Stepping Over

By Amethyst Turner

If I had an Adam's apple

Would you still love me?

If I had broad shoulders

And a scratchy face

And a bulge in my pants?

If I had big hands

And wore ties

And peed standing up?

If I never shaved my legs

And put a razor to my face instead

And spoke in a deep voice

Like you do

Would you still --

You wouldn't.

XXX

The next day, Kris came to school wearing a fitted dress and a pastel pink cardigan that clung to their arms.

Brinley sat looking up at the teacher, trying to dissect that firm, sculpted face. A square jaw and, could it be, fair hairs above the painted top lip? Eyebrows too thick for such a gentle face and extravagant eyeshadow caught in the folds of their skin. Brinley could see the hair on their legs through the thin nets of their pantyhose.

"Good morning, children," they said. The children fell quiet, staring up at them. Brinley studied the thick, reedy voice with the care of a scientist researching a new animal's mating calls. A very strong woman, perhaps, or a very mild man. How were they the same? They seemed to overlap in Kris.

When Miss Briggs was their teacher, everyone always chorused back, Good morning, Miss Briggs. Now, no one said anything.

That didn't seem to bother Kris. "Today," they said, "We are going to learn lots of new things. And while we learn lots of new things, we are going to have lots of fun. Does that sound good?"

A few of the kids nodded uncertainly.

"I want to hear voices," said Kris. "Does that sound good?"

No one answered. But Brinley felt that familiar tickle in her throat that meant she was about to do something no one else would, that she was about to stand out. She opened her mouth and called out, "What are we going to do?"

Kris smiled. "I'm glad you asked," they said. "Would anyone else like to know?"

Inspired by Brinley's voice, some others nodded and mumbled in agreement. One or two of her classmates said, "yes!"

Kris stood up from the rocking chair and grinned, dimples showing in their cheeks. "Well, then. Follow me and we'll find out."

XXX

Pain chased June in circles, not quite able to catch her, but not letting her rest, either. It stayed on her tail, salivating.

Each time tears sprang to her eyes, June blinked them away and kept going. Sometimes, she didn't catch them quick enough and they fell. She had to wipe them on the back of her wrist and pretend she was just sweating.

The girl watched her from the front of the room, eyes glazed over, whether from fatigue or amazement, June couldn't tell. Her bruises were no better, today. If anything, they were only getting worse.

She couldn't help wondering, of course. Jameson couldn't, either. Last night, they'd theorized. Was it Owl herself who had done this to her? Surely not. The woman was far too sweet, too gentle to commit such a crime. Was it Amethyst's parents, or someone from school? But then, Amethyst didn't go to school and her parents seemed to be out of the picture.

That was another thing they wondered about: Owl was certainly too young to be Amethyst's mother. Where had the girl come from?

"June!"

She heard the warning before her body could react to it. Thick stabs of pain darting up and down her like an electric shock, the sharp bite of tile on skin. June groaned, vision spotted with pain.

Jameson bent over her, his face just visible on the edge of her vision. Her arm, pinned beneath her, throbbed with a quick, aching pulse. "Oh, Junie," he muttered. "Are you okay? Can you get up?"

June wasn't listening to him. Getting up wasn't an option. Her ankle sent out distress signals in many sharp, fiery hands that grabbed her and tied her to the smarting pain. She felt tears sticking to her eyelashes, sobs gargling out of her throat.

"June? June? Talk to me, Junie. Are you alright?"

He started to turn her over, but June screamed in protest. "No!" she shrieked. "No, no, no. Can't move. No." Her words came out in choppy screeches, pushed through gritted teeth.

"I'm going to go get help," Jameson breathed. His lips touched her shoulder, light and airy as leaves falling from a tree.

"No!" she cried again.

Suddenly, reality shook her and glared. If he went for the nurse, she wouldn't let June perform for exams. And what then? A lost scholarship, dreams plummeting downwards, behind a gas station counter in urban Maryland, somewhere but not anywhere that mattered.

"No." June pushed herself into sitting position, ignoring the way her body protested. "I'm alright," she said. "I'm fine." The girl watched her from the mirror, left eye swollen shut and twitching, but she grinned, lifting the corners of her busted lip with reassuring creases in her face. I'm okay, she repeated to herself. If she can smile, so can I.

XXX

Kris tried to smile at himself, but it wouldn't come. He just stared.

His breasts hung down like cancerous growths, disembodied and sickly warm to the touch. His hips rocked too wide, bent outwards like dented metal. He felt the hollow in his neck and swallowed as hard as he could, feeling the shelf of his throat collapse over his fingers.

Today had been a good day. He recalled the joyous shouts of the children as they sprayed each other and the ground with cans upon cans of silly string, leaving them all dripping with fluttering white, vandalized as teepeed houses. They'd written out letters and numbers, names, song lyrics, lines from books, all stacked on each other in startling white against the glinting darkness of the blacktop.

But that happiness had since drained. The emptiness had hit again halfway through the day when suddenly, Kris couldn't stand to be seen in that dress anymore and everything clung too tightly, exposing his embarrassing curves.

He listened to the jangle of keys in the living room, the scrape of the door closing. Micky. Good. If anything could make him feel right today, it was some time with his fiance.

