Two Sides of the Coin

Two Sides of the Coin

By Sabrina G. Langton

***

Author's Note: Hmmm... Our heroine in this story gets a little bit autobiographical on us here, nothing to do with me, of course. She fills us in on what she thinks we need to know, as we need to know it. Sometimes my heroines are so lackadaisical... Oh, it turns out she doesn't know too much anyway, ha... Life should be a surprise, don'tcha think?

Hope YOU like it...

***

It was quiet. I felt like I was in a black hole. I was sitting on a huge rock.

If I took a deep breath, if I opened my nostrils wider and tried to take in the scent, if I opened my eyes and waved my hand shattering the fog slipping over me, I still wouldn't know where I was, which way the new house was. I liked it like this sometimes. Here I was, lost in the slight darkness, in the middle of New Jersey, maybe in the middle of my imagination.

"Hi!"

The fog was now shattered.

"Um, hi."

"Didn't expect to find someone on 'Kane's Rock.'" He moved closer, he was on a moving mower, I think. He was in flannel and denim and a baseball hat was barely on his head. "It's a long walk from anywhere." He smiled, I watched him take a good long look at me, my outfit. I came to the most hidden, quiet part of the state, this tiny town, to wear the most inappropriate clothes to be sitting on a rock. I wore the most inappropriate shoes to hit the trails, the hills. And of course, my hair was such a mess from the slight wind, the sweat, and sometimes slightly frizzy from the moisture in the late September air, like right now.

"Oh, mmm, I'm just taking a break," I told him, trying to sound light and feminine. Trying to sound completely different than I used to. Trying to sound like me.

"Well, do you need a ride? I have plenty of room in the back," And he laughed, it was nice, he didn't seem to mind me in a short skirt, stockings, and heels. On a rock.

*

"Here I am." And I pointed to my new, old house. My new house in a new state, far away from my old house in the old one.

"Oh, you live in the Morrison's house?"

"I guess. I don't think the Morrison's are still here, I would have run into them by now." I heard him laugh as I slipped off the back seat of his mower, I was showing way too much leg, good thing he couldn't see how ungraceful I disengaged from his vehicle.

"I live right on the other side of the Quarry, right in the middle of the park."

I smiled, "I live right here in the heart of darkness." He watched me again, he smiled as I gestured toward the old Morrison place, dimming in the autumn light.

"Well to me you live right here in the middle of my world."

"Do I?"

"Well, maybe not, but you live pretty close. We can meet at 'Kane's Rock' again, you can tell me how you ended up here in Martinsville."

"Oh, okay." I gave a little girlie wave, the one I practiced, and headed to the front door of my little house. I turned around, he was waiting for me to get in, it was nice. It was so quiet here, it was getting darker.

"Friday? Same time?"

I spun, I looked, he was waiting for an answer, he surprised me, I thought he was just being facetious.

"Um, okay, Friday."

***

Martinsville, I never heard of it, never driven through it, never been on any list where I ever wanted to visit, it didn't even sound like a real place to me, but that is where I ended up. I was from LA, I was born two blocks away from Hollywood and Vine. I was born in a backseat of a yellow cab.

"Miss? I think you just had a baby." That is what the cab driver allegedly told my mother on the way to the hospital.

"Ya think?" And that is the phrase my mother uttered or made up, I didn't know. My mother was full of stories, and embellishments. "After all that I need a drink." My mother always needed a drink, that's the part I believed.

She had a string of boyfriends when I was growing up, I had a string of 'Uncles.' All of them were so much nicer than my mother. Life in LA, No Ho, was busy when I was young, I didn't care I had some friends, I had other mothers I could borrow, I was fine. I was also always early. I was always waiting to go somewhere else.

Then, if I had an appointment, I would be tense all day, afraid I am going to be late, afraid I am going to miss it. High school for me was insane, doctor's visits were a nightmare, I was constantly on edge. I was always checking my itinerary, schedule, I was always dressed and ready to leap out of the door, I was always over an hour early for everything.

There was one little, teensy, tiny, thing that I did, and still do, to relax. If you saw my fingers you would see my thumb and forefinger really close together, so close, you could barely slip a parking ticket through them. I had just the one, well the one tiny thing.

