In the previous two installments, the narrator (Keith), picked up a young man alongside the Dan Ryan Expressway in Chicago, and gave him a room to stay in for the night. He later offered the room on a more permanent basis, on the condition that Beck (the young man) tell Keith why he’d been on the road that evening. Unfortunately, Keith wasn’t quite prepared for what he heard.

 

I, Prince Charming             by: Becca Reed, 2001      http://www.geocities.com/the_werewoman

 

Chapter Two

"Excuse me?"

I blinked, and again, and cocked my head to the side to be sure I heard correctly.

"Umm, excuse me," I asked Beck slowly, measuring my words against the resigned, ‘I-told-you-so,’ expression, "could you say that again?"

Beck sighed, and looked down at his lap, at his hands, where he was fidgeting with them in his lap.

"I want to be a girl," he said again, softer this time than before. "I don’t expect you to understand."

"Umm … well," I nodded, not sure what else to say, and feeling pretty stupid, "that’s good."

Beck looked strangely at me for a moment when I said that, and a slow grin spread across his face. This had the effect of confusing me even more.

"What?" I asked cautiously, looking around, "what’d I say?"

Beck shook his head, and shrugged, still grinning. "You cracked a joke, that’s all. No one’s ever done that before when I tell them … that."

I must have looked nonplussed. "Oh."

Beck’s grin just grew wider. "Not a good joke, but still … "

 

That, at least, got a small grin out of me, but I stifled it as quick as I could. I coughed, in a dignified, manly sort of way, and leaned back in my chair, watching Beck like a hawk. Despite all I’d heard, on Springer, on the news, on campus, this was by far my first real contact with a … a …

"Say, what do they call you?" I spat out by accident.

"Transsexual," Beck supplied without a moment’s pause. His mouth was just a thin line now, the momentary grin gone. I hadn’t exploded on him, but I hadn’t exactly applauded him either.

 

"Transsexual." I sounded it out in my mouth, but somehow, the very word gave me a very foul feeling. "Transsexual." I glanced at my houseguest.

Beck nodded. "That’s me." He said quietly, his voice no more than a whisper now.

"You want to be a girl?" I asked again, stupidly.

Again, the nod. I just stared at him for a few minutes, trying to think it all through.

Here, in front of me, was a man … who didn’t want to be a man! What … what in the name of Hades’ Ghost was I supposed to do with that? Applaud him? I couldn’t! Berate him? … No, that didn’t fit either. Exorcise him?

I glanced at him. There was still resignation in his eyes, but also a fierce devotion and dedication there too. This was something Beck FIRMLY believed in.

 

…mmm … take too long. I’m not a priest.

Beck was a man. Beck wanted to be a woman. A girl. He wants to cut his testicles and penis off, and have breasts and a vagina instead. I looked up at him again, my expression thoughtful as I muddled through this. Somehow, from somewhere back in my mind, all of this was coming in very hazily to me. I felt detached, un-present. As if this wasn’t happening to me, but to someone else instead, and I was just watching the goings-on. So Beck wanted to be a girl, he said. Well … what was that to me? As long as he stays in his room and doesn’t ….

… THEN IT HIT ME.

"YOU SAW ME NUDE!" I exploded, leaping to my feet and dancing around the table to get away from the man – the thing – the FREAK! "Ack! I’m not a pervert! You saw me nude! It wasn’t my fault!" I grabbed a sheet from the laundry basket sitting in the living room, and hid behind it. "It wasn’t my idea! I’m not gay, you hear me Beck…?"

Beck blinked a few dozen times at me, his face completely blank as he watched me dance around the room toward the laundry-basket, trying to stay on the edge of the room and far away from him. When I caught up the sheet and draped it over myself, he laughed out right – and kept on laughing.

The laughing puzzled me, and stopped me dead in my tracks. I stopped bounding around the room in the sheet, and stared dumbly at the kid for a while before everything finally caught up to me and sunk in, and then I was laughing, dropping into the chair across from Beck and bunching up the sheet between my hands. My laughing set Beck off again, and for several minutes we just shared a good, hearty, wholesome laughing experience, highlighted in particular by Beck’s attempt to pantomime the way I had panicked so bizarrely.

"You know," I gasped at the end, wiping tears from my eyes, "I think I’m okay with this."

"With … me?" Beck asked, chest heaving as he strained to catch his own breath, "Wanting to be a woman, and all that?"

 

And all that? What did that mean? "Yeah Beck, it’s okay." I saw doubt cloud his eyes a bit, and I held up my hand to forestall any commentary. "No – I know, I just freaked out. But that … that was because you saw me nude." I coughed in embarrassment and blushed, staring away. "Guy on guy just doesn’t do it for me … so … let’s keep it that simple. Deal?"

There was silence on the other end of the table for a moment, and when I dared to look back, fighting my blush and straightening my posture, I saw tears in Beck’s eyes.

"You mean I can stay?" he whispered.

I nodded. "Yes-" He whooped loudly and leapt to his feet, but I shot a hand up and waved to grab his attention. ‘’Yes, IF you agree to do something to earn your place here."

He turned back to me, blinking, and raised an eyebrow. "Well, like what?"

"Well," I waved at the dishes on the table before us, "cook, for one thing. Wash dishes, shop for groceries, keep house, do the laundry, and mow the yard. That should equal nearly the same effort as a full-time job, and will free up my time so that I can get more done on my books."

