-Chapter 11: Coping-

I'd forgotten how big and empty that house was, but it had never felt larger or more hollow than it did in those moments. I don't know how long I stood there, but by the time I moved, my legs ached. A lot of me ached, actually. I felt awful. My mood was pinballing between anger and indignation to guilt and sorrow. Back and forth. Over and over.

I mean, what the hell was wrong with her?! Of course I didn't understand! She wouldn't tell me anything! Why couldn't she just be honest with me?! Why couldn't we just talk about this?!

But, maybe if I hadn't been so aggressive, we could have talked about it. Maybe I should have just given her space like she wanted. Like I had for all those years. Maybe that was the right thing to do. I mean, she was happy now, right? She said she was, and she seemed like she was finally feeling better.

But then, if she was feeling better, why would the mere mention of whatever went on back then set her off so quickly?! It was bullshit! How could she claim to be happy when she was so clearly traumatized?! And me, being the fuck up I am, still couldn't get her to be honest!

But, she was traumatized. Trauma is so hard to live with, and once it gets a hold of you, it clings on. I'm not a psychological professional. I couldn't walk her through that. If anything, I probably made it worse by pushing so hard. How could I be so insensitive? So selfish?

But, I wasn't just doing it for myself! I wanted to help her! She had to understand that, so why push me away?! I'd been vulnerable around her! I'd let her see every one of my weaknesses! I trusted her! She said she trusted me, but then why wouldn't she actually trust me with anything?!

And what was with that last comment of hers?! 'I don't know what life as a woman means?!' What the fuck does that even mean?! Whether or not that's true, (and I'm inclined to say it's not,) what does that have to do with anything?! I'm trying to help you, asshole! I'm just trying to do for you what you did for me!

And I fucked it up…

And she made it impossible!

"Fuck!" I finally shouted, "Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!"

I walked into the living room and punched the back of the couch, pain reverberating up my knuckles.

"What's your fucking problem?!"

I sat down, drawing my knees up to my chest, my breathing ragged. Then, I sat there in silence for a moment…

"Why do I fuck everything up…?"

Then the tears came. I began sobbing as my emotional barriers broke down. Anna was my lifeline whenever I felt like this, and I was cut off. I looked over, and saw Watson still sitting on the pillow, looking my way with his black stitched eyes. So, I grabbed him and held him to my shaking chest. I squeezed him tight, and let my emotions out. I'd cried more in the last four days than I had in the last four years, and, there I was, crying again. It was cathartic, but… this time felt worse than the others. I felt so lonely. I wanted to talk to someone. I wanted someone to hold me and tell me everything was gonna be okay. But there wasn't anyone. It was just me and my little stuffed sheep in a big, empty house.

Outside, lightning cracked across the sky, the loud boom making me jump. The skys had opened up and the storm had cut loose. And I just hugged Watson to my chest and cried, the sound of splattering rain and rumbling thunder almost drowning out my sobs. I probably sat there like that for at least fifteen minutes. Eventually, I remembered the plates on the table, and that I'd have to wash those. Begrudgingly, I got up and grabbed them, taking the dishes to the sink. I sniffled as I scrubbed the pots and washed the plates. When Anna cooked for me, I did the dishes so she wouldn't have to. This time, I did the cooking, and she'd left me with the dishes. Where's the justice in that? I realize that's a petty thing to get hung up on, but, frankly, I felt like I deserved some pettiness after everything that'd happened that night.

With that done, I went back to fretting. I paced back and forth from the kitchen, to the dining room, to the living room, and back, my mood and thoughts continuing to swing from anger to sadness like a pendulum. I'd sit at the counter, then the table, then on the couch hugging Watson. This cycle went on for about half an hour. I realized my crying meant my makeup was running again, so I went to wipe it off, again, before resuming my fretting. Eventually, I realized I needed to talk to someone, because I absolutely wasn't gonna calm down if left to my own devices. I wanted to talk to Anna. God, I wanted to talk to Anna. I wanted to talk to normal Anna, and hear her gentle voice explain what was going on and offer me reassurances. I want to talk to current Anna and work through this stupid mess. But I couldn't. I typed out a text to her, asking if we could just talk. My thumb hovered over the send button. I thought about it. I really thought about it. Then I deleted the whole thing.

