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Lie to Me Early August 2003. Wullendonga. Large NSW Regional centre. Winter in Australia Chapter 1 She knew I was mere metres behind her now. I was gaining on her with each passing moment and could sense her panic, or the essence of it. She was running as fast as she could, to escape, but her form was slipping and she was flailing somewhat wildly, all still to no avail. Her Brunette ponytail was swinging rhythmically from side to side, something hypnotic about it, her arms pumping, legs driving. I was close enough now to see the sweat between her shoulder blades, on the back of her sports crop top. Closer still, and I could hear her gasping for air, above the sound of my own deep respiration. She half turned to look now, as she was within arm's reach, and I grinned maliciously to see the look of fear in her eyes. I think she knew it was inevitable. We are predators by nature I suppose, I was thinking as justification for my own self satisfaction, in those final moments; from an evolutionary standpoint I mean. And competition too is innate. In the search for sustenance, or a mate. She tried one final lunge - but it was too late. I am right beside her, and in that instant ahead; as the white line flashes beneath us, indicating the finish. We slow and stop. "Bastard," I hear her hiss between between agonal gasps. "Fuck!!......Cinders!" I reply similarly between deep sucks of air. We are both bent double on the track at the start of the first bend. "You always have to win don't you?" Lucinda mocks, but her tone is light. "Since we were thirteen, poppet." Which is a little condescending, but deliberately so. "Thirteen," I repeat for emphasis. To remind her, as if the four or five years, unbeaten, makes the feat all the more impressive. She makes a face. One of her many. A large sample size of which seem solely reserved for me. "But fucking hell, you shouldn't push so bloody hard.... it's only training," I concede. But even that was a distortion. We had to push hard. We always pushed hard. And the time to 'States' was fast approaching. "Ditto," she replies. "You arrogant twat." Not said seriously though. "So, how'd I do?" I looked at my stop watch, which I'd stopped automatically when we crossed the line. "2:05," I told her and her face beamed. Two minutes and five seconds. There isn't a woman in the state that could match that time, certainly not this stage of the season, and just a training run. She will go close this year to running under 2 minutes, and that's only a few seconds from the Australian record. Taking off the ten second start I'd run 1:55, which I was pleased with, but I know how hard I'd pushed to haul her in, and unlike Lucinda and the women she had to race, there were enough guys out there who were running the same times as me. Or better. When our panting had subsided enough, without having to speak it, we set off slowly around the track for our cool down jog. "You and your ego, Ant," Lucinda teases, "you just can't stand being beaten by a girl." "It's not that," I reply, "I just can't stand being beaten by you!!" And we laugh. But both are probably true. Ever since the age of 6, when she had thrown a tantrum in our next door neighbours' (her parents') yard. "If Ant is going to Little Aths - I'm going too!!!" She had been my chief rival, best friend, and training partner. Even from 10 to 13 when she'd had her prepubertal growth spurt, and I was still a little weed, and she was kicking my arse (and where my dislike of being beaten by a girl had arisen) we still ran everywhere together. Then, at the end of year 6, even when she had gone off to her private girls' school, out of town, and me to the local high school, and all the world thought our lives too divergent, our childhood friendship ended, we'd still find the time to see each other, to run together. As teens, her navigating through boyfriends, and me trying ever so hard to keep a girlfriend, and all myriad of other pubertal dramas and beyond, there was always opportunities for Cinders and I to see each other, and always go running. Sometimes it was as infrequent as term holidays, but we'd just take up where we left off. I guess it was our mutual love of running, which kept us together, as a pair, even with long separations, and probably because we ran together, that we both became age group champions for our state, in the same event, the 800 metres. As a sprinter I lacked that killer kick - so the only way I could win was to keep running as fast as I can - till everyone else slowed down - and that was somewhere past the 400 metre mark. We'd see each other at the various interschool and state Championships - but it would often be hard to talk, as her snooty friends thought me too common, and there was usually some Private school boyfriend, who I'd occasionally race against, if they happened to be in my event, and enjoy beating. But lately she seemed to be more into Footballers than athletes, so I could no longer indulge in my secret delight of making her repair her boyfriends' wounded egos. What had made it the sweeter for me to beat them is that none of her boyfriends seemed to know who I was. I suppose there was no reason they would. I wondered sometimes why she never mentioned me to them. It was somewhat the opposite from my end. All my High school friends knew who she was, and at times I'd been cranky about not meeting any of her schoolgirl friends, especially when single (and desperate), which sadly was more often than not. But she found me easy to placate. Although maybe that was just another way of saying manipulate. "Of course I'm not ashamed of you." She'd affirm." It's just I want to keep you all to myself. You are my outlet from the Prissy Private school world. Besides, you know how jealous boys get. If they knew how much time I spent with you; well, you know." I guess that was fair enough, and I doubt any of her school friends would want to go out with a commoner, such as I. I tried to milk the star athlete thing, but honestly, in semi-rural NSW, if you didn't play rugby, or at a pinch AFL, you weren't anything. That opinion was held in the eyes of other males, and similarly potential dates. But that didn't matter anymore. We were 18 now. And together again at the same school. (Well University anyway.) We were both on the Varsity track team - to which I had just been elected Captain, and Lucinda Vice Captain, given our state-wide reputations. Best of all - her boyfriend knew who I was. Sure he didn't like me, nor I him, but that's not the point. It was more a testament to my significance. I wasn't something she could keep hidden anymore, even if she wanted to. "So Captain, How's it feel?" Lucinda asks me as we trot around the track. "Like I've got a lot of work to do. Any track team that appoints Freshers as team captains is obviously in dire straits," Our titles had only recently been announced, once the coaches had gauged we were better than anybody else, and a chance at some long overdue glory for the college. "Hey, speak for yourself! I think we were appointed on merit. You have to admit though, they really are a rabble," Lucinda rationalised. "I know. But there is spirit. I guess that's the advantage of a small Uni. Hey, if only they had a mixed 4x8 this Uni might win three medals." The 4 x800m was not an Olympic event. Not even a national event. But for some reason it harked over from schooldays as a state event. The rich private school leagues ran it and they had the influence to push it on to states. She laughed. "We'd still need two other runners though, unless you were planning to run two legs each." "Why not - we'd get a two minute break!!!" "You could always run the fifteen hundred if you wanted to try for more medals." "No way Cinders. I'd kill myself. It's too far." "Maybe. But maybe it's time to sprint a little further till