Chapter 12 - Calliope

The best approach, I resolved, was to just casually browse, then talk to her like normal. At least she was so busy with others that she didn’t seem to recognize me. Or, more likely, she wasn’t that guy.

None of the magazines on this side interested me, even though they did provide a momentary distraction as I slipped past the stage and over to more interesting things. I weathered the tides and shifts of customers until my travels brought me over to the cash wrap with the most worthwhile-looking random book I could find.

It was a trade paper I’d never seen before which collected about four-hundred pages of “twist on a type” short fiction ranging from space to artificial intelligence to genetic engineering and so on. Ideally, I would’ve found the perfect book with gender bending or introductory science fiction, as we talked about yesterday, preferably both. However, the little section devoted to the sub-genre still didn’t have anything that quite fit the bill. Anything would’ve worked as a big hint or a prop about the situation, but I wasn’t willing to spend twenty dollars on a prop.

My opportune moment came during a prolonged lull when no one was checking out and she was over on her a little platform with the register. Ultimately, just walking up was all I could do. She immediately recognized me with a flash of her slim eyebrows behind her glasses, a quick wave, and an energetically squeaky comment of, “Welcome back!”

“Hey there! I’m back. How are you?”

She giggled to herself and answered, “A little loopy. Different, but eager. Today’s gonna be a good one, I can tell. You ready to cash out?”

None of those words told me anything convincing about her, so I had to help things along by asking, “You remember me from yesterday?”

“Of course. I’m intrigued to learn more about science fiction. Ohhh, is this more of that? Did you finish that other one already?!” Her elfin eyes widened.

Oh, fuck… a warm rigidness struck the tree trunk. Fortunately, I still had enough space for nothing embarrassing to show. I took a little step forward and passed her the book to ring up.

With a careful whisper she glanced through her glasses and added, “You look really nice again today.” And, for a moment, I was absolutely certain she was checking on my artificially-emphasized boobs.

For less than an instant, my mind deviously envisioned the gaming store just a few walls away replaced with an assortment of dirty young women who had a variety of manga plans for me. But I instinctively took that thought and smothered it with a metaphorical mental fist like a flame that hurt for just a moment before it was gone.

I didn’t need a harem. I didn’t need all of this complication. Just being out in the open with a percentage of what was comfortable for me took a great amount of care, which I could only imagine getting greater. At the same time, fuck yeah I look nice. I suppose.

What now? Politeness, obviously. “Thank you so much. It’s great to see you again and I'm glad to hear you’re having such a good day, so far as it sounds. Unfortunately, I’m not done with the other one yet. It’s been so busy. But I like having a nice stack of stories I can go to whenever I feel in the mood.” God, that was a fucking marathon to get through emotionally. And I didn’t stammer a bit, despite the tension of my emotions being pulled in so many different directions by all this.

She slipped a devious little smirk on her face as she worked the register. Of course, my mind immediately latched onto the possibility that the guy from yesterday told his coworker all about me and they were just messing around. I didn’t fully smother this idea when it arrived, rather I batted it away to still linger beside me. It wouldn’t upset me to learn this was the case. That outcome would be rather confusing, but I would be fine with it.

Back in high school, my classmates would play those sorts of games on me. Once, a female student pretended to be the body-swapped version of a male one. Another time, a similar classmate put my hand right against her crotch to prove that she wasn’t…how I was now. In retrospect, both of these happenings were not only examples of interest but also strange, casual acceptance of my stated oddities. Other times, people pretended to be the relatives of bookstore founders, claimed they were moving, and presented a variety of other provocative notions.

I casually believed each and every one. And I rarely even got upset at the deception. It was just a lingering sense of disappointment. I wanted something good, fun, and exciting to happen. My worry fell when something bad might accompany it. Embarrassment sprouted when teachers pulled a fast one on me, and I earnestly accepted their words. Again, relief was better than feeling upset.

This situation had all the hallmarks of another trick. I likely had been branded the weird lady with the gender flippy notions who was really into sci-fi ideas. So, being “punked” was in order. I lingered in anticipation of the other shoe slapping down.

She finished things up and bagged my book. She responded, “I hope you like all of them. Thank you for stopping by again! I might have to close up for just a few minutes in a bit to grab lunch, since it’s just me here today.”

This was the best place for me to put forward the hypothetical guy from yesterday. I focused on his puffy hair and plaid button-up top. Her expression contorted a bit before answering, “I dig plaid and I think I had that on yesterday. Otherwise, it was Rebecca in the back with inventory and dealing with stuff with the owner of the store. He’s put a lot of money into this. Local real estate guy, Victor Eliopulos, who comes from a humongous family. He gifted the fancy Greek orthodox cathedral in North Langers. His second wife and niece sometimes put some work in, especially with organizing.”

That certainly seemed like a credible answer. I amended my statement to say that I must’ve mixed up someone else I saw. She lingered playfully on the notion of “mysterious missing men”, which only further confused me. Slowly walking away with my purchases, no one popped up or came over to reveal the truth. I could hear the coughs of people quietly checking books but nothing more. The lady soon went back to the regular tasks of her job.

