrong or something like that." "Oh." "Did they? You never talk about them." "They were okay, I guess. When I... when he was a kid, they were closer but as he hit his teens it was kind of like, 'How long until you can take care of yourself?'" "Martin was pretty independent. I guess he was doing okay." "Maybe. I don't remember his having any like... I don't know... like ambition or anything. Just drinking with friends and going to shows." "Well, he was nice. I really..." Her voice kind of trailed off. She seemed sad all of a sudden. "You really what?" I asked her. Emily sat up straight, gave me a smile and shrugged. "I really liked him a lot." "That's over." "Yes, it is." "Did you love him? You said you did." "I think I did. Fuck, dude, I was 18." "You were pretty mature for 18. More mature than he was." She smiled in a surprisingly shy way and wouldn't look at me for a moment. Then she shook her head no. "I thought I was." We ate our pizza in silence for a little while. "Do you like being a girl, Amy?" Emily asked suddenly. I washed out my mouth with soda. "You're the second person to ask me that lately. Don't I seem to?" "You seem ambivalent." "What does that even mean?" "It means 'to feel two ways about something.' I learned that from 'Girl, Interrupted.'" "Oh. I thought it meant to have no feelings." "So did Winona Ryder. The two of you were wrong." "Well... I sometimes do like being a girl. Sometimes I do hate it. So I guess I am ambivalent." "Why do you hate it?" "Well, you know how when I first turned into a little girl, I was like I was going to stay a guy inside? And I was. For a while. But it changed. I changed. I don't know if it's because of biology or the... you know... that did this to me. But over time I felt myself changing. You remember like when I was first, first a girl and we were going on that first beach trip?" "I remember how miserable you were. Not that I blame you." "Well, you remember that sundress? I remember seeing it and it was like love at first sight, you know? That was the first time in my life I ever had this inkling I wanted to wear something made for girls." "You never wanted to wear my panties? When we were dating and you were a guy?" "Well, kinda, but not like this. I can't explain it. It was just how sometimes you see something and you want it. My first feeling about that was to ask myself what I was doing. Like it was wrong. Guys shouldn't want stuff like that. Unless they're crossdressers or something, which is totally fine and all. But I wasn't. So why did I want it? That was my very first inkling I wasn't going to be able to maintain guyness from inside here." "Well, getting back to my original question..." "I'm getting there, bitch. Just listen. I hated feeling that way. I hated all these new ways I was starting to feel. But then, after a while, I realized it was okay. Even if I was a guy, it would be okay. But I wasn't a guy. More and more I felt like... a... you know. I felt like a girl. Like I'd see older girls or women and I'd start putting myself in their shoes, thinking about their lives. That stuff I started to like. Wanting to be you, wanting to be your mom, hanging out with Sarah and all the stuff she does. All that was more or less cool with me." "Okay." "But the way people treat us. I don't know what's worse, the shitty way people talk down to me because I'm only 14 or the shitty way they talk down to me because I'm a girl. And another thing I hate is the way girls treat each other. And I hate all the stupid magazines and people on TV and this constant pressure to be one thing or another. I know guys get that, too, because I can remember Martin going through it. I mean, face it, he wasn't like your standard issue guy... well, kinda he was. Like for this town he was strictly standardized. The fucking Sebadoh and Pavement CDs. I mean, how standard can you get?" "Yeah. I bought those, by the way." "Oh. Cool. I mean, Pavement and Sebadoh are still pretty cool to me." "You can have them." "You keep them." Then she was leaning across the table and rubbing her hand on my buzzed head. Emily giggled. She actually giggled. Like super spazzy giggling, too. When she was able to talk, she told me, "Dude, that feels so weird!" Chapter Three: I Discover Whiskers of a Cat I was kind of hoping getting my haircut and my ears pierced would be the Big Thing I Either Did Wrong or Else Needed to Do, or whatever it was that was still driving me crazy. But it wasn't. It helped a little, and Mrs. Komori told me she'd buy me some cool little rings to go in my ear holes once I healed, which made me feel cheerful. All day Sunday I studied for school and talked on the phone with my friends and didn't give anyone an inkling of the changes I'd made. I wanted to make it all a big surprise. It worked. Monday at school, my hair was a