That Time of the Month

I laid on my bed, in a position as distinct from the fetal that I could manage. I arched my back, trying to stretch the muscles in my abdomen.

I had cramps.

Menstrual cramps.

Liz was happy to show me the ropes. I was not happy to see them.

In particular, she explained how a tampon worked. I didn't want to know.

It was humbling. The only embarrassment that I ever felt around my masculinity was being told to shave.

I suppose it was almost lucky of me to be so caught up in the physical distress of the situation that I had no time left for the mental aspect.

That's it then, right, I thought, laying half on and off my bed, blood rushing to my head. I guess I should start spelling it ‘Noelle’. I chuckled, my chuckle turning into a whimper, and my whimper turning into a laugh. Oh god, what a cursed thought.

The pain was just too constant. Not even a trusty NSAID worked.

Late one night, I woke up to particularly powerful aches. I needed to distract myself.

I paced around the living room, seeing the shadows cast by the full moon painting the floor with strange geometries and high contrasts.

I was chilly from the AC, and I decided to warm up outside. The front door creaked louder than I anticipated.

I stood on the patio, scanning the neighborhood. The houses looked like toys illuminated under a desk lamp. The quiet buzz of crickets with the occasional rumble of an engine permeated the air.

A warm breeze brushed my cheek.

I looked toward the sky.

I should check on Paul tomorrow, I thought to myself. I wondered if I’d be able to hear a howl. I smiled painfully at the thought.

The door lurched behind me, and my heart nearly burst from my chest. I turned around.

It was my father.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked quietly. I got a sense of deja vu, and I realized that I had heard the same words, in almost exactly the same voice before the Change—from my mother.

I nodded. “It just aches so bad,” I groaned.

“I’m still waiting on mine,” he sighed. “Hopefully it won’t be as bad.”

I squinted. “How do you do that?” I whispered.

“Do what?”

“Just… I… nevermind….” I said fruitlessly.

“Hey, hey, come on Pal, you can tell your old man,” he said warmly.

“Pft,” I let out. Hearing a woman talk like a dad would never get old. I realized he was still waiting for an answer, however. I bit my lip. “I just… you… you stopped being a man, just like that. You wear… women’s… clothes, and you just… like now, you aren’t repulsed by it,” I said, a lump in my throat.

He took a deep breath. “So that’s it, huh?”

I begged him with my eyes.

“I could tell you were… disappointed in me after the Change, but I didn’t realize it was this. I guess it makes sense, though,” he paused. “I’m sorry if I’ve let you down, Noel.”

“That’s not—no, I don’t mean it like—I just mean, I didn’t want to be a woman, but you gave it up so easily—you’re—you know… like, man-ness, or something,” I struggled. “And, I know that being a man isn’t—I know that men aren’t better than women, but… how..?” I trailed off.

“I don’t see myself as having given up anything,” he said seriously.

I swallowed, listening.

“After the Change, I was confused. I was scared. I felt like I wouldn’t be able to… live my life anymore. All the above, everything. And I felt like it was all tied to me being a man.

“But then I realized that the things that I actually wanted from life had nothing to do with what I had in my pants: stuff like providing for my family, spending time with my kids, loving my wife—well, the last part got a little weird, but that’s a different story,” he cackled.

He continued. “But that’s it. As long as I can do the things that are important to me, nothing else matters. My body is just… accessory.”

I opened my mouth, as if to reflexively rebut. But nothing came.

“I don’t know. That’s just how I am. Maybe you can gain some kind of insight from it,” he said, gently smiling. Then he continued. “But I get it, you wanted to be a professional weightlifter, and now that’s more difficult,” he said sarcastically.

“Yeah, totally,” I rolled my eyes. I shook my head. “Why does everyone I know feel the need to put jokes at the end of all the serious moments?”

“Sorry.”

I looked up. “No, I mean, I like it more that way, but it’s just… whatever,” I tried getting back on topic. “Thanks. I’ll… think about that,” I said, swallowing.

He nodded.

But there was something still eating at me. “But what about the clothes?”

“Is there something wrong with being stylish?” he joked.

I shrugged.

“Hey, and any time you want to talk, I’m here.”

You and everyone else, I thought snarkily. “Thanks,” I said plainly.

We chatted about some other random things. Eventually, I got sleepy enough to fight the pain, and I went inside.

My misery lasted eight days. I learned from Liz that was not normal for humans. It did have some kind of logic to it, I supposed, as if the entire cycle had just been scaled up. I prayed that was the case and that I wouldn’t have to deal with it for another several months.

Gabi was jealous. Apparently being an angel hadn’t changed anything for her in that regard. Jessica was similarly disgruntled at the fact her own timings hadn’t become more convenient, and the mechanisms had gotten even worse.

I took what my father said to heart. While I had no clue what I wanted from life, I knew what I wanted. I wanted to be a good person. I wanted to be comfortable. I wanted people to like me. Or rather, I wanted to not be explicitly off putting.

None of those things required being a man. I wasn’t sure how to accomplish the first goal, but the latter two seemed trivial for someone like me: essentially, wear good clothes and don’t smell.

And that’s what I did.