If I couldn't talk to Anna, I'd go to someone else I could trust. I messaged my mom, and asked if she was up. She got back to me a minute later, saying she was and asking what was going on. So I told her everything about our fight, and what I said, and what Anna said, leaving out the part about me being trans. That particular heavy conversation could happen later. And, I waited. I watched the three dots blink over and over as she typed, before her response finally showed up;

Mom:

Oh sweetie. I'm sorry you guys are having a fight. I don't remember you two ever getting into one before. I can't imagine what could have happened to make her so defensive, but I don't think you did anything wrong. And I have no idea what the "being a woman" comment she made meant. I guess my best advice would be to give her space, since that's what she said she wants. I'm sure she'll come around. But, more importantly, I think you should trust your own feelings. She's your friend and you know her better than I do. Go with your heart.

I love you, Sophie

I thanked my mom, and returned her love, but her answer left me wondering. Go with my heart, huh. I appreciated her faith in me, but that was exactly the problem; I didn't know how I felt. I was back and forth between blaming Anna for being unreasonable and keeping me at arms length, and blaming myself for being pushy and selfish.

But, my mom was right about something else; this was the first time we'd ever fought. Sure, we'd had disagreements over the years, but we'd always sorted them out quickly, without either of us getting confrontational. This was the first time we'd ever gotten so upset with one another. It wasn't worth it, whichever one of us was at fault. Maybe we both were. What an ugly, stupid mess…

I still couldn't decide what to do. And then I fell into another bad habit of mine; I replayed our conversation in my head. Whenever I'd get into a fight with someone, it seemed to happen. I heard our words over and over, and hers cut me, over and over. And, with that pain renewed, I started crying again. I curled up on the couch with Watson in my arms and cried, again. I didn't want this… I didn't want to fight with Anna. I didn't want to hurt her. But… I didn't want her to shove me away, either. The things she'd said to me… The way she'd looked at me… The way I hadn't listened to her… It all hurt. It hurt so much. It hurt more than anything that'd happened to me in the last four days, and that's saying a lot.

I found myself stuck in that spiral of guilt and frustration and self pity. My thoughts and emotions were like quicksand, slowly pulling me under, and the harder I fought, the deeper I sank. I was only snapped out of that trance by the buzzing of my phone by my side. I wiped my eyes and sniffled, picking it up to see who it was. To my surprise, it was a message from my dad. Whether my mom had told him to reach out to me, or if his timing was just perfect, I was just glad to hear from him, especially right now.

Dad:

Hey kiddo,

I heard about what happened to you. I'm sure your mom told you, but it's been hard for me. But, I'm not gonna let your sexual inversion syndrome break my spirit, and I know you won't either. I raised a tough kid, and I know you'll make it through this. And, whether you're my son or my daughter, I want you to know, your old man's always in your corner.

I love ya

It was those words of encouragement that broke me out of my spell. My dad was a man of few words, and he typically kept his feelings to himself. So, hearing all that from him genuinely meant a lot. Knowing he believed in me meant a lot. Knowing he loved me meant a lot. And, he was right! He did raise a tough kid! Sure, I wasn't into that macho stuff, but I'm a strong woman, and I wasn't gonna let this stupid fight beat me down. So, I thanked him, and told him how much I loved him. Then, I listened to my heart.

I wasn't gonna just text her; Anna and I were gonna talk this out like adults. Like we talked out all our disagreements. I went to my contacts list and went to Anna, pressing the call button. The phone rang… and rang… and rang… then went to voicemail. Okay, well, maybe she was just away from her phone. Maybe she was taking a bath or something. People do that when they're stressed. So, I decided to wait. I waited ten minutes. Ten agonizingly long minutes. I listened to the storm outside and tried to keep myself calm as the seconds dragged on, and on, and on. And then I called again. More ringing… and ringing… and ringing… and voicemail. 

