I hear my alarm go off but I don’t want to move. I will it to keep quiet. Which doesn’t work. So I reach out and hit the snooze button. Again and again. And again. Eventually I see light coming through from under my door to the living room. Natural light. I hit snooze again. My phone’s alarm goes off for I don’t know what number time and I have to get up. I really have to.
I somehow drag myself out of bed. It’s a little bit cold but with my nightdress I don’t want to put on my ugly, red and black, man bathrobe to keep warm. I do put my slippers on and trudge into the kitchen to make coffee.
On my way from the kitchen I flick various devices on, eyes falling shut on me. I switch on my laptop, and check my phone to see if I have any messages.
I do not want to do anything today. Not a single thing. I don’t know why. I had an early night last night. One of my earliest since, well... Since me.
I sit before my work laptop staring at no new emails and too tired to even lift my coffee to my face. Knowing what time it is I should really be working, especially if I want to take an early afternoon tomorrow.
My phone rings, it has to be Greg. He knew exactly when I was exhausted and decided to call me then. I pick my phone up with a groan and instead I see it’s G calling.
“Hi, G,” I grumble.
“Oh, Ms. Sleepy-head today, are we?”
“I don’t know why. Last night was my earliest night since last week. I just watched soccer and had literally one beer.”
“Things are catching up with you,” he says.
“How do you mean?”
“Have you been more busy this week compared to other weeks?” he asks.
“Well, yeah. Obviously,” I say.
“Yes... Exactly,” G says.
“I suppose,” I say, annoyed at him again, for pointing it out; another example of Big-G being right.
“Have you checked your bank account?” he asks.
“No.”
“Do it now,” he says.
“I’ll do it later.”
“No. Now! Come on.” And there’s no arguing with him, at least with him seemingly bright awake and me still dopey brained.
I go through the security questions on my personal laptop and into my account. “It’s not too bad,” I say, not saying any specific figure.
“Compared to other weeks?” he asks.
“Yeah, a bit more spent,” I say. G stays quiet. “A little bit more than a bit,” I admit. “But you know I wasn’t mad on going out before. I was really solitary and boring. I have some money saved up. Enough to do this for a bit longer.” I brighten up, more awake, thinking of more fun for another couple of months, maybe a single month if I really...
“What big expenses did you have this week?”
“None, really. It was just drinks and some food. A few taxis. I bought one candle. I got those cheap bras and shoes, some makeup, and...” I’m really examining my bank balance now; calculating
“And do you think you might have some bigger expenses coming up along with all those everyday normal expenses for a sociable woman in her twenties?”
“Why are you like this, G!?”
“You’re welcome,” G says.
“Yeah... You’re right. Now go away.”
He laughs. “Have you spent any time alone?”
“How do you mean,” I ask.
“Just you, thinking, about everything.”
“I watched football alone, last night,” I say. “I told you that.”
“Just with your thoughts?” G asks.
“No...”
“Go for a walk today. A normal walk. You know those getting fresh air walks. No earphones or music. No chatting to people. No window shopping. No grocery shopping. Just you and your thoughts. Will you?”
“Yeah, OK,” I say, knowing a walk might be nice. I look out the high window in the living room and it looks dry out.
“Promise?”
“I promise. But come on, G, let me have fun. You’re being mean.”
“What have you been eating?”
“Like total shit!” I say, trying to put pride in my words.
“Yeah. I thought so. Do you have plans for Sunday?”
“Not yet. Pedicure on Saturday, football game before that.”
“Can you really afford a pedicure? They’re expensive aren’t they?”
“STOP TORMENTING ME, G!”
“You know I’m right, though,” G says. And he is, so I make a grumpy noise down the phone. “Anyway, do you want to go shopping on Sunday? The afternoon, maybe?”
“Ooh, yes I do!”
“For food!” G says.
“Will you cook?” I ask, thinking of his skills with a knife and wooden spoon.
“Maybe. I’m sure we’ll have a meal after. I looked around your kitchen when I was there, you have the basic pots and pans. You might need a knife or two.”
“If you keep acting like this around me, G, you don’t want me with blades in my hands.”
“You’ll be giving my hugs and kisses all over my face in thanks when the day is over.”
“You’re so arrogant!” And he’s right. I hate him, and I love him. “My god!”
“Promise you’ll go for the walk?” G asks.
“Yes...”
“And I’ll see you Sunday?”
“Yes!”
“OK. Have a fun day!”
“Fuck you, G!” I say. And he hangs up.
