A Visit from Aunt Harriet
I sat on the toilet and pulled up my skirt. Even though I usually preferred to pull things down to use the toilet, this was a prairie skirt with a wide hem and I had on a full slip underneath. In any event, it was a bit chilly, and I didn't need to freeze to death in our unheated bathroom.
"Hurry up! I need to go, too!" yelled my sister, Jean.
"I just got in here!" I said. Such was life in a house with only one bathroom. We weren't a big family, but it seemed like someone was always using the bathroom or trying to run someone else out.
Since we lived in the country, had there been boys, they might have simply decided to go outside and seek relief in the bushes or behind a tree. But Dad was the only male in our house, so us girls--and Mom--were always in the can.
After relieving myself, wiping my butt, and washing my hands, I opened the door. Jean glared at me. "You took forev-- God, it stinks in here!"
"Like your poop smells any better," I said.
"Your slip's hangin' out," she said as she went into the can and slammed the door behind her.
"So's yours," I said, even though I didn't think she was wearing one under her miniskirt.
"Oh, crap, it is," she said from inside.
I grinned. She'd be in there awhile trying to adjust herself.
"Jean!"
"She's taking a dump, Mom!" I yelled toward the kitchen.
"Jean!" I swear Mom was deaf as a post, at least sometimes.
"She's--oh, never mind," I said out loud.
"What?" said Jean, apparently hearing me.
"Mom's calling you."
"Tell her I'm in the bathroom," Jean said.
"Jean!" Mom shouted again.
Jean passed gas, which echoed all over the bathroom. "I hope that's not as bad as it sounds," I said.
"At least it doesn't smell so bad," she said.
"That's what you think," I said.
"Jean!" shouted Mom again.
"She'll be out in a minute!" I shouted at Mom.
Mom came storming down the hall toward the bathroom. "Jean! Come out of there this instant."
"Can't, Mom, I'm in the middle of something!"
"What?" asked Mom.
"Can't you smell it?" I asked Mom.
"Smells like you, actually," she said to me.
"It is her," said Jean, just before she ripped off another fart.
"Very funny," I said. "Mine don't smell like that."
"No, yours are much worse," Mom said.
"See, Mom agrees with me--" I slapped Mom on the butt and then ran toward the kitchen before she could retaliate.
"Hurry up. Uncle Henry--I mean, Aunt Harriet--and the kids will be here in half an hour."
This was our first Thanksgiving since Uncle Henry's sex-change operation left him as Aunt Harriet. His wife, Aunt Ingrid, was actually part of our family, and they had divorced a few years earlier--allegedly after she caught him wearing her girdle. He got custody of the kids during holidays, however, and that meant he would be bringing them to visit us, since his own family had disowned him. We weren't thrilled with his decision, either, but his kids "accepted" it, for what that was worth.
I put on an apron and checked the turkey in the oven with a long fork. It still had a couple of hours to go. Jean came into the kitchen and slapped me on the butt. "That was from Mom." I pointed the fork at her and tried to pull up her skirt. She stepped back before I could get hold of anything.
"You want to start the casserole?" I asked Jean.
"I told Mom it could wait another hour. It doesn't take long and the turkey's got a while to go."
"Where's Ann?" I asked.
"She had to run to the store and get something." Ann was our oldest sister, and recently married. Still, she spent a lot of time at our house, especially since her husband was in the navy and had been gone for several months.
"Ann's not back yet?" asked Mom.
"Probably couldn't find an open store," I said.
"Ruth's is open today," said Mom. Ruth didn't celebrate Thanksgiving (or any other holiday), and sometimes made a lot of money keeping her convenience store open when the other stores were closed all day or open for just a few hours.
"I don't think Ruth has what Ann wants," Jean said. "She probably won't be back till after Aunt Harriet gets here."
"Oh, by the way, your Aunt Ingrid is coming, too."
"I hope they don't fight," I said.
"I don't think they will, at least, not in front of the children."
