Workman: Chapter Three - Part Four

5

I felt more than weird when I stepped out of Sangeeta’s beauty shop but I didn’t know exactly why. Not exactly.

The conversation for the rest of my visit had been generic – weather, shopping, holiday plans – but I’d enjoyed it. I felt like I really clicked with Sangeeta. The slight cultural differences that cropped up were interesting and she’d been in the UK long enough to get most of the references that cropped up.

I wandered away through the shopping centre, turning to look back before I turned out of sight.

Yes. I was troubled… almost as if… as if it had been a guilty pleasure spending time with her. I’d been spying on her in a way, in this disguise of mine. I shouldn’t have done; I shouldn’t have been interested in her. I didn’t fancy her. Not anymore. I was sure I didn’t. I just liked seeing her again.

I tried to put it out of my mind and distract myself with some clothes shopping. I walked round several different shops, just browsing, not searching for anything in particular. I tried a couple of dresses on but nothing caught my fancy enough to break my ban of spending (again). I went into one of the big department stores and wandered round, trying out a whole range of different things; perfume, jewellery, hats.

I ended up standing with a shirt held up against my chest, looking at myself in the mirror and it was only then, seeing the way it swamped me, that I realised I was in the men’s department.

I looked round, startled and a bit embarrassed.

I’d just been looking at it, wondering idly what it would look like on but it was gigantic against me. I couldn’t possibly wear it… unless…

I lowered it. Then raised it again. It was a nice shirt: more formal and flashy than the cheque one I’d been wearing the day before as a man. I wondered how it would look on if I were to change back into… him.

Except I wasn’t going to. Definitely not. Once – well twice – had been more than enough.

I wondered whether Sangeeta would like it.

I put it back on its rail, fingered the shoulder then turned and walked away.

I wasn’t changing back again. The ring was in the toilet. I should have waited and flushed again.

I picked up the shirt and carried it to the till, paid the money, blushing beetroot red then left the shop, telling myself I was an idiot, that I’d wasted my money, that I wasn’t changing back.

I walked back to the car feeling irritable, wishing I’d never bought that stupid ring.

 

6

When I got home I marched straight upstairs and pulled the handle on the toilet. Under the lid the sound of the churning water was muffled but unimpeded.

I folded my arms. That was it. Done.

I waited until it had finished then turned my back on it.

Paused.

Turned back.

I walked back to the toilet and reached for the edge of the lid, ready to lift it.

I didn’t. I walked out and went back downstairs grumpily.

I didn’t need to be a man to do this house up and I didn’t need a man to help me. I could do anything I wanted.

I went into the double garage attached to the side of the house. It was full of old boxes, pretty much all tat. I sighed, reaching for the pair of rubber gloves I’d discarded in there four days earlier when I’d tried to start this job. I put them on, resting the backs of my hands on my hips.

“Right. I can do this,” I said.

I started shifting boxes, checking through them at the same time, getting quickly hot and even more irritable. I had to be careful for fear of ruining the manicure Sangeeta had given me. It was painfully slow going.

Within twenty minutes I was hopelessly conflicted about whether to keep or throw away some of my old school books. Obviously I knew I should have got rid of them but it seemed so final. What if I wanted to look at them again? I might regret it for the rest of my life.

“Oh for God’s sake!”

I sat down on an old broken chair with no back that I’d also been unable to throw out and fumed quietly.

I just couldn’t do this! I wasn’t cut out for it! I was never going to clear this house; never going to get my life sorted! Why did I keep kidding myself I could? I was useless! I just wasn’t tough enough to get rid of old keepsakes, and the whole house was full of them! My back was aching! My arms were aching! I couldn’t do it!

I crossed my arms then fumed again. Then I looked up at the ceiling; through it, toward where the bathroom was.

“Alright,” I said. “Alright!”

I got up and marched back inside. I went up the stairs and into the bathroom. I lifted the toilet lid.

It was still there, lying at the bottom of the toilet, unmoving, looking up at me.

“Alright,” I said and knelt down, wrinkling my nose in disgust.

I was still wearing the rubber gloves. I lowered my fingers to the water then dipped them in. This was so gross; and stupid. But I didn’t stop. I reached deeper and deeper, afraid the water would go over the top of my glove and fill it up with disgusting toilet water.

It didn’t. I felt the ring with my fingertips and hooked it up, bringing it dripping from the water.

“Urgh!”

I shook it off and moved to the sink then I washed it, putting it on the porcelain edge. After that I washed my glove and pulled them both off.

The ring lay on the edge of the sink as though it were watching me; daring me.

I hesitated, went to get it, hesitated, then I picked it up and put it over the end of my finger.

“Just for a couple of hours,” I said. “Just until I’ve cleared the garage.”

Then I put it on.

The change overcame me faster this time, making me stagger back, then forwards, bending almost double. The flashes came, each one brighter, more intense, and then the final crashing one hit me with the shudder that shook my core.

I fell against the wall, panting for breath, then raised my big manly hands in front of my face and grinned.

I was really glad I’d done it, kind of mad at myself for being such a girl about putting it off. There was nothing wrong with being a man. It was nice. And now I could really get things done – no more fannying around wasting time.

This body felt comfortable. There was nothing weird about it. I definitely shouldn’t have been such a girl about making the change.

It was only for a little while after all.