These Lives We Seek
By Myria

"You're not going to like it," John had told me two hours 
before when he'd given me the report in my office.

He was right, I thought as I unlocked the door and walked 
into my living room, I damn sure didn't.

I threw the report on the coffee table and sat down on the 
couch with a huff. There are days when I wished I'd never 
decided to go into journalism; this was definitely one of 
them. Why in the hell didn't I decide to become a teacher? 
Or maybe a musician? I could have done just about anything. 
But no, I had to decide to go back to school to become a 
journalist.

One thing I've learned in just over a year of running The 
Guardian is that journalism often boils down to rooting out 
things you'd rather not know so you can tell other people 
about them. It can be a miserable, soul-destroying job 
sometimes, even at a small-potatoes university rag. 

Sure, there are lots of uplifting stories to be told, the 
good people do or sometimes just plain luck hitting good 
people. But those sorts of stories weren't really what 
anyone went into journalism for and they sure the hell 
aren't the kinds of stories that sell papers. What sells 
papers is the salacious, the Jerry Springer side of life 
prettied up a little. The kinds of stories where someone 
gets hurt, and not always "those that deserve it" - 
whatever exactly that might mean. Bring 'em down, watch 'em 
crash 'n burn, they'll get theirs and we'll get ours. It 
doesn't matter if it's a university dean or candidate for 
president, it's all the same game. Just ask Gary Hart.

God, what a business. And this was what I wanted to do with 
the rest of my life?

+++

I told myself that a beer might improve my mood some, but 
the truth was that I just wanted to see her before deciding 
what to do. There was no other explanation for why I picked 
that particular bar. God knows there are enough bars in the 
area to choose from and I wasn't a regular at any 
particular one. Hanging out at a bar loses some of its 
entertainment value when three-quarters of the people that 
frequent the place are ten to fifteen years your junior.

The lights were still up, the place half empty even though 
it was early evening. Fridays are like that; the main crowd 
wouldn't show until the band was going. Or until they'd had 
a chance to get half loaded in their dorm rooms, whichever 
came first. Well before then the lights would be dim, the 
noise would be so loud you wouldn't be able to hear 
yourself think, and almost everyone would be well beyond 
the legal blood alcohol limit for driving. 

Fortunately most of them would be walking home.

She was there of course, I'd known she was working tonight, 
talking in the corner with some jock type. John? George? 
Some generic name I couldn't remember. I'd seen him around, 
though, and was pretty sure he had the hots for her. And 
why not? She was tall, thin, had long spiral-permed 
brunette hair, a too-cute perky nose and those big brown 
eyes. Dressed in the universal uniform of barmaids 
everywhere or, at least, what used to be - white blouse and 
black skirt. Only with her the blouse was practically 
sheer, the skirt only barely long enough to be called a 
mini, the heels spiked. If this wasn't a college town she'd 
probably be making a fortune in tips on just her legs 
alone. 

There was an almost preternatural grace in her every 
movement that alone would have gotten her noticed, but she 
was also a very pretty girl. Not beautiful, no, but 
definitely pretty and not afraid to accentuate every 
positive. Certainly pretty enough to attract the attention 
of over muscled jock types who didn't give a happy hang 
about much save her bustline and their chances - slim to 
none, as far as I knew - of getting into her skirt.

I sat at the bar, nodded to the bartender and ordered a 
Heineken. It belatedly occurred to me that coming here was 
probably a bad idea. I really needed to work things out in 
my own head before talking to her, getting into it while I 
was still pissed off just wasn't the brightest idea in the 
world. Besides, this certainly wasn't the place for it. But 
I'd already gotten my beer and she had finally peeled 
herself away from John/George/whatever long enough to 
notice me.

I shook my head as she walked over, how the hell could I 
have not known? Not even have had a clue?

"Hi, hun," she said, sitting on the barstool next to me.

"Hi," I replied.

"Is something wrong, Karen?"

"No," I said, knowing damn well that something was, "why?"

"I don't know, you seem... Tense, I guess."

"Bad day at the office," I evaded.

"Classes?"

"The paper."

"Oh," she said. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really." I sighed. "No, we do need to have a talk, 
Serina, a serious one."

"About what?" She asked with obvious concern.