Okay, so she was ignoring my calls. I was beginning to get irritated, but I'd give her one more chance. Third time's the charm, right? So I waited another five minutes. The clock ticked on so slowly, I would have sworn it was broken, but my phone assured me it wasn't. I paced around the living room, my hands balled into fists, my nails digging into my palms. It was only 10:30. There was no way she'd be asleep yet, even if she had gotten up early. So, after another five minutes, I called again. Ring… ring… ring… voicemail…

Okay, fuck it! If she's gonna be immature about this, then I get to be immature! If she wasn't gonna pick up the damn phone tonight, there was nothing else I could do! So, I did what every dysfunctional, immature adult does when they can't deal with their problems; turn to liquor! I went to the cabinet where I'd put that shitty graduation vodka, and grabbed a tacky shot glass I'd won as a prize at a Dave N' Busters. Shots would fix my problems, for sure! And I had a system to work with! I'd correlated the number of shots with associated levels of intoxication. One shot would loosen me up. Two would get me chatty and quiet my inhibitions. Three shots were enough to make me forget my troubles and lose myself in some music. Four shots were for when I wanted to get stupid. This was a three shots kinda situation.

So, I poured one glass and knocked back the bitter liquid. It burned going down, heating my throat and chest. I didn't mind the taste so much as the feeling, but whatever. I poured another and tipped it back. Then I choked down the third with a gasp. I put the bottle and glass up, and I was already starting to feel it. Only… there was a problem. See, my foolproof system was designed for a 5'11", 175-ish lbs man named James. It was not designed for a 5'6", 147 lbs woman named Sophie. In my emotionally fried state, I'd failed to account for the significant change in my physiology, and, well… three shots was enough to get Sophie well past the point of stupid drunk.

The next forty minutes were a blur to me. I know I called Anna, and I actually left a message that time. I don't remember what I said, but I remember some yelling and a lot of whimpering. I'm pretty sure I cried some more. I don't think I threw up, I'd probably remember that. By 11:30, I'd regained enough lucidity that I had a clear goal in mind. When I was sober, I wanted to talk to Anna. When I was drunk, I needed to talk to her, like my life depended on it. And if she wasn't gonna pick up the phone, then I'd just have to go to her place. Sober, I probably wouldn't have worked up the nerve to go, and I wouldn't have wanted to brave the storm outside. Drunk, the dutch courage inspired me and the absence of reason assured me it'd be fine.

I was, fortunately, cognizant enough to realize I was in no state to be driving. So, I called an Uber, and threw on a cardigan for the rain. Now, you're probably thinking; "But Sophie, cardigans aren't waterproof!" And you'd be right. But, at the time, the thought process was; cardigan equals jacket, and jacket equals solution to rain. And that's why it's important to try and have at least one sober person around to babysit. So I grabbed my purse, phone, and keys, and waited for my Uber. A few minutes later, my phone told me my ride was close, so I stepped outside into the downpour and locked the door behind me. Unfortunately for me, my driver turned down the wrong street at first. I had already locked the door, so I decided I should just wait in the rain. A minute later, by the time the little green Ford Fiesta pulled up in front of my house, I was soaked. My hair was stuck to my neck, and you could see my bra through my blouse. I begrudgingly tried to pay this no mind as I got into the car.

My driver was a young guy by the name of Carlos. He was a college age kid with a letterman jacket and the beginnings of a moustache he clearly couldn't grow well. I told him the destination's address and we were on our way. By that point, I was definitely feeling "sad drunk," but Carlos was a chatty fellow, and he talked with me as he drove;

"Hey, so, uh, I hope you don't mind me saying this, but you're in quite a state. What's got you out in a storm like this?"

"I'm havin' a fight…"

"We talkin' a lover's quarrel?"

"Somethin' like that…" I answered absentmindedly.

"Well, I hope you don't mind me saying so, but whoever this guy is, he's some kinda asshole for leaving you stuck in the rain."

"Is'sa girl…" I mumbled.

"Ahhh," he said, shooting me a knowing glance. "Women, amirite?"

