The Secretary Experience

Somehow, I took solace in Bonnie being unable to rouse my mother. "It's okay," I said, feeling comforted by my own words. I looked at Bonnie, studying her. I was certain she wasn't real, that she hadn't been real since the day I supposedly hired her. I thought about that. I hadn't hired her but my brain, that supremely powerful organ, had filled in some minute detail to help explain my imaginary friend. The brain was like that. There was this meme I saw about a year ago. It showed a sentence with all the letters garbled, leaving only the first and last letter in their correct spot and most people, without too much trouble, could read the mangled text. The brain filled in the pieces just as my own mind was doing for me, sometimes taking snippets of my life to complete the story.

"What do you drive?" I asked, latching onto a fresh thought.

"A blue Silverado," Bonnie said.

That was my car. The one I bought following my accident. "Not a grey Nissan?" I asked.

Bonnie shook her head. "No, why?"

"A red Camry? A blue Lexus?" I remembered being driven home in Bonnie's Lexus, riding in the back because all my recent purchases were sitting in the front seat. Thanks to my mangled brain it hadn't seemed odd at the time, but now, lying on a hospital bed, my head wrapped in a bandage and a catheter bulb inflated inside my bladder it seemed eerily strange.

"Nope. Why?"

Got you, I thought. Bonnie dropped it because I did. I wondered about that, too. She'd convinced me to go out in public dressed as Autumn. Had she convinced me, or had I convinced myself? I always capitulated to her argument and now I knew why. I had merely led myself down a path I wanted to go. That told me something, too.

Doctor Townsend came in. He glanced at my mom sleeping in her chair, ignoring Bonnie totally. Why wouldn't he? She wasn't there. "How are you doing, George?"

I glanced at Bonnie, not wanting to hurt her feelings even though she was nothing more than a figment of my fragmented mind. "You tell me."

He explained the brain bleed and the rising pressure inside my skull. He explained the operation performed by Doctor Gustafson, omitting the goriest details when my face turned white. "We'll keep you under observation for a few days. Maybe let you go home on Wednesday."

So much for my new job. "Could my injury cause," I glanced at Bonnie feeling awash with shame for asking what I had to ask. "Cause me to see things that aren't there."

Doctor Townsend had worn a neutral face when he filled in the details about my emergency surgery. That face disappeared, replaced with one of worried curiosity. He pulled a penlight from the pocket of his lab coat and flashed it in front of my eyes, first the left and then the right. He had me follow his finger using only my eyes. "Are you hallucinating?"

I nodded, trying to avoid hurting Bonnie's feelings even though she wasn't real. That didn't matter. I thought she was real, and my mother taught me long ago that you didn't purposefully hurt someone.

"Okay. I'm going to send up another doctor. Doctor Helene. She's a psychiatrist. I think she'll be helpful."

"I think I've met her." I regretted saying it the moment I did. "I mean," I said, trying to backtrack, "maybe I did."

"Well, I'll have her up here soon enough. You can get reacquainted."

"Thanks, doc," I said. I felt Bonnie squeeze my shoulder. My mom, now softly snoring, shifted in the chair but didn't wake up.

"You're going to be fine," Bonnie said, giving my shoulder another reassuring squeeze.

I nodded to her. "I know."

Doctor Helene came in about twenty minutes later. The doctor Helene I'd met in my living room on the day Bonnie first came to visit had been as thin as an icicle on the last day of winter. The doctor that came in wearing a nice navy skirt and a silky yellow blouse wasn't skinny. She was muscular, with thick arms and small, athletic breasts. She had brown hair that was parted on the side with a gentle curl at her shoulders. Her blue eyes weren't hidden by black glasses though they did sparkle with unfettered intelligence. "Hello, Mister McNeill. I'm doctor Helene."

We shook hands; her grip was firmer than mine. I chalked it up to brain surgery. "Hi," I said, looking at Bonnie. This was about her and even though she wasn't real I found myself loathe to hurt her. She'd helped me, I had to admit that, so I didn't want to damage her. I felt guilty and sad and just a bit confused.

"Doctor Townsend says you're hallucinating? That's not exactly unheard of with your injury. What are you seeing?"

Putting words to it would admit I had a bigger problem than I did. Naming things gave them power. Keeping my eyes on Bonnie, I asked, "she's standing next to me. Her name is Bonnie."