"What time do you get off?"

"I'm closing, but I could probably trade with Sally if it's 
that important."

"I'd appreciate it if you did." I had no desire to be 
hashing this out at two in the morning. Hell, I had no 
desire to be hashing this out at all.

"What is going on, Karen, what's this about?"

"Later, okay? We'll talk about it when you get home."

+++

By the time it was ten-forty I was wondering where she was, 
it wasn't that long a walk from the bar. Maybe she hadn't 
been able to trade shifts, or maybe she'd figured out just 
what it was I wanted to talk about.

I picked up the report and thumbed through it again, I'd 
read through the damn thing so many times that I'd 
virtually memorized it. Three months of John's meticulous 
research work summarized in fifteen pages. What it boiled 
down to was the lives of five students, their futures, in a 
neatly bound notebook just waiting to be turned into a 
front-page story that would almost certainly get at least 
three of them kicked out of school. 

But only one of those students was my friend. My best 
friend and roommate.

The key sliding into the door lock startled me even though 
I'd been expecting it. A moment later Serina walked in, not 
looking overly happy.

"I hope this is important," she said, "I had to promise to 
close all next weekend."

"It is."

"So what is it?" She asked, sitting in the overstuffed 
chair.

I took a deep breath. "I was wondering if you'd ever heard 
of someone."

"Who?" She asked, reaching down to take off her heels.

"Lawrence Jonathan Kent."

She sat up and I briefly saw something flame in her 
normally placid eyes that for a second scared the holy hell 
out of me.

"It's funny," I said, letting some of my own anger seep 
into my voice, "he went to the same high school as you, got 
the same grades, had the same birthdate, was born in the 
same place, and," most damning of all, "had the same social 
security number."

"How?" She asked, her soft and quiet voice given lie by the 
hurt in her eyes.

Well at least she wasn't going to try and deny it. "You 
remember that professor who got in trouble a few months ago 
for lying on his resume? Well one of the reporters who 
works for me decided to do a story on the subject, to look 
into how many students did the same thing on their 
applications. He picked a bunch of student's names off the 
roster at random and did background checks, turned out five 
of them had lied on their applications. One of them was 
you."

"So this is about a story?"

I nodded.

She stood, picked up her purse and shoes, and started to 
walk away.

"Where the hell are you going?" I demanded.

"My room."

"Don't you think we should talk about this?"

"What's to talk about, Karen? You've already judged me."

"So you don't deny it?"

"Deny what?" She said, turning and throwing her things to 
the ground. "That I lied on my application? Of course I 
deny it, my name was legally changed before I ever came to 
this school. I haven't lied about anything. But that's not 
going to matter when everyone reads it in the paper, is 
it?"

"You lied to me, Serina, you've been lying to me since the 
day we met."

"How? How have I been lying to you? Because I didn't tell 
you that I'm a transsexual? There, I said it, your 
roommate's a freak. Happy?"

She stormed off before I could think of anything to say.

+++

I sat staring at the blank screen of the TV for a long 
time, trying to reign in the chaos of my thoughts. You 
think you know someone so well, live with them for almost 
two years, and then all of the sudden... Bam! Everything 
changes and you find out that you really don't know them at 
all. 

How in the hell could I not have known?

I sighed and stood up, I meant to go to the kitchen for 
something to drink but instead found myself walking towards 
the back of the house. In the darkened hallway I could see 
that the light was still on in Serina's room, so I knocked 
on the door.

"Can I come in?"

"Go ahead," she said after a long pause.

I walked in, closing the door behind me. She was sitting 
cross-legged on her bed, having changed into a black 
negligee I'd seen her wear dozens of times before. Her head 
was down, she was leaning forward, and I couldn't help but 
glance at the cleavage framed by the black lace and wonder 
if it was real. Implants? Hormones? Both? Did it matter? 
Yeah, somehow it did.

She looked up at me slowly, she'd obviously been crying. 
"This is so ironic," she said so softly it took a second 
for me to figure out what she'd said.

"What is?" I asked, taking the chair from her desk and 
moving it next to the bed.

"I always figured that if something like this happened it 
would be some bigoted dink, maybe someone in the 
administration or something. I never thought it would be my 
best friend."