everyone else slows down again." A sudden realisation hits me of her implication, and her using my own words against me. I slow abruptly to a stop and Lucinda stops just ahead of me, reacting to me, and turns to face me. I see her muscles tense. "What are you saying?" I can hear the ire in my own voice and I know that she can. It was a raw nerve for me, but she knew that. "Nothing that you're not already thinking Anthony." She's using the soothing voice, and my full name, so she knows that she has to use all stops to prevent an outburst. "Look at today," she continues. "You only just beat me - off the usual start. I know I'm getting faster. But......... but you're not!" She and I both know she's right. I'm training as hard as I ever was, but the field is gaining on me. Unless I improve, my days as champion are over. It's the tenacity versus talent thing. I had the first, but not the second. Maybe the writing was on the wall, but I refused to see it. I sighed, which decompressed me, as I reflected on future inevitabilities. She can read my thoughts and knows that the crisis is over, there will be no hissy fit. "Do the fifteen. You know you'll be good at it." "Maybe Cinders, maybe. Or maybe we just can't keep running forever." "Don't be silly..." And she sets off jogging again.... and I follow her. But I'm thinking as I run, that I meant what I said, professional running is not what I envisage my future to be. I have greater plans, and if my running days are numbered then so be it. But it is different for her. For her gender she is almost elite. I'm excited to think where her running will take her. And maybe just a trifle jealous. The subject is changed. "What are you doing tonight?" I ask. Meaning now essentially, post our training. "I'm going over to the footy oval to watch Brian train." "Oh, Okay," and she can sense the disappointment in my voice. "Why don't you come? The Cheerleaders might be there," she teases. She knows that will suck me in. Kimberley. Kimberley Jacobs the Cheerleading Captain. I don't know her very well, meaning at all, but I sure like to watch her Cheer. And there is our little love triangle. (Or quartet) Brian, the Football Captain is dating Lucinda, the Athletics Vice Captain. Kimberley, the Cheer Captain, has the hots for Brian, whilst Anthony, me, the Athletics Captain has the Hots for Kimberley. (It probably was just a triangle really, I had to concede, with me as a kind of 4th wheel. No-one actually was chasing me in this whole scenario. But that didn't stop me from thinking I was part of it.) "It's like a big fat Jock Soapie," Caitlin, my close friend and Biochemistry Prac partner had remarked as I recounted the story to her, one day in the lab. I'd only just met Cait at the start of the year when we were assigned together, but she was very easy to get along with, and she always made me laugh. At first I thought she was kind of weird. Gothic type. With the black eyeliner and too pale foundation. Into the occult and other nonsense like that, which I found hard to interlink with her love of science. I always felt one completely negated the other. She was not someone I would usually associate with. But just as you can't choose your family, you can't choose your Prac partner. Maybe it was good to mix it up a little though, I decided after our first meeting and realised I liked her. I ran with a pretty conservative crowd. Which I wasn't sure if that was a pun or a double entendre. Still we were a good combo, and seemed to be getting top marks in the pracs with relative ease. There was no-one in the class that could match us. We were definitely a 50/50 partnership. She was probably smarter than me, but I would never dare admit that. We studied together often and rang each other frequently to talk about homework and assignments. Which would eventually lead to talking about things other than homework, which in turn would lead to friendship. With further time, that of course lead to closeness. Six months in and we were certainly confidantes. We didn't hang out much at Uni though, as our social circles were so diametrically opposed, but I liked that she was just mine, in class time, and at night time. She was kind of like having a secret friend. "Add to the fact that Brian can't stand me, and Kimberley wants to scratch Cinders eyes out, it should make for entertaining viewing," I had quipped back to Cait in keeping with the theme. Lucinda and I were now walking towards the football fields, and sure enough the cheerleaders were practicing on the sidelines. I found this amusing. Prior to starting University, I'd never really seen cheerleaders before. Our school didn't have them (Barely had a football team), and you certainly never got them at track meets. From a distance they looked like little blonde clones, but up close Kimberley certainly was a stand out. Sure she was Blonde, and stacked, but she was also sassy, and boy could she move. "I don't know what you see in her," Lucinda remarked, when she saw me watching her as we approached. Far from the first time she'd made an observation such as this. "She's such a slapper. You are such a typical male, I'm disappointed, it's all about tits and arse with you isn't it?" "And you're dating beefy Brian because he's an intellectual giant....." I say sharply, sarcastically. My retaliation was induced by her implication of my lack of depth. It was simply untrue. Provoked or not though, my jibe was a big mistake. I realise almost instantly by the rapid change in her demeanour. It's obviously acceptable for a woman to diss my fantasy girl, but for me to criticise her boyfriend, that's apparently out of bounds. "Fine," she says haughtily, and I know she's really mad. "Date that slut. At least it might stop her pawing Brian every chance she gets. Maybe you two deserve each other." Her getting mad with me just makes me mad with her, and I'm not sure why, because I should be defusing the situation. Normally I would. I don't know why I don't. Probably because we both know there's no way in this life I would ever get a chance to be with someone like Kimberley. Even if I wore my track medals around my neck. Which sadly, I had considered. "Maybe we could double date. Then have a big orgy!!!!" Being so provocative doesn't come naturally to me, I'm not sure what's with me today. "Fuck you!!!" And she walks off towards Brian. Instantly I'm remorseful. I hate making her mad. Perhaps I had underestimated how agitated she was by Kimberley trying to cut her lunch. As she separates from me I can sense she is still seething. I don't think Cinders has ever been this mad with me, I find myself reflecting. But over what? Me trying to date the popular, pretty girl. Well that's not fair. (Now maybe I'm not so remorseful any more.) She's probably just hormonal. Maybe I will date Kimberley, I declare, just to spite Lucinda. Now if I could only get her to talk to me, then that would be a start. I find myself over near the Cheerleaders, as they finish practicing; I recognise one, who is in my biochemistry class also. This might be an opportunity to get to Kimberley. "Hey, Bethany........" She looks up, and I'm fearful that she won't have a clue who I am. But recognition appears instantly. "Wilkins... What are you doing here? I didn't know you were into footballers." She's probably just baiting me but the idea of her thinking I'm here to check out guys gets me flustered, and I start stammering and find myself staring at Kimberley. Bethany looks over her shoulder to see where I'm looking, and then she smiles. "Ohh. I see." "I suppose you want an introduction?" Without awaiting a reply she shouts, "Hey Kimberley......." Now I'm nervous. Kimberley sashays towards us pom-poms in hand. "Kim......" Bethany begins. "This is Anthony Wilkins.... he's....." "I know who you are!" she states with emphasis. She does! I'm excited for a moment. "You're a friend