The Sidereus Prophecy Part 2 free porn video

A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR: This story is my thank you to a community that has provided me free fiction for years. It is also my first story (and probably my last), and I will warn you- it is long. My intrepid editor, Robyn Hoode, slaved through the drafts of the story, providing insightful and helpful commentary. His enthusiasm for the subject material kept me motivated. Honestly, without him and his constant feedback, this story wouldn't exist. So, if you enjoy this story, you have him to thank, as much as me. This story is very much a slow-burn, character-driven transformation. As I said, it is lengthy, but I hope you will stay for the entire ride. This is a nine part novel that will be posted on a weekly basis. It is complete. Please feel free to leave a comment or to send feedback to the following e-mail: [email protected] DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. PART 2 Chapter 20 The alarm on Am?lie's phone jolted me awake. I shot up immediately, eyes wide and mind buzzing from the dream. Am?lie groaned as she turned over to face me. "Darren, you hit me in your sleep again. You were screaming too." Tenderness washed over the gravelly tone of Am?lie's morning voice, "Are you OK? You look freaked out." I nodded slowly, "I think so, another weird dream." I looked down at myself, half expecting to see that I was dressed like I was in the dream. I peered into the mirror on the bedroom closet, and my face was devoid of makeup. My hair was messy, the bangs dangling in my eyes, and thankfully, I was still wearing a pair of my pajama pants and the same white t-shirt I wore to bed. I breathed a sigh of relief. Still, the dream stayed with me. I wasn't sure if it was just my paranoid mind playing tricks on me or if it would actually be prophetic. In any case, I had no interest in meeting any guy after my run-in with Brad, let alone dressing like a whore to gain his attention. Am?lie started pulling all manner of professional clothing out of her side of the closet- skirts, blouses, suit jackets, which she threw on the bed. "You'd better get in the shower, Darren, it's going to take a while to dry your hair. Plus, we'll need to shave your legs." It was no use fighting Am?lie. She had volunteered to help, and as much as I did not want to run the gauntlet of shaving, curling, plucking and primping- I had put myself in this corner. If I didn't want to be treated as a teenager then this was what I needed to do. I had to look like a young professional woman and professional women dressed this way. If I could convince someone outside my family that I was at least in my late teens to very early twenties, I could also regain some of the ground I had lost in this war. Clearly, Samantha and Rachel thought that I was a teenager, and my sister figured that I was only fourteen, but I planned to prove them wrong. I knew the inner workings of law, information that only came from experience. Those interviewing me would surely realize this. They would not be able to use ageism to deny me this job. If I could have this victory, then I could stop the indignity that was my slow and painful expulsion from the adult world. I finished showering. I had learned how to properly wring out my hair to avoid creating puddles that only a sock-wearing Am?lie would step in. Even wringing it out, because of the length and thickness, it took nearly half an hour to dry my hair thoroughly- because apparently just moving the blow dryer around to random spots on my head didn't actually do the job. Afterward, Am?lie sat me on the toilet and proceeded to shave my legs. My leg hair was fine, and Am?lie commented on this, but I was indifferent. I was more concerned with hiding what was between my legs, or rather, what wasn't. Am?lie raised a brow at my behaviour, "You know I have one of those too. It's nothing I haven't seen before, Darren." I frowned, trying to keep my legs closed, "It's just embarrassing, Am?lie. I don't want you seeing me with-well..." Am?lie stated matter-of-factly, "A vagina." I nodded, and I felt my cheeks redden, "Yeah. That." Am?lie didn't say anything more. She was going through the process of getting me ready in a clinical manner. I was pleased that she wasn't enjoying it, but I also didn't want her to be mad at me. I wanted to go one day without us fighting. Am?lie finished my legs and then did my arm pits. Am?lie frowned, "It's almost six, and I haven't even started getting ready. Plus, I need to get Chloe up. Think you can pick something out to wear that will match?" She put emphasis on the last word, knowing that while I could dress my male body, since almost everything matched with black, I might have difficulty once I entered the world of pastels. Am?lie often poked fun at my inability to dress Chloe in matching clothing. I nodded and then immediately regretted my decision as Am?lie left the room to take her own shower. I picked up a tan-coloured skirt and then a pale pink blouse. I then grabbed a black suit jacket. I put the skirt and blouse against my body as I had seen Am?lie do. I had no idea if they matched. I rummaged through the pile and found a simple black skirt. I pulled the skirt over my hips and then zipped it up from the back. The clothing that Am?lie had chosen would fit because it was part of her "skinny" wardrobe. I wasn't complaining about the skirt's length, which on Am?lie was knee-length, but on me it was four inches lower. The less skin I showed the better. I chose a simple white blouse. I fumbled with the black bra that Am?lie had chosen. I was never a wizard at unhooking a bra. I hadn't had any practice in high school and only some in university. I kept twisting around to try and see the fastenings in the bedroom mirror. I heard Am?lie's voice behind me, "You're really are terrible at that." I shot back, "You'd be happier if I was a pro at putting on a bra?" Am?lie walked up behind me and hooked the bra seamlessly. She frowned at the suit jacket on the bed. "This is navy blue. The skirt is black. And this blouse doesn't go either. You can't wear this with that thin suit jacket. It's got ruffles. The idea is that it needs to be a smooth line. The ruffles will make you look-" Am?lie stopped. I could see her looking at my skirt. "OK. So, you want to be taken seriously in an interview, and you wear boxers. They are so bulky. I figured you would have worn panties at least. You can't have it both ways, if you want to be seen as an adult woman- you have to dress the part." She made me undress completely and put on a pair of panties. I was thankful she didn't suggest a thong, but then, I doubt she wanted to be sharing thongs. So women, just to avoid a panty line, needed walk around all day with a string up their butt. I was beginning to understand Am?lie when she said that that women sacrificed comfort for appearance. Am?lie did my makeup next. She did it tastefully, hardly the tramp paint from my dream. She then moved to my hair, which took the longest. The issue was that Am?lie sucked at doing anything resembling an up-do. She put pins in it to keep the hair in place, but when the strands started coming loose, Am?lie started swearing at my hair. She swore at her computer, at other drivers and the tax man, but my hair was a new target. Eventually, as it neared 7:30, she was finished. She took no time to admire her creation. She whisked Chloe into her arms and hurried out the door. I shouted that I had no shoes to wear, but she didn't hear me. She was going to be late for work. I sighed at the time lost to create something that might work. I mourned the fact that previously I could wake up a half hour before it was time to leave and still had time to make my lunch and even watch a little TV. If I stayed in this body and got a job that was remotely professional, I would have to go through a similar routine every day. I peered at myself in the