"So you were expecting something like this to happen 
someday?"

She shook her head. "No, it's been a long time since I 
worried about it."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Should I have had to, is it that important?"

"Yes, dammit, it is!" I yelled in frustration.

"That's why I didn't tell you, or anyone else for that 
matter."

"Cut the existentialistic crap, Serina, okay? I'm not in 
the mood for it."

"It isn't crap," she said with a sigh. "What's changed, 
Karen?"

"What do you mean?"

"Yesterday I was a normal coed, right? Your friend and 
roommate. And today, what, I'm a liar and a freak? What's 
changed?"

"I never said you were a freak."

"Oh please, we wouldn't be having this conversation if you 
weren't thinking it or something like it. You still haven't 
answered the question, what's changed?"

"What's changed? Now I know the truth, that's what has 
changed."

"That's why I didn't tell you, Karen, why I don't tell 
anyone. Yesterday was the truth. I am the same person 
you've always known, that person is me. But the moment 
someone finds out about my past, it all becomes a lie as 
far as they're concerned. It doesn't matter what I do, who 
I am, how I feel... None of it matters, I get defined by 
the fact that I'm a transsexual."

"That's self-serving bullshit."

"Is it? Would we even be having this conversation if it 
wasn't true?"

"We wouldn't be having this conversation if you'd just told 
me in the beginning."

"And we probably wouldn't be friends, either."

"You don't know that."

"I know human nature," she said, lying back on her bed. For 
a long moment I thought she was finished, wasn't going to 
say any more. "I know why it is you're really angry, Karen, 
even if you don't."

"Why, why am I really angry? Educate me."

"You're angry because you think you've been fooled. You're 
kicking yourself because on some level, whether you're 
aware of it or not, you think you should have known. But 
you didn't and that means you were fooled and that makes 
you angry and hurt." She sat up and turned, her legs over 
the edge of the bed, to face me. "You think that today, or 
yesterday, or whenever you found out, that when you learned 
that I was a transsexual, you learned the truth. You said 
that yourself, right?"

"Yes," I said. The way she put it didn't quite make it 
sound right, but I wasn't going to quibble.

"See, that's what's so sad, and so very predictable. You 
now know the truth? You already knew the truth, Karen! 
Yesterday was the truth. Last week was the truth. Last year 
was the truth. You know me better than anyone, and now all 
of that's a lie? Why? Why is it a lie?"

"Because you didn't tell me."

"Why should I have had to? What obligates me? Because we're 
friends? Should I have to tell all of my friends? Maybe I 
should come up with a little form letter explaining my 
transsexualism so I could hand it out to everyone I meet in 
case we might become friends?"

"I didn't say that, dammit!"

"No, but you sure feel I was obligated to tell you, why? 
Isn't my past my own? Don't I get to decide what I share of 
it or not? Isn't that my right? If it's not up to me, then 
who gets to decide? Maybe I should have to tell everyone? 
Maybe walk around with it stamped on my forehead?"

I stood. "You're being ridiculous and insulting. If you 
don't want to talk about it, fine." I turned to leave, 
feeling more upset and angry than I had before I'd entered. 
So much for talking things out.

"Don't you dare walk out on me!" She screamed at me.

I stopped in surprise, shocked into immobility. In the two 
years I'd known her I'd never heard her raise her voice, 
not once. I turned back to see her standing next to her 
bed, her face red both from tears and from fury.

"You call me a liar, basically tell me my whole life is a 
lie and you want to tell the whole school about it, and 
you're the one who feels insulted? How dare you?"

"I never said that I was going to print the article, or 
that it would include you."

She sat back down on her bed, shaking her head. "It doesn't 
matter. Don't you see? The damage is already done."

I leaned against the door and slid down to the ground. 
"What damage? To our friendship?"

"To everything. Do you know what I've wanted my entire 
life, as far back as I can remember? The one thing I've 
worked so hard towards, spent more blood, sweat, and tears 
than you could possibly begin to understand?"

"What?"

"To just be a normal girl."

"But you're not, that's the whole point."

She smiled, surprising me yet again. "No, I'm not. Not to 
you, not anymore, and I can't ever be again. That is the 
whole point."