"Pffft… Yeah…"

The irony was completely lost on me.

"Well, I'm sure you two'll sort it out. If not, always plenty of fish in the sea, right?"

"Nuh-uh… She's… special…" I whimpered, staring down at my lap and my soaked skirt.

"Well then, you should tell her how you feel! Speak your mind, you know?"

"I can't… I mean… we're jus' fren's…"

"Riiiiiight," he said sardonically. "That's why you're going over to her place in the middle of the night during a rainstorm."

"Huh? Wa's that suppos' ta mean?"

"Haha! You'll figure it out."

"Hrrrmmm…" I pouted. "You're a weird guy, Carlos…"

"You say that like it's a bad thing!"

"Nah…" I mused. "Weird's good…"

A minute later, we arrived at Anna's apartment complex. The total came out to $15, but Carlos had lifted my spirits, and I felt like giving a generous tip of an extra $20. I handed him the bill and stepped out of the car. I was just getting ready to leave when he called out to me;

"Uh, hey lady! You just handed me a fifty."

I looked at him quizzically, and then back at the bill.

"Ahhh! It's all the same!"

It was not the same. I should not have given the nice man $50.

"Well, if you say so. Thanks, and good luck with your lady friend!" he said, waving to me.

"Thanks Carlos! You're alright!" I called back as he drove off into the night.

With that send off, still being beaten down by the rain, I stared down Anna's building. Now, sober Sophie would have taken the elevator. But drunk Sophie? Drunk Sophie saw the stairs and thought she could use some exercise. Miraculously, I managed to make it to the second floor without issue. Unfortunately, halfway up the flight to the third floor, my foot slipped on the wet concrete, sending me careening forward. When I fell, I smashed my shin into the stair in front of me. At that moment, I reflexively yelled the word "fuck" so loudly at least three dogs in the surrounding neighborhoods started barking. The pain shot through me, and the skin scraped badly enough that a thin trickle of blood ran down my calf. Embarrassed and hoping to avoid the scorn I definitely deserved from the tenants for that outburst, I quickly hobbled to apartment 301.

I took a deep breath, gathering my courage. I rang the doorbell and waited. This was it! I was gonna speak my mind! I was gonna get Anna to open up to me! 

A few moments passed. No response. I knocked on the door. My resolve was building! I was gonna tell her how I really felt! I was gonna tell her how upset I was! I was gonna set things straight! I was gonna-!

The door opened a crack. On the other side was Anna, silhouetted in the dark room. Her eyes were downcast. She looked heartbroken. Her eyelids were puffy, and she had clearly been crying. I don't think I'd ever seen her look so small. Her voice came as a soft, shameful whisper.

"Hey… Sophie…"

I was gonna tell her how sorry I was for hurting her…

"Hey…"

She looked up at me. Her eyes quickly widened, clearly shocked and distressed by the state I was in. Her voice was suddenly not so quiet;

"Jesus Christ! Are you drunk?!"

"Yeah…" I mumbled, averting my gaze and staring at my feet.

"Oh my god! Get in here!" she demanded, grabbing my wrist and yanking me through the door, shutting it behind me.

The room was dim, the only lights coming from above the counter, a lamp in the corner, and the occasional flashes of lightning. Anna pulled my soaking wet cardigan off my shoulders and draped it over a chair.

"Wait here a second…"

She left for the linen closet, returning with a towel. Wordlessly, she wrapped it around me like a shawl, rubbing my damp clothes and wet hair down.

"Go sit on the couch. I'm gonna get you something to eat."

"You don't have to-"

"Sit on the couch."

"Okay…"

So I obliged, obediently sitting down and staring at my legs with embarrassment. I think I was setting a new record for 'how stupid can I look in front of my best friend.' A minute later, she came back from the kitchen holding a plate with what looked like a quarter of a loaf of sourdough bread and a glass of water.

"Eat this bread and drink the water. You'll feel better."

"But I already ate carbs…"

"Oh my god, Sophie, just eat the bread!"

"IwillI'msorry!"