We talked for nearly forty minutes. During that time, my mother kept snoring and Bonnie kept giving me warm, affectionate squeezes. Bonnie would make a few comments as I spoke, never contradicting me. Instead, she offered up bits of information that I'd forgotten or hadn't committed to memory in the first place. Not that I could tell those two things apart.

Finally, "am I going to be okay?"

Doctor Helene laughed at that, "yes," she said with no hesitation. "I suspect she won't be around much longer."

I felt like an executioner when I took the first antipsychotic Doctor Helene prescribed. Bonnie didn't seem upset at all even though I was killing her. Or maybe I was killing part of myself. That thought was depressing.

Mom woke up about twenty minutes after I took my first dose of drugs to treat my hallucinations. She smiled and pulled her chair closer. She took my hand in hers, asking me how I was doing. I glanced at Bonnie, still standing by my bed, before answering, "better," I said. "I have a headache," I admitted but considering my surgery that was to be expected. Both Bonnie and my mother said the same exact thing which made me smile.

My dad came back with take-out. It smelled good but I wasn't hungry. Mom and Dad ate. That they didn't offer anything to Bonnie was yet another indication that she wasn't real. My parents sat with me until the sun went down. I sent them to my house, giving them the garage door code that would get them into the house. "Please," I said when my mom argued with me, telling me she wasn't going anywhere. "I'll be fine. I'm in the hospital and I have all the help I need. I'm sure you'd like a shower and a warm bed."

It didn't take much to convince them to leave me alone. They promised to return in the morning, agreeing to return with both my laptop and my cell phone. I had a call to make and a job to postpone if possible or cast aside if necessary. I smiled sadly when Bonnie politely escorted them from my hospital room.

Nurses came in and checked on me. Two different doctors came in to check my IV and examine the bandages around my head. I tried to sleep, and maybe I dozed off once or twice, but I couldn't say. Bonnie was sleeping in the same chair my mother had used which saddened me more than I expected. I was going to miss her, assuming she finally went away. I couldn't exactly say if I wanted her to go. She'd been good for me. Her and Paul.

I thought about her husband. If Bonnie wasn't real than Paul wasn't either. I'd been to their house; that had also been a lie. I thought about the tour Bonnie had given of their home. Their layout had seemed eerily familiar to mine and lying there I reasoned I now knew why. We'd had a pool party at my house and only my befuddled brain had masked that reality. I found myself pouting at the thought.

I thought about my parents. I had imagined them dead. Buried and gone. The same injury that brought Bonnie into my life had somehow taken my parents away. It wasn't fair I had to trade one for the other. Why couldn't I have both?

I made it through the night and when my parents arrived the next morning with my laptop, toothbrush, and cell phone, I was happy to see them. They spent the day fawning over me and telling me stories about life down in lower Alabama. I smiled when it was appropriate and laughed when I should. Bonnie laughed at the right time just like I did; she, being me, was in on the inside jokes.

"You have a lovely closet," my mom said when my dad stepped out to get lunch.

My face went white. I had never revealed that side of myself to them. Well, that was no longer true. They had come to my house and seen my dressed the day I got a new job. I looked away, humiliated.

"You've got good taste," my mom said, squeezing my arm.

"You really do," Bonnie agreed. She was standing in her spot to my right, her hand resting possessively on my shoulder.

"I can't wait to meet my new daughter. What's her name?"

There wasn't any condemnation in my mother's tone. I heard support and curiosity and even a bit of happiness, like she was looking forward to knowing this side of me. I tried to answer but couldn't find the words. Purposefully hidden things were hard to pull out of hiding. Finally, after far too long, I said my name. The one Bonnie had given me.

"Autumn," she said, "That's a very pretty name."

"Thank you," I blushed.

"You didn't surprise me."

I turned to face my mom, "huh?"

She gave me an even warmer smile. "How many times did you raid my closet growing up? I stopped counting." She bent down and kissed my bandaged forehead. "You always tried to put things back just so, but I could always tell."

"Told you," Bonnie said.

Bonnie had known. So, of course, I had known. "I'm sorry," I said, my voice trembling in shame.

"Don't be. It's just who you are and there's nothing wrong with you."

We talked about fashion for nearly twenty minutes, stopping only when my father returned with subs from a local deli. They ate; I wasn't allowed anything that substantial yet. My dad turned on the TV and watched LSU battling Alabama. He was rooting for the Tide. My mom sat by my side, just touching me as if she were afraid that I was going to disappear if she wasn't close.