of that bitch Lucinda Taylor," she continues. If I wasn't so mad at Lucinda right now, and trying to get a date with this hot girl I may have taken umbrage at the remark. It certainly wasn't nice. But she can't be that awful surely. She's just pissy like Lucinda just was. Everyone all menstruating together perhaps. I decided to persist. "Why don't you do us both a favour and keep her away from Brian," she says spitefully. Okay, I'm thinking, that's a bit aggressive. So obviously this Brian obsession is a big deal, maybe Lucinda has grounds for legitimate concern. But then inspiration hits me like a bolt. "Even Better. Why not go out with me and they might both get jealous." (Knowing full well that neither of them would in the slightest. Or at least Lucinda certainly wouldn't.) "Like that's gonna happen!!!" And she walks off. Her blonde crony clones are sniggering, except for Bethany who shrugs her shoulders apologetically, then turns away. I too turn, and wander slowly off. I'm thinking my pride is less damaged than it may have been, and that I'm definitely over my Kimberley obsession. She's just nasty. I supposed the pretty ones often were. I don't know what I was thinking. Clearly I wasn't. I suspect perhaps my dick was. At least Lucinda will be pleased I'm over my crush. And I know that things will be okay again between us tomorrow, and I'm already looking forward to meeting her on the track. I get home to the flat and discover Jack is out, and I'm pleased about that. You know, I say to no one but myself, if this was a cheesy teen movie then I'm sure the cheerleader would have dated me to make the footballer jealous, then end up falling madly in love with me. Funny how life is never like the movies. I'm thinking what a grub Jack is, and wondering why I ever left home. It's a small town, and Uni is not far, I could have commuted from home just as easily, but instead I chose to live with a psychopath. When he'd heard about my crush on Kimberley, he presented me the next day with her address and phone number. "How'd you get that?" I'd asked. "Followed her home," he replied. Oh Great - I'm living with a stalker. "Oh Jack... I don't suppose your surname is Ripper by any chance?" Still, the theory was I could always bring a chick home to the flat and not to my parents place. So I endured living with Jack on the promise of this. Pity it was still just a theory. I'm contemplating this and what I am going to have for dinner, as I stand in the kitchen, when the realisation hits me that I am dying. What an innocuous thing to be doing when my time ends, I reflect wryly. In that instant, as time seems to freeze, and I feel a crushing pain in my head and in my chest, my mind is instantly drawn to the article I read in 'Runners World' about sudden death in elite athletes. I'm thinking, and I thought they dropped dead because they were obviously illicitly on the gear. I'm not taking anything, and I'm dying, and that's not fair. Now my body feels like it is on fire, literally bursting into flame, and I feel the power draining from my limbs such that I can no longer maintain myself in a stand. There is no doubt that this is the end. Something is catastrophically wrong with me. So acute and unexpected. I slump earthwards and know that unconsciousness is imminent, my thoughts turn to the only place they possibly could. To Lucinda. And as my life metaphorically flashes before my eyes, there are all my memories, the good and the bad. And, in essentially all of them, especially the good ones, she is there. From my earliest memories, when she called me Ant, and I called her Cinda, as that was all our 3 year old minds(and tongues) could manage. Growing up as neighbours, and friends, never apart. Running of course, and talking, lots of talking. How I missed her when she left for Private Boarding school. How I loved it when she'd come home for weekends and holidays. How I loved it when we were together. How I loved it when.......................... The irony of the revelation, the clarity that dying gives you. Firstly, it is like I am actually living in some ridiculous teen movie, as I had previously surmised, I've been chasing the wrong girl, and it's come too late that I'm having this fatal epiphany. Secondly, I Love her. Lucinda. My best friend. I've always loved her. How could I deceive myself for so long? Why is it that I've never had a relationship that lasted? Because no woman, no matter how sweet, how pretty, how smart, could ever live up to her. It's always been her. It will always be her. And now she'll never know. Just as Ronan Keating said. Or sung really, it's not like he's a poet. Tomorrow never comes. She'll never know how much I love her. And troubling me even more, the last words we are ever to exchange, were terse ones. Then I hit the floor with a thud. And I can see her smiling face. And it fades into inky darkness. Chapter 2 The slow return of awareness. My nose, and my lips are pressed against the hard cold tiled kitchen floor. I can't be dead. I'm way too sore for that. I ache all over. I lie there for a moment. Face planted. To make sure I'm breathing more than anything. And as I breathe in, and my expanding chest forces backwards off the ground, I experience the first indication, the first sensation, that something is wrong. Well, of course it's wrong, I've just collapsed. But more than that. Things are different. I can feel my heart beat quicken and I rapidly emerge to full wakefulness. I use my hands and arms to prop myself up from the floor, and long blonde hair falls across my face. I spin myself over to a sit, still on the kitchen floor, and feel my unsupported breasts wobble beneath my T-shirt. Supporting myself with one hand on the floor beside me I brush my hair back out of my eyes and feel it fall onto my shoulders and neck. Okay Anthony, I think to myself. Keep calm. Let's just see what's going on. Clearly I'm still not lucid. I'm hallucinating. Some sort of concussion. Maybe I'm still unconscious dreaming I'm conscious. But not even I could buy into that. I knew I wasn't dreaming. But everything is so incomprehensible. Using the kitchen table to hoist myself up I'm standing now, and I know I'm shorter. My whole body feels smaller, and my proprioceptive self awareness is going haywire. My mind is receiving signals that it is sure is wrong. My mental memory of my own personal space is distorted, and it is struggling desperately to adjust. As a result, my first trepidacious steps away from the kitchen table are extremely unsteady, and I feel I may topple over, with each step. My centre of gravity has so clearly moved. My breasts jiggle slightly, distractingly, but more disconcertingly. I move slowly towards the bathroom, the way I walk, my weight displacement, it is all so foreign to me. But each step is easier, as my mind resets its parameters and adjusts to moving my new shape as fluidly as possible. Such that by the time I reach the bathroom I have confidence that my next step will actually keep me upright. But this is far from reassuring. I know what's wrong. Well everything's wrong, but I mean I know what's happened. I just can't believe or understand it. The mirror faces the doorway, so that I can see what's coming, but I go forward, just to be sure, until all comes into focus. There, in the mirror, wearing my T-Shirt and track pants, is a busty blonde. I knew instantly who she was. In fact she'd obnoxiously mistreated me only an hour or so earlier. Now looking somewhat frightened and confused I might add, and quite dishevelled and inappropriately dressed. But the girl staring back at me is unmistakably Kimberley Jacobs. The first words I hear myself uttering, with my new, high pitched voice is, "Her! But....but I don't even like her anymore!!!" Chapter 3 Keep calm Anthony.... think....... I've been staring at my reflection for some time. Transfixed. Too