revelation for the people in my grade who all knew me. The rest of the school didn't give a shit, although to be perfectly honest, I hoped for at least a double take or something from Heidi Fleegleman. If she did one, I didn't see it. Sarah almost had a fit, smiling and telling me over and over how different I looked, but then quickly adding I looked beautiful. I knew I didn't, but I felt pretty good about having really short, bristly hair. Michelle made a couple of smart ass remarks, by which I knew she approved. Gina just kind of shrugged and Lena was complimentary, but mostly trying to get us over to her house for more Silly Monkey practice even though we hadn't had a show in forever and weren't likely to now that I had alienated our only allies on the music scene. The pierced ears were a hit, too, with my friends. Of course, Dallas was kind of a downer but only because she wasn't talking to any of us that day, not even Michelle. Part of me wanted to reach out to her, but the bigger part of me was relieved not to have to deal with her interest in me. I shifted it into the back of my mind, one less thing to worry about. And by Tuesday, my new look was old news. Everyone seemed used to it, but then I got a note from the office. "Ms. Komori," our teacher said when the office runner handed it to her and she took a moment to read it. She gave me a hall pass and I went with the runner, who was this kid from ninth grade and looked scared to death of me even though he was taller than I was by a lot, down to the main office where I'd find out what the deal was. You know, who was dead, or if I was in trouble for some reason. I didn't think anyone was dead, so mostly I dwelt on that second possibility, but all I could think there was my friends and I had been spotted ditching lunch period for Taco Bell or something. But we hadn't done that in a while, so that couldn't have been it. One of the secretaries gave me a smile when I came in feeling kind of scared, and she told me to have a seat. I flopped down on one of the green vinyl chairs along the window and listened and watched as the secretaries answered phones and made copies and all that typical office stuff. I looked at the runner kid, who was asking someone if they had anything for him to do. The office runners didn't just run messages. They also filed our little school records. "Get Amy's file out," was the reply, which set my heart to racing. The runner gave me a fearful little glance, then went to the filing cabinets and looked under A for a while before someone gently reminded him we were alphabetical by last names. He got out this fairly thin manila folder and gave it to the secretary who had asked him. I didn't know her name, but she looked happy enough, so I couldn't have been in much trouble. At least that's how I reasoned it. "Amy Komori," came a voice from down the hall where the smaller offices for the principal and vice-principal were. And the deans of the girl and boy students, plus the guidance counselor. And the school psychologist, which is who was now beckoning me. The secretary went with me and into this office I went and they made me sit in a pink vinyl chair in front of a small wooden desk. The school psychologist was this really young woman who weirdly looked like she should be a student along with us, not picking our brains and trying to prevent our suicides and bullying and all that. She had brown ringlets spilling off her head and these really wickedly cool plastic framed glasses. Her nose was pointy and her face was round and she looked kind of like a cute bug. She was really pale and dainty, wearing just a little makeup and all that did was make her seem young, too. She took my file and sat down and read it for a moment then looked at me with these huge blue eyes. "Hi, Amy," she said pleasantly. "I'm Ms. Green." Her pleasantness was the first clue I had that I was in for something stupid and embarrassing. The second was when she asked me about my hair. And why I'd cut it so short. "Huh?" I asked like what she'd just said was completely insane. It was just shock on my part and I regretted it instantly because I thought she might pull an adult on me and start shouting or something about my disrespect. Instead, she just mildly said, "Well, I was just curious about why someone such as yourself would get... a... a... Well, what is it you're trying to tell us?" Warily, I said, "Tell you? I'm not trying to tell you anything. I just wanted short hair." "Oh. Well, we were just wondering if maybe there wasn't some message behind it. How are your classes?" "Pretty good." "And your mom? How is she?" "She's great. She's probably at work, but you can call her and ask her if you like." Ms. Green gave me a wan little smile. And she made a quick note on a pad of paper. "I think we can take your