mirror. Am?lie used cover-up to hide the freckles underneath my eyes. She also brought out my cheekbones to disguise the roundness of my cheeks. Unfortunately, the fact that my hair was off my face accentuated the roundness of my chin and jaw. The baby fat was still visible. Am?lie was no hair dresser, and if I had paid for the styling she did, I would have asked for my money back. While the hair was off my face, a few loose strands tickled my neck in places. Still, perhaps my clothing would convince the interviewers that I did not belong in second period tenth grade Algebra. Am?lie had chosen a pale pink blouse with a black skirt and suit jacket. The blouse was fully buttoned with the jacket outlining instead of emphasizing my breasts. Am?lie lent me her watch to complete the ensemble. It was dainty and very feminine. My face was still the weak link in my plan. My height did not help, and because I had no experience walking in heels, I opted for a pair of black shoes with only a half inch heel. Wow, I was a full half inch taller. I chose one of Am?lie's more stylish purses, a burgundy coach bag knock off. How did I know that? Well, apparently I listened when Am?lie told me things that I really had no interest in. I scrutinized my appearance. I could pull this off if they didn't kick me out of there immediately, laughing and pointing at the little girl trying to act all grown up. I would pull it off with what I had to say, not my appearance. As I looked closer, I had reservations. The suit jacket was made for someone taller, so it hung too low, cinching below the waist instead of on it. I frowned. It looked like I was wearing my older sister's clothes, especially because the skirt was too low. The sleeves of the blouse were too long. I had to roll them slightly to avoid them hiding the palm of my hand. Also, I wasn't sure, but I think the purse may not have matched. I looked at the watch and saw it was already ten minutes to 8, so instead of walking, I was going to have to run. It was unlike me to be even close to late for a job interview, but with the parade of humiliation that I had to endure, the time slipped my mind. I was thankful that the law office was close. I smartly removed the heels and put on the tennis shoes, carrying the heels with me as I locked the door. I pumped my legs like I used to, shocked at just how slow I was. When I was running from Brad, all I felt was the adrenaline and the instinct to flee. I noticed my steps far more that I actually had time to analyze what must have looked like a ridiculous run. A teenage girl, dressed in slightly ill-fitting work clothing, wearing tennis shoes with loose strands of hair flapping behind her with a purse that may or may not have matched. Because of my skirt, I had to take short mincing steps. As a man, I used to glide as I sprinted, my feet barely touching the ground. Now, my steps were less fluid and definitely heavier. I had lost weight compared to my male body, but much of it was muscle. This body was not as coordinated as my slim but athletic frame. Basically, I ran like a girl, and as stereotypical and possibly sexist as they may seem, it was true. I had seen women run that way because of the limitations of their clothing. I had a double whammy of short not exactly muscular legs and the constricting nature of the skirt. I arrived at the law office with two minutes to spare. It was in a small, modern looking building next to a skate park. The outside had windows all around, and I could see that even the lawyer's offices had an open concept with glass doors. Even from the outside, I saw no hint of cubicles. There were workstations with walls no higher than three feet. I hurriedly pulled off my tennis shoes and put on the black dress shoes. They were Am?lie's and didn't fit very well, but I would only have to wear them while I was inside. There were a few skateboarders, who likely should have been in school, and one young man with a battered acoustic guitar. He wore a leather jacket, but his other clothing, a suit jacket and tie with black dress pants, showed that he went to a school where uniforms were the norm. There was no room in my purse for the tennis shoes, so I threw them in a bush that made up a small garden in front of the office. It was not an elegant solution, but I doubted that any real woman would carry her shoes into an interview. I was annoyed when I realized that I could have put the shoes on the shoe rack just inside the door. I was surprised at my impulsive decision to leave my shoes outside, but I had to hurry and announce myself. Ideally, I wanted to arrive ten minutes early. I thought arriving one minute before might appear unprofessional, but it was too late to worry about that. The office looked brand new. There was still protective plastic on some of the workstation chairs. The reception area, which was deserted, had an unopened laptop box and an unconnected telephone. The only contact I had was through e-mail- a woman named Stephanie Locke. She had the usual titles next to her name in the e-mail, so I knew that she was a lawyer. I had done some research on the firm, but was unable to find much. I knew that Stephanie practiced different aspects of law, but her speciality was constitutional law and human rights law. Her husband, Anthony, the other partner, specialized in administrative law. This would be a perfect match based on my work as a paralegal- if I could get even one word out without being sent home. I took my resume out of a shiny black plastic jacket. I had no idea how I looked because I hadn't brought a mirror or even a compact. I knew that more strands of hair had come loose. Am?lie had done her best, but I knew that I had to impress them with my knowledge before my appearance affected their judgement. A heavy set thirty-something woman opened her office door. She had mousy brown hair and a serious, intelligent face. She was dressed in a grey pants suit that hugged her curves. She dressed for her size, and her choices were flattering. She greeted me with a smile, and I shook her hand more firmly than she expected. Either that, or she was scrutinizing my appearance. "Abigail is it? Sorry, we just moved here, and we are still getting things in order. That will be part of your job, should you get it of course." While the woman was pleasant, she was forthright. She had a strength to her voice that no doubt helped her in court. She was still looking at me as I ended the handshake. I could see her mind working, removing parts of my disguise, piecing together the evidence to reach an eventual conclusion. I maintained eye contact and continued to meet her smile with one of my own. "Yes, Abigail Lawrence. I am here about the legal assistant position." I felt awkward walking around in the skirt, but I tried to move gracefully. I felt, generally, very uncomfortable in women's clothing. It was like wearing a Halloween costume to a job interview. I thought that at any moment, I would be declared a fraud, not only regarding my age, but my gender as well. As Stephanie brought me into her office, I sat and crossed my left leg over my right. I knew that at least, and it made sitting in the skirt more comfortable. Stephanie was still smiling, but it was calculated. I needed to begin this interview before she ended it. "Thank you for seeing me so quickly Ms. Locke. As you will see from my resume, I have experience in constitutional, human rights and administrative law. I am also familiar with the court system regarding the filing of documents. I am well versed in the creation of disclosure packages and the binding of material such as books of authorities. I can also use a number of different methods to conduct research including both electronic and traditional means such as Black's law and Herald's Interpretation of Statues. I can also edit and draft simple contracts." If Stephanie was expecting such a concise yet detailed summary of my experience, she