"Sabrina! Time to get ready for school." My mother would call, she didn't care if I was late for college, she only cared that I didn't leave the house dressed the way I sometimes dressed. She wouldn't let me enter the LA streets dressed as a girl. Being a son was fine, but being a daughter, well that was a whole other thing.

When she noticed me running my fingers through her dresses when I was small she was quite surprised. When she noticed me slipping on her heels and tripping while I was a toddler, she thought it was cute; when she noticed I hadn't washed the makeup off my face completely when I was a teen, she just grunted, she figured I was a goth; but when she finally saw me completely dressed up in my new ruched red dress, nude heels, bangle bracelets, and full makeup, on my eighteenth birthday... well, she was completely annoyed and confused. She was having none of it.

"What is this?"

"Um, it's just me. I thought you didn't mind me dressing like this." My hands were shaking, I felt a little foolish, I read all the signals completely wrong for years.

She stared, she shook her head looking at my nude nyloned knees, she was way too quiet, her black bangs almost covering her heavily mascaraed eyes. She grabbed two bottles of Pino Grigio and stood by the front door. "Don't move." She pointed, she slammed, she was gone. I missed class that day and suddenly it was fine, the tension and anticipation were completely gone. The girl in the mirror was okay with me being late, being lackadaisical, being just another female in front of another mirror.

Even my anticipating nightmares of lateness started to drift away. I was loving all the new falling to my death scenarios.

I crossdressed in my mother's home until I moved out when I was twenty-four. I went to school as a boy. I was never early again, College was so much easier than high school.

"You're wearin' that same friggin' dress?" My mother would sulk as I made dinner in the small kitchen.

"I am, I don't have too many to choose from."

"This is ridiculous, what happens if one of the neighbors or um, my friends see you? how do I explain my daughter is really a boy?"

This was the conversation we had constantly. Then she came up with a plan. She threatened me, she wanted me out of dresses and heels, she introduced me to a young woman she met, Miranda, she said she needed a boyfriend. I felt obligated, I had never dated a girl before. Once we started I had no time to dress, she was always around, she used up all my free time. Soon my anxiousness came back. My mother's plan worked, for her.

***

"So how do you like the rock?" It was finally Friday, the sun was setting and he was standing over me, my heels were two feet off the ground, I was holding my long beige dress with my fingers so the wind didn't blow it open exposing my nylon legs.

"I like it, I am going to come here all the time." I smiled, it was nice talking to someone.

"The rock is named after a writer from the area. Andrea Kane. She writes romance novels."

"Does she?"

"Mmm, she is supposed to be quite good, I have seen her several times, she's probably very friendly. Do you read romance books?"

"I do. I read quite a bit of everything."

I was looking at him, he was probably around the same age as me, maybe older, early thirties or so. He had dark hair, a slight beard, and he was quite broad-shouldered and tall. Today I was wearing sensible heels and he was easily half a foot taller than me. It was nice looking up at a man, one who was quite handsome, one who didn't mind the way I was dressed, or even the color of my lips. One that kept on looking at my navel above my skirt.

"I feel I have to tell you, but, I'm transitioning. I'm transgender." I smiled at him, and he made a face I couldn't really read.

"Transgender? Okay. I'm mostly German and French." He then laughed, he was making a joke. I think.

He moved closer to me, he held my hand, he was looking at my long light purple nails. "You should show me your library and then I will show you mine." He smiled, I could tell he liked this little diversion during his day, his work day. I could tell he wasn't too worried about me being transgender either. I could also tell he liked my blonde hair, my long nails, my ankles, maybe even my navel. I wasn't used to talking to men who liked those parts of me. In New Jersey, I wasn't used to talking to people in person while wearing a light brown skirt and holding a tan pocketbook. I only talked to people over the phone, that was the preferred method, but I had a feeling things would change.

***

I was a writer too, just like Mrs. Kane. I wrote for catalogs. I started the year I went into college, sort of fell into it, it was a part-time job, one I started seven years ago. LA was full of writers, sometimes we all met at a coffee shop and talked about the next big project, the great American novel, the script the producers were waiting for. I was able to talk, to assimilate, no one had to know I wrote little bits of descriptions, little tidbits of misinformation.