scared to look away. And definitely too scared to look under my clothes for fear of what I'd find there. Perhaps I am dead. Perhaps this is hell. Where you have to be the one person you can't stand. But I don't really believe that. Although the concept is quite novel, and certainly malevolent enough to be a kind of hell. Okay. What then. I'm still me. At least mentally. Still in my house, the flat I share with Jack. I'm wearing my clothes, the one's I was wearing when I collapsed, but looking like an exact replica of Kimberley. It has to be some kind of spell, or curse. But of course there is no such thing as that, I think. Then I'm forced to acknowledge that I am now irrefutable proof that perhaps there is. This is crazy, but if this is real, then how? Why? Would Kimberley have done this to me? Maybe. But, again, why? Why clone yourself? (You'd have to have a really big ego, which when I think about it, she probably does.) Unless, she's stolen my body. Like, we've swapped. But why would she want to be me? This sounded unnecessarily self depreciating. Being me was not so bad. It was certainly better than being her. She's an awful human being. So maybe it's more likely, although quite frankly nothing was likely because this was impossible, some sort of curse has swapped us. (I'm thinking Freaky Friday) Here I am talking about curses all of a sudden like it's an everyday occurrence. But were it true, some sort of body swap thing, and I'm in Kimberley's, then that would mean......... Fuck! Jack. Where did he put that address? Thank God you're a stalker. I need it now. If Kimberley Jacobs has my body, I'm going to get it back. It was the purpose I needed. Had I not one to focus on right now, I know I would have crumbled. My mind was racing out of control. I had to be pragmatic. So this weird thing has happened. I just need to fix it. First of all, though, I need a windcheater. Not because it's cold, but because those nipples are clearly visible under my T-shirt. I'm walking with more confidence now, even though my feet have shrunk and my sneakers are a bit like clown shoes. My T-shirt, track pants and windcheater are all too big for me also. But not ridiculously so. I'm glad to be out of the house before Jack gets home, and glad that is now almost dark out so that I can walk along the quietening streets unseen, and get to Kimberley's house as soon as possible to sort this out. As I walk briskly along the footpath in the failing light, footsteps close behind me give me an awareness of my newfound vulnerability. How I'd taken for granted that I could walk the streets unimpeded. Lucinda said sometimes alone at night she had to walk with her keys between her fingers. Should I be doing that? I'm too apprehensive to turn and see, and worried that might increase my danger, so I concentrate on the path ahead. Subconsciously, my already haste filled walk has quickened, and the following footsteps fade gradually now till they disappear all together as their generator turns down another street. I arrive at the Jacobs home after the last rays of twilight are gone. The house is in darkness. I am disheartened that no one is home, and I hesitate for a moment. But where else have I got to go? I approach the front door. Turning the handle I find it unlocked. I enter and offer a meek "Hello?" more in the hope that this will prevent me from being bashed on the back of the head than anything else. Without a real plan I decide my objective is to find Kimberley's room and see what clues are there. Beyond that, if there are no such clues, I wasn't entirely sure. Maybe wait for someone to appear. I really was just making it up as I went along. After stumbling through the dark and crashing into things, it occurs to me that I could turn the lights on, as anyone who discovers me here would see Kimberley, and think that entirely appropriate. Unless of course I encounter the real Kimberley, but then I'd know if she had something to do with this, and if she didn't then I figure she'd freak out at seeing her double, and I could perhaps control the situation should it arise. So I light the whole house up. After wandering around downstairs without revelation I make my way up. Upstairs, I hazard a guess as to which bedroom is Kimberley's. It was a correct assumption. I open the door to be confronted by, yet again, another visually uninterpretable scene. I see myself lying sideways across Kimberley's double bed, wearing a cheerleader's uniform, staring vacantly at the ceiling. Far more off putting than seeing someone else's reflection in the mirror, I decide, is seeing your body before you, and you not in it. And more disconcertingly, seeing it in a skimpy cheerleaders uniform that is clearly too small, and under reasonable strain. I draw breath. How is she going to react waking up and seeing her face trying to rouse her. Oh well. I don't really have a lot of options. "Kimberley," I say, and give her a shake. No response. Louder and more vigorous, still no response. I look at her. At me really. My eyes are staring, unblinking, vacant. A sudden, sickening, sinking feeling. Oh God. Maybe she's dead. I feel for my Carotid pulse. (Or her carotid pulse. Or do I mean his. I don't know. Anyway, the pulse of the body before me, which I always check on the warm down after running, but it's harder to find from this angle.) Thank God. It's there. But still she will not wake. There she lies, in my body, in some sort of catatonic state. Why won't she wake? Although I voice the question internally I feel it won't be long before I vocalise it aloud in pleaded angst. I struggle with more desperate attempts to rouse her, but still nothing. It seems the only conclusion is that the same painful transformation I endured has affected her more profoundly. This really is some sort of freaky Friday body swap thing. Knowing that seems to just make me more anxious, and a little nauseated truth be told. You really have tickets on yourself bitch, I think. Turning into me is no more hideous than me turning into you, so what's with the coma? Oh God. That's it isn't it? She really is a vacuous bimbo. The transformation was too much for her brain to comprehend, and she's completely shut down. How do I snap her out of this? Slapping yourself in the face is hard to do psychologically, and it didn't work anyway. Neither did a jug of ice water. Panic overwhelms me, and I'm paralysed with inertia, unable to formulate any idea as to what to do next. I can't wake her up. I can't have her parents come home and find her looking like me, in her cheerleader outfit, in a coma. First of all I decide I need to get unconscious me out of those incongruous clothes, and into these, the one's I'm currently wearing. I would definitely feel better when my unresponsive apparently lifeless body is in more gender appropriate clothing. It suddenly seems important. I suspect it is because of my feeling of helplessness about the whole situation. This is something I can control. I can't have Anthony, me, be discovered by anybody, dressed in a cheerleaders uniform. My reputation, such that it was, would be completely obliterated. I'd be laughed out of town. Maybe my priorities are skewed, but this suddenly because far more disconcerting than my complete unconsciousness. It takes a while, struggling with my own dead weight, I'm weaker now, as her, although I guess I have her cheerleader agility, and flexibility, but I can't really test that fully. Not right now. Eventually though, after some breathless heaving I'm looking at my own naked male body. Could things get any weirder? Reluctantly I disrobe. Trying my hardest to avert my eyes from my own naked clearly female body, I hastily slide into her knickers and struggle briefly with the sports bra, before shimmying into the lycra crop top and skirt. Could it get any worse than this? It's only after I'm wearing them that it