certainly didn't show it. I saw her eyes widen, and her head even moved backward awkwardly. She was amazed, just like Dr. Alberts. Stephanie replied, still bearing a semi-astonished look, "That's very impressive, Abigail. You are telling me that you gained all that experience working for this- Am?lie Grenier?" I nodded my head, "Yes, I am a very fast learner. I started as a clerk, but once they saw that I could do the work, well they gave me more. They were pleased with it." Stephanie nodded, "Ok, but Ms. Grenier is a tax lawyer- she-" I interrupted her. This is usually the cardinal sin of interviews, but I needed to fill in the blanks of my resume. "She works at the tax court yes." Stephanie furrowed her brow, "How did you gain experience in human rights and constitutional law? Isn't the tax court an administrative tribunal?" I knew this was a test. It was to see if I had padded my resume just to match it to the partners at her firm. I nodded my head and smiled confidently. "Because there were times when an individual would argue that a particular portion of the Income Tax Act was unconstitutional or that it violated their human rights. Usually, it was section 15 of the Charter, but the defence was never successful because they were unable to prove they belonged to a disadvantaged group. That is what the Supreme Court has ruled each time." I knew my stuff, and Stephanie was clearly impressed. She leaned forward and placed her hands on the desk. She wore a half-smile, but it was the eyes that revealed just how awe-struck she was by my performance. I usually did well in interviews. Stephanie said warmly, "You are a very impressive young woman, Abigail. I certainly didn't know any of what you know at your age." I raised an eyebrow at this, my eyes jetting off to the side as I tried to formulate a response. Stephanie broke in before I could speak, "The position we are looking to staff is for a full-time legal assistant. I'm afraid that's mostly getting coffee for clients, paperwork, photocopying, and light bookkeeping. You would prepare some court documents, but there wouldn't likely be any research." I piped in eagerly, "But it doesn't bother me. I just enjoy working in law. I like the atmosphere and the continual learning. I enjoy the evolution of law, Ms. Locke, the idea that one interpretation can change the very foundations of a country. Look at Roe vs. Wade or R. v. Morgentalier. These are monumental cases." Stephanie nodded her head slowly and said softly, "They are Abigail. Listen though, I was like you once, in a hurry to grow up. I think you will make a fantastic lawyer one day, but you can't rush things. You should enjoy these years. Keep the law in your back pocket and get all the experience you can, but don't do what I did." As she continued, I knew that my disguise was blown, "I spent all of high school with my nose in a book, and when I got to university I turned into a party girl to make up for it. Nearly failed my first year. Alcohol poisoning multiple times. I think if I had balanced things, you know gone to dances and tried to be social at school, it would have been easier to get used to university life. You are a super smart girl, Abigail, but I can't hire a high school girl as my full-time receptionist. Mostly because, it would be illegal." I just stared at her, my eyes threatening to form tears as the emotions threatened the flood gates, teasing at them with each word that sunk a dagger into any hope of my being treated like an adult in this body. "Oh Abigail, I'm sorry. I know it's hard. I'm sure you are terribly bored in high school, but if you want to be a lawyer, you need to put the time in. Listen, I want to recommend you, no, invite you to our summer outreach program. I don't think I will get a better candidate than you. It's a paid internship that we usually give to pre-law students, but with your knowledge and ability, I doubt any of them could compete. I will need to talk it over with my husband, but I am sure after he meets you that he will agree." I was crestfallen and Stephanie could tell. I felt like I could fall through the floor. She put her arm on my shoulder, "I was where you are, Abigail. Just trust me. What does Ms. Grenier say about this, you worked with her last summer I am guessing? I know you padded this resume at least slightly- most lawyers do it, but most can't talk their way out of it either." She beamed at me, but I thought she was being patronizing. "She thinks I am ready." I answered firmly, but I sniffed lightly, trying to contain the tears that threatened to flow. "Well if she is any kind of lawyer, she would know that it is against the law to hire a teenage girl in a full-time position that would impact her ability to attend school. She didn't say that, did she Abigail? That you were ready." Now I was being chastised for my lie, but if I wanted to be considered for the very distant second prize in this game, I needed to come clean, "She didn't. She said," I sighed, "that I would be more than ready one day." Stephanie smiled and patted my shoulder- just like Dr. Alberts. My eyes flashed with anger, but Stephanie did not seem to notice. "I don't blame you for trying this. And I am serious, Abigail, you will make an amazing lawyer one day. But you need to take your time, experience life. Because there will come a time when you will hate adulthood. Usually around tax time." She squeezed my shoulder, "Are you going to be OK? Do you need me to give you a ride to school? And I was serious about the internship offer. Your parents will have to approve it of course. We deal with some unpleasant issues here. Some of the human rights abuse cases can be very difficult to read. A parent or your legal guardian will need to sign this form." She gave me the document, and I put it in the purse I had brought. I said, "I will be OK." The hurt in my eyes told a different story. Stephanie said, "I want you here the second you finish your final exams Abigail. That's in June usually right?" I nodded and sniffed, "Yes. I think so." Stephanie added, "Don't forget to get your parents to sign that form, Abigail. I'll see you in a few months!" I trudged out of the law office. My head was lowered. I was defeated. Would I try again in a different office? I began to think of my next step, but my thoughts were interrupted by an obnoxious voice. "You get the job Doogie Howser?" I turned. It was the leather jacket clad prep school boy. I don't know why I allowed him to goad me, but I bit, perhaps because the interview, which had started extremely well, had not ended well. "How do you even know that show existed kid?" Doogie Howser was a television show that ran in the late eighties to early nineties about a sixteen year old boy who becomes a doctor. He scoffed and furrowed a brow at me, "Kid? I look older than you. And haven't you ever heard of Nick at Night? We have it on satellite." I sat down on the low rock wall in front of the garden and put on my tennis shoes, "Ooh privileged class. Lucky you. Let me guess, your parents have high-stress and high-paying jobs, and that's why they don't pay any attention to you. So you act out by skipping school and bothering strangers." The boy wore a lop-sided smile, "Actually, I had a dentist appointment, but close enough. You also forgot the part where I started a lame emo band to get out all my feelings about being unappreciated and unloved." I replied, "So you've discovered sarcasm- good for you." I had to admit, if I hadn't been in such a dreadful mood, the boy might have been half funny. Before he could retort something equally sarcastic I said, "Wait a minute, how did you know how old I am?" If he could provide some useful information, it might be helpful if I managed to score another interview in the near future. The boy smirked and sat down next to me on the short garden wall. I inched away, so that my bubble, which had grown since my encounter with Brad, was not invaded. "A