She left for the kitchen again, and I bit off a bite of the chewy bread. I heard her rummaging through a cabinet, and eventually one of the still packed boxes. I called out to her;

"So… Can we talk…?"

"Once you've sobered up," she said, standing up with a kettle in her hand. "I'm not having this conversation with you when you're drunk. I'm putting some tea on. We're gonna be here a while…"

I nodded and took a sip of water, followed by another bite of the bread. It was really good bread, too, I noted. A minute later, Anna came back to the couch. She pressed the back of her hand against my forehead.

"God, you're freezing! Here…"

She grabbed a throw blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over my shoulders.

"Thank you…"

I shifted in my seat, and a sudden jolt of pain shot from my right shin, causing me to wince. Anna glanced down and saw my bloody leg.

"Holy shit! How did you manage that?!"

"I tripped on the stairs…"

"Why did you take the stairs in the rain?!"

"I dunno…" I mumbled.

Anna simply sighed irritatedly, walking back into the kitchen. She returned with a small bandage, a couple paper towels, and some rubbing alcohol. She bent down, kneeling next to my leg.

"This is gonna sting."

I nodded, gritting my teeth. I couldn't stifle a hiss as she cleaned the wound, the sharp pain shooting straight up my leg. As she tended to the injury, she smirked;

"I thought I heard a dying animal out there. Guess that was you."

I just blushed. I don't think I could have made a bigger fool of myself if I'd tried. She stuck the bandage over my scrape and stood up to go wash her hands. When she got back, she sat down on the loveseat adjacent to the couch. We were silent for a bit. An awkward tension hung in the air as I ate and tried to soak up the alcohol in my system. I just listened to the monsoon outside, before I finally asked;

"Anna… are… are you mad at me…?"

She sighed, looking at me with an expression somewhere between frustration and sympathy.

"No, Sophie, I'm not mad at you. I am mad that you tried to drink your problems away, went out in the middle of the night during a storm drunk off your ass, and that you showed up at my door half wasted and bleeding. You've got to take better care of yourself!"

"I know… I'm sorry… I didn't mean to get so drunk… the rest was… well…"

Anna just sighed again;

"It's not all your fault… I'm part of the reason you ended up like this…"

"Anna…"

We were both quiet for a bit after that. I kept eating and drinking the water, and Anna watched me like a parent looking after a helpless child. Eventually, she laughed;

"Heh… You're lucky I decided to stop by my favorite bakery on the way back from Portland. If I hadn't, you'd be eating some shitty slices of white bread."

I looked at her somewhat urgently;

"But, wait, I don't wanna take your favorite bread!"

Anna shot me a flat, unamused expression;

"Sophie. I want you to eat the bread. So; Eat. The. Bread."

"Yes ma'am…"

So we went back to the silence and eating. Anna leaned on the arm of the loveseat and watched me closely. I would occasionally glance her way, only to briefly lock eyes before I would look away again, blushing. As I almost finished the bread, Anna smiled and chortled;

"Honestly, what would you do without me?"

I looked at her sheepishly,

"Be drunk, and wet, and bleeding?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's all true."

I stared back at my lap, chewing on another bite of bread for a moment, before glancing to Anna's right. Next to her, on the other cushion of the loveseat, I recognized a certain black fluffball.

"Were you cuddling with Winston and crying earlier…?"

Anna rested her chin on the arm of her seat, looking at me quizzically.

"What gave it away?"

"I guess we have similar coping methods," I replied, offering a melancholic smile.

"Heh… What a mess…"

We sat in silence again, the downpour outside the only noise until the kettle began to whistle. Anna got up to pour us both some tea, and I ate the last bite of the bread. I waited in the dark living room, resting my head against a pillow. I closed my eyes and tried to relax. It was probably about a quarter past midnight by then, and my buzz had mostly faded. My head was clear, and I was starting to get anxious. There was a lot I wanted to say, but fretting about it wouldn't help anyone. So, I tried to calm myself. I listened to the noises around me. The splattering of raindrops outside. The sounds of Anna moving in the kitchen. The occasional low roar of thunder. My own breathing. Despite everything that'd happened, the atmosphere was utterly tranquil. I probably could have fallen asleep were I not so focused on clearing the air.