word for it, Amy. You're doing pretty well with your grades, aren't you?" I shrugged. I was making mostly As and a few Bs, so I had nothing to complain about. "And you're getting along with all your friends?" "Yeah, we're really solid." "We heard there was a little disagreement between you and Michelle Cho a few days ago." Oh that. I shook my head. "We... kinda did, but everything's really cool now." "What about your friend Dallas?" "She's great. She's like an amazing artist." "Uh huh. Are you getting along with her?" I blinked. What was she getting at? Had Dallas come for a session and told her how she liked me? Was she feeling me out for lesbian tendencies and about to hand me some literature about accepting myself and all that? "She's been missing a lot of school lately, hasn't she?" Ms. Green asked. "I guess so. We have art together and she's not there a lot." "And do you know anything about why?" "Well, she has these migraines and maybe stomachaches, too." "Of course. And she's been missing a lot of school, you and her best friend had a little disagreement in the cafeteria and then you decided to get your hair cut in a way that's caused a bit of a... you know... commotion. And these things are all independent of each other?" When she put it that way and linked it all together, it sounded like an accusation. I got very nervous, and I tried to hide it but didn't do a very good job of it. "A commotion? I... don't understand. I-I just wanted short hair. Am I in trouble because of my hair?" "No, no. Self-expression is very important to establishing a sense of identity, especially at your age, going through what you're experiencing." "But I'm not experiencing anything." "Everyone experiences something, Amy." "Okay, then I am experiencing something." "Would you like to tell me about it?" "I don't even know you!" That was louder than I'd intended and Ms. Green's cheeks went pink. But she didn't otherwise show much reaction. She just kept smiling and making odd notes here and there, but never when I thought she might. "I'm sorry, Amy," she told me. "I'd just like to understand where you're coming from at the moment. It's not that there's anything wrong with having short hair, or long hair, or getting into little arguments with friends. But for someone to suddenly and abruptly make herself known through something like this... well, there are just some concerns you're not happy." "I'm totally happy." "Wonderful. I don't want to make you feel singled out--" Before I could stop myself, I blurted, "Well, I kinda do, so great job there, lady." Now her face darkened. The smile faltered, kind of flickered at the edges like a candle when a door's been opened, before coming back to full strength again. "That was uncalled for, Amy." I nodded as if I agreed with her, but I thought it was totally called for. I could have said a lot worse. She was making me feel stupid about my hair and it just seemed like a violation of some basic right to dignity I had even if I was a tenth grader in a shitty high school. And I was making good grades and I wasn't doing a whole lot to get into trouble as far as I was concerned. I mean, I'd done some things on my own time, outside of school... "Well, I don't want to keep you from your classes any longer than I have to," Ms. Green told me. "I can go?" "Yes. Just get a hall pass on your way out. And come see me if you have any questions. About anything. Relationships, for example. Or if you just feel said. Okay?" I nodded, then got out of there as fast as I could without causing Ms. Green to write any more notes. Fuck knew what she'd written or what they were planning to do to me as a result. Nothing more came of it the rest of the week except I carried around this steaming pile of resentment. You couldn't even cut your fucking hair without starting a huge ordeal and having psychologists poking around inside your soul. I kept my gripes about it to myself, but Sarah asked me more than once what happened when she noticed my mood shadowing. The rest of the week kind of flew by. Michelle and I made plans to go back to the skatepark that weekend now that winter had ended and there was no longer a chance of ice falling from the sky. Seeing my skates and my armor in my closet each time I got dressed was tantalizing me lately. Oh, and also Dallas edged back into our group and asked if she could draw me with my "interesting ovaloid head shape." Chapter Four: I Become a Sweet Little Cat I was really excited to be back at the skatepark with Michelle. As usual, we were the only two girls there and also the only two inline skaters in a crowd of guy woodpushers. With my buzzed head, though, I felt really strong and capable. And the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became I was complicating things needlessly and the mysterious wrongess