couple of things. First, you look like you are trying too hard. Believe me, I have an older sister, and I have seen what she does to try and get into clubs." "Next, just the way you walk in those clothes. When I saw you walk in there, you looked really awkward, like you would probably be more comfortable in jeans, and that you likely don't have a lot of practice wearing clothing like that. " He looked down at my hands. "And now that I see them- your nails. They make you look really young. I can't imagine anyone going to a job interview with nails like that unless it was a clothing store or something." He looked me in the eyes. I studied him. I had taught boys like him. I thought he looked like a rat or a weasel with little beady eyes and a somewhat hooked nose. He had straggly dark brown hair that hung down to his nose, partially obscuring his eyes. The acoustic guitar he had been plucking when I arrived was strapped to his back. Basically, he was a little punk kid, probably only fifteen at the most. They were the type who always came in late, never did any work in class and did everything at the very last minute. I stood up, and he did the same. He was only a few inches taller than I was. Am?lie might have been taller than him. "Don't you want to know the last reason?" I rolled my eyes and then turned back to him, "Fine. What is it?" "Your face. It's a dead give-away. Even with the makeup. So are you going to tell me why you were trying to get a job there? How come you aren't in school?" I turned away from him again and started walking toward home. He followed me like an unwanted puppy dog. "Hey, I played detective with you. The least you can do is answer some questions for me. It's the polite thing to do." I turned on him and barked, "Oh like yelling sarcastic comments is really polite. I don't have to tell you anything kid. Just leave me alone." I wasn't feeling in high spirits exactly and the punk was the target of my ire because he just happened to be standing there. "Hey come on I'm curious. What does it matter? My mom will be here soon to pick me up, and we'll probably never see each other again. Just humour me." I walked toward home again, turning my back to the persistent annoyance. "What school do you go to? I go to St. Jo's." He moved in front of me and pulled his jacket back to show a stylized 'SJ' embroidered over his heart. "It's a generally lame school, but there's two coffee houses usually. It's pretty easy to start bands too. I have been in three this year already." My eyes widened. I stumbled and the boy reached out to catch my arm. The stylized 'SJ' from my dream was the same as that sewn onto the boy's suit jacket. It was at this point that I realized that the outfit I had been forced into in my dream was a cheerleader outfit. Over my dead body. First it was the pop star, and now a cheerleader. Whoever or whatever had done this to me knew nothing about me, apparently. I regained my composure as the young punk helped me to stand. He asked, "Hey are you OK? You looked majorly freaked for a second there." I saw a black BMW pull into the parking lot of the dentist office. The kid said, "Weak. My mom is here. Well I gotta go, sick talking to you teenage girl- attorney at law. Hope I'll see you around. Name's Ethan by the way." Apparently, the kid watched reruns of Saturday Night Live as well. He had referenced the old Phil Hartman skit Unfrozen Caveman- attorney at law. I always liked those skits. I shook my head, "Uh, yeah. Bye." What a weird kid. I watched him go off and thought for a moment that maybe he didn't look as weasel-like as I first thought. *** So how did the interview go, Darren?" Am?lie was sitting at the kitchen table eating the spaghetti Bolognaise I had prepared. I sat across from her. My posture showed how the interview had gone. I sat with my shoulders slumped, my head downcast. My long hair was unbound and nearly dangling in my supper. "Ok, so not well. You'll just keep trying, like you always do, right Darren? That is one of the things that I admire about you. You are driven, whether it is music or your career, you push yourself." I was surprised by Am?lie's words because I thought she felt that I had made a mistake putting myself out there even though we needed the money. We could have asked our parents for help, but Am?lie and I were fiercely independent. Am?lie would not accept handouts from either set of parents. Our parents were not well off, but if need be, mine could have paid my half of the mortgage. I also had savings. We were not in terrible financial shape, but couldn't continue to hemorrhage money indefinitely. "I was offered a summer internship Am?lie- at that same firm. It is paid, but it won't start until June. After my 'exams'." I raised my head, realizing that Am?lie still accepted me and supported my decision. Her support was vital to my morale, especially considering that my parents had still not called. "That's something, Darren. I think that we'll be OK until then." "Yeah but it's for a kid, Am?lie. It's an outreach program meant to bring pre-law students into the field to gain experience." Am?lie replied, "The way I see it, you continue to gain experience if you work there. The woman who interviewed you seemed very nice from what you described. This is not a terrible outcome. It means money, Darren. Just do what you always do." I raised a brow, "Work so hard that they feel obligated to try and keep me?" Am?lie nodded, "Exactly. And this is a private firm as well as new. They can hire you if they like you. They don't have to go through lists of dead wood permanent employees who have been laid off like they do in government." If you had a permanent position in the government, it was nearly impossible to fire you. Even if you were laid off due to shortage of work, you were placed on a list where other government organizations were forced to consider you, even if you lacked the ideal credentials. I didn't tell Am?lie about what Stephanie had said about it being illegal to hire me. The law had changed since we had gone to school, and I was only aware of it because I had been a teacher. I was not heartened by the day's events. My failure to convince a potential employer that I was even out of high school stayed with me as I fell asleep that night, but I at least could look forward to working in law soon, even if I had to do it in skirts. That night, I slept terribly. It felt like my stomach was in a vice. I was worried that the stomach flu had returned. Chapter 21 "Need you home now." "So much blood." I texted Am?lie those words when I realized that the pain in my abdomen wasn't from a flu bug, it was something much worse. "Do you need an ambulance, did you cut yourself?" My phone rang, but I didn't pick it up. I texted her back. "Come now I need you." Am?lie texted back a few minutes later. "I took a taxi. I will be there in 20 mins." I was thankful that Am?lie had opted for a taxi. The buses after rush hour were hit and miss. If she missed the bus, it often took up to an hour to catch the next. I was laying on the bathroom floor, exactly how I had been between bouts of throwing up when I had the stomach flu. I actually wished for the stomach flu compared to this. I was crying uncontrollably. I had rarely been in a position where I could not control my emotions to this degree. Certainly, I had been wronged on the hockey rink before, but I could channel my emotions into a devastating body check. I can only remember twice before when I was like this, when my grandmother died and when I thought I was going to lose Am?lie to the other side of the love triangle that had developed. I banged my fists against the wall in rage, and then seconds later I was back on the floor bawling my eyes out. I was glad Am?lie was not there because it would have been extremely unattractive, not to mention disturbing, to see her husband crying hysterically. I knew what this was, but I denied it happening