Monday after American History, Linda and I went to the student union to talk some more. We didn’t have long before Linda had to get to her next class.

“Did you have a chance to start that research?” she asked.

“We did a lot of research yesterday, me and Emily and Darrell,” I said, “but I didn’t get around to starting to research transsexuals. I spent most of the afternoon working on jekyllase: where it came from, how it affects different people, how psychiatrists and psychologists are using it for therapy and research, that kind of thing.”

“Sounds interesting. Did you read about anybody else like you?”

“No, none of the articles I found mentioned anybody who changes sex under the influence. There were some articles in journals our library doesn’t have, though, so I’m going to talk to a librarian today about requesting copies of those from another library.”

After Linda hurried off to her next class, I went to the library and filed my interlibrary loan article requests for three more jekyllase articles from psychology and neurology journals, and then went to the card catalog and the Reader’s Guide to research transsexuals. The card catalog had nothing, but I found a few articles, most of which were in academic journals our library didn’t have. I gathered up the couple of magazines we did have and took them to a study carrel. One of them had a review of The Christine Jorgensen Story, a film version of her autobiography, which had apparently just been released a few months ago — I hadn’t heard of it, and it seemed it hadn’t played in a lot of theaters. The other article was a few years older, and also mentioned Ms. Jorgensen in passing, though it focused on some more recently-transitioning transsexuals, several of whom didn’t pass as well as she did. After I’d read the articles, feeling a little queasy, I went to the psychology section and pulled out maybe twenty or thirty books, checking each one’s index for the term “transsexual.” One of them had a couple of pages about it, and another a brief mention in a section on homosexuality.

I don’t want to say anything bad about the people who wrote those books and articles — they were acting in good faith, as far as I know, as were the sources they interviewed — but to say they were generalizing from insufficient data would be an understatement. They had little idea of what we now know about the spectrum of transgender identities, or the orthogonality of gender and orientation. One of them seemed to think transsexuals were a type of homosexual; another pointed out that some didn’t seem to be attracted to men until after they transitioned. (None mentioned what we now call trans men, and they regarded trans lesbians as a rare anomaly, where nowadays they seem to be roughly half of trans women.)

And of course, they all began with the assumption that transsexuals, like homosexuals, were mentally ill — less severely than, say, schizophrenics, who weren’t capable of taking care of themselves and had to be institutionalized, but badly enough they needed to be in psychotherapy until and unless the symptoms went away.

It was all pretty terrifying, and some of the photos of post-op transsexuals were, as Linda had hinted, not encouraging. I didn’t want to think about myself as mentally ill. And Jennifer was, if anything, healthier than me.

I hurried to my next class. I’d missed lunch. For the first fifteen or twenty minutes of class, I couldn’t concentrate on the lecture, I was worrying about what I’d read and my own mental health. Did I need to see a psychiatrist? Was I a transsexual, or “just” a homosexual, or neither — did Jennifer mean something completely different?

Eventually I managed to distract myself with the lecture, and with hurrying to my next class. At supper, I didn’t look for friends to sit with, but sat down in a secluded corner behind some potted plants with my thoughts.

After a while, I decided I needed Jennifer’s help to figure this out. I needed a fresh perspective, and while I planned to talk to Emily and Linda about it, Jennifer was the one who could help the most. It had already been almost forty-eight hours since my last dose of jekyllase wore off Saturday evening, but I wanted to make some preparations before taking it again, and I didn’t want to take it so late in the evening that Jennifer only had a couple of hours to think about the problem (and maybe discuss it with Cynthia or Emily) before she’d need to get to bed. I’d left the library in a hurry when I realized how late it was, so I hadn’t copied those articles or checked out those books that I’d found. The library was open for another hour that evening, so I went back after supper, copied the articles, checked out those books, dug through another ten or twenty psychology books, finding one more brief passage about a transsexual patient, and filed an interlibrary loan request for articles in journals our library didn’t have, plus Christine Jorgensen: A Personal Biography.

In reading those passages about transsexuality, most of which mentioned it briefly in the context of homosexuality, I’d run across the term “lesbian” (which was often capitalized in those days, due to its origin from a place-name) and some other more archaic terms for girls who like girls. I made a note to mention them to Emily or Cynthia when I saw them.

I reluctantly resolved to wait until Tuesday evening just after class to take jekyllase again. Then Jennifer could do her own research and think about the problem all evening.

As I was leaving the dining hall, Darrell and Emily saw me, and Darrell waved at me. I didn’t feel like talking with them right then, but I didn’t want to be rude, so I waved back, and walked over to their table.