"Cook, clean, shop and mow?" He asked incredulously, "and that’s all?"

I thought about it for a moment, and then nodded my head again. "That’s it. You can use any of the equipment I have around the place, as long as you keep things quiet while I’m here and writing. I’ll pay you – " I thought hard for a moment, " – two thousand dollars a month, plus your clothing and personals, that wont kill my salary and will give you enough to call respectable, and maybe when you’ve saved up enough, you’ll want to consider moving on someday." I looked over at the kid, who’s hopeful eyes were just too damn infectious for my own good. "If you can agree to those terms, the place is yours."

Was there any doubt he’d accept?

 

 

The rest of the day was pretty normal around the townhouse, which was nice for a change, compared to the chaos of the last day. As was my custom on Saturday mornings, I holed myself up in my office/den for the duration of the day, and went around the large room, opening all the windows and letting in the sunlight, bird song, and fresh spring breezes. Then I returned to the computer on my work desk, started up my Office 2000 version of Microsoft Word, and opened the fourth chapter of Elephant Man.

The day went by rather quickly, all things considered. I had a few cups of coffee, ate a bagel and soup for lunch up in the den (you’d be surprised how convenient it can be to stock a small fridge and microwave in the office), and managed to get twenty-three good pages done before six p.m. rolled around and I decided to call it a night. By then, I was well into the fifth chapter of my little novel, and Hannibal, ever the strategist, was beginning to plot his most famous venture of all … the trek through the mountains to reach the city of Rome with a giant army …containing Elephants. So, all in all, when I retired at the close of day, it was with a feeling of deep contentment and pride that I did so. Contentment in the realism and quality of the story I was developing, pride in the work I had accomplished that very day.

It was at dinner that I saw Beck again. He’d taken his jobs very seriously over the course of that day, and though I hadn’ t thought it possible, he’d gone shopping for the ingredients for – and then had made – a better-tasting meal than he had for breakfast. I moaned over the soft, sweet slices of steak smothered in sauce and practically partied at the peach cobbler presented for post-dinner refreshment.

Over dinner, our conversation was a little less strained than it had been, but only just a little less. We talked about simple things: the weather, the Bears, favorite books and movies. We both steered clear of any mention of women, dating, or sexual preferences, not to mention the peculiarities of Beck’s desires and wishes for himself, but after a while … thinking about not talking about Beck’s oddities gave way to not thinking about not talking, and finding it quite easy to get caught up in the conversation as it was.

It amazed me at first, but only at first – but Beck was quite an interesting young man, and a very fine conversationalist for me. It turned out we shared an incredibly large number of interests, including historical fiction, and fantasy fiction as well. Beck was an avid fan of Star Wars, and a near-cultist-level devotee of J.R.R. Tolkien – just as I was. Dinner lasted far longer than it was ever intended to as we entertained ourselves with hearty debates of Luke Skywalker, Darth Vader, the Force, and Mara Jade that lasted well past the evening and well into the night.

Nor were literary interests the only things we shared with one another. It turned out neither of us were avid sports fans, which I thought was all to the good, as that meant I’d never have to put up with the irritating noise and cheering of a football or basketball game coming from the living room television set. Neither of us enjoyed – in any way, shape, or form – the kind of wild, raucous parties that so many of today’s young people were partial too, preferring the small and private gatherings of a few intimate friends. We both professed delightfully similar tastes in foods, wines (neither of us had any taste whatsoever for any alcoholic beverage derived from any other form than that of grapes), and deserts. We preferred the same recreational activities (reading, writing – him poetry and myself fiction, roleplay, good movies, or napping), and we even agreed on our favorite movie! (Which was, incidentally, First Knight.) As the conversation wore on and on, I began to think less of Beck in terms of his sexuality and gender identity, and more so in terms of a good friend to have – and probably the best roommate I could have ever found for myself, not to mention the best cook I would ever find anywhere. I simply forgot all about Beck’s inner desires at that point, and began to heavily congratulate myself on such a fine selection of a roommate, regardless of the circumstances under which he had come to be my roommate!

As said, we talked long on into the evening, and after we’d drunk up all the fine juice he had brewed for us, I had Beck fetch two tall goblet-style glasses from the cabinet, while I myself retrieved a flask of wine from the cellar. I made Beck promise he would not tell anyone we were drinking wine (and him underage), and then we resumed our conversation without another moment’s loss. But soon, a great deal of the wine was gone as well, and Beck was smiling at me with rosy cheeks, when I glanced at the clock, and saw how late it was getting.

It was well after nine already, and dinner conversation had turned into an all-out discussion, like the kind of deep and pleasant conversation two very old, and very dear friends can have without ever noticing the passage of time, or the lengthening hours. That surprised me, but it was a pleasant surprise. The thought of having a fun and pleasant roommate to share meals and conversation with was a nice one, not at all unpleasant in anyway, but now – it was late, and I had to get some sleep. With a yawn, I arose.

"Well," I said slowly, putting the stopper back in the wine bottle and draining the last of my glass, "I am positively done in for the evening – long day and all that – and I’m sure it’s past time I made for my bed. So if you’ll excuse me, Beck … thanks for the dinner, and for the fabulous conversation … and good night."

 

 

© 2001
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