And then my phone rings again, straight away. “Hi, Greg.”
“Get some good rest?”
“Yeah,” I say, and when he says Rest I can’t help but yawn.
“Yeah, you sound very rested. Probably a mess with bedhead and a hangover. Taking advantage of the innocent multi-national corporation which has been so kind to you.”
“I look cute, Greg. The men would be drooling all over me if they could see me,” I say.
“I’m sure,” Greg says. Then I realise I was talking to him like he was Big-G, and I’m a little bit more awake, panicking.
But it’ll blow over. I was messing with him, that’s what he’ll think. I was fucking with him, that’s all.
“Have you been keeping a draft of that six hundred word summary I asked you to send me, for Friday?”
“I have, Greg,” I say, trying to put a formal tone in my voice, maybe he’ll forget, or gloss over it. I can’t believe I talked to Greg about men. “It’s really loose though. My own notation, no structure, a little more than six hundred words.”
“OK. Do not change a thing about it unless you’ve admitted to a murder in it. I don’t want to receive that. Otherwise email it straight to me, as soon as you can. I’ll give it a look over and give you some advance warning on what people will think.”
“People?” I ask. I thought it would only be Mr. Mayer and Therese, and maybe Greg who saw this but I don’t want to complain about that to Greg.
“Yes, people. Of course people will see it. Reports get sent everywhere. Why do you think we’re asking you to write this?”
“I thought it was kind of a test,” I say.
“It is,” Greg says. “Most things at your level are a test in some way. It doesn’t mean they’re not valuable and they’re certainly not meaningless. If your report is good it’ll be shared around.”
“OK, I didn’t know,” I say.
“Now you do,” Greg says. “Does that mean you’ll be working harder on it?”
“I was already working pretty damn hard!” I say.
“Good! Email me the draft. I’ll be back to you within an hour presuming I’m not telling HR to fire you. Now hang up.”
So I do. And I email Greg my draft straight away to prove I’m not in bed and that I was only fucking with him because I’m so on top of things.
Then I put on another coffee. I really need coffee today.
I’m just finishing yet another coffee when Greg phones back. “Yeah, that’s fine,” he says. No greeting or hello.
“It’s more than fine, Greg! That’s good work!” I say.
“You’re far more fiery when you’re working from home,” Greg says. “Keep it up. It’s what we want from you.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“A bit more confidence. You’ve been lacking it. Stand up for yourself and your work.”
“Is this professional advice?” I ask.
“Everything I say to you is professional advice, Tony. It is for everyone under my care. OK?”
“OK...”
“What were you going to look at today?”
“I’ve checked out the questions from the group I met. I’ve thought about the people around my age in the office, men and women. I’ve thought about things that apply to me... I’m not too sure, if I’m being completely honest.”
“If you were back in school what would they tell you to do?”
“Start writing it up, check to make sure everything is referenced, check some academic works for new developments, compare it to other businesses, make sure there’s no mistakes.”
“Do you think that applies?” Greg asks.
“I suppose?” I say.
“Do you have some ideas?” he asks.
“I can compare it to other offerings from healthcare companies, compare similar businesses with a profile like ours. I can check some of the job review websites where people talk about what a place is like to work, and what they use there. Cross-compare, etc.”
“So you have a plan for today?”
“I do. Then tomorrow I email you the real six hundred work document and spend the rest of Friday integrating any feedback from you into it. I start to write up the final document, just the outline, headings, bullet points, then flesh it out a little. I don’t think I need to request any graphics for Monday. If I have enough time I can finish up a little early?”
“That’s sounds like a plan,” Greg says.
“OK, I’ll hang up,” I say. And move the phone away from my face while just about hearing Greg say, “They’re learning...”
I get to work on what Greg said, taking a quick lunch break to eat some instant ramen while I watch some more makeup tutorials. After lunch I take a look at some of the job review websites, specifically our business. I even look at our location.
There’s a few mentions of Greg, words like Asshole, Evil, Arrogant, Rude, but there’s also a few quite heart-warming messages. One person says she left our company ten years ago and she still phones him when she’s having issues in her new workplaces. She calls him a genius.
I wonder if he wrote that one himself. It seems like something he’d do and laugh about.
It’s getting later in the day, and I am doing good work, when I remember I promised Big-G I’d go for a walk to just think. I know I could actually do with one with my eyes getting foggy. I have no plans for tonight, and no plans to make any plans. I’m still even in my nightdress since this morning.