because it only confirmed what everyone who looked at me knew- I was a girl, and a fully-functioning one at that. I clenched my teeth as my abdomen tightened painfully. I heard the front door open, feet stomping up the stairs, and then my wife saw me sprawled on the bathroom floor, my face streaked with tears and practically hyperventilating. I realized that I may have overreacted to a situation that millions of women faced on a monthly basis from adolescence to middle age. It was unwanted, unexpected and I knew what it meant. I could get pregnant. It felt like I was going insane. My brain was on fire. The hormones coursing through my body filled me with anger, sadness, indifference, and joy, the latter being a speck of dirt compared to the planet of my ire and depression. I let the emotions consume me. They ran rampant through my mind. I am sure it would have been different had I been born female, where the ritual meant blossoming into a woman. It meant that everything inside was working as it should ... for a girl, certainly, but for a thirty year old man? Hardly. Maybe I was over dramatizing the whole thing, but menstruation to most men is an enigma. It is a mystery best kept buried, so to experience it while I was already dejected because of my failure at the law office, was like a double-barrelled shotgun blasting alien hormones into a mind already weakened. It took me by surprise, and I had no defence against the onslaught. I heard Am?lie's voice, but I didn't look up. "Oh my god, Darren, I had no idea, I thought you were just sick. I would have stayed home had I realised." While Am?lie sounded supportive, I didn't hear her come any nearer. Her presence exacerbated the problem, my hyperventilating increased. Was she ashamed of me? I couldn't bear the thought. "Sorry Darren, I'm not sure what to do." I hoped that Am?lie's mothering instinct would supersede the revulsion she felt at having to deal with another of my crying fits. The first time I cried in front of her in this body, it was extremely awkward because she held me with wooden arms. I felt her kneel down beside me, "Deep breaths, Darren." I knew that Am?lie was conflicted, but appreciated that she could still help. She gently rubbed my back, and my breathing normalized. I still sniffled now and then, but I knew I needed to regain control of my emotions for her to help me. "I'm sorry that I'm being weird about this, Darren. I can't help it. This is not something I expected to be doing. I just didn't figure that whatever did this to you would give you all the working parts. Is this normal? I don't even know. Maybe we should take you to Dr. Alberts." I leaned up against the bathroom wall, my blood-stained boxer shorts clearly visible as I sat with my legs open. "What? So she can tell me I am a perfectly normal teenage girl?" The words echoed in my head, and I could tell they caught Am?lie off guard. "Yeah. I suppose we should look at it that way. As long as you are like this, it will happen every month." I replied, "You have no idea how much it means to me that you didn't run out of here. Like my parents. I need you so much right now. I need you in my corner, Am?lie." I reached out my arms, and Am?lie embraced me. I have never been a 'hug person' person, but because Am?lie and I had not been intimate often, this was the only contact we could have that did not make her uncomfortable. I still caressed her butt and massaged her legs now and then, but even that was becoming rarer. I was worried that Am?lie would eventually see me as a different person. We were married though, I was her husband, and she my wife. Now we more often acted like sisters. Nothing could have illustrated better my fears concerning how Am?lie saw me more than when she took out a tampon, put it in my hand and helped me guide it into my vagina. I slept downstairs that night because I couldn't share the bed with Am?lie. I felt too ashamed. I knew the next time would be easier, I would likely have a tighter grip on my emotions because I wouldn't be taken by surprise. The experience helped to reaffirm my desire to find a cure because I never wanted Am?lie to look at me like that again. Like I was really who I appeared to be. The next day was easier, although needing Am?lie to show me how to change the tampon was not the highlight of my life so far. She was at least more receptive and understanding and less horrified by the whole thing. I wasn't sure if that was good or bad, like she had accepted that her husband would be menstruating from now on. I couldn't get over the feeling of general discomfort - both emotionally and physically. Even after showering that morning, I still felt unclean. I found myself rubbing my body more vigorously, but the feeling never disappeared, even as the soap ran down my legs and drained with the water. Am?lie explained it best after I asked her, "You won't feel clean even after eight showers. You will probably feel bloated, and from what I can tell, you are having a heavy flow with some very bad cramps." I threw my hands over my ears and danced away from Am?lie into our bedroom. Despite experiencing it, I still didn't want to hear the gory details. Am?lie shook her head and glared at me, "You know, you'd think after having one yourself, you'd be a bit more mature about it. Besides, you were the one who asked." I shot Am?lie a dirty look, "I didn't ask for the life story of menstruation. Maybe you'd like us to have a discussion about my favourite brand of feminine hygiene product? Or maybe we could share stories about our first time? Well, here's mine. I had my first one yesterday- it sucked." Am?lie frowned and then changed the subject, "Darren, I want you to come with me this weekend to my parents place for Easter. I don't think it's a good time for you to be alone." We had previously discussed it and decided that I would stay behind. I planned band practice on Saturday with Andrew and Steven, but I still hadn't had a chance to get a new, smaller guitar. I had been planning on going today. "And what about band? You know how important that is to me, especially now. It's about the only normal thing I do." Am?lie's firm expression softened, "You could have it during the week. Maybe Tuesday?" She looked into my eyes, "I really think it best you don't spend the weekend alone." I narrowed my eyes, realizing that we were heading for another fight. "Why? I am not going to do anything stupid. I love you and Chloe too much to even consider hurting myself. Don't you trust me?" Am?lie shook her head, "It's not that I don't trust you, Darren. Even you have to admit that you haven't had the best week, though. And I know you wouldn't hurt yourself. You are too strong for that. But-" I was growing angrier as Am?lie tried to reason with me, "That's it, isn't it? You don't trust me because you think I've changed too much?" Am?lie was never a nagging wife. She was not the type who was upset if I missed dinner, as long as I told her, and she never expected me to ask her for permission to go out with friends. I felt like the dynamic of our relationship was changing, and that this was the first test. Am?lie replied, "I trust you. I trust you with Chloe, and I trust that you will make the right decisions. It's really about this though, you said you want me in your corner, well I am here now. I want to help you, but I'm not going to be here over Easter, and I will worry about you." Before I could break in she added the deathblow to my argument, "It really comes down to this, Darren, and believe me I didn't want to say this, but do you want me or your mom to help you with your problem?" She pointed to my crotch. My eyes widened and whatever words on my lips were immediately forgotten. I stammered, "Well, I saw you do it ... it didn't look too hard." Am?lie raised a brow, "Okay fair enough, but what if you have questions? What if something happens that you can't handle? I will be 500 KM away, and your