Chances Are Omnibus (Gender Swap Fiction)

by P. T. Dilloway

  “I don’t care about that anymore. I just want to enjoy the time we have. Even if that means they throw us out of a movie.”

  “And right into jail for public indecency.”

  “They’d give you a slap on the wrist,” I say, the voice of experience. “Especially when they see how hot your girlfriend is. You’d get a warning officially and unofficially a pat on the back.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “I’m not joking. I know how things work. My uncle is a cop.”

  “Even so, it’s not right.”

  “Fine, be a pansy.”

  “Stacey—”

  “If you want to show me you’re a man, then take me to wherever the kids go to make out. Then you can make a woman out of me.”

  “Jesus, Stacey.”

  “So you’re not a man? You’re a sissy?”

  “God, I wish I’d listened to everyone about you.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Everyone I asked about you said you were a dyke. I mean that girl you hang out with—”

  “Maddy? What’s wrong with her?”

  Seth must sense he’s crossed a line, because his face starts to look scared instead of angry. “Nothing. I’m just saying she’s a lesbian.”

  “That means I’m one too?”

  “Well you have been going out with girls.”

  “Maybe I’m just experimenting. That’s what college girls do, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t want to be an experiment.”

  “Then what do you want? To be my boyfriend? You think I’ll be your little woman, sitting at home pining for you while you go to USC?”

  “No—”

  “Then what do you want from me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then take me home.”

  I let him walk me up to the front door and then give me a kiss goodnight. It’s not because either of us want to so much as I know Tess is watching. Seth’s kiss is a dry one that lasts a few seconds. “Goodnight,” he says.

  He doesn’t ask if I want to go out again. The answer to that is obvious.

  Chapter 2

  I tell Dr. Palmer about my date while I’m on the exam table. Unlike our first exam, I don’t lie with my feet in stirrups. I sit fully-clothed on the table in jeans and a tank top to make it easier for her to take my blood. “Why did he tell me that?” I ask. “Why did he even bother asking me out if he was planning to leave in a couple of months?”

  “I don’t know,” Dr. Palmer says. She stabs the needle into my arm. I hardly notice, not after we’ve done this every three months for the last year. “You know more about men than I do.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I thought about it most of the night, after I gave Tess a much different report on what happened so she won’t worry about me. As far as Tess knows, Seth and I are an item, on our way to marriage.

  “When I was nineteen, all I thought about was getting laid,” I say.

  “Men are supposed to be more sensitive than back in the ‘70s,” Dr. Palmer says. “But you did really like him, didn’t you? Before he told you about going to USC?”

  “Yes. I mean, I wasn’t thinking about marrying him yet.”

  “Then what were you thinking about?”

  I can only shrug. I think about it for a couple of minutes while Dr. Palmer puts the tube of blood into a container to be sent to the lab for analysis. “I guess I thought we could be friends.”

  “Friends with benefits?”

  “What?”

  “It means you’re friends, but you also fuck when you want.”

  “Oh. No, not really. I thought it’d be more like when Debbie and I started going out.”

  “So you did want to marry him?”

  “No!” I feel my face turn hot as I get flustered. “I didn’t think about marrying Debbie right away. We went out for like six months before we started to get serious about it. Then it was a whole year before I got up the nerve to propose.”

  “And his leaving ruined all that?”

  “Well what’s the point? We could go out a few times and then he’d have to leave.”

  “You could always talk on the phone. Chat on the Internet or whatever kids do today.”

  “Maybe, but it wouldn’t work. I mean these long-distance things usually don’t.”

  “Wasn’t he worth seeing if it would?”

  “I don’t know.” I sigh and shake my head. “I’ve really made a mess of it, haven’t I?”

  Dr. Palmer puts a hand on my shoulder; she must sense I’m about to cry. Ten months ago I’d already have begun to sob like a little girl with a skinned knee. I’ve gotten a better handle on the female hormones since then. “It’s all right, Stacey. You’re just confused. It happens a lot, especially when you’re young.”

  “But I’m not young, not really.”

  “You’ve only been a woman for a year. I’ve been at it over forty years and I still get confused.”

  “Thanks for trying to cheer me up.”

  “Well, let me ask you something: why did you try to touch him in the movie theater?”

  “I don’t know. I was sitting there, pouting about him moving and then I got thinking.”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “I thought that’s what a girl would do, sit there and sulk. Steve Fischer wouldn’t have done that.”

  “But you’re not Steve. Not anymore.”

  Dr. Palmer opens a drawer to take out her purse. She rummages through it for a minute. Tess would cluck her tongue at that; she makes sure I keep my purse nice and organized so I can find anything the moment I need it. The doctor finally takes out a business card. She passes it across the desk to me.

  “Dr. Robert Macintosh,” I read from the card. “You want me to see a shrink?”

  “I think it would help. He’s a friend of mine. He mostly works with children, but he takes a few older cases too.”

  “Great, a child psychologist. That’s just what I need.”

  “He’s very good. I think he could help you.”

  “With what?”

  Dr. Palmer leans forward and clasps her hands together. “Look, Stacey, I like talking to you. I care about you, a lot. You’re like my favorite niece.”