I quickly change into a pair of jeans, my new skate shoes and a sweater. I don’t do my makeup but try and brush my hair into the shape I’m familiar with by now, a little at least, with no mousse or washing this time. I put my keys and some emergency money in my bag but not my phone. No distractions, no window shopping, no sneaking earbuds into my ears to listen to music. I just want some peace with the tension I can feel building in my head.
I walk out.
I begin my way up the street, wanting to feel the setting sun on my face but it doesn’t feel right. No-one’s smiling at me any more. Certainly not like weeks ago.
Then I think on that again, it wasn’t weeks ago people were smiling at me, it was only Saturday. My first proper day as me. That was just a few days ago. It seems so much time has passed. So much has happened and now it all feels wrong.
Is it that I haven’t done my makeup? Do I feel naked that way? Is it my hair not being done properly, but that doesn’t feel wrong. It’s just not right, in some way. I’m not right.
I feel my pace picking up and have to tell myself to slow down but I can’t slow down.
Everything has been so fun. I’ve enjoyed myself but now I’m alone it feels wrong. It’s just me! I’m just out for a walk with me and it all feels wrong! I feel like I’m shaking.
Can I really not be alone with myself? Is that what the problem is? Is it that I’m fine when I’m being fun with people, and having fun with people, and don’t have to think about who I am but when it stops, and I’m confronted with what I am — what thing I’m becoming — it’s telling me to stop.
I turn back on my walk. I want to sit down. I want to curl up. I want to run.
I have to get home! But what if I get home and I still feel this way? What if it doesn’t leave me? What if I always feel like this? Where can I go?
What’s wrong with this? What’s wrong with me? Why..?
With my heart racing and the new pattern I’ve become used to feeling in my chest seemingly cutting its way out of me I turn into a store and pick up a six pack, going through all the motions of paying and not even knowing what I did pay.
I take big, trembling breaths as I get closer and closer to my apartment, clutching onto the six pack I bought.
Dropping onto my couch I know something is wrong with me. There’s something wrong with me! I’ve never felt like this in my life. I have to talk to someone.
I pick up my phone and there’s two missed calls from the work number. Fuck!
I phone Greg. “Sorry,” I say, quickly. “I missed some calls from you.”
“Bathroom break?”
“I went for a walk. To clear my head. No phone, no distractions, just me and the fresh air.”
“Good idea. Did you?” Greg says, and I don’t say anything. “Clear your head?” he goes on.
“Not really, it’s worse in fact,” I say.
“Is it about the report?” Greg asks.
“No, the report is going well,” I say.
“It is, actually. We want to change some things.”
“In the document?” I ask, trying to contain myself, feeling like my chest is tearing itself apart; turning me inside out.
“No. That’s fine. There’s no need to email me the update tomorrow. I’ve seen enough. Mr. Mayer has seen enough. We said Tuesday — after lunch — I wanted a print-out of the final report. Do you think you can have it first thing Tuesday, instead?”
“Yes, I can,” I say. I just want to hang up.
“Don’t agree to it if you can’t,” Greg says. “If you need the time you can have the time. I don’t think you need more time but if you do...
“It just suits me better to get it first thing. If our original plan works better for you now is the time to speak up. Or if you need changes?”
“No. Definitely. I can get it to you first thing Tuesday,” I say, feeling like I can’t catch my breath, needing this call to end.
“OK. And did you check out the gyms we have available?” Greg asks.
“How do you mean? For the report? Yes! Of course! It was in what I emailed you,” I say, with a shortness to my tone despite my breath catching in my chest.
“For yourself, Tony. Maybe an hour in the morning or evening kicking a dummy to get out all your anger — or whatever’s clouding your head right now — could work better than a walk?”
I cough, then laugh with exasperation. This is actually Greg showing care, him wanting me to kick the shit out of something. “I have been thinking about it,” I say, my head falling forward to be caught by my free hand.
“It’s there to be used. A lot of our facilities are intended to be used, so do use them. They’ll get even better work out of you, which is what we want. Personally I prefer a walk in the fresh air with a smoke.”
“So not quite fresh air?” I say, feeling something, I don’t know quite what, drain out of me.
“Don’t you start on me!” Greg says. “You can finish up today if you have nothing pressing. Start finishing the report first thing tomorrow. And have a loose draft of the final document done before you clock out early, which is the plan, correct?”
“Thank you, Greg.”