A couple minutes later, Anna returned with two teacups, setting one down in front of me on the coffee table. I opened my eyes and offered a smile;

"Thanks."

She nodded wordlessly and sat herself back down on the loveseat, before turning to me with a somewhat uneasy look.

"So… are you feeling better?"

"Yeah, I am. Thank you."

"Good…"

Anna inhaled deeply, letting out a drawn out breath to steady herself;

"Alright… let's talk."

Yet, despite saying that, Anna couldn't look me in the eye. Her face was riddled with guilt, and every time she'd try to say something, she seemed to wince, failing to find the right words. So, I started our talk, myself;

"Look, Anna, I just… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten upset with you earlier. I shouldn't have pushed you, and I should have respected your boundaries. If what happened in the past is something you're not comfortable talking about, I need to put my own feelings aside and accept that. I'm sorry for trying to force myself into a private part of your life. And you're right; I don't know a lot about being a woman. I don't know what you've been through, and imposing my own beliefs on you was wrong. I was being rude, and selfish, and immature, and I… I'm so sorry. I don't ever want to hurt you, and I'm sorry…"

Anna looked at me with an uncertain, sorrowful expression.

"Sophie… no…"

"What do you-?"

"You don't have anything to apologize for. I'm the one who needs to apologize. If this was the first time what happened back then came up, then, yeah, you shouldn't have reacted the way you did. But it wasn't. I've been blowing you off for years when I should have just told you from the start. I do trust you, and I should have been honest and open with you of all people, but I wasn't. I was scared back then, and I'd told myself I was finally over this, but I'm clearly not. And… you were right. You've trusted me implicitly, and let me know everything that's ever hurt you, but I shut you out. I told you to let me help you, but wouldn't let you help me. I told you to not try and carry all your burdens by yourself, but I tried to do exactly that. I asked you to put all your faith in me, but I offered you none in return. I've been such a hypocrite… 

And you shouldn't accept my 'woman' comment, either. Maybe you haven't lived life as a woman for long, but you know plenty about a woman's feelings. I was out of line, and it was a stupid, wrong thing to say. And, to top it all off, I didn't even pick up when you called earlier, even though this mess was my fault. I'm the one that was being immature and selfish. I fucked up, Sophie, and I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry…"

"Anna… It's okay. You don't have to apologize."

Anna looked at me sympathetically, shaking her head;

"No, Sophie, it's not okay. I've been such an asshole tonight. I care about you, but I treated you like shit. I didn't ever want to hurt you either, but I did, and what's worse, I've known I was hurting you for a long time."

"What are you talking about?"

"I know you've worried about me as much as I have you, but, if I had just been honest with you in the first place, maybe you wouldn't have had to."

"You can't know that for certain. And besides, I don't blame you for having things you're not comfortable talking about."

"Maybe not, but I still should have just been open with you, like you've always been with me. I should have just told you what happened. I let that shit control my life for years. I told myself I'd finally moved on, but I'm still letting it hurt me, and I'm done. I'm not letting this trauma rule over me, and there's no fucking way I'm gonna let it get between you and me. I refuse to let it damage our relationship. So I'm not gonna shut you out anymore. I'll tell you everything, like I should have five years ago. Do you still want to know?"

"Anna, of course I do. I'm here for you."

She looked at me, the corners of her lips turning up into a bittersweet smile;

"I know… I've always known, but I still pushed you away like a stupid child, and-!"

"Anna, it's okay! No matter what happened in the past, we're here now. You're willing to talk to me, and I'm willing to listen, and that's what matters, right?"

"Yeah, you're right…"

"You're always telling me not to be so hard on myself. Well, that goes for you, too. You don't have to be angry with yourself on my behalf. It's gonna be okay. I'm alright, and I'm gonna be here for you no matter what."

Blinking away tear droplets, Anna nodded quietly;

"Okay… Thank you."

And, with our conflict resolved, Anna readied herself to tell me everything…