  “You’d send your niece to a shrink?”

  “If she were in your situation? Absolutely.”

  “What am I supposed to tell him about my situation? I tell him what Artie Luther did to me and he’ll have me committed.”

  “You don’t have to tell him that part. He gets kids like you all the time who are gender confused.”

  ‘“Gender confused?’ Is that what you think I am?”

  “Yes.”

  I get up to leave, but Dr. Palmer is faster than me. She takes my arm and then looks into my eyes. “Remember what you told me about your date? You couldn’t decide whether you were Stacey or Steve. You started out as Stacey and then you let Steve take over once your feelings were hurt.”

  “I’m not schizophrenic.”

  “I’m not saying you are. I’m just saying you haven’t decided who you are yet, whether you’re Stacey Chance or Steve Fischer. Dr. Macintosh can help you sort that out.”

  “How? He can’t change me back.”

  “You don’t necessarily need me to make a serum to change you back. Girls become boys all the time. It just takes a little surgery.”

  “But I wouldn’t really be Steve. I’d just be Stacey with a fake dick.”

  “Still, the option is there if you want it.”

  “Well I don’t. And I don’t want to be Stacey either. I want to be me again.” Now I start to cry like I used to. “I want Maddy to see me as her dad again, not some freak who got surgery. Don’t you get that?”

  “I do.” Dr. Palmer wraps me in a hug. “Look, just go to one session. That’s all I’m asking. If it doesn’t help then you don’t have to go back. OK?”

  I sniffle and as always feel like an idiot to sob like this. “I guess.”


  She musses my expensively-coiffed hair. “Good girl. You want me to call Tess?”

  “No, I should get to work. Grace is expecting me.”

  “OK.” Before I leave, Dr. Palmer says, “I like your new look, by the way.”

  I blush a little at the compliment. I run my fingers through my wavy hair. “You think it gives me some flair?”

  “I think you’ll have boys eating out of your hand. If that’s what you want.”

  Is it what I want? I think about that as I leave Dr. Palmer’s office.

  Chapter 3

  I’m the oldest patient in the waiting room. There are other adults, but they’re the mothers and fathers of the children here to see Dr. Macintosh. I sit on a plastic chair and read an article on Justin Bieber in Teen People while I will myself to stay in my seat.

  In the opposite corner is a little girl, ten or so, who plays with her cell phone like most kids do these days. She wears a plaid skirt and white blouse, probably a school uniform. As if she senses my eyes on her, she looks up at me and smiles. I turn back to my magazine. When I glance over a few minutes later, she’s back to playing with her phone.

  What the hell am I doing here? I’m not a little girl like the one in the corner. For that matter, why is she here? When I was ten, the most stress I had was to worry whether my dad would spank me if I didn’t do my chores, said a dirty word, or got into his stash of porno magazines I wasn’t supposed to know about. Of course nowadays everyone has to go see a shrink to have their heads examined. The little girl in the corner is probably hopped up on Prozac or Ritalin or something.

  The receptionist calls my name and shows me into the doctor’s office. The moment I see the toys scattered on the floor and the wallpaper of puffy clouds against a blue background, I want to run again.

  The doctor himself doesn’t fill me with confidence either. He doesn’t look much different than Seth, except he doesn’t have the acne and his dark hair lies neatly on his head, without the help of mousse or other goop. Like a stereotypical college professor he wears a tweed jacket with a white shirt—no tie. When he stands up to shake my hand, I notice he wears blue jeans. Typical yuppie, I think. I wonder how old he is. From the lack of wrinkles on his face, I bet not much over thirty. There’s no picture of a wife or girlfriend on his desk, just a picture of a boy about ten years old who looks like a miniature version of him, probably his son. So maybe not everything’s peachy keen in his world.

  “Welcome, Ms. Chance,” he says. “You come highly recommended from Clarita.”

  “What’s she said about me?”

  “Let’s talk about that. Have a seat.”

  “Isn’t there a couch?”

  “I can have one brought up if you want. Or we could try out those nice chairs facing the window.” He motions to a pair of white fabric armchairs that face a window overlooking downtown. I walk over to the edge of the window and just about press my nose to the glass. If I squint I can see Lennox Pharmaceuticals’s lab where Dr. Palmer is probably laughing her ass off.

  When I turn around, I see Dr. Macintosh in one of the white chairs, legs crossed so he can balance a pad of paper on his lap. “You can stand if you want. Some patients prefer it.”

  I throw myself onto the empty chair and sprawl like a petulant child. Dr. Macintosh doesn’t seemed fazed by that; he probably has that happen a lot. “So, Stacey, you wanted to know what Dr. Palmer said about you?”

  “Are you going to ask why I want to know that?”

  “My idea of psychology isn’t just to sit here asking you why all the time. It’s not asking about your parents either, unless you want to.”

  “So what is your idea of therapy?”

  “I want you to talk about what you want to talk about.” He motions around the room, at the pile of toys, the stupid cloud wallpaper, and the window. “I want you to feel like this is your sanctuary. You can be yourself here. No one’s going to judge you.”

  “Except for you.”