mom isn't talking to you. Do you think you'll be able to call her up and ask her to come help you with your period? Or even your sister, can you see yourself doing that?" Am?lie sat me on the bed. I was speechless. I knew I absolutely could not ask my sister or my mother about any of what Am?lie was suggesting. I would rather have crawled under the house and never come out. I nodded my head sullenly. I texted the guys that I wouldn't be able to do band during the weekend, but that I could probably do Tuesday. I didn't tell them my wife was making me go see my in-laws, but when I told them it was personal stuff, they understood. Both of them had texted me back and forth throughout the week asking how I was doing and when I was going to get the new guitar. They were being as supportive as they could be. Anyway, I didn't feel much like guitar shopping today. That time of the month, Aunt Flo, menses, whatever you decide to call it, is unpleasant. I knew why most women did not bring up their periods in polite conversation because honestly it is disgusting. Am?lie had gone to the pharmacy to get me something for the cramps. My heart sank as I took the bottle of Midol. My cramps were worse than Am?lie's, I knew that, but was I such a goddamn girl that I needed such a stereotypical means of relief? I knew that it would get easier to deal with, but part of me was happy that I was overreacting. What man wouldn't act the extreme drama queen if this happened to him? Look at us as a gender. A cold can have us calling for our mothers, the so-called 'man cold'. Can you imagine if every man menstruated? I shuddered at the thought. I spent the day watching old wrestling matches on Netflix. I watched professional wrestling as a kid, but as a teen, I was caught up in the furore of the Monday Night Wars, which involved two rival companies. I wasn't watching because it was the most macho thing I could find. If anything, considering the hormones having a field day in my body, watching two greased up muscular men in spandex tights could have been a terrible idea, but I enjoyed the nostalgia. It took me back to when I only needed to worry about getting school work done, playing hockey and video games. I was actually a generally happy teenager, despite some of the bullying I faced. I hardly rebelled. I was a good straight-edge kid, no drugs and no alcohol. I suppose this was the equivalent of a woman watching a sad movie trying to ignore the unpleasantness of her period but enjoying the amplified emotion from the melancholy on screen, but I was no woman. A steel chair cracked into the heel's (read: villain of the soap opera that is professional wrestling) skull. I smiled and all was right with the world. Chapter 22 Am?lie arrived home, and I realized that I hadn't packed. I quickly threw some clothes into a small suitcase as usual. I used to pack clothes in a plastic bag, but for some reason this bothered Am?lie. The bag took less room than a suitcase once emptied. Am?lie had packed her massive suitcase the night before. It held her clothing and Chloe's, plus toiletries and whatever else a woman needs for four days away from home. In contrast, my suitcase was less than half the size of hers and probably thirty pounds lighter. Am?lie entered in a flurry, carrying McDonalds and Chloe depositing them both at the top of the stairs before entering the bedroom. "I need you to set up the DVD player for Chloe, Darren and then to - " I nodded, "Pack the car. We go through this every time. I always pack the car." We planned to leave right after dinner. It meant that Chloe would sleep most of the way, hopefully. I set up the DVD player to keep Chloe's attention during the long trip. Five hours was long for us but I couldn't imagine how long it felt to a toddler. I began packing the SUV, putting in bags, toys and other items we would need throughout the weekend. It was like a game of Tetris, finding the perfect space for each item. I re-entered the bedroom and reached down to grasp the handle of Am?lie's suitcase. I usually carried it with one hand, but I knew now that it would need two. I gripped the handle with two hands and then lifted. The suitcase had wheels, but this is how I had always done it. The case didn't budge. I lifted again, and I managed to lift it an inch before my knees buckled and the enormous case fell heavily to the floor. "Are you okay in there, Darren? Do you need help?" Clearly, the suitcase was too heavy for me to carry alone, but something in my brain, either my masculine ego or whatever it was that made me smash Brad's television, caused me to grip the suitcase handle and drag it down the hallway. I then proceeded to lug it down the stairs to the entryway. It thumped loudly down each step. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. "Darren, what the hell are you doing? Just ask for help!" Am?lie was yelling at me from the kitchen. She was washing my lunch dishes, which I should have done, but I was suffering through my first period and, to me at least, it was the perfect reason to be lazy. I really didn't want to do much of anything, except sit in front of the television. "I've almost got it." I was three steps from the bottom. "And how are you going to lift it into the car?" I ignored her and dragged the suitcase outside. The wheel on the left side was bent now, so it handled like a typical grocery store shopping cart. Good, serves her right for making me come with her this weekend. My thoughts were incredibly immature, but rather than feeling bad for damaging Am?lie's suitcase, I felt it was justified- for a moment. I shrugged off the selfish and juvenile thoughts and then opened my arms wide in an attempt to embrace the suitcase, but my arms weren't long enough. I heard the other door open and moments later, as I continued to struggle, the burden eased. Am?lie was helping from the other side. Am?lie frowned, "I should have packed it lighter. Sorry, Darren, I wasn't thinking." I had been expecting a fight, especially since the wheels on the very expensive luggage were damaged, but Am?lie apologized and then handed me the McDonalds bag. "We'll eat in the car. Are you ready?" The trip was uneventful. Am?lie drove halfway, but I had better night vision, and now better vision overall, so I continued the trip until we arrived. The small town in northern Ontario is quaint - one grocery store, one Laundromat, one church, and one beer store. It was originally a logging town, but like many small towns in the area, once the resource dried up, people left. Thankfully, it was also a mining town, but that did not stop the exodus. Young people wanted to experience the big city, and if you were either not good with your hands or ambitious, you looked elsewhere. Am?lie herself told me that she couldn't wait to leave. She loved her parents, but she could not stay there. She had greater aspirations than being the wife of a miner or logger. I liked the small town because while it is quaint, the people are pleasant, and I also really enjoyed the company of Am?lie's parents. They were two of the nicest people you could meet. They were the type who would give you the shirt off their back if it meant you would be more comfortable. And amazingly, despite my change, the visit went very well. Am?lie had told them what had happened, and apparently, she told them to treat me the same way. It was a very pleasant weekend, filled with crossword puzzles, board games and hockey games. None of the conversation revolved around my change, my employment situation or anything equally dismal. It was as if nothing had changed. I didn't feel like a freak in front of them because they made me so welcome. Even before I was dating their daughter seriously, but had aspirations to do so, they made my stays more than hospitable. My favourite foods and drink were present, Orange Crush pop and a box of sinfully good but terribly unhealthy Count Chocola cereal. This was cereal