I couldn’t leave it at that, I couldn’t just leave with this mental tangle of unresolved possibilities digging into my brain. So, I asked, “How are you for lunch?”

She kept her amusement close and responded, “Ravenous, with a brutal desire to destroy any really good sandwich or salad. I’m trying out a diet strategy which limits the number of days I eat in a week. It’s brutal, but I get to treat myself today before the fasting sets in.”

From there, it was easy to propose, “Let me help. I can get you something nearby.”

Her tone of voice wiggled through a lilting track of appreciation that sounded so girlish. “Ohhhawwww you don’t have to do that. That would be really cool though! Are you sure?”

I didn’t have the longest break from tutoring classes to work with. Neither did she. It was soon resolved that I was welcome to go pick her up a “fully loaded“ salad at the sandwich place nearby. All I had to do was use the card she handed me, just a little IOU you on a business card, and say it was for, “Calliope… which is my name. You know, like the circus organ hehe. Too tootlie toot toolie too toot tutu.”

Calliope. It was a cute name and it suited her. But how did she trust me so quickly? She shrugged with her hands out and explained, “It’s actually a total risk. You could take that, snarf my salad, and leave me empty-handed. But you would have no reason to do that. Since you really seem to like books, we’d definitely see each other again. So, you might get a free meal, but with consequences. I thought about the risk and I’m willing to take it.”

Even though I wasn’t going to do anything wrong, my cheeks still felt flush from the weight of that responsibility and not somehow screwing it up. I had nothing to worry about though. It was just a quick trip.

Still, I felt nervous dropping my books off at the car before heading over. The sandwich place had the same sort of layout you would expect at any of these. The main difference was scope. This looked more like one of those make-your-own pizza places. A long swath of ingredients rested behind a glass wall with a variety of fresh breads and bowls at the first kink in the line. This place was definitely busier than the bookstore.

Using my phone for some random browsing reminded me of the unchecked messages on the Reddit app. I don’t know why I still went to places like that for news and information. Hating myself to a persistent degree felt like a solid theory. Too much time in random forums with random people who repeated identical, incoherent words like a broken command line. This one just had a better simulation of trying to pass the Turing test with stock, stolen witticisms.

I was old enough to remember how the unfettered, uncensored, unregulated possibilities of the free flow of information were going to change human society. Anything could be found, anything could be known, and anything could be challenged. But it all returns to the original state, because a service must be paid for either by ads, by information, or by security. Any group is willing to say yes to the craziest and most horrifying things so long as they aren’t perceived as alone in saying it.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Soon, it was my turn. I told the first person behind the partition that I was ordering a "fully-loaded" salad for Calliope. Fortunately, the little card and those words were enough to be understood. They crafted a towering bowl with a bloom of lettuce at its core. Atop that came several hefty scoops of tuna fish, followed by a variety of greenery along with cheeses and supplementary meats. For myself, I went with a light flatbread toasted with that same tuna, made up to barely fit by the end.

Calliope‘s order was covered but I made sure to pay for mine with my card. Each meal dangled from an arm as I made my way back. I hustled through the door and prepared to drop off her food as she attended to a shopper. She was ready for me though, and urged, “Can you hang on for just a minute?”

I lingered until a handful of people had paid for their purchases. Soon after that, Calliope went around and advised those left in the bookstore that she needed to lock up for about 15 to 20 minutes for lunch. They shuffled out and dragged a cloud of melancholy with them, looking back over their shoulders at the books left behind.

Soon, it was just us in a large bookstore with the front door locked. I could only imagine that this is the same way some pornos started, although it seemed unlikely they would have the money to film in a bookstore. The number of pornos I watched in my life could be counted on a single hand. One of them, I don’t think it was actually a porno, but it was French. It was a peculiar introduction to naked people. I was way too young when I saw it, but it involved some guy who drew cartoons being occasionally turned into one, like an X-rated Who Framed Roger Rabbit? sexual werewolf.

That probably wasn’t the girliest thought I could muster up, but it was my thought. Another, which I saw with a college classmate who spent a few months thinking he might take hormones, had some sort of sci-fi plot. Otherwise, I sought out a few scenes online, with terrible acting, which technically fulfilled my interests in gender swapping.

How might “Calliope” respond, if I confronted her with what I remembered? She invited me to join her for lunch in the back, “If you have some time. I had some thoughts about what we talked about yesterday. Like trippy thoughts.”

I did have some time, not a lot of it, but enough to eat a sandwich and maybe chat for a bit. After verifying with my phone and leaving a reminder, I slowly nodded my head and told her simply, “Sure!”

In the back, past the men’s and women’s restrooms, was a small cafeteria area similar to the one where Camille now worked, and mom formerly did. It had a fridge, some cabinets along the side, and a pure white microwave on the counter near a sink. A large, bright-red bean bag chair and a throne chair that looked to be made of plush books occupied one side in front of a wooden cabinet stuffed with disorganized titles. A long, largely plastic table filled the center of the room.

