Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 746 by Angharad

“Do you, Simon Cameron take this … this … thing, to be your lawful wedded … thing, I suppose.”

I could almost see myself standing beside Simon, he was wearing full dress kilt and jacket, with sporran and sgian dubh. I was wearing that wedding dress, the one from my childhood fantasy and the priest, it wasn’t Marguerite, but some bloke who was referring to me as if I was –well some sort of freak.

I felt tearful and angry. Simon seemed to be ignoring his jibes. I was to be his bride, his bride thing according to this horrible priest. “Is she going to be Lady Cameron, after this farce?” asked the priest.

“Why, does it bother you?” asked Simon.

“Yeah, it’s hardly a woman is it?”

“Yes I am,” I practically screamed and with that I drew the dagger from Simon’s sock and plunged it into the chest of the priest, who promptly exploded, leaving red jelly dripping everywhere.

“You could have waited until he’d finished,” said Simon sighing.

“You could have protested at his disrespect to me,” I protested to my nearly husband.

“Why? I was going to kill him as soon as he’d finished.”

“You say the sweetest things, darling,” I said and kissed him.

“Only to you, Babes.” He licked some of the red jelly from his finger, “Hey, this is really quite good, red curate jelly,” he said, and we all laughed.

I was still laughing when I woke up, although the wetness around my eyes and down my cheeks meant that I’d been crying. I sat up in bed; it was two o’clock, these dreams were beginning to annoy me as well as tire me with loss of sleep. I would call Dr Thomas in the morning and see if she could fit me in to talk this stuff through.

I sat there trying to rationalise what was happening in my unconscious. As far as I was concerned, I was female and engaged to be married to Simon, who happily saw me as female, too. Legally, I was female and thus able to marry Simon, albeit after declaring my status to any priest who has the right to refuse to marry me if it offends their religious beliefs. I suppose that was a get out for any of the very conservative types who are generally homophobic as well, and see me as a gay man – yeah, a gay man with a vagina and breasts – like they all have (but only in Iran).

So I was female, a woman and other words of the same meaning. So what was the problem? I didn’t know, hence my need to speak with Dr Thomas. Would she be able to find out and deal with it?

I tried to think back – was it something in my childhood that was the problem? If it was it would have been my parents or their repressive religious beliefs, which I eventually managed to overcome, in my father’s case at least. My Mum died before I could really talk it through with her. I remembered her describing Stella and me as angels as she died. Even that was ironic – her ungodly child – an angel. I felt a tear drip down my cheek, was that the problem? An unresolved issue with my mother?

I tried to recall the two or three occasions when I’d had very real dreams, which had felt like I was awake and actually experiencing them; lucid dreaming they call it.

In one she had predicted I would be a mother to several children. Maybe she had got that bit right. In the other she had shown me the box of treasure under the bedroom floor. That was definitely provable. So had I actually resolved things with my dead mother? God knows. I mean when you’re dead, you’re dead – finite – end of story; aren’t you?

If one wasn’t, would my mother have a problem with me? Could be, I mean having me bonking in her previous bedroom with Simon, might be a bit much for any restless spirit. But then, if she accepted me as female, as her daughter, who else would I be making love to? Unless I was gay, and I think that might have been one twist too many for my mother.

Daddy seemed to cope with the idea of me and Simon being together, he gave us his blessings and he held on until I got there, when he died. I think although he was a prize bastard early on, his stroke changed him–in my case, for the better. I actually think he almost approved of Simon and me together, he said he liked Simon and he seemed to approve when I said I loved Simon. Maybe, he actually did make the quantum leap and understand in the end. I hope so.

So where else could there be a problem? I didn’t know. The Camerons were firmly behind and very supportive of our relationship, and I liked all of them, especially Stella and Henry.

They were happy to accept the children as their own grandchildren too, as was Tom, who had been an absolute tower of strength ever since this had all started. I remembered back when I came out to him: I’d been beaten up by my father and had tried to finish the job with pills, ending up in hospital instead of a wooden box as I’d planned.

He apparently knew Dr Thomas and when he found out one of his students had tried to meet God, he came to see me and bumped into her while he was in the hospital. She told him to ask me to give permission for him to talk with her.

I was lying there, feeling quite poorly and feeling very stupid in a private hospital room, plugged into a drip and wishing that I’d died. There was a knock at the door and in walked my Prof. The last person I wanted to see.

“Hello, Charlie, I brought you some sweeties and a bottle of fruit juice.”

“Thank you, Professor, it’s very kind of you.”

“Who did this to ye?” he gestured to the bruises on my face and limbs.

“Never mind, it’s not important.”

“Why did they do it?”

“You don’t want to know, besides it would probably mean an end to my degree.”

“I most certainly do want to know, and why should it stop yer studies?”

“I’d prefer not to discuss it, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, that’s yer privilege. Can I guess at the problem?”

“I’m not promising to tell you.”

“Okay, are ye gay, is that it?”

“Not really.”

“It’s something like that though isn’t it? Ye’re sma’ and quite feminine for a man, and there’s something quite female about ye. Are ye intersex or even transsexual?”

“Okay, if it’ll stop the questions, yes I’m transsexual, so now you can throw me off your course.”

“Throw ye off my course, whit fer?”

“Because I want to be a woman?”

“So? I don’t recall it being a requirement of the course that ye have tae be a man, so if ye’re mair comfortable as a lassie, let me know when and I’ll dae all I can tae help ye.”

“Really?”

“Aye, why not, I dinna hae a problem wi’ye.”

“Professor Agnew, thank you so much.” I burst into tears and he actually hugged me.

“Ye’ll mak a bonny wee lassie, so ye will.” Then he spoke with Dr Thomas and she put me on hormones quite soon afterwards. Of course like everything in my life it all went pear shaped. I suppose I’d still be plucking up the courage to make the changeover except I ran into Stella and the rest is history.

When I then bumped into Tom while still dressed more or less as a girl, he recognised me and it sort of went on from there. Story of my life – just when it seems as if there is absolutely nothing to live for, something happens and shows me that it isn’t true. If I was a theist romantic, I’d suggest I had a guardian angel, but I know that’s puerile – I’m a scientist, and it’s just good fortune that things worked out the way they did, they could just as easily have gone the other way, and I’d be beyond all this pain – then again, I’d have missed out on so many good things, like Simon, the children, Tom, Stella and my film.

Feeling a bit better, I lay back down and went to sleep.