"You keep trying to turn this back on me, Serina," I said 
with a sigh, "but none of this would be an issue if you'd 
just told me. I'm not the villain here."

"I'm not saying you are. There aren't any villains here, 
just history and human nature. You want me to be the 
villain for not telling you because you're hurt and angry. 
What if you'd found out that, I don't know, say I'd been 
born blind and they'd been able to fix it? Would you be 
angry that I hadn't told you?"

"That's not the same thing."

"Isn't it, Karen? It sure is to me. I was born the way I 
was, an accident of birth that I didn't have any control 
over and sure wouldn't have wished on anyone. A birth 
defect that I had to work hard to fix. Something that cost 
me so much, but something I got passed, got fixed. 
Something in the past, where I'd rather it stayed. But to 
you, you find out I was born with an 'M' on my birth 
certificate and that becomes the one and only truth. The 
only truth that matters, everything else is a lie to you. 
I'm dishonest for not having told you because that one 
truth is now the only thing that matters."

"Again, you make it out to be all my fault."

"No, I'm not. It's not just you, it's anyone. It's human 
nature, don't you see? Do you think it would be any 
different with Jenny? Sally? George? My professors? Anyone? 
In an ideal world it shouldn't matter, we shouldn't even be 
having this conversation. But this is the real world, we 
are, and it wouldn't be any different with anyone else. 
That's why I didn't tell you, Karen, why I didn't tell 
anyone. Why I wouldn't tell anyone, not ever."

"You're wrong, Serina. You should tell people, you sure the 
hell should have told me. Is it so bad that I know? I'm 
angry, yes, but we're still friends."

She shook her head. "I will never again be just a normal 
girl to you and there's not a thing either of us can do 
about it. You can't unlearn what you've learned and I can't 
change my past. You will always see me as a 'transsexual 
woman' or a 'man in a dress' or, I don't know, whatever it 
is exactly you're thinking - it doesn't really matter. 
Maybe you could live with that, but I know I couldn't. It's 
not what I want for my life, not what I worked so hard 
for."

"So what are you going to do?"

She shrugged. "I don't know.

+++

I cursed the slowness of the coffee maker as I sat at the 
kitchen table. I doubt I'd gotten more than an hour's sleep 
at best, and I really needed a caffeine fix. It really 
sucks to start the morning feeling like you've got a 
hangover when you didn't even have the pleasure of getting 
splotzed the night before.

My mind had run over the same mental paths so often that 
ruts were starting to wear into my grey matter, and yet I 
still couldn't resolve things in my own head. No matter 
what she said I still felt that Serina had been wrong not 
to tell me. She had been dishonest, if not outright lying, 
both to me and to a hell of a lot of other people. And yet, 
she was right, it would be very hard for me to see her in 
the same light as I had before. Was that really fair of me? 
Was it fair of her to expect me to?

But then that was her point, wasn't it? She didn't expect 
me to, ever. Fairness didn't seem to enter into it for her. 
We were looking at this from such diametrically opposed 
points-of-view that it was hard to see how there could be a 
way to resolve things. Still, I was convinced that we 
could, I'd get over my anger and she'd get over her... 
Well, whatever exactly she was feeling, that never was 
clear to me, and we'd still be friends. It didn't seem like 
she much felt the same way, and that worried me. No matter 
how upset and angry I was, I didn't want to lose our 
friendship over this.

What had changed? She'd asked me that a couple of times and 
all I could think was, "A lot!" It's funny how one little 
thing can change so much. I had to re-evaluate everything 
I'd thought I'd known, things that hadn't seemed to matter 
before.

Like her past, and how she'd never talked about it. We'd 
been friends and roommates for all this time and I didn't 
really know anything about her background, she never talked 
about it. She was twenty-three, born and raised in LA, and 
didn't talk to any of her family. That was it, all I knew. 
I'd learned more from John's report than I had from her. 
She just never talked about her past, changed the subject 
if you asked anything. I'd never really thought about it 
that much, she was hardly the only kid in school who didn't 
talk about their background, I guess I'd just figured she'd 
had her reasons. Boy, did she ever. Before it'd seemed 
innocent enough, now it seemed... Sinister, somehow.

How in the hell could I have not known?