was related to my situation with Patrick. I could convince him we were meant to be friends and the feeling would go away like a ghost satisfied it had gotten its revenge on the bastard who murdered it. Patrick wasn't there at the moment, but I kept my eyes open for him. Even though he said we could still inhabit the same space (which was truly important because there was no other vert in town and no other places really to skate unless you wanted to risk your neck and the cops downtown), this would be our first test if I chickened out on forcing my way back into his good graces. Possibly. If he showed up. "I can't get over you pierced your ears," Michelle was saying, with this big grin on her face. She kept reaching out and flicking my earlobes and I kept brushing her hand away as if it was a gnat or a buzzing mosquito. "Stop," I warned her for the millionth time. "You're going to irritate them and make them infected." "Cool," Michelle enthused and tried to flick my ear again, but I shrugged her off with a quick shoulder move and pushed her. We were on the ground next to the vert as the regular skaters rolled noisily on their decks. It had rained earlier in the day and the asphalt was kind of mottled as was the sky. Broken streaming clouds. But overall, it was just a great day to be outside. "Maybe I should get mine pierced," Michelle said. "Get your dick pierced," I told her. "You wish. I know you want to suck it." "Now who's making wishes?" I was starting to get nervous about how long it was taking these guys to finish their runs. I wanted movement and to make the world a blur so I could burn off some of my energy. "We could go on up." "There he is," Michelle said and I didn't have to ask her who. I turned my head in the direction she was looking and for some reason I decided I needed to put my helmet on. I wanted to look as much like the old me as possible in front of Patrick. He was crossing the street and coming up the concrete steps. He had a big bag over his shoulder and his skate deck under one arm. We made eye contact and just for a moment his head kind of jerked. I deliberately made this big show of waving at him and he went narrow eyed and focused himself totally on the vert and all the guys on it. "I know you saw me," I said to him as he passed us and started up the steps. He hesitated and then went on up. Michelle and I could both hear everyone greeting him and all the guy stuff. I gestured with my head we should go up but Michelle shook hers no. "Why not?" I whispered. "Let's just go," she whispered back. "What? Why?" "I don't want you starting anything with him." "I'm not. I want to skate. We came here to skate and now I want to." "I skated enough before you got here." "Enough? There's no such thing, dude." I fastened my chin strap and got up and made my way to the top of the vert. Patrick was near the edge in the back putting on his pads. The sight of him just sitting there pretending I wasn't alive made me angry at him. I knew we had discussed not talking to each other, but I never officially agreed to that. At least that's how I saw it. And anyways, I wanted to be his friend as annoying as the whole "It's okay you're a lesbian" speech he'd given me had been. I'd made a big mistake, but that's yet another reason I wanted this so badly. I didn't want to feel like a bad person, a user. And I wanted to make it up to him somehow. You know, within reason. Patrick didn't look at me, but I was pretty sure he knew I was there. I deliberately skated over to be near him, close enough he had to feel me intruding in his personal force field of guyishness he had surrounding him at all times. He kept ignoring me and it started to get to me. Frustration and impatience. Plus I couldn't just balance there on my wheels forever. So I sat next to him with an extra loud thump and a sigh. Where I chose to sit was still wet from the rain, the water having beaded up and now it was soaking through my jeans and into my undies. It felt like I'd peed in my pants a couple of hours before and it had cooled down from body temperature to a cold, damp mess. "It was pretty wet where you sat, Ayumi," Patrick said, startling me. "You spoke to me," I said, sounding a lot happier than I meant to. He grimaced. "My ass is soaked now," I told him. "I hope that makes you happy." "We aren't supposed to be talking," was his reply in a very small voice. He looked away from me. "What's wrong?" I asked. "Nothing. We just aren't supposed to be talking." "You're crying." Holy fucking Jesus, Patrick was crying. Now I felt really embarrassed for him. Michelle came clomping up onto the top of the vert right at that moment and I wanted to scream at her to go back down. "Okay, I'm crying," Patrick said. He sniffled. "Do you want me to go?" I asked. The hush all around us was almost too