Iwanted to look like my old self again.
I wanted be cleansed.
Plus, there was the mouse again—calling me, accepting me.
Iwent in.
Thewater felt nice and calming, and I began to wade toward the mouse. Its tailwrithed happily and its whiskers moved as if it was eating something. Then Iremembered the poison.
Icalled out to it, “NO DON’T!”
Itwas at the D-CON, a little sprinkling of death. I had to get the mouse to stopeating, to spit the poison out. Then realized I was too late when it stoppedmoving its tail, and fell onto its side. Its hind legs twitched in the air amoment, and then stopped.
Themouse faded away.
Ilost my sense of direction. I felt a new fear that I’d hit a dead end of somenew mistake. There was nothing around me but the lake’s vast, whitefeaturelessness.
Itgot colder as I looked down at myself, and saw my wounds bleeding worse thanbefore, forming dark, swirling rivulets around me in the bright water.
Ikept swimming, desperate to regain the mouse and try to save it. A shadow movedahead of me—it was something to lock onto. I rushed toward it, until I hit thestark reality of the far shore.
Iemerged from the lake. I was drenched and cold, and my wounds still bled. Ilooked around.
Everythingaround me was just as unvarying the lake, a simple white all around me, evenmore disorienting than the water, because there was no horizon.
Themouse was gone.
11
Anhour or so after I was stabbed to death, I still hadn’t found my way. There wasnothing to latch on to, just that bright haze all around. After wandering for awhile, I finally came to a rift. It looked like someone had cut an exit door ina veil of white lace. I couldn’t see anything through it but darkness, yetmaybe it offered a way out. I went through the opening, and found myself backat the rest stop.
Itwas still night.
Thepizza guy was sulking in the back of a police car. My blood was all over him. Iwent back into the food court, toward the bathroom. My body had been removed,and the homicide detectives were testing the scene. There was blood everywhere.Someone was muttering about my being trans, that I was probably HIV positive,and that they probably needed hazmat gear. He went on to say there wasn’t muchmystery to what provoked the attack. I didn’t want to stick around and listento him extrapolate.
Ileft them and rose into the summer air. The woods were dark, and the roads notso busy at that late hour. I let the winds take me wherever, and I screamed atthe stars until dawn.
12
Theday after I was stabbed to death, I visited the house I’d lived in with Debbieand Brooke. The mouse couch was still there. I wondered if anyone was home. Thekitchen was empty.
Iwent right up to my room. I still had some weed left, and I wanted to smoke itall at one throw. I knew it wouldn’t do anything for me, but I liked thethought anyway. My desk still had a half-full mug of orange tea on it, and Iwanted to drink the rest. I looked at the books on my shelf, and I wanted tofinish reading them.
Iwent down the kitchen and tried to think things through.
Ilooked across into the TV room, at the mouse couch. Nothing there. I groaned.
Ididn’t find Brooke in her workshop, so I figured I’d just leave.
Iwent out into the calm summer day, and heard a clamor of voices down the block.
Ifollowed the noise.
Brookeand Debbie were sitting at the bus stop, holding each other. Their contortedfaces were huge and open. Debbie was screaming through her sobs.
Iwatched them for a little while. I couldn’t reach out to them and say goodbyeor anything, so I shot up into the sky. When I returned to the white,featureless waste, I reached level ground and looked down at myself.
Iwas still bleeding all over my front. It seemed to be pulsing outrhythmically, as with an artificial heartbeat. I dropped to my hands and kneesand began to crawl, leaving a trail of slime behind me that reached backforever.
13
Aweek after I was stabbed to death, my mom buried me.
Shewas the last person on earth I wanted to claim my body, but she did.
Ihadn’t made a will, so she dragged her toxic ass-crack into the morgue andinstructed them to completely detransition me, starting with cutting my hairshort. My breasts had grown a little from about two years of HRT, but she putme in a button-down shirt two sizes too big to conceal that. They acetoned mynail polish off. The tie they clipped onto me was a sober navy blue, and itlooked stupid—the suit jacket looked even worse.
Thiswas such an indignity, and she carved my deadname onto the cold, Plexiglasmarker even though I had legally corrected my name several months before. Sheeven made the wake open-casket to drive her point home. The media came indroves, gloating over the scandalous marvels of aberrant existence.
Mymom didn’t cry once. She just looked inconvenienced. She might as well haveworn a tracksuit to the ceremony.
Ihope I never see her again.
Iwas curious to see who the Pizza Mania guy was, so I went to his arraignment.His name was Paul Butler. He’d been a registered sex offender for six years andhad assaulted four women since his late twenties. Class act.
Someonedecided to be awesome, and held a candlelight vigil for me near The Common. Afew hundred people showed up, including Nora, Jennifer, Brooke, Debbie,Allison, and even our landlady. They walked about a mile to the state house,and someone I didn’t know (she looked famous) gave a speech about the need forstronger hate crime laws and that the so-called “bathroom bills” were justhate-legislature, by my very example alone. I don’t think any new laws wouldhave stopped the pizza guy from doing what he did to me, but it was nice