I kept going back to that question even though it seemed 
obvious I had the answer. Sure there were plenty of clues 
in retrospect, hindsight is 20/20 and all that. But I 
didn't know squat about transsexualism, probably like most 
people, and didn't really care to know anymore than I 
already did. It had even taken me several minutes and a 
couple of questions to figure out what John's report was 
trying to tell me even when it'd been right there spelled 
out in front of me.

I didn't know because it never would have occurred to me in 
a million years to think of it. I guess when I'd ever even 
given the subject a moment's thought, if I ever really had, 
I just assumed they all looked like drag queens or 
something. I mean, that's the image you get from talk shows 
and stuff, isn't it? 

Just like with gays and lesbians. Everyone, even gays and 
lesbians, thinks "Oh, I can tell!" They can tell someone is 
gay or lesbian just by looking, just by how they act? What 
a load of utter bullshit. I've known gays and lesbians that 
wouldn't set off anyone's "gaydar" in a million years. But 
it's such a reassuring illusion to think that you can "just 
tell". Such a nice, safe illusion.

The last thing on god's green earth that Serina looked like 
was a drag queen. Hell, for all I know most transsexuals 
don't - doesn't really matter. Point was, she played on 
that, knew what people would think, what they expected. 
Serina didn't do anything without a reason, without a plan. 
She was almost anal that way. What was I going to do, think 
that maybe all tall twenty-something girls I met used to be 
guys? Of course not, and she knew that. Just as she knew 
all of the little things my mind kept going over now could 
so easily be explained away, had been easily explained 
away. She didn't tell me because she never thought I'd 
know. If it hadn't been for one stupid little piece of 
happenstance, I never would have.

And she wondered why I felt lied to?

+++

I didn't realize Serina wasn't home until past noon. I 
guess I just assumed she was sleeping in, which was stupid. 
Chances were she hadn't gotten any more sleep than I had. I 
finally knocked on her door and when she didn't answer I 
worriedly went in. No Serina and her room was a disaster 
area, definitely not like her. Her clothes were piled on 
her unmade bed, more like strewn about the bed, along with 
quite a bit of her nick-nacks and such. It looked like 
she'd been trying to put everything she owned into one big 
pile before apparently leaving before I got up. Why she 
would do that and where she might have gone, I had no idea, 
but such a mess was certainly out of character for her.

The phone rang just after I'd discovered the great pile of 
Serina's stuff, I rushed to grab it thinking it was 
probably her. The answering machine beat me to it, its 
message playing out as I searched for the damn cordless and 
finally found it lying next to the couch.

"Hello?" A voice said from the answering machine speaker. 
"You there, Serina? Pick up, it's me..."

It was Sally, one of Serina's friends and co-workers, so I 
hit the button on the phone and waited for the answering 
machine to shut off. "Hello," I said.

"Hi, is this Karen?"

"Yeah, it's me, Sally."

"Is Serina there?"

"No, I haven't seen her all morning."

"Do you know what's going on?"

"Going on with what?" I asked, wondering what exactly 
Serina may have told Sally.

"I just talked to George," I presumed she meant George 
Benson, who owned the bar both Sally and Serina worked at, 
"and he said that Serina called him this morning at home 
and quit her job."

"You're kidding? Do you know why?"

"Not a clue," Sally said, "I was hoping you might know. I 
can't believe she'd just quit without saying anything to me 
about it."

"She didn't say anything to me, either."

"You're on the paper, aren't you?"

Only if editor-in-chief qualified as on. "Yeah, why?"

"She said something to George about he'd be able to read 
about it in the paper, or something like that. Do you know 
what she meant?"

Oh shit.

"Not really. Look, when she gets home I'll have her call 
you, okay?"

"Thanks, Karen. Bye."

"Bye."

What in the fuck is she doing? I wondered as I tossed the 
phone down on the couch. She was right about one thing, if 
she'd changed her name legally before applying then she 
hadn't done anything technically wrong as far as the school 
would be concerned. Even if she hadn't, who would care? 
It's not like she faked her SATs or something. There was no 
reason to include her in John's story - if there ever was a 
story that I could legally print out of it. What did she 
think, that I'd include her just so everyone would know?

On second thought, if I was being intellectually honest 
wasn't that exactly what I should do? No, could I really 
justify that? I wasn't going to do it just out of spite.

