"OUT OF THE LAB"
By
Bill Olson
Copyright 1995 by William David Sherman Olson
I awoke, finding no one in the laboratory.
I was cold, my body naked. Upon searching the attic I was in, I discovered various apparel. The slacks and shirts were too bland and left me feeling lifeless, without joy. But the gown's beauty gave me energy. As I searched more, I found paintings of others dressed similarly, and the scenes indicated additional items would be necessary to ensure I would fit into this new world.
After I'd adorned myself with the typical jewelry and make-up, I felt tired and wished to lie down and sleep. That's when he returned -- the man of whom I had gotten only a dazed, blurry glimpse on that stormy night that seemed so long ago.
When he saw me, he threw a fit of terror. He began to beat me and throw things at me. I was afraid and felt pain from the blows. I ran into a large cold world, away from the only being I had ever known. At the time, I had no skill of language, but had I the word, I would've called him Father.
In the outside there was a biting drizzle, but it seemed to sooth me because the suffering I felt was like justice punishing my evil soul, for I must've been evil to be treated so mercilessly by he who begat me.
I roamed the streets until I saw other men. I wondered if they, too, had been banished by my father. So interested was I in who they were and why they were outside in the cold wetness that I never realized till later that they were dressed differently than myself: slacks formed to the narrow lengths of each leg, cloaks wrapped around their torsos and buttoned in front, and shoes without the narrow high heels. They certainly seemed to have an easier time walking than I.
When one fell from his horse, I approached him to offer assistance and comfort. Even in my state of naïveté and lack of education, I could see the man was injured, and I felt a kinship toward him, being in a state of sorrow and injury myself. But when I strutted up to him, he quickly rose to his feet, shouted "Faggot!" and ran off, shouting more words I have not to this day learned, but presume to be curses.
Eventually, my state of pain became one of determination. I returned to the laboratory and searched for my father, but was not able to find him. I did, however, find several books, one of which proved to be his journal. Over the next year, I learned to read, and the journal told the story of how he had created me from parts of men who had died.
Eventually I was able to track him down. I lured him to an icy mountain where I faced him near the edge of a cliff.
"Frankenstein," I said. "You must make me a woman.”
He shook his head: "I would need to find a suitable female who'd just died," he said. "It will take time.”
"No!" I said, correcting him. "Turn me into a woman!"
After some thought, he agreed.
And that, children, is how I came to be the woman I am today. Would you like some more milk and cookies?
THE END.
P.S., Tune in next week to find out if the kids will want more milk and cookies, or if little Gerd will opt to become little Gerta.
-- Minneapolis, Minnesota
1985