Metamorphosis Chapter 12

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12]

The same unwelcome atmosphere, and foul stench intensifies my anxiety as we walk through the door. I shudder as Mark dashes over to the base of the staircase. I fantasize about slapping him across the face hoping he will wake up, but I must allow him to learn the truth, again. Like a fool, he hops up the stairs searching for whatever will satisfy this foolish notion somehow things have changed.

At the base of the stairs, I force myself to search the first floor without becoming ill. I pace around the living room and notice that wretched old brown leather couch where that awful man would sit and ridicule my existence. The worn fabric still has the same nasty stains from dropped food on many a night when sitting with the family, at a table, was too difficult. 

Pictures hang on the wall, of a time when I participated in sports. I adored many competitive activities and was fairly decent until my father tried to force his wisdom down my throat. 

In his mind I should have been an NFL or MLB star if I would practiced hard enough and gave up my life. There were many problems with his logic: Although I loved sports, I rather would have been a cheerleader than a player. I look at these hideous pictures and fight my upchuck reflex. I wanted to break ALL of them. Just smash those moments and smash them on the ground. Would it be a complete travesty if I were to mess up the sanctity of this home built on values such as hatred and intolerance?

I hear the thump of footsteps against the ceiling and wonder what Mark has discovered. Perhaps our room, which felt more like a prison cell, and the various posters of naked women carelessly pinned to the walls. 

Our need to overcompensate for how we felt in those days was paramount. After our brother declared himself gay, we witnessed our Father’s true nature and tried to deny what was happening inside of our own hearts. 

Rushing water from the faucet in the kitchen startles me. It’s followed by the clanking of pots, pans, and dishes. I glide over to the closed pocket door and push it open. She doesn’t look up from her chores, but I sense my mother knows I’m standing in the doorway. I haven’t seen her in some time and most of our conversations have been by way of cell phone. An emotional overload creates a lake within my eyes. My lips quiver waiting for her to say something. Anything!

“So, you’ve decided to come home,” she snarls. I’m caught off guard by such a peculiar reception. 

My mother continues to scrub dirt off a horrid green frying pan without bothering to look at me. This goes on for a few awkward moments until she finally turns and scowls at me. 

“Mom? Is that really you?” It couldn’t be her. I don’t understand how she could have followed me here wherever here is and she would have never greeting me in such a callous manner. 

“Well, I see you’ve taken the final steps and drank that old woman’s potion. Now you are the girl you’ve always wanted to be, I guess. With one serious problem, my dear.” Her snide remarks were peculiar. 

“What’s that? What’s the problem? Oh I know, I’m not good enough for Dad, especially now, I assume,” I respond. My mother didn’t find my glamorous new look worthy of complimenting, I guess.

“Baby, oh baby. Always making everything about you still as usual. While you speak to me another conversation is happening upstairs. You two are quite different from each other. You and your new counterpart. He wants nothing to do with you, and I can’t say I blame him. No one ever does, and it’s because you’re selfish.”

“What are you talking about, Mom?” I retort. 

“You’ve alienated him so much by your dumb choice. He’s speaking with your father now. This is your do-over, your second chance. Obviously, you are too far gone but Mark still has a chance.” She smiles and thrusts her sponge into another pot.

Is this what we came here for? This can’t be my mother. She has never been so mean. Mark is speaking with our father. I think about going outside to get fresh air and figure out the mystery behind all of this, so I walk towards the front door. I turn the knob but it won’t budge. I attempt to unlock it but it’s jammed. Is there no escape from this torture? I waltz back into the kitchen and scream at this imposter.

“Where the hell am I? You’re not my mother. She would never say such horrible things! Now the front door is locked? Do you work for the Magistrate?

“You’re very perceptive, my dear. Of course I’m not your mother. This house was designed for many reasons and yes, it was the plan of the Magistrate for both of you to be detained here. But unfortunately, little miss bitch, one of you isn’t leaving this place. I wouldn’t even try to speak to Mark if I were you. Your trust with him is shattered!”

I propel myself towards her body, grab ahold of her shirt, push her over the sink demanding answers, “Don’t you screw with me, lady. I’ve had a very bad day and yes, I’m a bitch when I don’t get enough sleep. Who is this Magistrate and what does he want with us?”

She cackles in my face and answers, “You will find out soon enough, but first you’ll have to deal with your old man.”

“Raquel, Raquel!” Mark calls out for me form the next room. I let go of the stranger and run to him.

“Mark! Are you okay?”

I see Mark standing at the base of the staircase with the widest smile on his face. Beside him was a face I wished I hadn’t seen for infinity. That balding sweaty gray head belonged to the man that broke me down into despair, my Father. He glares at me with knitted brows.

“Son, who’s the dame?”

Son of a bitch! I make fists and place them at my side waiting to strike either of them at a moment’s notice. Let’s see how the Magistrate likes it when I punch the shit out of his minions.

“Raquel, it’s alright. We’re home now. It’s time we get some closure.” Mark senses my anger and tries to ease my pain with mere words. Things were never alright for either of us, he is out of his damn mind.

“My name is Raquel. You know me very well, old man!” My Father turns the knob on the front door and cracks it open. 

I know that door was locked. What the hell?

To be continued. . . .

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Tags: featured, Identity, Transgender

Category: Fiction, Transgender Fun & Entertainment