“Have you had a chance to do any more research?” Darrell asked. “We should get together sometime to talk about what we’ve learned.”

Emily smiled nervously. “I, um, I found something in one of the books I checked out that might be helpful. If you want to stop by my dorm sometime I can give it to you.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Um, yeah, we can meet up sometime. Maybe in the common room of Carew Hall?”

“Sounds good,” Darrell said. “Now, or later in the week?”

“We’ll probably have more information to share if we wait a few days,” I said. “I haven’t finished looking through all the books I checked out.”

“Me either,” Emily said.

“I was actually planning to let Jennifer do some of the research,” I said. “Get her fresh perspective. Maybe you two would get some benefit from letting your hydes read what you’ve checked out and think about it, maybe talk with each other about it.”

“Umm, I’m actually kind of hoping to come to some conclusion before I take jekyllase again,” Darrell said. “I’m not sure... I mean, I enjoyed that time Taka got to show off at pinball, but I’m not sure it’s worth it. I want to hear what you’ve found out about jekyllase before I take it again.”

“All right,” I said. “Well, the gist is that some sources say it’s safe to take it every forty-eight hours, others say you should wait as much as a week between doses. I’m planning to take it tomorrow afternoon, about three days after my last dose. If you want to wait until the weekend —”

“No, it’s already well over a week for me. What about you, Emily?”

“I took it around the same time Scott did, remember? Saturday morning.”

Darrell frowned, looking at Emily. “I don’t think you should use it again until Saturday, then.”

I shrugged. “Well, I’m going to chance it. It should be safe. One of the studies I read about administered it to the volunteers every three or four days, and nobody came out of that study permanently changed into their hyde.”

Darrell looked back at me. “All right. If you’re going to use it tomorrow, I won’t do it until Wednesday at the earliest, just in case Taka and Jennifer might run into each other... And I don’t think you and I should take it at the same time, either,” he said to Emily. “I don’t think Taka and Cynthia get along that well.”

“Um, maybe you’re right,” she said.

“See you tomorrow,” I said. I wanted to tell Emily the little bit I’d found out about lesbianism in the course of my research, but I didn’t want to say it in front of Darrell.

After I returned to the dorm, I spent some time reading the other psychology books I’d neglected in favor of the ones that had a little to say about transsexuality, and some time studying for classes, and shared a joint with Randall. That helped me relax, but not so much that I talked about what I was thinking with him.

---

Tuesday after my last class, I hurried back to the dorm, planning to eat a peanut butter sandwich in the room rather than go to the dining hall for supper. Randall was out, so I wasted no time undressing and taking jekyllase.

While I got dressed, I thought about whether I really wanted to do what Scott had planned for me. I should give him my fresh perspective on the articles he’d photocopied and the books he’d checked out, but I didn’t get to be me often enough that I could waste time just sitting around the dorm. I wanted to be out and about, among friends or at least other people. Well, there was no reason I couldn’t do both. I gathered up the stack of journal articles and a couple of the books and started for the dining hall. Thinking about how good my lungs felt, how easy it was to breathe now, I giggled and ran the rest of the way. Even though I was more overweight for my height than Scott was, I didn’t get out of breath running that distance like he would have.

Student IDs didn’t have photos on them in those days, at least at Newcomen College, and the girl at the register didn’t notice Scott’s name on my ID when I briefly flashed it at her. I got my tray and looked around for Emily. She was sitting with Darrell, as usual, and I made my way over to their table.

“Hi!” I said. “How are you guys doing?”

“Pretty well,” Emily said, not meeting my gaze. “You brought those books...? You want to talk about the research now?”

“Sure,” I said. “Scott wanted to wait until later, but I don’t see why.”

Darrell shrugged. “I don’t mind, but I guess we’d have more stuff to share if we wait until we’ve done more research. What have you got?”

In between bites of food I told them everything I’d learned about jekyllase, repression, dissociation, and so forth. I didn’t mention our other line of research, but said: “...Oh, and there’s some other stuff I want to ask Emily about, later. Girl stuff.”

“Oh,” Darrell said, and blushed. “Well, let me tell you what I’ve found out, and I’ll leave you two to talk amongst yourselves.”

So Darrell shared the fruits of his research, which included some stuff about what we now call Dissociative Identity Disorder. “There aren’t many people like that,” he said. “And in most cases what one personality does and says, another one can’t remember. Not like people using jekyllase. There are some cases where the people’s memories are continuous, but the personality changes; only some psychologists don’t think that’s the same thing at all...”

Emily told us what she’d learned, which wasn’t much in addition to what Darrell and I had shared. After that, Darrell kissed Emily goodbye, and said he’d see her tomorrow.