  “I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to help you.” He looks down at his notes. “Dr. Palmer says you’re bright, a little shy, and like a lot of girls your age, you’re confused. Would you say that’s accurate?”

  “My teachers might argue about the bright part.” I’ve managed a consistent ‘C’ average so far in college, except in Chemistry 102, where I had Seth to help me.

  “Well, maybe she doesn’t mean bright in terms of schoolwork. Maybe she means you’re street smart. Is that more accurate?”

  “I guess.”

  “You’ve spent a lot of time on the streets, haven’t you?”

  “Did she tell you that?”

  “A little bit. She says you come from an abusive home, that you ran away when you were still a child. How long ago was that?”

  I shrug. “About three years.”

  “And what did you do during those years?”

  “I survived.”

  He nods and writes something down. “I can understand if you’re not willing to talk about it yet. We’ll get back to it later.”

  “If I decide to come back.”

  “You think you won’t?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are you afraid of what you might find out about yourself in therapy?”

  “What? I’m not afraid.”

  “I’m just trying to understand you, Stacey. Just like I want you to understand yourself.”

  “I do understand myself.”

  “If that’s so, then why are you here?”

  “Because Dr. Palmer made me.”

  “I’ve known Clarita since I was an intern. She’s a very smart lady. If she thinks you need my help, then I think you need my help. The only question is whether you think you need my help. Do you?”

  I think about it for a minute and turn to look out the window. I think about what happened on my date. It’s obvious I’m a mess, but what good will it do to talk to this schmuck? “I don’t know.”

  “Let’s talk about it. Why did Dr. Palmer think you should see me?”

  “Because I’m confused.”

  “About what?”

  “About who I am.”

  “That’s not so unusual, not in a girl your age. When my sister was nineteen she went and joined the Peace Corps.”

  I turn back to the doctor. “She wanted to save the rainforest or something?”

  “That’s part of it, but she also wanted to learn what she was capable of.”

  “And did she?”

  “Somewhat. She met a very nice man in the Sudan. When she came back, she was big as a house.”

  “She got fat?”

  “Pregnant. She gave birth to my nephew a week after getting back. That’s his picture on my desk.”

  “Oh. I thought—”

  Dr. Macintosh cuts me off with a laugh. “I know. Family resemblance.”

  “So you think I should join the Peace Corps and get pregnant?”

  “Not unless you want to.”

  “Then what should I do?”

  “That’s up to you. Whatever will help give you some direction.”

  “That’s not really helpful.”

  “Maybe our sessions could help you find out what you need.”

  “Maybe.”

  The doctor checks his watch. “Our session is almost up for today. I want you to strongly consider coming back in a couple of days so we can continue.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  As I get up to leave, Dr. Macintosh says, “Dr. Palmer was almost right about you.”

  “Almost?”

  “I think you are bright and you are confused.”

  “You don’t think I’m shy?”

  “No. I think you’re secretive. I think whatever you endured from your parents has made you turn inward, to keep people from learning too much about you. It’s something I see more often in my male patients. You know, most men think talking about themselves with a doctor makes them a sissy. What would you say to that?”

  “I thought
most of your patients were kids?”

  “See what I mean? You answer my question with a sarcastic comment.”

  “It wasn’t so sarcastic.”

  Dr. Macintosh gets up from his chair and then takes a few steps towards me. “Stacey, if we’re going to help you, you need to stop being so defensive. Remember what I said at the start? This place can be your sanctuary. It’s where you can be yourself without fear of anyone laughing at you or hitting you. You’re safe here. I’m not here to hurt you or judge you. I’m here to help you get in touch with yourself, with the person you’ve been holding back, hiding deep inside all these years.”

  As he talks I back up until I’m against the door. It’s a good thing I’ve learned to contain my emotions or else I’d be a wreck right now. Not only the doctor’s words, but also his passion in them, make me want to believe him. Maybe Dr. Palmer was right about this whole therapy thing. Maybe he can help me.

  “If you want to stay a little longer, it’s all right,” he says. “I can step out for a few minutes if you’d like to be alone.”

  “No, I’m fine,” I say in almost a whisper. “I’ve got to go.”

  “I hope I’ll see you again, Stacey. If that’s what you want.”

  I nod to him and then turn to open the door. I force myself to go over to the receptionist’s desk. “I’d like to make an appointment for another session,” I say.

  Chapter 4

  Grace senses right away there’s something wrong when I show up for work. “What’s wrong?” she asks. “Things not go well at court?”

  I’ve never told Grace the truth about myself, so she thinks I’m still a runaway from an abusive home. I take advantage of this when I need to take some time off for things like my appointment with Dr. Macintosh. I usually tell her I have to see a lawyer to maintain the restraining order against my fictitious parents. I don’t feel good about it, but it’s better than to try to explain the real reason for my absence.

  “Oh, sure,” I say. I force myself to smile. “It’s just hard, you know?”

  “I’m sure it is.” She puts an arm around me. Even after a year there’s a part of me that would like to pull Grace even closer to kiss her. I always remind myself that time is over. It will be over so long as Maddy loves Grace. I won’t betray my daughter again. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through. It must be awful.”