much for me. Michelle was making horrified faces and I felt if I looked around everyone would be staring. No one was even skating. "No," Patrick said. He actually laughed in this really wet, slobbery way. "Maybe I should go." "Just stay. I'm okay. I just... I just didn't expect this, okay?" "Well, neither did I, but I'm not the one acting all girl about it." Patrick cried and laughed at the same time. I looked at Michelle who was begging me with her eyes to run away with her, to someplace, anyplace but this zone of humiliation. But I knew there was no escaping for any of us. Patrick, Michelle, all the other skater guys and I were all locked in this really unbearable moment together and we'd have to see it through to the bitter end. "Dude, wipe your nose," I told Patrick and he dug a handkerchief out of his pocket. "I have something really important to tell you." "Okay." "When you told me you didn't want to be friends anymore, dude, that really hurt." "Like faking being someone's girlfriend hurts?" "Probably." "Did you cry?" "Believe it or not, I did. Look, what I did was shitty. You know why. You know my reasons, but those are just... you know... reasons. They're not an excuse. So I'm really, really, really sorry, Patrick. I don't know what else to tell you, but if things could have been different... Okay, I don't know where I was going with that. I just wish things could have been different. I wish I could like you the way you like me. It would make things a lot easier, but I don't and I can't, but for what I did I am so, so sorry." "Say it one more time." "Say what?" "Say you're sorry." "I am." "No, really say it. Then I'll believe you." "I'm sorry, Patrick. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm fucking sorry." Now he looked at me. His eyes were extra-shiny and the skin around them was pink and puffy. He had long eyelashes for a guy and now they were all stuck together. But at least he was smiling. I took a deep breath and finished it. "And... I really want us to be friends, Patrick. That's what hurt the most. I realize I really need you as a friend. I... I need you in my life. You know, as a friend." I made the mistake of looking at Michelle and she had this wide-eyed "I cannot believe this" look on her face. All the skater guys were hauling ass as best they could, clambering down off the vert and carrying on down below as if nothing up here had happened, but they couldn't even do that right because they were too noisy about it. Nothing ruins nonchalance more than faking it. In a way it was worse than having the spotlights of their eyes on us. They were making me relive the whole thing second by second in my head like a sick instant replay. Patrick cleared his nose. "Okay, Ayumi." "Okay what?" "Friends." I smiled. Now I was genuinely happy and relieved. "But I don't trust you anymore," Patrick said. "I might again like sometime in the future or something but for right now, I don't." That stung and wiped away my smile, but I just nodded. "So... I mean..." he had run out of gas. "But we're cool, right? We're friends, right?" I asked. I sincerely wanted to know. "Yeah. I said we were." "And we can talk and hang out?" He nodded. "Yeah." "Cool." I got up feeling like I'd been in a dentist's chair. Kind of dinged up but relieved. I took off my helmet and said, "Look." Patrick looked up at me. He saw my buzzed head and my new pierced ears. He gaped. I felt satisfied. Chapter Five: I Dance on a Flying Saucer So Patrick and I were kind of putting our friendship back together. He wasn't as chill around me as he had been. As we skated that afternoon and my wet ass slowly dried, I knew he was still wrestling with feelings and watching me for signs. Signs he could trust me again, or signs he should turn and run away. It felt like being on probation, which seriously sucked and sometimes I resented it. But mostly I was just glad to have fixed a major hole in my life. I felt strangely capable. It's just that it turned out that wasn't the Big Thing. That feeling was still there, hanging around me like the aroma of one of my scented oils, but only I could smell it. After we said our goodbyes Michelle and I went to a pay phone to call Mrs. Komori to come pick us up and drive us home. There was one right outside this magazine stand, which was really a small bookstore that sold candy and soft drinks, too. Instead of calling right away we went inside to waste some time and just hang out together. We were kind of putting our friendship back together, too. The store was fun and fucking around in there with Michelle meant I didn't have to think about anything serious. They had every magazine you could think of about regular topics, but then they also had like this crazy porn section near the cash register hidden behind a shelf of regular magazines. You