The cold, stark light of morning broke upon my consciousness. The clouds still hung over the city, but somewhere out there the Sun was striving to pierce through, and the sky was a cool, muted white rather than yesterday's stormy gray. Snow billowed across the quad like bedsheets blown off the clothesline in an old cartoon, and drifted up against the ground floor of the dorm to a good foot above the window line; it must be waist-deep out there.

I was surprisingly "awake," by my standards; but then, Tammy had wound me right before bedtime. It hadn't kept me from getting to sleep, but...I felt a little strange. I had a sense of premonition, as if something was about to happen, but I had no idea what, or why. There was a nagging feeling that I'd just forgotten something important upon waking; it was on the tip of my brain, but I couldn't remember... I rattled in wordless irritation; what good was it being a machine lifeform when your "brain" suffered from the same dumb vagaries that organics' did!?

The only thing I could recall was a single image: a broken figurine, like the ones in my nightmare. This was different, though, not thrashed apart by some merciless master machine, but torn up the back; it reminded me of pictures I'd seen of a discarded chrysalis. I wondered briefly what kind of creature might have emerged from it, but forgot all about it when I realized that my mother was gone.

I scrambled out of bed. It was probably irrational for me to be this nervous, but then I was feeling all kinds of odd this morning. The fact that Emma's bedclothes were untouched didn't help; had she been up at the computer all night...? No, maybe she'd just gone to sleep on the couch; she'd seemed a little uneasy when I mentioned that the other bed was Emma's, and the fact that you know a fear is irrational doesn't mean it can't give you nightmares. Maybe I should've taken Emma's and she could've had mine...

Tammy was already up when I went over to her side of the suite. "Oh, hey," she said, smiling. "You're up early. Feeling any better?"

"Uh, sort of...?" I replied, only half-listening. I glanced at the couch - empty. "Hey, have you seen, uh...?"

She nodded. "You just missed her. Said she was going out for a bit and she'd be back later; sounded like she had to meet somebody." She frowned. "You guys have friends up here...?"

I shook my head, confused but starting to piece together a picture I didn't like. We didn't know anyone in the Lakeside area, so who would she be meeting...? Someone in the administration? No, they were long gone by now; the only staff left were the ones needed to keep the campus open over break. That went for most of the faculty, too...

And the image of her sitting up late peering at a computer screen, researching, rung a far-too-familiar bell. I'd seen that scene - that expression - more than once over the years; that was her concluding that I was never going to get a handle on something, and she couldn't leave me to flail around in the throes of decision paralysis forever. That was what she looked like when she'd decided that she had no choice but to do something about it...

Ticking rapidly, nervously, I went back to my desk and brought my laptop out of sleep mode. She hadn't even closed the browser window, and the tab bar told the whole story: searches on reversing changes, a bunch of pop-science junk mealy-mouthing about what might one day be possible, searches on designer transformations, a handful of fringe sites that might as well be claiming to turn lead into gold...and, finally, a Craigslist ad for a "body shop."

It wasn't illegal to transform people for money, provided that you document thoroughly and file the necessary paperwork, and there were a few "clinics" out on society's lunatic fringe that did just that; but it required expensive equipment and incurred a fairly staggering electric bill. It was something you'd find in hotspots for card-carrying freak-flag culture - Portland, San Francisco, etc. - but not an old Midwest steel town turned college town. And they had to be very careful about what they promised in the ad copy (and made you sign a pile of waivers,) since they had no way to control the result.

Much more common were places like this one - hole-in-the-wall "experience parlors" that fed patrons a lot of mystical woo-woo about "transforming their inner self," "opening chakras," et cetera, relying on simple head-trickery and hypnotist hucksterism, the client's will to believe, and the all-important Asterisk of Shielding^* to keep from crossing the line into "actionable." It was sleazy as hell, of course, but the authorities cared about as much as they did with phone psychics, at least until they got a bit too creative in "enhancing" things. (It was no coincidence that most of these places were just 'round the corner from a head shop.)