“OK, hang up. Close your work laptop. Go back to Minecraft or League of Legends or whatever it is you people do.” And I do hang up on him with that comment. Finally breathing somewhat reasonably again. Almost.
I sit still, for a few moments, thinking maybe simple social contact was enough to set me at ease. That simply talking to fucking Greg was enough to quell whatever it was that happened to me; whatever was going through my head. But I feel a little nugget at the back of my mind slowly growing.
I try to reduce it, to mentally make it small but I feel a constriction in my chest.
I look down at myself. I rub my hands down my sides, my tummy and thighs. I’m just me, right? This is me. But why do I feel this way if it’s not wrong?
I pick up my phone and go to my contacts but I can’t burden anyone with this. I can’t call someone with this. Fucking Greg picked up there was something wrong with me so I can’t phone anyone when I’m like this.
It’s a little before work would be finishing, for most people, and I absolutely cannot run to people whenever I feel shitty, especially if they’re busy with their own lives.
If this feels so wrong I have to figure out what exactly it is that’s wrong. I have to be me.
Without really thinking I send G a message, “Can you call me, when you get a chance. Soon, if possible?” Then I put my phone down.
I stand, take a few steps and turn in a circle. Do I want to take these clothes off? Do I want to go back to being man Tony? Would that stop this? Would that stop this pressure in my mind?
But that’s just... I’ve been happy as me. I feel happy meeting people, and talking to people. Hell, I even felt weirdly happy when I stupidly said men would think I’m cute to Greg. But now I’m alone it’s wrong. What the fuck is happening? Why is this happening? Even just talking to Greg made me feel calmer but now I’m left staring at walls as I turn around and around.
I look towards the beers and want to drink one but just like I can’t demand people be at my beck and call whenever I feel bad I can’t reach for a drink whenever I feel bad.
I just need to escape, somehow. I just need to be different. I need to be a woman. A proper woman. Without this dumb, shit cock and balls between my legs. With ovaries. And boobs. And a man in my life. And a childhood I enjoyed and I want so much but it’s not for me. It’s not who I am? Why couldn’t it...
My phone goes off. G is calling. I take a deep breath. “Hi, G,” I say.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Tell me what happened?” he says.
“Nothing happened. No-one said anything to me.”
“What were you doing?” he asks.
I sigh, on edge. Feeling a breath rattle out of me. “I went for a walk... It felt wrong? I don’t know.”
“What felt wrong?”
“Me!?”
“In what way?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I’ve been so occupied this past week. Doing everything, meeting people, being me, and as soon as I had time alone it just hit me. This isn’t right. I’m not right.”
“OK...” G says. “What’s not right?”
“I don’t know. I don’t deserve this. It’s wrong.”
“Don’t deserve what?” he asks, sounding stern.
“Having fun,” I whine.
“Why not?”
“It’s too much fun. It’s not right. And the second it stopped it felt all wrong. The second I had to be with myself...”
“It hit you?”
“Yeah... But I don’t know what. I’m wrong. My body is wrong. I’m not...”
“You’re not what?”
“A woman... I’m a man pretending. I’m tricking people. I shouldn’t have any of this. Everyone sees through me. I’m not...”
“Have you done anything wrong? Have you hurt someone?”
“I don’t know...”
“No. Answer me, please. Have you hurt anyone?”
“No... Me..? Have I hurt me? Maybe I—”
“Ninety-nine percent of the time, how do you feel?”
“Good? I guess. Kind of. But I shouldn’t.”
“So you feel good and you feel guilty about it?”
“I don’t deserve this!!”
“You don’t deserve to feel bad but it’s natural. You had a bit of a crash. That’s fine. You messaged me. I called you.”
“You shouldn’t have called me...”
“Be serious, Toni. Why shouldn’t I have called?”
“Because I’m being stupid. This is nothing compared to what people go through. I’m lucky.”
“First off, you feel bad, and you’re my friend so of course I’m going to care, and call. Secondly, other people do go through worse, that doesn’t invalidate what you’re feeling. And it sounds like you’re feeling like this is too good to be true.”
“A little...”
“Is it? Too good be to true? Are you lying to yourself?”
“I don’t think so, no. Maybe...”
“But it’s new, and it’s suddenly hit you. That’s fine. You’re worried. Do you want it to stop?”
“That’s the thing. I don’t. But the second I was all alone I felt wrong. The second I just had to be me it was wrong. Maybe it is wrong? This is wrong and I’m fake and this is just me fucking around escaping...”
“So you felt bad and messaged me. I’m not seeing the problem.”