People were drawn to Micky in a way Kris almost couldn't fathom. She spoke quietly and listened coolly, never caring too much or too little. Her jewelry shop on the green was full of strange, sickening creations: the Barbie head earrings, real baby teeth lined up on a black-corded necklace, a tiny little middle finger engraved on the inside of a diamond wedding ring.

Of course, Kris loved her too. She was, maybe, the only person that understood.

"Mick?" he called out through their closed bedroom door. "I'm in here."

"Okay."

Kris turned away from his reflection and waited for the feeling to pass; that feeling that said, who is this, get me out. It made him sick, like hands clawing at his stomach. But what could he do? Sometimes, everything felt right, and that was fine. But sometimes it didn't, and he couldn't bear it.

XXX

As the sound of the doorbell ringing reverberated back to Charlie's ears, she decided this was a bad idea. She'd never done anything like it before, actually; she didn't go out of her way to socialize with strangers, or anyone, for that matter. Yet here she was, ringing the doorbell of a woman she hardly knew. Her heart pounded with the strangeness of it, not quite afraid, but not calm either.

"Coming!" yelled a voice from inside. Owl, tired, thin, musical like a flute trilling a clear note into the air.

Charlie tapped her pen against her thigh as she waited. Her body convulsed with shivers that jerked her back and forth. The cold gripped her, seizing her core.

When the door open, warmth radiated onto her, a tangible, layering creature. Owl blinked at her, eyes only halfway open. "Hello," she said. "I'm sorry, I know I'm mess. I just got home from work, and--"

"Don't worry," said Charlotte. "It's my fault for barging in like this."

"Oh, you poor thing," Owl fussed, not seeming to have heard her. "You're so cold. Come in, I'll make you some hot chocolate. Or, do you drink coffee? No, no, you're too young for that." Charlie didn't correct her, even though she'd started drinking coffee at the beginning of seventh grade.

She followed Owl into the condo, her muscles melting when the warm threshold hit her, bathing her skin in swaths of heat. The apartment smelled rich and sweet like brownies baking. When Charlie reached the kitchen, she saw the tray of brownies, so deeply brown they were almost black, sitting on a little stack of potholders to keep it away from the counter.

Charlotte took a seat to watch Owl bustle around the kitchen. "That was quick," Charlie found herself saying. "Do you just get home and immediately make brownies every day?"

Owl didn't look offended like Charlie had thought she might. She just laughed. "No," she said, digging a gallon of milk out of the fridge. "One of the neighbors made those, actually. You're welcome to one once they cool down."

"Okay." Charlotte glanced around the room, looking for a flash of blonde hair or a puff of color in a dark corner. "Do you know where Amethyst is?" she asked.

Frowning slightly, Owl poured the milk into a faded pyrex pitcher and slid it into the microwave. "Yeah, she's sleeping," she said. "Why?"

"Oh. Well, I actually came here to see her."

Owl's face did a strange thing where it rose in realization and then fell in something a little like disappointment. "Oh, right," she said. "Well, you're welcome to wait here with me until she wakes up. I could use the company."

"Alright," said Charlie, thinking of the way her brothers' noise had cut suddenly from her ears when she closed the condo door behind herself. "I would love to."

XXX

After dinner, Amethyst and Charlie took Piglet into the bedroom and watched him prance from lap to lap while Owl washed dishes.

Piglet rubbed against her, coat shiny and clean from his bath that afternoon. Amethyst touched her face to his fur, careful not to put pressure on her bruises. She laid back on the bed and let Piglet curl up on her chest.

"Aww," said Charlotte, scratching behind his ears. "I wish I had a dog. I got brothers instead."

A sour, ripping feeling expanded in Amethyst, hard and hot and aching. "I wish I had a brother," she found herself saying. She looked across Owl's bed into her own, where Joseph sat placidly on her pillow, a false surrogate for a love she couldn't have.

Charlie, sitting with her legs crossed and her face hovering over Aimee's, said, "No you don't. They're so loud and annoying."

"I wouldn't mind that," Aimee muttered.

Charlotte smiled at her, hair falling over her face like a thick curtain. Her features were even stranger from down here, seeming to be all squished together. Charlie reached out and ran a knuckle tenderly over the bruise around her eye. Amethyst tried not to wince. "You're an only child?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Do you get lonely sometimes?"

Amethyst looked away and nodded. She felt her eyes go glassy with tears. She couldn't stand the thought of crying right now, not in front of Charlotte who was so cool, so easy around her, so eager to be friends. How could she already be ruining this with her tears, her sorrow, her high-riding, unavoidable loneliness? She didn't want Charlie to know she was different: why couldn't she just be normal for once? "Sometimes," she muttered. "I guess."

"Hmm." Charlie absently hooked her finger around Aimee's chin, turning her face back toward her. Amethyst shivered at the feeling of her cool skin against Aimee's own burning flesh. As strange as it felt to be touched, Amethyst found herself leaning into it. "Have you ever thought about having a sister?" Charlotte asked.

Aimee blinked. "No. Not really."

"Well, maybe you should consider it." Charlie gave her a hesitant smile, and when Amethyst said nothing, she squeezed her hand and kissed Piglet goodbye and went back outside, into the cold, howling February wind. 

XXX

Holly came from Miami, F.L.A.
Hitch-hiked her way across the U.S.A.
Plucked her eyebrows on the way
Shaved her legs and then he was a she
She says, "Hey, babe,
Take a walk on the wild side."

-Walk On The Wild Side by Lou Reed