” “Yeah well…” I don’t have a legit excuse, so I let my voice trail off. “I make you nervous. Scared even.” He says it so calmly. I open my mouth to tell him It’s not true, but it is. I don’t understand him. He can’t be dead, if he was, only I would see him. I turn away from him. “No, that’s not it. It’s just.” My voice trails off again. I can’t tell him why what he said is true. He’d think I was a freak. “It’s just what?” I didn’t hear him move up behind me, but he’s there. I can feel his breath on my neck. He takes my hand, slowly, so I have time to pull away if I want. I don’t. He leads me through the crowd of dancing people and to a staircase. He leads me up the staircase and down several hallways, twists, and turns. We go into a pretty-much hidden room. “What are you doing?” I finally ask him a question I should’ve asked a long time ago. He closes the door and then stands in front of me. I can see his chest rising and falling as he breathes in slowly, relaxed. That’s when I. For awhile my old self-image clashed with the body I saw every time I wokeup and every time I looked in the mirror. Then, gradually, I was no longerso surprised at what I saw. It all started to seem more normal (notordinary, but at least normal).I'd read in my Psychology class about an experiment done on self-image.When they fitted guys with immersion goggles and gloves, and fed to themthe visuals a girl would see, the guys started to think of their bodies asfemale. We guys in that class laughed about the experiment outcome. All Ican say now is, we humans have an amazing ability to adapt.Vicki shoved $10,000 into my hand when she ran away that day. At the timeit seemed like a lot of money. Then I discovered shopping.Shopping was really odd. As a guy I'd never thought much about clothes. I'dnever been shopping except when my mother grabbed my arm and dragged me toa department store before a new school year to buy me some "schoolclothes." Even after that I seldom thought about what I.
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