weren't supposed to go back around that shelf to look in there unless you were over 18. I remembered going back there with friends, and even with Emily back when I'd worn a dick between my legs instead of a vagina. I have to admit I was still kind of curious because seriously, they carried some fucked up stuff. A lot of it was hilarious. Michelle would have been up for it if I'd suggested we try, but instead of sneaking back there, though, we stayed in the straight zone and paged through tattoo magazines and music magazines and even some inline and skateboarding magazines. The heavyset guy in plaid at the register didn't even look our way. We probably could have checked out the porn to our hearts' content. In fact, we probably could have looted the whole store. Michelle also wanted to talk about what had happened at the skatepark. She kept saying she couldn't believe Patrick had cried and how sick to her stomach that made her. She told me about one time her older brother ran over a squirrel in his car and they'd stopped to look at it and it had tire tracks in its fur and all its guts and junk had kind of blown out its asshole. "That was NOTHING compared to watching Patrick crying, dude," Michelle said. "Stop, please," I told her. It wasn't just embarrassing for Patrick. It was embarrassing for me, too. "Check out this nasty shit," she said, showing me a close up of an arm with Eddie the Iron Maiden mascot inked on it glaring at us from the glossy page of a magazine. "That is fuckin' rad, dude." "Why don't you get that on your stomach?" "I want Eddie on my chest, like right across my boobs." "If you had any. The rash bumps on that arm are bigger than your boobs." "We should form a club. Sarah wouldn't get in. Oh my god, she has a ghetto ass, too." "Don't talk about Sarah's ass, motherfucker. She's my best friend. Do I talk about Dallas' ass?" Michelle blinked. Dallas was a sore subject between us. She put the magazine back on the shelf and walked away from me. "I'm sorry," I said to the back of her head and her big backpack where her skates were. I had one on my back, too. I was just an inch or two taller than her and if I had my hair back we'd have looked almost like reflections of each other, at least if the mirror was foggy or you were looking at it sideways. We did look a bit more like sisters than Emily and I did. Michelle stopped and picked up a Newsweek and pretended to be fascinated by it. Someone had killed a first grader and it was our national business or something. I edged up beside her, took a look at the cover which was this heartbreaking photo of the dead kid. Kind of fitting, I guessed. "I'm sorry," I said again. "No, it's casual. She's just being... you know. I mean, I love her to death and everything but sometimes I really get sick of the dramatic moments." Michelle sounded really sad, too. I knew it was hard on her being caught between Dallas and me, but I couldn't feel about Dallas the way she did about me. And I especially couldn't and pretend to be straight at the same time. She looked at me for a moment, then went back to the magazine. "I wish I knew what to do," I told her. "What was that stuff about you wishing you could feel about Patrick the way he does about you?" Michelle asked. I startled. "Just... you know, not like-liking him." "Yeah. Do you like someone else?" "No. I just don't like him." Then, because I had the faintest hope Michelle might say something to jar loose that nagging clogged-up thought, I asked her, "Do you ever get the feeling there's something you should do that you haven't, but you don't know what it is?" She gave me a funny look. "Everybody does." "I've had that all week and it's really driving me crazy." "Don't think about it and it'll come to you." "I thought that, too, but it hasn't." "This magazine is so stupid," Michelle said and she put it back on the shelf. She looked around and saw no one was looking at her in return, so she started crushing the Newsweek, accordianing the sad cover photo something fierce. "I know one thing we need to do that we haven't and that's call your mom. I'm really hungry. Aren't you?" I told her I was and we both went and bought a couple of Tangy Taffys to get some change and I called Mrs. Komori. When we dropped Michelle off at her house, she told me, "I think your earrings are awesome, Amy. I'm definitely going to get mine pierced." "See you at school, dude," I called as Michelle ran up to her house and went inside. "She's adorable," Mrs. Komori told me. "Yeah, she's all right," I said. "For a serial killer." Mrs. Komori smiled wryly and shook her head. All in all, it had been a pretty interesting couple of weeks. On the way back to our house, I thought about Dallas. I hoped she was getting over things. Sometimes I did like her, but I wasn't attracted to her. She was too