No one would guess I was quite good at it either. I could write about soup powders, sinks, and showers, creams and lotions, even jackhammers and motorboats. And everything was the best. Sometimes the companies sent me things so I could feel them, write a more detailed description, smell and taste it in my hands. Sometimes I got lucky and they sent me dresses, sweaters, lip gloss. None of the clothes they sent ever fit, they were usually seconds, they were usually extra small. I was a medium, maybe not. I was 5'8" and 145 pounds, a perfect size 12. If I was sent shoes, women's shoes, they were always a 4 or a 6, I took an 8 and a half. If I was sent foundations, falls or eyebrow pencils, they were for darker-skinned women, I was quite white, quite pale, and reddish blonde. It didn't matter, I always tried extra hard when I wrote for women's catalogs, that was my preferred periodical, that was what I was born to do.

Needless to say, my garage sales in LA were slightly legendary. Everything the catalog companies sent me, I put in boxes and got prepared to sell at the next sale. I had a garage sale twice a month for years.

After I lived with my mother and before I moved to Martinsville I lived in a nice part of Burbank, with only six houses on the block. One of my 'Uncles' was into real estate he knew so many people, he made me buy the small house on the small block, it wasn't that much money. Years later, I sold it for twice as much as I paid for it. It was so cute, it had a big kitchen, two bedrooms, and a nice yard. It also had that garage I was talking about.

"How much for the tires?"

"How 'bout twenty bucks for all four?"

"Okay great." Another customer went away happy, happier than when they woke up, I liked that.

"Anyone in the mood for coffee?" I always offered something to drink, and something to nosh on, I wanted everyone to stay, I liked the company. It was more like a block party than a block sale and the five families next to me all came out and sold last year's toys, magazines and dead relatives china. Kate, the woman next door always gave me what was left, stored everything in the garage for next time. Once we were done I would drop the money I made into a 'Hello Kitty' PVC bank, the bank came with the house, I found it in the garage. That money was my rainy day fund, I didn't even know how much there was. I really didn't care. I just wanted to close the garage and get dressed up, slip on one of my new outfits, try on my new breast forms and wig. I wanted the wonderfulness and company of the sale day to wash over me, I wanted the pressure of my life to dissipate.

***

Another Friday, another long skirt, gray this time. No more navel gazing but I did have a slit right up to the top of my thigh, almost showing off my light grey satin panty. I made sandwiches, I brought thermoses full of Mojitos, last time it was bloody Marys and before that chocolate milk. I wore a white tank top that was cut, quite low showing off my breast forms.

I was quite used to talking to a man by now. "Is it okay?" I pointed to my chest. "Is it too revealing?"

He laughed, he shook his head, I guess he didn't mind. We had our rum, lime, and mint, it was a nice afternoon, even though it was a little cold.

He moved closer to me, he had his hand on my smooth completely hairless arm. "I realized last night that we don't know each other's names."

I looked at him mid sip. I was embarrassed giving him my name, I didn't even know why, but I wasn't that embarrassed showing off my cleavage. Now I thought that... was crazy. I finally told him my name. "I'm Sabrina. I have had this name since I was around, mmm, ten, going on eleven."

"Really? My mother gave me mine when I was born, I'm Owen, Owen Scholz." And he put out his hand, I took it and made an extra effort in giving him a nice firm handshake. "Ha, you shake like a girl."

"Thank you."

We stayed on the rock and talked until it was too dark to see, only my pale skin and white top were noticeable. Owen was in dark blue, he faded out as soon as the afternoon drifted away. As soon as the sun said goodbye.

We took a ride and he showed me his trees, his flowers, his farm. I was going backward again, I was on the backseat, my legs crossed, holding my wide-brimmed hat on my head. I had my eyes closed some of the time, the rum felt wonderful in my system. "Owen?"

"Mmm."

"We should go out in a car one day."

He laughed, "What, you don't like my mower?"

"No, no I do, but I would like to watch you drive, I feel kind of alone looking back to where we were. I feel like I am time traveling."

"Ha, sure. How about tomorrow night? We can go out to dinner, I would love to take you to Sommerville, it has so many restaurants and shops."

Now I was nervous, I didn't want to go anywhere, especially on a Saturday night. I just wanted to stay in the car. I didn't want to meet anyone, I was probably going to be overdressed. Coincidentally, I knew the exact dress I would wear on our first date, the exact heels, the exact color of lipstick. I'm sure I was planning this in my mind since we met, maybe I was ready for my first date away from California.