Aunt Harriet arrived about twenty minutes later. She was about fifty, nearly six foot tall, but very thin. She and Ingrid had had three kids: twin girls, Beth and Corrina, who were my age; and a boy, Chester, several years younger. Chester was tall, like his dad--mom, whatever--but not thin.
"Oh, I hear a car; that must be Mom," said Beth. I held my breath. Would Ingrid and Harriet have a fight like we'd heard they had a few months before the divorce?
"No, it's Ann," said Corrina, looking out the living-room window.
"Oh, your dad's with her," said Beth. I was surprised, as I thought Dad had gone to deliver meals from the senior center to the shut-ins.
"The delivery truck broke down, so we used Ann's car to deliver meals today. We only had to make four or five stops," he explained after we got settled in. "Is Ingrid coming?"
"She should be here before long," said Beth.
"I thought you were going to the store," I said to Ann.
"Oh, right," she said. "Ruth's has some cloth that Aunt Harriet might use to make a new skirt. Here you go."
"Thanks," said Aunt Harriet. Her voice was a bit deep but definitely feminine. "I love this pattern."
It was a mini-floral print that I wouldn't be caught dead in, nor would anyone my age. But women of Aunt Harriet's generation would probably look good in it. The dress she had on would have looked good on anyone.
"I like the dress you're wearing today. It's good for tall women," I said.
"This old thing?" Aunt Harriet laughed. "I got it a few months ago at a yard sale, just after the surgery. It is very comfortable."
We heard a car pull into the driveway. "It's Mom!" shouted Beth. She ran out the door. Corrina and I followed, then Aunt Harriet and Dad. Mom and Ann stayed in the house, perhaps to put all the fragile items away in case all hell broke loose. Chester was in the bathroom--probably because he realized he might not get a chance to get back in there anytime soon.
"Where's Chester?" asked Aunt Ingrid after seeing her daughters.
"In the bathroom," I said. "He probably realized he wouldn't get another chance today."
"Henry," she looked at her former husband. "Well, that dress looks good on you, I must admit."
"You're looking good, too," Harriet said. He was lying; Aunt Ingrid looked like someone going to a church social in the mid '50s. Polka-dot prints didn't look good on her. I didn't think they looked good on anyone.
We didn't say a lot during Thanksgiving dinner, but afterward, Aunt Ingrid and Aunt Harriet visited like old friends, maybe sisters. Conversations steered away from the divorce and the surgery. Chester was playing basketball, and Aunt Ingrid planned to watch a few of his games. I shuddered to think what would happen if Aunt Harriet went to a game, especially considering some of the redneck towns that Chester would be playing in. Aunt Ingrid had about an hour's drive to get home, so she left a little after nine in the evening.
After she was gone, Aunt Harriet and I were alone while the others went to visit in the living room. She looked at me and said, "So, when did you become a woman?"
"When I turned eighteen last summer," I said.
"You're dodging the question."
"What do you mean?" I asked, though I knew what she probably meant.
"If I recall correctly," she said, scratching her chin, "up until this time last year, you were a boy."
"I did what you did, only differently," I said.
"Harriet and Karen!" shouted Mom. "What are you doing?"
"Just cleaning up a bit. We'll be out in a minute," I said.
"I want to know how," Aunt Harriet said. "We'll talk about this later."
No, we won't, I said to myself.
Late that night, after everyone was asleep, I lit a small candle and went to my room, where Aunt Harriet was sleeping. My sisters were sharing a room, while Chester and his sisters and I were all bunking in the living room. I chanted a few words of an ancient gypsy language that even they didn't speak anymore, then blew the candle out. I then went to Mom and Dad's room and chanted a few more words over them, then went to the living room and chanted a few different words over my cousins. They would, if all things went well, have forgotten that Harriet ever was a man. They would think of him as their mother, and Aunt Ingrid as their aunt, and she would think of herself the same way.
And what about Ann? Well, who do you think changed me into a girl in the first place?
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