negative and depressing for that. It was so strange how so many times we were all attracted to people who weren't interested in us. Patrick and Dallas like me, but I didn't like them. I liked Gina, but Gina didn't like me or any girl in that way. Heidi and I both were secretly into each other, and the end result of that frustration was mutual hatred. At least Sarah was happy. "I wonder if I'll ever meet someone and fall in love," I said softly. I hadn't really meant for Mrs. Komori to hear me, and I wasn't as down about it as it probably sounded, but she tried to comfort me by telling me, "Of course you will, Amy." "But how do you know?" "I know because I'm an optimist." "Oh." "I have to be." "Why's that?" "Because I'm raising you." Then it clicked. What I'd been doing wrong, and what I had to do. People talk about lights going on and all that. It was kind of like a light going on, but the light was inside my heart, not my brain. Inside, within the warmth of this light, I was swelling up with all kinds of emotions, but mostly with love for Mrs. Komori. I could feel my lower lip starting to tremble, and even though I put my hand up to cover it, Mrs. Komori noticed it. "Stop the car!" I shouted. Mrs. Komori gave little yelp. "Stop the car!" I pleaded. "I have something to tell you!" "We're almost home." "No! I have to tell you now and you have to look at me while I tell you!" I said, my voice shrill and insistent. Mrs. Komori looked a little frazzled all of sudden, but she stopped the car alongside the curb right in the middle of a tree-lined block not too far from our house. She didn't slam on brakes or anything. She just brought us to a stop, then shut off the engine, unbuckled her seatbelt and turned so she could give me her full attention. That was my cue to unbuckle, too. Now we were looking at each other face to face, as much as anyone could sitting in a car. "What is this all about, Amy?" Mrs. Komori asked. I nodded, but it took me a while to start, and when I did, I couldn't stop and my words came out in a fast jumbled mess that I was afraid didn't make much sense or convey what I was feeling or how deep it truly was. First, I told her I was gay and she told me she understood and she'd support me no matter who I loved. Then, I told her all about what I'd done with Patrick, and that made her frown, but before we could get into that, I told her about Dallas and the fight between Gina and Michelle that had resulted and before she could scold me for being the root cause of that as well, I told her about how Emily and I visited Martin's house and how I'd fainted and how different I felt as a result. And then... "But the main thing is about you," I said. "Me?" And again I nodded. This was the most important thing I'd ever said to anyone up to this point, and it scared me but also propelled me along with its own gravitational force. Like being on the vert, the moment when you step over the coping and go straight down to start your run. There was no stopping yourself at that moment, or stopping me at this one. A car could have rear-ended us and killed us both but I would still have said it as we died. "It started last week at the yard sale, and it's been... I don't know... like eating away inside and I'm really sorry." "Why are you sorry?" "I'm sorry for not doing it sooner." "What? What is it?" "I want to call you mom. I should have started a long time ago, but I was scared to at first and then you just seemed... I don't know. You're my mother now, though. I think about it a lot, all the stuff you do for me and everything and all I ever do is act like a brat." "Amy, everyone acts like a brat from--" "I'm pretty sure at this stage I'm going to continue to act like a brat for a long time because I can't help it." It made me feel all of 14 years old to be saying this, but it was true. "Amy--" "I know I fuck up lot and constantly hurt you. I just... I want to be your daughter. For real now. You are my mom. My mother. Whatever. You're her." So at that point, I stopped interrupting and waited for what Mrs. Komori was trying to tell me. And she said something I'll never forget. She said, "You are my daughter. I want you to call me Mom, or mother or whatever it is you feel comfortable saying, whatever fits how you feel about me. I feel you're my daughter. And as far as fucking up goes, sometimes I want to strangle you. But I'm pretty sure daughters are supposed to hurt their mothers, and probably the other way around, too. That's just the nature of family." I was elated. The weird feeling was gone and I had a mom again. Mom. I would have hugged her, but right at that moment, this guy came out of the house we were parked in front of and asked us if we were okay and if he needed to call an ambulance or the police or something. "We're better than okay," Mom said.