Calliope set her salad down next to a chair at the table but didn’t sit. Instead, she continued roaming until she found the confines of the bean bag. With a full body heave, she dropped down into it. Her chest suffered a brief but noticeable aftershock. I found a spot with my sandwich on the end of the table closest to her.

She made a few noises that squeaked out of her mouth in frustration. Naturally, I asked her, “You alright?”

After sweeping her hair out of her eyes, she responded, “Surprisingly. I feel so freaking normal. And I’m kind of scared to say why I feel like I shouldn’t feel normal. But… I don’t know, it’s weird you just kind of feel like a kindred spirit or some…I don’t know.” Her arms wandered but soon laced around her bust as both a bit of support and a gentle censorship of their enormity.

I still couldn’t discount the possibility that this was all an intricate, extensive prank. But it felt needlessly egotistic to imagine that anyone would go through all this just because of me. I would be so relieved the world wasn’t like a shard of glass balanced at the top of a crumbling tree. Not that this one event would tip things one way or the other, but it might restore some degree of rationality to the madness.

At the same time, I would be lying if all this didn’t excite me a little bit. I deliberately thought about him this way. It was an idle fantasy I didn’t dwell on very long. If I somehow held the physical fates of others in my hands on a whim, then that was terrifying. What if it wasn’t confined to my conscious decisions? Every dreamscape could be a potential minefield for physical manifestation. Did just saying no to the possibility preclude it? Perhaps, I created all of this…

I wanted to be a lady. I felt like one. ZAP! There it is, only with the caveats and doubts I carry with me. My inability to reach the scope of an innie instead of an outie for my tree stump. And the torment of my imperfect voice. As well as the self-punishment of denying myself the most prominent secondary female trait. It made perfect madness all together.

And then, I wanted to spend more time with my parents, who I missed in the most conflicted way. And these parents, this version of my parents, who let nothing really worry them. My mom and dad. Back in the flesh.

Followed by one of my students becoming a cute lady. Then, I go on a date with a wonderful young woman. And everyone has been so nice. Even the scary moments slide off my shoulders like droplets of rain. Why? Should I even bother to question it? Or should I just enjoy this fate? If I could do anything, why not do it? Slight throbbing sensations pressed at my forehead and I returned my attention to Calliope.

There were so many interconnected and tangled threads to pull apart and so many assumptions about what she’d just told me. I had to keep it simple. “I’m happy to listen to whatever you need to get off your chest.” I swear, I arrived at that naturally and not intentionally.

She fought back a quick giggle and a lingering sigh before admitting, “Yeah, you could definitely say it’s weighing heavy on my chest.”

The possibility occurred to me that we were each totally on a separate page of things, but I decided to let her lead the conversation without jumping to any particular conclusions yet.

“I had a dream last night…that I was a girl and I woke up like…that...like this. Which… was weird… because yesterday…and every day of my life I was just a regular guy named Brian. And that sounds totally nuts, but that’s where I am. I wasn’t wearing a custom-ordered G-cup bra yesterday. But the freakiest thing is that I’m rolling with it like… If I don’t wake up from this, which is crazy because I’m here, I’m not asleep. I think. I hope. I don’t know. Sorry for laying on…for laying all this on you. I am probably totally nuts and losing it every minute, but I totally needed to say it. Like it would be so cathartic if I could just cry right now probably, but I’m more shocked. And super shocked that I’m totally okay with all of this, which makes me think I just had like…what do they call it? Like I had a psychotic break or something and I just think something…that no one else in the entire world thinks about me.

If she was pretending, then she needed to be in movies. The frantic quaver to her voice caught me up like the onrushing, tugging persistence of a tide.

“I believe you. Some weird stuff has happened to me too.” I resisted cursing inside my head. It was almost as desperately embarrassing to put that into words as to speak about any of my issues of the past aloud. But I already spilled them out to Camille and fuck it… Maybe they could help someone else. I could die of embarrassment, but so long as it made someone else feel better then maybe it wasn’t for nothing.

She lifted her head up and widened her focused eyes on me. “Weird stuff? What happened to you? You don’t… Did you change too?”

It would’ve been easier to squint or close my eyes to get the words out, but I wanted to see her and focus my words on her with sincerity. “I’m not totally sure either. But I remember being a guy… Jacob, two days ago. And there’s a lot of other things to go with that. My parents died several years ago, but they had lunch with me yesterday. I’m pretty sure this entire business area wasn’t developed or even begun when I recently drove by last. And I can confirm you were a guy with puffy hair, a plaid shirt, and black-rimmed glasses who checked me out...when checking me out. And asked me about sci-fi books and books where people change gender and stuff.” Those were way more words than I ever expected to say out loud in one sitting.

Calliope‘s arms dipped down against the crunchy bean bag. It felt like she was reeling but still holding it together. She glanced over and muttered, “Well…Well, shoot. I should eat but wow. Geez. You remember me, at least. It’s kind of freaky that it’s hard to hold my face, my regular face, in my head very well. That’s freaky.”