Bonnie told me that she loved my parents. I agreed with her.

Doctors came and went; nurses checked on me every thirty minutes. After dinner, a fresh IV for me and fresh sandwiches for my parents, they changed the bandage on my scalp. They showed me the stitches and staples in my head with a small mirror before covering my damaged skull again. It looked horrible and itched like crazy.

My job was safe. I'd made that call earlier in the day, explaining my surgery and apologizing for having to miss my first day of work. "I'll understand if you have to give the job to someone else," I'd said, feeling sad for having to say the words.

"Oh, don't worry about it, Autumn," just hearing that name bolstered my post-surgical spirits. "We're always needing help. You get better and come on back as soon as you can. Okay?"

"Deal," I said. Standing next to me, Bonnie was delighted.

Doctor Helene came and chatted with me, sending my parents out of the room; Bonnie was allowed to stay. We chatted about Bonnie and about the antipsychotics I was now taking. Doctor Helene promised that Bonnie wouldn't be around much longer. I admitted how much that made me hurt, clutching my heart as I said it.

"You'll be okay, George," she said, taking my hand in hers. "I'll help you through the whole thing."

"Thank you." I said, looking at Bonnie who was smiling at me. Bonnie wasn't sorry she was going away. Maybe that meant I had nothing to feel bad about. It was something I would consider long after my parents went to my house and the hospital went to sleep.

My string of doctors dwindled to just two. Following surgery, I only saw Doctor Gustafson once, his work complete. He was satisfied with the sutures and promised I'd have minimal scaring. Doctor Townsend visited me once a day, checking on my progress and agreeing to let me go home a day later than his original estimation. Doctor Helene visited me twice a day. Each time she'd send my parents out so that we could talk freely. She asked about Bonnie and soon we were talking about my new job. She seemed surprised when I admitted to being a crossdresser, but it didn't faze her beyond that little look of stunned interest. Soon we were talking about that, too. I came to look forward to her visits.

Over the few days I remained in the hospital Bonnie would start to disappear for long, curious absences. I'd look for her and find that she wasn't in the room. At first, I thought she'd stepped out without me noticing but gave that thought up for the truer answer; I was losing her. I cried the first time I looked for her and found her absent. It felt like I was losing part of myself, a part I wanted to keep even knowing giving it up was the right thing to do.

She still had one gift for me, however. One that I hadn't expected.

"Autumn," she said to me. I'd been sleeping as well as I could. The hospital was dark and quiet. My parents were sleeping at my house, having left just after dinner. I glanced at the clock above the whiteboard that still listed Doctor Townsend as my doctor and Doctor Gustafson as my surgeon; it was just past three in the morning. The early birds were still asleep as were the early worms. Bonnie was standing in her usual spot. She was wearing a t-shirt decorated with bright pink flowers and a short skirt, showing off legs I wish I had.

I looked up at her, "Hi, Bonnie."

"I've been spying on the nurses," she said to me, hovering low and whispering like we were conspiring against the State. "You should ask one out."

"Oh?" I said, not quite believing what I was hearing. Now Bonnie was a matchmaker?

"Yes. Nurse Phillips. Catelyn. She's single and she thinks you're cute."

"How can you possibly know that?"

"I'm not just a pretty face, you know," was all she said in response. "Trust me."

Trust me, Bonnie had said those same two words on the first day she'd come to my house. I had trusted her because I trusted myself. I needed to keep doing that. Doctor Helene and I had talked about trusting myself. If Bonnie knew Catelyn to be single, then of course I knew it, too. Maybe I'd overheard a conversation that I couldn't quite recall. There were enough gaps in my memory that it was certainly possible.

Bonnie badgered me until I relented. I have a date set for the second Saturday following my discharge. I wonder where that will lead? Turns out I'm curious to learn the answer to that question.

Chapter 12

I cried two days after Bonnie disappeared for what I could only presume was the final time. She had slowly been showing up less and less and staying for far shorter periods of time. First, she was absent for three hours, then six, seven, then I went a whole day without seeing her. I went to bed with having her visit early in the morning, knocking on the door wearing torn, bleach stained jeans and a simple white t-shirt just before lunch, staying for about forty-five minutes.

"I'm going to get a drink," Bonnie had said, walking into the kitchen.