After being quiet for so long I said, "Okay."

***

My favorite 'Uncle' was a lawyer, a financial analyst, a mover, and a shaker, whatever that was. He takes care of my money. When he inevitably broke up with my mother he still took care of it, he said I was his favorite client. I remember Uncle Creme walked into my backyard in LA once after a successful garage sale. He stood in the alleyway blocking the sun with his huge body and executive-styled suit. I feel like this is where my life started, where everything didn't come together but came completely unraveled. This was the moment my life fell apart.

I was just shutting off the sprinklers, I was going to be out then back in, quick, quick. I didn't want the neighbors to see a woman with long blonde hair and a short pink dress, but I also didn't want to change. I wasn't ready to show the world how I avoided being anxious, I wasn't ready to share.

"Oh, I'm sorry." It was the Uncle, he was looking at my legs. I had on six-inch pink platform pumps, holding a little pink bag. "I was looking for..."

I knew who he was looking for. I was quiet, I was thinking I could lie. I could lie and embellish just like my mother, I was a writer, a professional liar.

But I didn't. "Um, it's just me."

"Oh, right." He looked a little closer, he wasn't too surprised. "Your mother told me that sometimes you were a girl, I have a nephew, well niece, who is like that too. Or so I heard." He smiled, and reached into his leather briefcase, took out some papers, handed me a pen. "I need you to sign here." So I did. "Sign here and here." And I did again. I didn't ask, I always did whatever he said. I did the same thing after I turned eighteen, he and an associate made me sign over a dozen papers and legal forms, today was a breeze compared to that.

"Here too?"

"Mmm-mmm." And then I was done. I looked over the short fence, the next-door neighbors were outside watching us, all four of them.

"That is a great color, sometimes pink is good." Kate next door called over to me. "Sometimes."

Uncle Creme smiled, he nodded to the handsome family, he smiled toward me, and said goodbye. "I will call on Monday." And he did. He called and asked if I was a girl full-time, he asked if I was going to a doctor, he asked if I had enough clothes, enough things to keep me occupied. I told him starting now, yes, yes, and definitely yes. That was the moment I became the genuine me, but my life was still just about to fall apart.

I didn't mind being caught, if that's even the right term, what is being caught anyway? The only thing I minded was that my mother told people, told my 'Uncles.' I thought it was a secret. I didn't mind her telling Creme, but the others, well the less they knew about me the better. Most of them were quite creepy.

She made such a big deal about me dressing up when I was younger. She always made me hide in my bedroom, hide from her boyfriends. She made me do my girlie laundry at night. That's the main reason I moved out on my own, even before the ink on my college diploma was dry.

I now had my own bedroom with a closet full of outfits and heels, I had a vanity full of makeup and false lashes, I had drawers full of brushes and curling irons.

I had thick curtains on the windows.

I slunk back into the house. Then I got a call.

"Hi, beautiful, it's me, I got you a date. Come over to the house tomorrow at one. And for god's sake no pink." My neighbor Kate got me a date. I wasn't looking forward to this one bit.

***

Life was better in the future, in the east than it was in the past, on the west coast. I had the curtains and windows open, October in New Jersey was cool and comforting. I never saw or even talked to my mother or even Kate anymore. I was completely cut off from LA.

I finished putting on my makeup, fixing my long hair. I could spend hours on both. Foundation, concealer, I had perfect blue eyes, I had a necklace with a little gem that matched them perfectly. I had on my long lashes, my blue eyeliner, my thicker than usual eyebrows. I started growing my hair when I left my mother's house. three years of strawberry blonde, making its way down my back, my bra strap. I spent so much time with my curling iron, trying to get a look and curl that I loved. I had long fingernails, darker pink, matching my lipstick and toes.

"Well look at you, you look quite wonderful." The girl in the mirror told me. I smiled, I knew I looked wonderful, I always did. I think if I wasn't so pretty I probably wouldn't even do this. You know, the girl thing. I wouldn't have the stomach for it. I could always slip into the crowds in LA, right down the end of my block. Even when I got older, LA was busy, I felt part of the crowd, I didn't stand out. I snuck out at night or drove in my car for hours, I love pressing the gas while wearing six-inch heels, I love practicing my voice while singing the love songs on the radio, but now, HERE in New Jersey, well that was a completely different sitch.