^* (For entertainment purposes only.)

What was she thinking!? Okay, she wasn't up on the subject - she didn't even like to talk about the subject - and it wasn't necessarily common knowledge that these places were certifiably total snake-oil, but...she wasn't stupid, for crying out loud! Even the pages she had open were as nakedly bullshit as the sites that pretend you can cure cancer with magnets and fruit juice;^* what could possibly induce her to turn off her brain long enough to indulge this nonsense...!?

^* (Mystical, exotic fruit juice, naturally, available mail-order for only $OBSCENE.99/bottle - ask about our bulk discounts!)

This was not good. I hoped she had more sense than to get involved with these types; maybe she just wasn't up on this stuff enough to recognize them at first glance, online. Hopefully, common sense would kick in once she got a look at the place - but even then, it was in a bad part of town, and there was the little matter of the blizzard. This was not good at all...

I got dressed in a hurry, throwing on one of my modified T-shirts and not even bothering to button it up the back, slipping on the rumpled skirt from yesterday since it went on quicker than my jeans. I had to catch up with her, had to stop her before she got herself mugged or scammed or frozen on what she assumed was my behalf. I slung my purse over my shoulder, slipped on my shoes, threw on my jacket, and barged out into the hall.

"Hey!" Tammy called, rolling out of the door on her side to meet me. "The hell're you going...!?"

I turned to her, gritting my teeth and feeling my mechanisms chatter as I thought about it. This was probably as crazy in its own way as what she was doing, wasn't it? But I couldn't not do it... "I, uh...I don't have time to explain," I said. "I gotta catch the bus. Check my computer and you'll understand."

"Wha-? Hey, wait!" she called after me, but I was already sprinting down to the lobby.

A few minutes later, I was underway. Thankfully, I'd gotten there just before it arrived; otherwise I'd never have caught up with her. Even so, it'd be tight. She didn't have to wait for the bus to wend its way slowly down the hill, but there was no way the streets'd be clear enough to park on, so she'd have to park at the convention center and take the skywalk. But the bus ran right past our destination - meaning that, if I was very lucky, we'd get there around the same time.

Hell, I thought, I was lucky the bus was running at all; at least the weather had cleared, somewhat. And I was surprised how quickly I'd gotten down to the stop; I'd never run like this, and while it was as weird and inelegant as everything else about me, I was faster than anticipated, given my weight. Maybe it was part of my ability to self-regulate, like at the lake? I'd have to be careful; it'd do me no good to get almost there and then run down at the critical moment...

So for now I sat quietly on the mostly-empty bus, as it crept its way down the hillside at an agonizingly safe and responsible pace. Gusts of snow roared up from the lake basin, making for a stiff headwind; I could hear the driver's knuckles pop as she clenched the wheel. I thought back to Tammy in the hall. I hoped I hadn't upset her, running off without explanation, but I hadn't had a moment to spare; and she could put two and two together without me there to spell it out.

In fact, while I was considering it, my phone pinged. I fished it out of my purse and found a message from her:

Tammy: You weren't kidding. That could be a bunch of trouble.

Tammy: Just...be safe, okay?

Despite the situation, I couldn't help but smile as I tapped out a reply. I kind of wished I'd dragged her along, but I didn't know how she'd fare in snow; the sidewalks on campus had been cleared early in the morning, but they were already piling up again, and the same was probably true downtown. And I'd be happy to assist at any other time, but right now I had someone else to worry about.

I couldn't stop thinking about it; about her blindly charging into what was, at best, a complete and utter misunderstanding in a sleazy part of town, and at worst a situation where she could be in real danger. Exposure couldn't do any more to me than run me down and leave me buried in a snowdrift for a while; but she could actually die.