occurs to me that I've wilfully and unthinkingly removed Kimberley's pre-worn underwear, now incongruous over male genitalia, and popped them on whilst still warm. That's probably gross. I really should have got a fresh pair. Well actually No. This really shouldn't be happening at all so I shouldn't get too fixated on hygiene. I find myself mad at all this ridiculousness. Look at me, I say, specifically not doing so, I'm a blonde bimbo cheerleader!! Mum and dad would be so proud! I put the track suit pants and T-shirt onto Anthony's body. (It's probably easier to think of it that way, all the him and her stuff was just giving me a headache.) The donning of clothes on the limp, (relatively) heavy male was even more exhausting than the doffing. I take a moment to recompose. After summoning the courage, and deciding it was the only thing to do I call an ambulance. It was after all, my body lying there in an altered conscious state. Who's to say it wasn't going to stop breathing. I had this sudden fear that if it did, if my body, if Anthony's body died, then I could be very well stuck in this one. "My friend has collapsed, and I can't wake him up. Please Hurry!!" I told triple zero dispatch. Okay. Now I need a plausible story. I thought for a moment and one conjured quickly. He popped by after we'd finished our training, and we were talking, and he just collapsed. No he didn't complain of anything, it was just sudden. No he's not my boyfriend, we are just friends. Yes, he does train very hard, maybe he overdid it. I read something about elite athletes collapsing. The ambulance arrived with due and appropriate promptness, and I field their questions pretty well. I accompany him to hospital in the back of the ambulance; they offered little resistance to my request. My plan was not to let my body out of my sight. I was kind of hoping that I would just pop back into it in any moment, and that staying close to it might expedite that. But also was the gnawing fear that something bad may happen. Not that my presence would have any bearing on that body living or dying, but I just felt I needed to be there. As we wailed along at moderate speed I caught the paramedic in the back leering at me. No one had ever looked at me that way before. It's an awful feeling and I'm suddenly self conscious about my skimpy clothes, and exposed midriff and legs. You dumb fuck. You were in her bedroom. You were in such a hurry to cover up your tits you just wacked on her uniform. Ten seconds to grab jeans and a T-shirt and you wouldn't have every drunk in the E.R. waiting room ogling you. Fuck. On arrival Anthony's body is rushed by the paramedics behind a door and I'm left behind in the foyer. I approach the triage nurse, and trying to seem as pathetic as I can, which isn't really a stretch, as I'm feeling pretty sorry for myself, tell her I'm cold, and ask if I can have a blanket. She looks me up and down, and seems to be deciding whether she should leave the exhibitionist slut like she is in the waiting room, or show some pity. She opts for the latter and hands me an awful hospital waffle blanket, which I wrap around me, and go back and sit. It's the most awful feeling in the world when Anthony's parents (my parents) come rushing in and go straight past me. They have no idea who I am. As far as they are concerned their son is in the Resuscitation Room in some life threatening Coma. No Mum. No Dad. I'm here. I'm Okay. I just look a little different. Before I realise it I'm crying into the blanket. I'm left to sob a minute or two, no one paying me any heed when I sense two shadows loom over me. I look up and a man and woman are leaning towards me. "Kimberley! What the Hell do you think you are doing?" It is the woman that is speaking. Her tone is aggressive. She is blonde, late 40s, all glammed up, way too many rings, too much make-up, I'm thinking we have mutton here, dressed up as lamb. But she looks familiar, she looks a bit like..... Oh Fuck! Of course. It's Kimberley's mother. And the man beside her, presumably, her father. I guess the hospital rang them when they rang mine. I hadn't even thought too much about it. I'd been able to give them all Anthony's details, which of course were my details, and maybe they had been impressed with that. Then they asked me for mine. Meaning Kimberley's. I gave them her name and address, which I'd of course just learned, but they thought me stupid when I didn't know my own phone number. They must have looked it up on the system. Assuming they had such a system. And contacted them. But why? I assumed Kimberley was my age, being a University student, so she was surely not a minor. Regardless, it wasn't a very supportive greeting that you'd give your daughter when she's crying in an Emergency department waiting room. Kimberley's mother was rearing up at me now so I couldn't contemplate any more about that right then. "And don't give me any of that, I'm 18, I'll do what I like crap..... If you are taking drugs in my house with this boy then you can find yourself somewhere else to live. Honestly this is the last straw. I get a call saying they'd picked a boy up from my house with a drug overdose. What will people say? You've disgraced yourself and me." I don't know this woman, but I get the impression that she is more concerned with her reputation than my welfare. I mean her daughter's welfare. But drugs? I guess I should have predicted this. Of course that's exactly what the doctor's would think with an unconscious youth. So no matter what story I tell them they would immediately suspect that. Maybe that would be convenient for people to think that at the moment (for me and her), but now I'm worried that my (real) parents would think that I was on the Gear, or taking something illicit. What if people start equating my running performance with some sort of artificial enhancement? That then lead to my unconscious collapse. I can hear them, my real parents, saying (in my minds ear) "That Jack. It's his doing. We should never have let Anthony move in with him." Sure, Jack was a bit of a stoner, but he never took anything else, as far as I knew. Still I imagine they would be taking Toxicological samples from Anthony's unconscious body. I wasn't even sure if they'd be negative. Who knows if Kimberley took anything to pep herself up for cheering or whatever it is she calls that gyrating around she does. Because, and I suddenly felt unclear on this point, that's her in her body, now looking like mine. But I'm still in my body, just looking like hers. So if she was taking drugs, then it would be in that body, not mine, wouldn't it? I wasn't sure. I was so confused. As I had already noted, I had her size and strength, or comparative lack of both. Was my soul in her body and vice versa rather than our bodies transformed? And why am I even squabbling over the metaphysics of it? Could things be any more fucked? I seemed to be thinking, and saying that repeatedly. "Come on then," the woman speaks, abruptly as before. "Let's get you out of here where we can deal with you." "No," I say meekly, as I'm intimidated by this woman. "I want to stay. Till Anthony wakes up." "Well that's not going to happen. They're taking him to the Intensive Care Unit. They think whatever he took fried his brain. So you better tell us if you took the same, and what it was, or you might end up just like him." "I didn't take anything. WE didn't take anything." My protestations are more forceful this time. I'm still processing what she said. "Alright. Have it your way. We're still going though." And her hand is around my upper arm, forcing me out of the waiting room chair. I do not resist. My mind is elsewhere. For her words have now sunk in. Intensive Care. Fried Brain. Oh God. Just as I thought. What if he dies? What if I am stuck like this? The woman is dragging me towards the door, and I'm confused, and