“And... hey, don’t let her talk you into taking jekyllase again too soon, okay?”

“I can make my own decisions,” Emily said suddenly. And then, “But yeah, I’m not going to take it again before Saturday. Better safe than sorry.”

Darrell looked taken aback, but he said bye and left. After he was gone, Emily looked at me for a moment and then looked away.

“Hey,” I said. “I found out some stuff.”

“Yeah, I found out some things too.”

“So, you want to go first?”

“No — only — well, I should tell you what I was going to tell Scott. Something I found in one of the books I checked out... see, there’s a condition called transsexuality...”

“Yeah, Scott’s been doing a lot of research on it,” I said, and gestured to the stack of papers and books I’d brought with me. “He’s terrified that he might be a transsexual.”

“And you aren’t?”

“I think those books are wrong,” I said dismissively. “Sure, I enjoy being a girl, and Scott likes being me, but he’s not disgusted with being a man like those transsexuals we read about. I think what’s going on with us is more complicated than that. Or maybe simpler. I don’t buy that everybody who isn’t completely masculine or feminine is crazy, either.”

“Interesting,” she said in a low voice, glancing around to see if anyone was overhearing us. I took the hint and lowered my voice.

“Oh, and I found out something relevant to your thing, too. Girls who like girls are called sapphists, tribades, or Lesbians — or just female homosexuals. That sounds kind of clinical, though, like it’s a mental illness, and I don’t buy that either. I didn’t see much about them, though; mostly the books I have talk about guys who like guys and how freaky that is and speculate about why.”

“Oh, good,” she said with a sigh of relief. “I... yeah, I saw some of that in my reading too. Mostly they use the word ‘Lesbian’ nowadays. There are plenty of psychologists who think they’re crazy, but some don’t.” I noticed she’d said “they” and not “we.” After a few moments she continued: “And then there are what are called bisexuals... people who are attracted to both men and women. I think that must be what I am, because even after being Cynthia a few times and starting to notice girls like that... and realizing I’d already felt attracted to girls a few times before and suppressed it... I still like Darrell. I don’t want to hurt him. But... I remember how Cynthia and you were together, and I want to be her so I can be with you and not feel guilty.”

“Let’s look forward to Saturday, then,” I said. “I like you, too, not just Cynthia. But I don’t want to break you and Darrell up.”

“Thanks. Yeah, let’s plan on meeting Saturday... do you want to both take jekyllase at about the same time, maybe twenty minutes before we meet up?”

“So I’ll take it at my dorm and get dressed, and come over and meet Cynthia after you’ve had time to change into her?”

“Yeah. I think that would be best.”

“Meanwhile, I think Scott wants me to read these books and articles, so I’d better do that before I go to bed. Even though I remember reading them as Scott. Maybe something new will jump out at me.”

“Do you want to come by my room and get that other book...?”

“Sure, that might help.”

We left the dining hall and went to Utterson Hall and up to Emily and Alice’s room. Alice was busy studying and said a distracted hi to us. I wondered what was going on between Alice, Gary and Tabitha, but didn’t want to ask.

Emily gave me the book she’d mentioned. “Be sure to return it soon,” she said. “I don’t want an overdue book on my card.”

“Of course,” I said. “Thanks.”

I went back to Carew Hall and read, or re-read, all the articles and book passages. It only took a little over an hour; I read faster than Scott, maybe because I wasn’t as nervous about what I was reading — just a little annoyed. The one I’d gotten from Emily didn’t have much new, and it was written by a guy who thought psychotherapy was better for transsexuals than sex reassignment surgery, which was just pandering to their delusion... I would have thrown it at the wall if it weren’t a library book.

After I finished reading, I wrote down my thoughts in the back of Scott’s history notebook; I’d noticed that we could remember each other’s actions and words very clearly, but not always each other’s thoughts and motivations.

Randall returned to the dorm while I was doing that.

“Hi, Jennifer,” he said. “You going out?”

“No, I had supper with Darrell and Emily, and I’ve been doing some studying since then.”

“Really? Like I delegate my studying to Walter?”

“No, this is extracurricular... Scott’s already been studying plenty, but he wanted my fresh perspective on it.”

“What’s it about?”

I was about to tell him, but something made me hold back. “I’m not sure Scott would want me to tell you. Ask him if you want to know.”

“All right, suit yourself.”

I turned my back while he changed into pajamas, and a bit later I changed into Scott’s bathrobe. I made a note to buy a nice nightgown Saturday; I was tired of sleeping in that bathrobe.

I studied for Scott’s actual classes for a while after that, and then went to bed.