+++

I was sitting at my desk, trying futilely to get some 
schoolwork done, when I heard her come in. I waited a 
minute to see if she'd come say hello or whatever, but she 
didn't, instead going straight to her room. I followed, 
after a moment, standing in her doorway. She was folding 
clothes methodically, didn't even look up and I couldn't be 
sure she even knew I was there. She looked gaunt, like 
overnight she'd lost five pound she didn't have to lose. 
Too much crying, I guessed, god knows I probably didn't 
look a whole hell of a lot better.

"Feel like talking?" I asked.

"Didn't we do enough talking last night?" She responded 
without stopping her task. "I think we both pretty much had 
our say."

"I'd like to get this resolved, we need to get past this."

"Some things can't be resolved, Karen," she said, finally 
turning to look at me, "can't be gotten past. You either 
learn to live with them or you decide you can't."

I didn't know what to say to that, and after a moment she 
went back to her folding.

"Sally called," I said, "she wanted to know why you quit 
your job."

"I had my reasons."

"Because you think all of this is going to be in the 
paper?"

"I told you last night, it doesn't matter, the damage is 
done," she said with a sigh. "Look, I'm sorry, Karen. I'm 
sorry about everything, okay? I'm leaving, you can print 
whatever you want."

"You're moving out?" I asked in shock. God, it should have 
been obvious from the pile of clothes on her bed, let alone 
Sally's call.

"I'm leaving school."

"You're kidding?" I asked.

She shook her head, confirming what I already knew.

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know, I haven't decided yet. Maybe Dallas, or I 
could move back to LA. I don't know."

"This is crazy, Serina, you don't just toss away your life 
over something like this."

She smiled and shook her head. "Maybe you're right, maybe 
you don't know me as well as either of us thought."

"Maybe I don't," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm, 
"the Serina I thought I knew wouldn't just run away like 
this."

"I'm not running away from anything," she replied, a sudden 
cold hard steel in her voice, "I'm running towards 
something."

"What? What are you running towards? Because it sure looks 
to me like you're running away."

"I told you last night. The one thing I've always wanted, 
needed, the only thing that's ever been really important to 
me in my life is that I just be able to live a normal life, 
be treated like any other woman. Is that so wrong, so hard 
to understand? But it's not possible here anymore. Even if 
there's no article don't you think that half the people at 
The Guardian know by now? It'll be all over the school in a 
week, two at the most, you know that as well as I do."

She was probably right. Gossip travels fast and this would 
be juicy gossip. "So what? Is it so bad if people know?"

"So what? You want to live the rest of your life being 
treated like a freak? You want to hear people whisper about 
you behind your back, have some people shun you and others 
treat you like you're an alien from Mars? I've been there, 
Karen, I've lived that life. It sucks, it sucks bigtime. 
Why do you think I choose a school two thousand miles away 
from my home and anyone who knew me to go to in the first 
place?"

"That doesn't mean you just give up, for Christ's sake! 
Stand and fight, show people you're not a freak."

"Yesterday I was just a normal girl to you, today... Well I 
don't know what you think of me but it sure isn't better. 
You've grilled and dissected me over this, flat out called 
me a liar. Well maybe to you I am even if I was always 
honest about everything that matters. You're my best 
friend, Karen, how could I expect any better treatment from 
anyone else? How could I not expect a lot worse treatment 
from a lot of people? I've been there, I know how people 
are, and that's not the life I want to live."

"People can be taught, Serina, they can learn. Gays, 
lesbians, African-Americans, they've all had to do it and 
look what they've achieved. It won't happen for you if you 
don't fight for it, it won't happen if people like you just 
run away."

"So I'm obligated to that, too?"

"Yes, dammit!"

She shook her head. "Why does everyone think they have the 
right to tell me what my obligations are when my only 
obligation is to do what I think is right? Besides, it's 
not the same thing, not at all."

"Why isn't it the same thing?"