scared. Finally the man speaks. He is middle aged, balding, and cowering behind his taller wife. "You okay Kim?" he asks. Then retreats slightly. Bracing himself for what he expects to be an abrasive reply. I regain my inner composure enough to make a quick, and I suspect accurate, assessment of the family dynamic. At least I understand why Kimberley is like she is. Dominant, overbearing mother. Weak ineffectual father. Only child. He obviously works hard to keep his women in the lifestyle to which they are accustomed, and they do not respect him. The mother is ashamed of him, he's just a cash cow to her, and I'm sure she'll be having an affair. The daughter is a spoilt little rich kid. Who emulates her mother, whilst hating her all the while for the lack of affection, and treats her father with disdain. Of all the people to end up as. I don't deserve to be this person. What did I ever do? But then I'm not this person. I may look like this person. But I'm still me. And I won't treat people the way she would. "I'm Okay Daddy," I say in what I imagine to be my best doting daughter voice, and, as expected, his reaction is one of surprise and relief. You poor bastard, I'm thinking, to be that surprised that your daughter is nice to you. You really must be a total bitch Kimberley. Chapter 4 We get home, and I'm straight to my room. I thought my 'mother' might start on me again but she seems too angry for words. So I slink away with no objections voiced. I knew exactly where Kimberley's room was so that was a plus. After lying on the bed for an hour or so, intermittently crying out of worry and despair, I resolve to at least get myself out of the Cheerleaders uniform. Opening her wardrobe, there is nothing but a progression of short skirts and tight tops. The occasional low cut dress breaks the monotony. She is pretty light on for things like jeans and T-shirts. 'Skank' I hear myself saying. 'Why can't you just have normal clothes?' I close the wardrobe, and approach the chest of drawers. I find myself rifling through her underwear drawers. Every fucking colour under the sun. Apart from a few sports bras - it's all satin and lace. Hasn't she heard of cotton? And of course the bottoms are all friggin' G Strings. Deep at the back of one drawer I find some old winter pjs. They'll have to do, for now. Again, I'm faced with the unnerving task of undressing myself. I find my body much less confronting when clothed, even skimpily. Come on Anthony. It's a normal female body. It's perfectly natural. It's perfectly healthy. I don't feel like I'm convincing myself. It's simply not working. I need to take more drastic action or I'll just disintegrate. Okay Kimberley. This is your body now. I don't know how long for, but it could be a while, so fucking get over yourself and get used to it. I tell myself this and undress quickly before I lose my resolve. This time though, I don't frantically cover myself again, but walk slowly to the wardrobe mirror. I'm not surprised she had a full length mirror in her bedroom, such was her vanity. But then maybe most girls do. I know so little about them really. Likewise, I feel like my exposure to naked women is fairly limited. I ignore my own pun. At least up to this point, because right now I'm copping an eyeful of more nude female than I ever would have wished for. I'm totally regretting my virginity now. It was never my intent to keep it. In fact I was sure after six months of University I would have well and truly lost it. I was planning to leave it behind in some random dorm room at some stage, it was reaching the point where I was beginning not to care where. I suspected I hadn't because I was lost between worlds. Not quite a jock and not quite a nerd either. I felt as a state champion and athletics captain I was entitled to the hot girls. The Kimberley types. I had steadfastly believed this was what I wanted, the type I wanted. But they didn't seem to share that opinion. So perhaps I had been batting outside my league, and therefore hence my lack of success. But after my interaction with Kimberley earlier today and now spending the last few hours as her I realised the complete error of my ways. I couldn't stand the thought of being with her as equally as I couldn't stand being her. It was never about marriage though. I just wanted to fuck her for goodness sake. Her personality shouldn't have mattered. I was supposed to be a shallow teenage boy who just wanted sex. But clearly her personality did matter, because, although I'd told myself it was the moment she was rude to me that put me off her, I knew full well it was the moment she was disrespectful about Lucinda. My Lucinda. This recollection now had me thinking about her as I stared vacantly at my new reflection. Was I still a virgin because of Lucinda? Was I saving myself for her? Without even knowing? Surely not. That seemed a bit pathetic if it were true. Well it might all be irrelevant now. Talk about the old adage coming true. Use it or lose it. I hadn't got around to using my penis for its one intended purpose, and now as was clearly visible before me, I no longer had it. This somewhat jarring conclusion redirected my attention to the person in the mirror. All the time I had been rambling through my own thought processes my eyes had been communicating to my brain that this was me. Like I told myself moments earlier, before I undressed, my current appearance was something I needed to come to terms with. I appraised my reflection. She's all blonde wavy haired, big blue eyed, perfect teethy girl. And her rack. I'm no expert, but they looked perfect. Oh God. I wonder if they are augmented. Using the mirror, I lift them slightly to look for scars in the crease beneath them, which is apparently where incisions are made when breasts are enlarged. There is none, they are authentic. It might be the only genuine thing about her I think snidely. But I realise this is the first time I'd felt my own breasts. I look down at them and let my hands palpate them. Nothing kinky, as that's farthest from my mind. But that has me thinking. Is it concerning that I'm not the least bit turned on feeling Kimberley's boobs? In my opinion it would be more concerning if I was. Given the circumstances and my perspective. Regardless I assimilate them into my body image before bringing my hands back to my sides. My focus is back on the mirror, and the rest of her. I slowly glance downward. Her waist, her hips, her external female genitalia, which I cannot bring myself to touch, and finally, her long legs. It's all so surreal. How am I going to cope? I don't answer my own question. I can't. I need to think about something else. That's enough for one day, I tell myself as I break the trance, and turn away. I put my pyjamas on and sit on the side of the bed. I reiterate my need to think of something other than the body I now inhabit. So I wonder how my (real) parents are doing. I'm filled with worry for them. And I miss them. Have they called Clare? Will they fetch her back from boarding school to join the vigil? And my friends - what will they think, when they hear about me in a coma. And inevitably my thoughts lead me back to Lucinda. Oh God. I still was yet to fully process what I realised when I thought I was dying. And now I know how I really feel about her, yet I can't do anything about it. Will she grieve for me? Of course she will. I'm grieving for me. I'm grieving for the life I've lost. But I refuse to accept that I am stuck like this forever. Whoever did this, surely they can undo it. There had to be a 'someone' didn't there? This doesn't just happen. A person, or persons actively did this to me. I know it wasn't Kimberley herself. For she was clearly as shocked as I. Which is how she wound up in her vegetative state. Although maybe she wasn't. Shocked. Maybe she doesn't even know. What I remember was the severe