He looked at the tire iron I held in my hand. "I see you brought a friend," he said, nodding at the makeshift weapon. "Kinda cowardly even for you dontcha think." I snickered and threw the tire iron to the side.I stepped back and asked him to come out onto the lawn. I was faster than he was, at least with my hands. My gimpy leg I had long since learned to compensate for, so I wasn't worried about that. But, I did need room to maneuver if I was going to have any chance."Well, hello asshole," I said as he squared off in front of me."Jimmy, we don't need to do this. Hey look, I'm sorry man. It was—well—she loves us both. I know she told you that. And for the record, no matter what you think, I love both of you: her and you, Jim." He said. My hand flashed and he staggered back red painting his face.I was on him letting rights and lefts loose without stopping. He finally decided he'd had enough and countered. I stepped back quickly and his wild punch carried him to the ground. First round. Time to reflect on the femininity already achieved,already forced upon him. Time to anticipate. Time worry, to dread.Time to seek for means to avoid, to evade, destiny. To turn theclock back. To kill the future.He needed to pee. And then to wearily begin the ritual of bathing,shaving, beautifying, selecting clothes, of pulling on panties andadjusting a bra around those mounds that seemed to be part of him.He sat in front of the mirror for a long time before he acceptedreality and began applying his make up with the faltering care thathe knew was his inescapable lot.Breakfast was beyond him. After a couple of hours of staringblankly out of the window he sorted aimlessly through the DVDs.They were a mixture of classical romances and soft porn involvingfemale desires and perspectives. He remembered Laura's warningabout the subliminal messages and wondered why she had mentionedit. Perhaps to turn the screw tighter. Perhaps because she knewthat he had no choice but to accept them. Had.
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