“I don’t know. I feel so vulnerable. So exposed. Like I’ve opened myself up to the world.”
“You have. You are,” G says.
“What?”
“You are vulnerable. You’re new at this. This is all new to you. You’ve made a big change in your life. Of course you’re vulnerable. And you’ll be a little old lady in sixty years time in the retirement home and there’ll still be times you feel vulnerable. People feel like this.”
“I’ve never felt this way before...”
“I bet you have but you ignored it. You just went by it in a fog. You’re feeling things now. Experiencing things now because you’re who you’re meant to be. You can’t just ignore yourself any more.”
“Maybe.”
“Probably... I’m not saying I’m right but it happens to me. I feel like you’ve described sometimes.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because my parents are old. I’ll probably lose one, or both of them, soon. Could even be today. The people who raised me. And I don’t know how I’ll handle that. I don’t want to lose them.”
“I’m sorry, G. I didn’t mean to actually ask what upsets you. I shouldn’t have. I just...”
“You just what? It’s normal, Toni. This is what we do, as people. As friends.”
“I can’t imagine you feeling like this. You’re so strong.”
“Thank you,” G says. “But I’m not always. So I talk to people. Often my parents. And that’s why I’m worried about it.”
There’s a pause on the phone for a few moments. “Are you worried or scared?” I ask.
There’s another pause. Then G speaks up. “Yeah... I’m scared. Some moments I’m terrified. Usually when I’m lying in bed, knowing my parents are far away and I can’t do anything really to stop what I want to stop. What I want never to happen.”
“I’m sorry, G.”
“It’s normal, Toni. It’s normal.” And I feel a tear in my eye thinking of Big-G losing his parents.
“I think I’m crying a bit,” I say.
“Still scared?” he asks.
“No. Thinking of what you’re going through. With your family.”
“They could live another twenty years. It’s just worries, and stresses, care for the people we care about. I’ll say it again, it’s normal. It’s what makes us who we are.” I wipe the tear from my eye and sniff. “Are you still scared? Really? Be truthful.” he asks.
“Of what happens when we hang up,” I say.
“Well, I’m sitting in a hotel room, day’s meetings done. More meetings tomorrow. I fly back late in the evening and I have hours yet, tonight, where the only thing to do is to use the expense account in the hotel bar. I have nothing to do, nothing else I want to do. What are you up to for the night?” I say nothing. “So we can talk, Toni. I’d like it, and I think you would, too. Let’s just talk. Not just for you. I would like to talk, too.”
So we do talk for a bit longer. I don’t know how much longer. Quite a bit longer.
We talk about work, and bosses, sports we’ve watched, G’s family. G gives me a few clues about the shopping we’ll do on Sunday. We just chat.
“I should leave you to that expense account,” I say, eventually.
“Do you want to talk more? It’s fine if you do.” G says.
“I think I’m OK,” I say. “Thank you, G.”
“Any time.”
“Are you OK?” I ask.
“I’m less lonely in my hotel room, now.”
“Thanks, G.”
“Of course.”
I place my phone down and wait for the feeling I had to return but it doesn’t. Instead I feel drained. Empty, and a little cold. Like I’ve just spent an hour crying. I rub at my face and then rub at my arms.
Before I know it I’ve taken a selfie of myself where I’ve forced myself to put on a smile. I message it to my sister, with the word Hi!
A few minutes later I get a message. “You look different. What’s different?”
“I’m trans now. I guess I’m a woman. Sort of...”
I don’t know what I’m thinking over the next minutes but I’m onto the message when it comes back, me as quick as a flash.
“Oh, thank you! You’re not boring! I’m busy now. I’ll phone over the weekend. Work on being exciting. I want an exciting little sister not a boring little brother. Have fun, lil’ sis!”
And I sit back on my couch, not knowing what to do, or who to message, or anything really. Except probably my sister is messaging her gaggle of friends who’d torment me when I was a kid and they’ll be screeching like witches. Why did I do that? Why did I message her? Who am I? What the fuck did I just do!? Oh my God, I’m a fucking moron...
And before I know it I’ve stood and dragged myself into bed, fully clothed. I lie down and pull the covers over me. I feel like I should cry. Like I want to cry, but no tears are coming. They’re just not there. I’m upset, and confused, but I’m empty. And I want G here, to just be here. I want him lying next to me and the two of us chatting.
Chapter 29 to Chapter 30 — The final chapters of The Pattern in My Chest.
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