And for what? A false hope of bringing everything tidily back to "normal?" Maybe it was because I'd let myself hold onto that delusion for too long, but I felt almost incensed at the idea. Did she think I'd want my own mother to risk herself for the sake of...of my convenience!? That it'd be worth it if it alleviated my discomfort at the weirdness I'd brought upon myself? And...did she think this had to happen now!? That I desperately needed to change back right away? I'd been living like this just fine for nearly two months...!

Well, not just fine, surely...? There'd been all the awkwardness and unease - of having to adjust to a different body, getting used to seeing someone else in the mirror, having strangers and friends alike see me differently for it, trying to come to terms with all the weird, difficult questions this raised for me and my sense of self - and, lest I forget, the part where I was wholly dependent on others. That hadn't been easy, had it? Those were all reasons I'd want to become something closer to "normal," even if I could never get all the way back there, right?

It just didn't have to happen now, that's all...

My tempo was up, I realized, and I hadn't been wound since last night. I tried to put it out of my mind; I needed all the energy I could spare. I managed to calm myself back down a bit, but I still found myself low-key brooding about nothing articulate all the way down the hill. Why did that get me so rattled? I should be worrying about her right now, not myself...

An eternity later, the bus braked long and slow, lumbering around the corner onto East 1st St. - not that I could see much besides the dim grey outlines of buildings through the driving snow. I knew the area, just uphill from the mini-casino someone had crammed into one of the old industrial spaces. Heck, I'd probably walked past the very place when Gil had dragged me out here to help haul some old electronics back from the recycle center. I tugged the cord, and the driver ground to a halt, brakes hissing.

The doors opened, and I stepped into the street; the snow was nearly halfway up my shins. The storm had let up since last night, but it was still going pretty good. The cold didn't hurt, but I could feel it; and the wind whipped my skirt hard against the felt "skin" of my leg and left the other side trailing, snapping and cracking like a flag in the breeze. If I were still human, I thought, I'd be freezing; but I had more important things to worry about.

I glanced around, peering at the signs on the buildings; I could just barely see across the street. Yes, there it was, between the cheap liquor store and the bail-bond place. And there she was, peering in the window of the darkened shop, ignoring the unlit OPEN sign, looking to see if there was anyone inside she could flag down.

I started across the street, trudging through the snow. The shop was closed, and the whole block was empty; there was no danger of her coming to any harm in the next couple minutes. So why did it feel so urgent to me...? It was like there was something I desperately needed to do right now; like if I didn't, if I couldn't make myself, I'd never fix things between us...

I tried to call out to her, but all that came out was a weak hissing. Damn it, again? I'd been fine back at the dorm! Maybe it wasn't a lack of water; maybe I was just having a hard time getting it to boil, in the cold. I stopped and braced myself, feeling something rev up in my abdomen. "hhhhhHHHHHHEY!" I yelled, the word finally emerging out of the hissing steam. My voice had a strange, crystalline edge to it, like there was frost built up on whatever resonator shaped the vowels.

I wondered if I was loud enough to be heard over the wind; but she whirled around in surprise and immediately dashed toward me, as I resumed my trek across the street. "Stuart!?" she called in a worried tone, almost losing her footing before catching herself and plowing through the snowdrifts to meet me. "What are you doing here!?"

"ME!?" I yelped in astonishment, mechanisms surging as much as the cold would allow. "What are you doing here!?"

She made to answer, paused for a moment, and got a look on her face like she'd only just realized she'd run out in what was still more or less a blizzard for this. "I, uh..." she stammered; her face was turning red, and not from the cold. "Honey...honestly, I couldn't just sit there and not try to help you."

For a long moment, I couldn't think of what to say. I wanted to say that she should've known places like this were a total scam, but that wasn't the important thing here. I wanted to say that it could wait until the storm passed, but that wasn't it either. I clenched my fists; if I'd still been human, there would've been hot tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. Why could I never figure out what I wanted to tell her when it mattered...?