pain, and blacking out. Clearly the pain was from the transformation. I assume the pain was the same for her. But I had also assumed, up to now, that like me, she had woken up, seen her new body, my body, and been rendered apoplectic by that revelation. But what if she'd never even got that far? Never woken up from the transformation? What if I was the only one to awaken from that? It hurt. Unlike anything I'd ever felt before. Was the pain of it enough to induce her coma? And will transforming back be equally as painful? Could I also end up rendered permanently unconscious in my efforts to return to being me? Kimberley's mum had said Anthony's brain was fried. Whatever that meant. But how would she possibly know? She was exaggerating surely, or more likely just trying to instil some fear in her daughter. I had a most unwelcome intrusive thought then, which seemed to come straight from the annals of a horror movie. What if they do decide Anthony's brain is "fried", that he is brain dead. And my parents decide to donate my organs from my still live body. And they chop me up! Oh God. Every moment I'm out of my body may exacerbate that risk. I've got to get back in it. I have to find this nebulous 'someone'. I need to force them to reverse things. Even if there is risk. I can't stay like this. I have to get back to being me, and hope that the process doesn't actually kill me. But who could this 'someone' possibly be. Specifically, who the Hell could do this, and why? I have to figure this out. I slump backwards across the bed, and before I can consider my list of suspects, I am asleep. Changing sex takes a bit out of you it seems. Chapter 5 I awake the next morning, lying where I had slumped, not even under the sheets. For the briefest of peri-somnolent moments I hope it was all a dream and I'm back to normal. Perhaps I'd simply accidentally eaten a whole batch of Jack's hash cookies and was having an impressive trip. But I know it's not a dream without having to feel my own body. I can sense what I am. And that's female. The dawn of a new day had stolen any determination I may have had yesterday. The initial shock and disbelief had given way to a sense of hopelessness. Especially with the mounting pessimism with regard to the impending fate of my body that I had speculated about last night. I climb under the covers. Staring blankly at the ceiling, just as I'd found my body, Anthony's body, yesterday. I toy with the idea of willing myself into a coma, just as Kimberley was, but I don't think that's possible. At some point in the morning, Kimberley's father comes in. "Kim, haven't you got classes at Uni today?" He still seems to expect a tirade in reply. "I'm not feeling so well dad, after yesterday, I might take a couple of days off." "Sure Honey. Of course," he's gently obliging. "You should get up and eat something though." "Okay I will," I lie. "Alright. I'm going to work now. Your mother's already gone. She's pretty mad. She's worried about her reputation. Said she needs a couple of days away to sort things out," He looks sad. Gone to be with whoever she's fucking, no doubt, you poor naive man. Do you know? "Okay." I say again. "I'm sure we'll manage without her. Have a good day at work," I say kindly. It comes naturally even though I'm filled with self pity. He looks totally surprised. "Thanks Honey, I will." He seems very pleased, and he closes the door behind him. I roll over and stare at the wall. Just stare. I can't seem to think of anything. I don't know what to do. I'm frozen in abject despair. My next moment of awareness is my father at the door again. I mean Kimberley's father. "Kimmy, have you been here all day?" "I suppose so.... What time is it?" "6:30. Did you eat something?" "No. Not really." Well I hadn't actually moved. He's in the room now- sitting on the edge of the bed. "What's wrong? You're not your usual self at all." Not that I mind, I thought I heard him say under his breath. "Is it that boy, in the coma, were you close? Did you like him?" He paused, but he didn't seem to expect an answer. "It's just that neither your mother nor I had ever seen him before?" Yes, I suppose you could say he was close to me, and I certainly did like him. "No dad, I'd only just met him." It was a convincing lie. "I honestly don't know what happened to him though. We weren't doing drugs or anything," Which was an equally convincing truth. "I believe you Honey." He paused then continued. "I know you don't like me very much, or think much of me, but I always have your best interests at heart." He remained despondent. Fuck I hate this bitch that I've become. I hate Kimberley. I hate myself. I wish I had died. I want to die. "Anyway, I'm going to make you some soup. Come down stairs and eat it." And he leaves. I wouldn't have bothered, but I needed to get up to use the toilet anyway. I never envisaged that would require a whole different set of muscles, but I had got the hang of it eventually. It was easier each time. It had been nearly 24hours since the change, and although my oral intake of fluids had been limited I was still producing urine and needing to void. Using the scientific terms helped make it more clinical. The first time I had wrapped my hand up in so much toilet paper when I wiped so that I didn't have to have any actually physical contact with her labia or her vulva. I remembered something vaguely about wiping from front to back. I suppose that's important now. It was all very well, with the false bravado of last night, to tell myself to think of this as my body now, for the foreseeable future. Which by extension meant of course I was referring actually to my labia, my vulva. I shuddered and felt nauseated. This was a concept I was along way from embracing. And I felt certain it was something I would never embrace. Downstairs, I force some weak soup into me. But I have no appetite. I'm relieved to get back upstairs. But I can't sleep, and I lie awake all night. Staring at the ceiling, thinking about my old life, and about Lucinda. The next day is the same. It must be Thursday now. My (new) father seems increasingly concerned. We talk little, and I only eat tiny amounts just to placate him. At the end of Friday, my father comes into the room, which has become more and more dishevelled in the preceding 72 hrs. "Kim, I have a visitor for you." Oh Great, the dragon lady is back. But it wasn't her. Behind my father, a blonde girl enters the room. It's Bethany, the other cheerleader and Anthony's biochemistry classmate. She seems to completely forget my father is there for she starts at me straight off. "Jesus Kim!! What the fuck is wrong with you. You look like shit. And look at your room!! Fuck!!!!" Kim's father slinks out then, I wonder if he's ok with all that language. He closes the door behind him. She continues, "Where have you been. At Uni, and at practice? Well obviously you've been here. Festering. But why?" "I've not been well...," I offer. "Bullshit!!!" She pauses. "Everyone's talking Kim. The whole campus. About you. And all about what happened with Anthony Wilkins." I hoist myself up. Alarmed, but thinking I probably shouldn't be surprised. "What are they saying?" "All sorts of things. Some say he was stalking you, and you took matters into your own hands and poisoned him. Or that he was all cut when you rejected him like you did in front of everyone, and took an O.D. and came over here to tell you, then collapsed. And some, mostly his friends, reckon you lured him here to poison him, like you are some sort of psychopath. As if!!!" She clearly indicated that she had Kimberley's back, and Anthony was the pathological one. Oh God. I hadn't anticipated this. Anthony's body at this house, especially after what she'd said earlier. My reputation could be ruined. Anthony's reputation I mean. Whatever way I play this, things could turn out pretty badly, for