She returned the following morning wearing gray sweatpants and an Auburn University hoodie. I recognized the top; it was one I owned. She'd been absent for that intervening time, having vanished as she walked from the room.

That next morning, she sat and asked me if I was ready for my upcoming date. I told her I wasn't, and she proceeded to tell me why I was and that I was going to be fine. She was a perfect cheerleader, always telling me exactly what I needed to hear. When I got up to use the bathroom, Bonnie told me to hurry back. I returned to an empty living room.

I waited for her to return and when she didn't, when I'd gone more than two days without hearing from my best friend I sat on the couch, my bandaged head held in my hands, and sobbed, feeling like I had lost a part of myself and that without it, without her, I could never be whole again. I cried for hours, awash in melancholy sadness. Every time I though I had my feelings under control I would think of something Bonnie would say, some piece of advice she'd offer and feel a new wave of despair wash over me. How was I going to live without her?

It was hard to let go knowing that there was the possibility of her returning. Every night following Bonnie's final appearance, I would stand in my bathroom and look at my antipsychotics. Would Bonnie return if I dumped the dwindling pile of pills down the drain, or had my surgery cured me and the pills were just secondary? Just having that lingering doubt made it hard for me to get used to the idea of her being gone. I kept looking for her even as two days became three and three became four. That hope kept her absence fresh.

"I miss you," I said to my reflection, taking one of my prescribed pills. It hurt that she was gone but it was right, too. Sometimes it hurt being an adult. A child could just hang on to the fantasy; I had to let her go.

I cried myself to sleep just like a child, curled up on my side, hugging my own knees. I half-hoped Bonnie would appear and tell me that she missed me too. But she never did. I still remembered that last day, sitting in my living room, with Bonnie telling me that I'd do fine on my date and that I needed to tell her about Autumn.

"I can't do that," I protested, foolishly arguing with myself.

"You have to."

"Why."

And she told me, and she made perfect, unambiguous sense. I lost my final argument with Bonnie and then I lost Bonnie and I was so very sad.

Two weeks after being released from the hospital, my bandages no longer encircling my head, being reduced to a simple gauze and four strips of tape, covered by a hat, I went on my first date with Catelyn. She was smart and witty, quick with jokes that were far too inappropriate which made them all the funnier. She doted over my bandage a little and over me quite a bit more. I liked the doting; I hadn't realized how much I needed it until then.

We talked about my accident and my surgery. She told me about her mom and stepdad living in northern Minnesota and how she couldn't wait to visit them when ski season hit, and the slopes were awash with fresh powder.

"They have mountains in Minnesota?" I asked.

She laughed and confirmed they did. "Not like the Rockies but good enough for me." She was a simple girl with simple tastes.

After dinner we went to a karaoke bar where Catelyn surprised me with her voice and even more so with her song choices. She liked to sing the somber ballads of country men: George Strait and Keith Whitley, Garth Brooks and Dierks Bentley. I sang Meatloaf, crooning that two out of three wasn't all that bad. Together we did a George Jones and Tammy Wynette duet, mixing it up so that I sang Tammy's part. We received raucous applause.

On our third date Catelyn asked what was bothering me. She could tell I was distracted. My new job, what I'd been working toward since I'd first raided my mother's closet, was scheduled to start on a Monday, just over a week away and three days after I was to get my stitches and staples removed. It was on my mind. That and what Bonnie had told me the sad day she disappeared.

"I have something to tell you," I paused, took a sip of my unsweet tea, "or maybe I should show you."

Her eyes went wide, "ooh, finally." She clapped her hands together, looking at me with joyous expectation.

I wasn't sure what she was expecting. "I'm not so sure you'll like this surprise."

"I bet I will."

I promised to show her, knowing Bonnie was right and that Catelyn deserved to know. Autumn was a big part of me and would soon be much bigger. I'd be living part of my life as her, out in the real world, doing real world things. I'd no longer keep her confined to a closet.

"You have to tell Catelyn about Autumn," Bonnie had told me.

I protested, explaining all the reasons I thought it was a horrible idea.

"Yes," she agreed, "all those things are true, and you can't change them. But, Autumn, listen. What if you like her? What if she likes you? Don't you think it's better to tell her early, before she gets attached? You'll never be able to hide Autumn, not ever. If it comes to it, and she can't handle your dressing, let her hate you before she loves you. You can't break her heart."