She sighed, pushed a pile of blouses aside, and sat on the 
edge of her bed. "Even if people wanted to be taught, 
wanted to learn - which they don't - and even if there we 
weren't such a microscopic minority, it still wouldn't be 
the same. If I was a lesbian, black, or, I don't know, a 
midget or something, I'd always be those things, right? 
People would be able to tell by my having a girlfriend, or 
the colour of my skin, or my height, whatever. Those things 
aren't disorders to be cured, they're just things that make 
you different from other people and a lot of people don't 
like anyone who's different. If you're any of those things 
you're always going to be different, it'll always be there, 
and you have a vested interest - but not an obligation - in 
fighting against all those dinks out there who want to give 
you a hard time."

"So how is this any different?"

"What I had to deal with was a disorder to be cured, Karen, 
that's what makes it different. I was born with a body that 
didn't agree with who I am inside, it boils down to that. I 
had to live with that every day and it was ripping me 
apart, killing me. You think it was easy going through what 
I did? That I decided I was a transsexual for fun? Hardly. 
But, fortunately for me, there was a cure. Pills and shots 
and surgery and a whole lot of other not-so-fun stuff. I 
had a birth defect, but it was cured. I don't have to live 
with that anymore, be burdened into spending the rest of my 
life defending an accident of my birth that was cured, 
fixed. I won't be guilted into some supposed obligation 
that I don't feel or agree with." She paused for a moment, 
taking a deep breath. "I asked you last night what was 
different about me, what changed from last week. Am I 
taller? Shorter? Has the colour of my skin changed? Do I no 
longer like guys? No, see that's the whole thing. Nothing 
has changed, I am the same person you've always known. 
What's changed, all of it, is in your head. Period, that's 
it. I can't fight that, and I can't turn that clock back."

"So you don't even try, you just go somewhere else?"

"Basically, yes. I don't want to change the world, Karen, 
I'm not sure I would even if I thought I could. I just want 
to live my life. Is that such a bad thing?"

"And what happens when someone finds out there?"

"Oh please, this was a complete fluke and you know it. God, 
people commit murder and then disappear forever, never to 
be found even with every cop on the planet looking for 
them. You think I can't find someplace where I can just be 
me?"

"Still, it could happen again."

"I'll deal with it if it does."

"I don't want you to go, Serina."

"I don't want to go, Karen," she said softly, tears in her 
eyes, "but I have to. The life I seek isn't here anymore 
and that's more important to me than anything."

"More important than our friendship?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry, but yes."

+++

We didn't talk about it much after that, there didn't seem 
any point. By the next Friday she'd moved out, gone back to 
LA. We kept in touch for a little while, exchanged e-mails 
and a couple of phone calls, but that quickly tapered off 
and I never heard from her again.

I was wrong about one thing. I'd told her that you don't 
just toss your life away over something like this, but I 
went and in a way did exactly that. That Monday I resigned 
as editor-in-chief of The Guardian and dropped my 
journalism major despite being only a semester and a half 
from getting my Masters Degree. Fortunately most of my 
credits were transferable to my new major, teaching, but it 
wouldn't have mattered to me if they weren't. I'd had my 
doubts about journalism for a long time, this was just the 
straw that broke the camel's back. 

The irony of it is that I'll probably end up teaching 
journalism, thanks to having a Bachelors in it.

Maybe I was wrong about more than one thing, I don't know. 
Serina was right, even though there never was a story, word 
did get around disgustingly quickly and I got pestered 
endlessly by the curious who wanted to know what it was 
like to live with someone like her. Like I'd known, like 
she'd really been any different from anyone else. Still, 
she would have survived it. Some people were nasty, 
shockingly so, but most weren't. They were just curious, if 
often ignorant. I was shocked by the number of people, even 
those who'd known her and called her a friend, who suddenly 
took to referring to her as "he" and "him". Somehow I 
doubted Serina would have dealt with that very well and I 
wouldn't have blamed her. There was just no excuse for it, 
but after a little while even I got tired of correcting 
people.

The furor over Serina and her leaving faded eventually, as 
such things do, to no doubt be replaced by some other rumor 
or juicy piece of gossip. I got a new roommate, though 
we're not very close we get along okay. Life goes on...

I still think she should have told me, but she didn't and 
maybe she had better reasons than I thought. I don't know, 
anymore it doesn't matter. I hope that she found the life 
she was looking for. 

Knowing how determined she was, I'm pretty sure she did.

Fin

Copyright 2001 by Christina Myria Kenyon