the old me, or even the new me. And if I ever get back to the old me, I don't want people thinking I'm a sicko. I'm the most alert I've been in 3 days. "Bethany. I want you to listen to me. This is what happened. I want you to spread the word too. Those rumours are crap, and they make me look bad." "Him worse." "I don't care about him," I lie. "But I don't want people thinking I'd poison somebody." "Since when have you cared what a few nerds think." "Bethany!!! These are serious allegations. I could go to jail!!" "Oh yeah. I suppose so." She's as dumb as her friend. "Anyway, I felt bad about what I'd said to him......." Bethany gives me a very incredulous look, and I realise I am so out of character with the real Kim. "Okay! Okay!" I mock confess, as if she'd seen through my false concern. "I thought about what the dweeb had said, and it seemed to make sense to make Brian jealous, so I rang him and invited him over to discuss it, and...." "How'd you know his number?" she interjects, smelling a rat. Oh God, think fast. "He lives with that stoner Jack Nimbin, some of the footballers get their weed from him." "Oh," More than plausible, mainly because it was true. "Anyway. We are talking. He complains of chest pain, and collapses. So I called an ambulance. Did you know he was some kind of runner or something?" I'm suitably vague. "I didn't till the other day, he's actually the athletics Captain. So maybe he wasn't such a dweeb after all!!" "I guess not," I reply, and softly, "I guess we'll never know." "Okay then. Well if you've got nothing to hide, why are you lying here?" "I told you. I'm not well." "Well get well. There's a game tomorrow, and you're cheer captain. We can't go without you." "I won't be there. In fact I can pretty much guarantee I won't be available for any cheerleading for quite some time." "Don't be ridiculous Kim. You can't cocoon yourself up in here - now come on. I know it was a shock him collapsing like that. But you said so yourself. It wasn't your fault. So just get over it. He's not that important really. He'll be dead soon enough." Her last line horrifies me, but I contain it. "Look Bethany, I don't want to be rude, but I've got a lot of shit to sort out so just count me out till I say different." "But who's going to lead us?" "Why not you, if I can do it - it can't be that hard...," I say sarcastically. Up to now I'd been careful not to do any irreparable damage to Kimberley's world, so that if God willing she ever returned to it - I mean when she returned to it -she could go on living it. But I was beyond caring now, and any escape seemed like a pipe dream at this moment in time. "Fine. Be like that. I don't know what you've got up your arse, but I hope you get rid of it. Let me know when you want to return to the land of the living," And she abruptly leaves. Could've gone worse, I suppose, but at least I'm left in peace. Chapter 6 I stay in the room the entire weekend. The only time my mind leaves there is when I think about the minor track meet on the Saturday. One of the usual circuit (or circus) of lead up events. Lucinda would be running, like I was supposed to. I wonder how she did. Actually I know how she would have done. It's rhetorical. She would have won. Assuming that she did compete I suppose. She may have skipped it on account of me. Although life was probably still going on all around me, I guess, except for my life. I should be running too. But all that's been stolen from me. It occurs to me then, exactly what I've been doing these last 4 days. In this foreign room. In this foreign body. I really am grieving. Grieving for the life I've lost. The opportunities I've lost. That my relationship with Lucinda will never be the same. I AM dead. This body just doesn't know it yet. I haven't seen my actual body, my old body, since I left it at the hospital that night. Back then I was anxious at the separation from it, but now I couldn't stomach the concept of seeing it. Part of that was due to what Bethany and Kim's parents had said. Fried brain. It was a predicted doom coming from more than one source now. I imagine my mum, dad and little sister watching over me. Wilting away with worry. It's all too horrific. I just can't think about it anymore. I drift in and out of fugue. Monday comes and Kimberley's father marches in - the most assertive I've ever seen him. Although that exposure is pretty limited. The mother has not returned. It seems she's not going to. I'm a little pleased about that but he doesn't seem to be. "Get up Kim. And get dressed," He marches to my wardrobe, to choose some attire for me, and I can see he is faced with the same dilemma I was. What the fuck does this chick do in winter? I wonder to myself. We were approaching spring, but it's not like the cold was all behind us. He settles for a skirt that is perhaps marginally less short than the others, and a top that won't show all of my boobs. I guess I am surprised by his sudden development of spine as I find myself out of the bed. After placing this clothing on my body, and sliding myself into the obligatory G-string- I'm in the bathroom. Kimberley's hair is a greasy matted mess, and her skin pale from days of sunless existence. I splash water on my face, but that's about all I can be bothered with. I exit the bathroom and I gather Mr Jacobs is not used to seeing his daughter like this. "Aren't you going to fix your hair or put on some make up?" "Why bother!!" I retort. He doesn't know how to respond to this, and simply ushers me to the car. "Why aren't you at work anyway?" No reply. When we pull up we are at a Doctor's office. The plaque out the front gives a pretty clear indication of the type of doctor we are seeing. "Psychiatrist?" I'm worried. Although I suppose that's better than 'gynaecologist.' I feel sick at that thought, but then decide that being at the shrinks is alarming enough. What if they decide I'm mad? That I think I'm Anthony in Kimberley's body and therefore psychotically delusional and lock me up. I haven't said anything so they can't know, but I'm panicked all the same. I'll have to keep tight lipped. I look at my father anxiously. He sees my expression and feels compelled to explain his actions. Turns out my father thinks I'm depressed and has arranged for me to see a psychiatrist. I don't resist. The psychiatrist is nice enough. She ascertains I'm not eating, not sleeping, not caring which is no news to anyone. I'm guarded with my answers for obvious reasons, which unfortunately just plays further into their supposed diagnosis. Better they think I'm some moody teen with a bout of the blues than someone acutely schizophrenic with a bad case of gender identity disorder. Am I suicidal? Apparently. Do I have a plan? Hadn't really thought of that. No. (Apparently if I did - then they definitely would've locked me up. So lucky I was too apathetic for thinking of anything.) Before I know it I'm shoving my first Zoloft (An antidepressant) down my gob and seeing her again in a week. Yeah whatever. So I'm depressed. Wouldn't you be if your life was stolen, and you end up living this pathetic one? That's what I wanted to say, but couldn't. I'm fully entitled to my pity party and I plan to wallow in it. And if Anthony dies, and my old body is buried and decomposes, then maybe I'll join him. As soon as I possibly can. But then I look at Kimberley's father, and he is clearly wrought with concern. And I start thinking. Well she was loved. Even if she didn't appreciate it. She had friends. Even if they are brainless bimbettes. She was at least attempting tertiary study, so maybe she had a future. I know enough in life to know you've got to play the hand you are dealt, and although suicide might seem an attractive option, I can't honestly say that this is my life to take. It may become that. My life. Unequivocally and permanently, and maybe that will cause some re-