that turned your milk chocolate, but I loved it, even as an adult. There was only one slightly embarrassing moment the whole weekend. "Darren, you need to put a bra on around my dad. You are not exactly flat, and things ... move around. Last night during the hockey game, when the Canadiens scored and you jumped up and down. Well let's just say, you really need to wear a bra. Poor guy turned all red." I was thankful that Am?lie and I hadn't had the bra talk yet. She hadn't pushed me into wearing one since my interview, but I didn't need a lot of coaxing there. I didn't want to make her father uncomfortable, so I wore one for the rest of the weekend. I had to admit that it wasn't the worst thing in the world, especially considering I wasn't tiny either. It was more comfortable to have them supported, but it felt like a gateway garment. Would I be wearing daisy dukes or bikinis or something equally revealing if I took to wearing bras more often? As ridiculous as such a notion might seem, I could imagine myself falling prey to the seductive feel of silk against my skin. It would make more sense, too, because clothes certainly would fit better. However, it really came down to a mindset, I still considered myself a man, and men, don't wear bras. Still, if I didn't manage to find a cure before I started at the law firm, I would be in a bra every day. Other than the bra incident, there was only one noteworthy event. Am?lie's father had invited me to watch the hockey game at a local restaurant. Halfway through the second period, I realized I had forgotten to bring my wallet, so I returned to the house. Everything was within walking distance, so it was a quick walk back. I entered through the back door, but as I did, I could hear Am?lie and her mother discussing my situation. I crept into the house and hid in the living room. "He's dealing with this the best he can Mom. It was just so unbelievable at first, that it took a few days to even accept that it happened. That it wasn't a dream." "And you still have no idea what caused it?" "No, just the dream, but that's farfetched. We don't really have any leads. We can't go to a doctor because Darren is worried he will become some kind of medical experiment." "Have you thought about a natural solution? Healing crystals might work." Am?lie's mother was a strong believer in using nature to cure her minor medical issues- rashes, warts, aches and pains- nature had the remedy. She would still go to the hospital for serious conditions, but she tried to use natural methods as much as possible. I had to admit that some of what she had suggested in the past worked very well, but I did not believe in the healing power of crystals. Still, considering my situation, I was willing to try anything. Am?lie responded, "Nothing like that, but Darren is desperate, so he will probably try them." There was a tinge of fear in her voice, likely the memory of what occurred with the fraudulent wizard. "Have you thought about what you will do if you can't turn him back? You know that we love Darren, and we'll accept him in the family either way, but you can't exactly be married to a teenage girl. And what about Chloe, would Darren still be her father?" "I think about it every day Mom. I look at him, and I can see Darren in there. I know it's him, and he has asked that we treat him the same way, but it's going to be hard. It seems that the harder he pushes the world to treat him differently, the harder it pushes back. As for Chloe, well she won't call him daddy. I think it's tearing Darren up inside. He's a lot more emotional, with good reason, but sometimes I see him differently." "Different how Am?lie? From what I have seen, your husband is inside that body." "I don't really know how to explain it exactly. Some of the decisions he makes aren't good." "You said that he was desperate though, right Am?lie? He wants his life back." "I know Mom, but sometimes I worry that I can't leave him alone. That's why I wanted him to come this weekend. I don't know what he's going to do half the time. And we fight so much now." "You are going through a very stressful time in your marriage, so you are bound to fight. The best you can do for Darren is to trust him, and show that, despite this change, you still love him. I will admit that what has happened is unbelievable, but you are right, I see Darren in that girl's body." "But Mom, what if I stop seeing Darren in there?" "Then love him a different way, Am?lie." I crept back outside and returned to the restaurant to watch the rest of the game. I had forgotten to retrieve my wallet from the house, but I needed to get back to Am?lie's father. A few tears ran down my cheeks as I walked back. I was pleased that Am?lie and her mother still believed I lived inside this soft body, but I was fearful that Am?lie's concerns might become a reality. Still, I knew who I was. If I had all my knowledge and memories, I would be the same person, right? The next day we said our goodbyes to Am?lie's parents, thoroughly relaxed and pleased that Chloe had actually slept decently. Her parents were such saints that they got up to take care of the baby in order to let Am?lie and me sleep longer. The last few weeks had been draining, so I was grateful for a stress-free holiday. Other than the conversation I overheard last night, it had been perfect. We left with Easter chocolate, new clothing and toys for Chloe, and probably a pound or two heavier. They fed us very well, and because we were on holiday we ate with abandon. I found I could still eat more or less the same way I had before. I liked meat less, but I had a stronger sweet tooth. Am?lie swore she would return to the gym on Tuesday, while I made plans to visit the music store. I had never really worried about my weight as a man. I was blessed with a fast metabolism. The ride home was not as idyllic, unfortunately, as the trip out had been. Chloe decided that she wanted out of her car seat, so she proceeded to make a high-pitched wailing noise. Am?lie couldn't stand it, and while she usually drove home the entire way (apparently I drove too slowly), she asked that I drive while she attempted to distract Chloe. Mommy still had the magic touch when it came to quelling Chloe's screams, so I was relegated to chauffeur. Not even Am?lie's soothing tone, funny faces or offers of milk and crackers calmed Chloe. "I think something is wrong with her. She usually stops crying by now. Maybe it is her ears. We need to put the ear drops in." I was busy driving, and I only heard some of what Am?lie said. "Didn't you hear me, Darren? We need to stop." We were on a long stretch of highway where the only place to stop was the side of the road. Chloe's shrieks had reached an ear-splitting frequency. I could also hear her cries becoming more frantic as she thrashed in her car seat. "Darren, we need to stop now! There's something wrong with her! Stop the car now!" I will admit that I am a bit of a nervous driver. It comes from my general anxiety. So when someone is yelling at me, and there is a crying baby, I don't pay attention to the road or my speed as much as I should. The baby's cries had caused me to increase my speed. I was already 10 km/h over, but now it was 20, and soon 25 km/h over the speed limit. I desperately wanted to find a gas station because I felt that this stretch of road was too narrow to safely stop. Either that or one of the junctions where transport trucks were able to make turns. I saw neither of those as I passed a lurking police car. "Darren, stop the car! I think she's having trouble breathing! Wait, is that a siren?" I looked in my rear view mirror and saw the flashing lights of a provincial police car. There is an old adage that states bad events occur in threes. All three of my grandparents (my grandfather on my father's side was dead before I was born) had died in the same year, so while I wasn't overly superstitious, I still believed there was some