"Because you don't have to put a brave face on it, okay?" She sighed, her breath clouding in the air. "If you really don't want this, then I'll do anything I can to help you fix it. I...I don't want to see you fall into a downward spiral because of this, not if there's anything I can do about it."

Was that what this was about? For all her evident discomfort with this, was she really more worried that I was unhappy? It seemed hard to believe, but...damn it, that was just like her. Always jumping to conclusions simply because I couldn't ever give her a straight answer to work with, because I was too busy worrying about what she expected from me - so she'd try to "help" by arranging for me to pursue my feigned desires, reflecting what I thought she might want, the two of us inevitably doing this same stupid dance, over and over again...

And where did she even get the idea that I was any unhappier now than I had been...? Oh, right, I'd basically told her as much, detailing exactly how I'd never wanted this, how I'd intended to change myself again ASAP, because I didn't want her to think I was weird, because I could never just tell her the truth when a lie might be more comfortable, because I could never just say that-

"MOM, I'M FINE!!!"

She looked as startled as I felt. I hadn't meant to shout it - I wasn't sure I'd meant to say it - but the words wouldn't come out any other way. We both stood there in shock; in the movies, it was the kind of moment where a discarded newspaper would sail past, but the only thing the wind had to throw at us right now was more snow.

I still couldn't believe I'd said it; but it was more surprising to realize that it was true. It wasn't something I'd said to mollify her because I thought I was making her uncomfortable, or an empty agreement with her attempts to help me; it was just a plain and simple fact. I wasn't spiraling out of control, falling into depression, or bottling everything up inside until I couldn't hold it any longer and had a breakdown. I was...I was okay.

Why was I okay...? I thought I'd been telling Gil the truth when I said I wasn't unhappy with what I used to see in the mirror, and this whole visit was living proof that nothing about being this was a miracle cure for my real problems. And there were all the inconveniences and constraints of this form to consider...so why did none of it seem that important? From the look on her face, she was wondering the same thing.

"Honey," she said, "you...you told me...?"

"...I really didn't plan on this," I sighed. "And I...didn't think I ever felt like I desperately wanted to be something else. I did plan on changing back to something closer to what I used to be as soon as I could, at first. That was all true. But..."

I hesitated for a moment, took a deep breath, and continued. "I...don't hate this. It's weird and unfamiliar and I'm still getting used to it. It's got its share of stupid limitations, and those are annoying. But...I can live with it. If I do change back, it doesn't have to be right now, especially not if it means you putting yourself at risk for it. I'm okay, Mom. I'm fine."

And that was also the truth: unvarnished, unspun, plain and simple. All that agonizing over what I'd felt like I was supposed to be, things I thought I should feel, standards I figured I was expected to hold myself to...but had I ever really wanted to be that thing, and not this? To feel that way, and not another? Even if I really wasn't unhappy as I had been...did that mean I couldn't be happy like this? I never asked for it; but did that have to mean I couldn't accept it...at least for now...?

No. No it didn't. It was okay, and I was fine.

As we stood there in the middle of a damn blizzard, each trying to come to terms with the part of myself I'd just bared, a particularly vicious gust came up the hillside and whipped down the street, rattling me good and nearly knocking my mother off her feet. I was surprised, not so much at the force, but at the feeling that accompanied it; a jolt, like the entire universe had just blinked. I shook my head, glanced over to see if Mom needed help, and...

...and she was giving me a very, very strange look. People talk about looking like you've just seen a ghost; she looked more like she'd caught a glimpse of the Almighty rearranging the set-dressing while the curtain was down. "Stuart...?" she said quietly, almost inaudible over the wind. "Honey...? Oh my God..."

For some reason I felt very cold, and very tired, so tired that I was having trouble wrapping my mind around the novelty of having these sensations; I hadn't felt like this in forever. And why was she looking at me like that? I wanted to ask, but I was too exhausted to speak...why was I exhausted? I didn't get tired like this, did I? But I was so cold, and so tired...

...and then I was, as they say, out like a light.