truth to those words. My parents' reaction to my change, the failure at the law office and now the police car was the third. I immediately lowered my speed, hoping that the police officer was going to pass me to go after someone else. I was frantic. My left leg started to shake, and my grip on the wheel went from firm to death. I still didn't see a safe place to stop. I looked in my rear view mirror, and I could see the officer actually motioning me to pull over. I started to edge my way to the side of the road, decreasing speed, but as I hit the shoulder, gravel started spitting up underneath the car, and I thought I was going to lose control. I quickly veered back onto the highway, and the police officer continued his pursuit. "Darren, are you listening to me? You've got to pull over. Please pull over." I barely heard Am?lie's voice. My sanctuary appeared on the horizon- a gas station. I put my turn signal on and quickly turned into the parking area. The police car followed me. I had never been stopped by the police for a driving infraction. I considered myself a careful driver. If I sped, I usually stayed within the 10 km/h over threshold. Most drivers believed if they only sped a little, they would not be pulled over. At one point, I was going 25 km/h over the speed limit, so it could be a hefty fine and, potentially, demerit points. Am?lie and I lived in Quebec, but the Ontario police officer could still ticket me. Beyond the fine and the demerits, the main issue was that I didn't have a valid driver's licence. I had the licence issued to Darren Lawrence, but there was no way the officer was going to believe I was him. I thought about asking Am?lie to switch seats, but the cop was already behind us, and he would definitely see if we tried to swap. My thoughts shifted to Chloe, forgetting about my predicament for the moment. "Is she OK?" I had turned my head to the backseat. I could see the police officer walking toward the car. Chloe was still crying, but Am?lie was in the process of taking her out of the car seat, so that would likely stop her cries. The officer walked up to the driver's side. I had already lowered the window, and had the insurance card in my hand, but I had not removed the licence from my wallet. The police officer was tall, wore mirrored sunglasses, typical of traffic cops, and had a buzz cut. He was thick- necked and broad shouldered. He was young, probably in his mid-twenties. The officer stated, "Licence and registration, please." He had a no- nonsense manner. It was professional and slightly intimidating. There would be no talking my way out of this, but I would likely try. I produced the registration. The officer furrowed his brow, "Miss, your licence?" I had two choices. I could lie and say I had left my licence at home, but I would have to produce it to avoid a fine, or I could come clean. I decided to tell the truth because I knew that I would not be able to produce something that didn't exist. "I don't have one. Sorry officer." I hoped that being truthful would yield a smaller fine. The officer pulled off his sunglasses and shook his head. He then ignored me entirely and went to the passenger side where Am?lie was sitting. He tapped on the window, "Ma'am, is that your daughter? Is there a reason you are allowing her to drive without a licence?" I was angered by the officer's blatant ageism. My view on what occurred was just as valid as Am?lie's. I wanted to shout at the officer, but maintained my composure. Am?lie replied, "Um, no she's my sister. And, I'm sorry officer, she told me that she had one." The officer shook his head again, "Considering the infant in your care ma'am, I would hope you would check something so important." Chloe had finally settled down now that she was in Am?lie's arms. Am?lie nodded, "I realize that officer, but she is normally truthful. I had no reason to believe otherwise." I was seething in the front seat. Once again, I was being left out of the conversation. The police asked, "Did you ask her to pull over when she saw the sirens?" Am?lie replied, "I did. She said that she didn't feel comfortable stopping at the side of the road, so she waited until we got to the gas station. You could see that when she hit the gravel she got scared, so pulled back on the road." The officer nodded and wrote in his notebook. He asked, "For an inexperienced driver that's understandable. She did a good job keeping the car on the road after nearly skidding in the gravel." His face grew more serious, "That does not ignore the fact that she was both speeding and driving without a licence. As the owner of this vehicle, you face a hefty fine and demerits." I blurted out, "Does my side of the story not matter at all?" Am?lie narrowed her eyes and then addressed my behaviour, "Hush Abigail! You are in enough trouble already." I knew that Am?lie was playing the part of my older sister, but it still hurt to have her treat me that way. The officer frowned and then walked toward me, "Do you understand how serious an offence it is to drive without a licence, miss? Also, when I motioned for you to pull over, you didn't. Do you know that failing to follow the instructions of a police officer can result in possible jail time?" I sneered at the officer. I knew he was beginning the intimidation power trip. "Like my sister said, I didn't feel that it was safe to stop." My expression softened as I formulated an argument, "I knew that it would be safer for you as well if I stopped in a wider area. The guard rail made it too narrow. You would have been far more susceptible to being hit." "Miss, don't tell me how to do my job. I felt that it was safe. You should leave those decisions up to myself and your sister. She told you to stop, and I motioned for you to stop. You could go to jail for six months." He was trying to scare me, but instead, his behaviour was making me angry. I said through clenched teeth, "Look, you'd have to prove that I was wilfully evading you without reason. It is a mens rea offence if jail time is involved. I've told you the reason why, I didn't feel it was safe. You followed me for less than a minute before I pulled into a gas station. You can leave your attempts to bully people to the G8 protests." The G8 protests, which occurred only a few years ago in Toronto, were infamous for police brutality that saw peaceful protesters attacked by overzealous cops. People were incarcerated without being charged and without being told their rights. It was our very own international embarrassment, something that you might see in countries without a Charter of Rights and Freedoms. I had struck a nerve. "Miss, I suggest you shut your mouth. I could make this very difficult for you." I responded snidely, "Does the Police Services Act allow you to threaten people like that?" The Act governs a police officer's conduct, including use of force and whether threats can be used during interrogation. Instead of fear, I felt elation. I was putting this cop in his place. I wasn't an expert in criminal law, but I knew that this cop was treading the line between professionalism and mistreatment. Am?lie whispered in my ear. "Darren, please stop taunting him. He is going to give us a massive ticket. What about that guitar you wanted to buy?" I had no idea what the fine would be, but I was enjoying being rebellious. As a musician, I had written songs about police misbehaviour before, the G8 protests in particular, but at the same time, I also wanted that guitar. Still, something was happening to me. We play out situations in our mind where we say the perfect words to authority figures, but more often than not, only after the event itself. This time I acted on them, and I didn't feel like backing down. I saw the officer's brow furrow again. A vein was pulsing in his forehead and his teeth clenched. His instincts were pushing him to act, but his training and maturity stopped him. His breathing was heavier than when he