Becoming

by Lynette Mejía

Elinor wanted to be human, and there was nothing I could say or do to convince her otherwise. I told her that I loved her, that she was beautiful and special; unique in ways that I could only dream about. I held her hand, caressing the soft, flawless white skin while I pointed out the scars and calluses on my own fingers.

“Is this what you want?” I asked. “To be so vulnerable?”

“It’s what makes you fascinating,” she said. “It gives you distinction and character. I look like a doll, something on a shelf. You look as if you’ve lived.”

I smiled, trying to coax her mood. “In some places that’s considered an insult, my dear.”

Her mouth turned up, but only weakly. “I’m not happy like this anymore, Dee,” she said. “I want to be like you.”

I looked at her, sadness overwhelming me like a wave crashing over our entwined bodies. “Making you happy is all I ever wanted,” I answered. “I’ll find a way.”

* * *

The doctor was polite but firm.

“What you’re asking for is against the law,” he said, looking at us across the desk. “The Fey don’t have any official legal status in this country. Medical procedures are allowed only for life threatening illness, and even then only to stabilize the patient before they’re transferred to one of the camps. This…transformation you’re asking for would at best be a lengthy process, involving long-term drug therapy along with multiple surgeries. I just can’t risk it.” He sighed, his enormous bulk settling into a posture of mock sympathy. He crossed his arms and leaned back. “It’s a huge problem, I’ll admit, girls, but until public attitudes change, Congress isn’t likely to act.”

“You’ve always helped us before,” I pointed out. “As long as we had cash.”

His face turned red and his eyes darkened. “At great personal risk to myself, I might add,” he said. “I helped you because I believe in your cause. Your rights.” He looked from Elinor to me and back again. “I don’t need to tell you girls that you’re already risking a lot through your choice of…lifestyle. Take what you’re given and be happy with that. Move out to the country somewhere where you can’t be bothered. Life is too short.”

“Not for me,” Elinor said. Her musical voice left her misery hanging in the empty air. The doctor stood up abruptly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but you’ll have to excuse me. I have other patients.”

* * *

With no other clear options, we took the doctor’s advice and moved out to the country. I resigned from my job, cashed in my retirement savings, and we bought 10 acres of land and a small farmhouse near a tiny, picturesque town. It was isolated, hours away from the city, and it felt as if we were colonizing our own private planet. We moved into the tiny farmhouse and spent months renovating, working on weekends and learning carpentry skills by instinct and, more frequently, by accident. During the week we coaxed the antique tractor up and down waves of hot, sandy dirt, with the plan of eventually selling produce. Nights we slept, naked and exhausted, in the moonlit farmhouse bedroom. For a while we were happy. I remember those days now as a kind of halcyon dream, the best of what we had together.

Eventually, of course, curiosity and boredom got the better of us, and one day we decided to venture into town. It was a tiny, close-knit community, wary of strangers as most small places are. We knew this, and so tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, but it was a wasted effort. People stared openly when we got out of our car at the market. Silence followed us through the little store. Elinor pulled her hair down to cover her pointed ears, but she stood out anyway, a bright light floating among the dull, dusty aisles.

Halfway through the store a thin man in a white button-down shirt approached us. His tag said “Hi, I’m Brad Your Manager.” He looked at us sternly. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but you’ll have to leave.”

“Have we done something wrong?” I asked. I felt the anger already welling up in my throat.

He gestured toward Elinor. “Does she have a resident card?”

“She does,” I answered. “But we’re not required to show it to you.”

“And we reserve the right to refuse service to anyone,” he said. “By law.” His eyes rolled to Elinor.

I dropped the shopping basket on the ground at his feet and took Elinor’s hand. “Come on, sweetheart,” I said, loudly. “Fuck these people.”

* * *

A few weeks later we put our little house up for sale and returned to the city, moving into a motel as a temporary measure until we could find an apartment. We were homeless, adrift without direction, lost somewhere between possibility and disappointment. Elinor was miserable and without hope that we’d ever find the things everyone else seemed to take for granted. Eventually she refused to venture out at all, instead spending her days staring out the window, watching the tourist families splash in the pool. Their laughter echoed off the walls and filled our tiny room with a ghostly twittering that never seemed to end. At some point she stopped eating, despite my constant coaxing. Since she once had loved sweets, I raided every vending machine and bakery within a ten block radius trying to find anything that might tempt her. At night I heard her crying softly after she thought I’d gone to sleep. Her eyes became dull and lifeless. I watched her, my beautiful Elinor, slide away into shadow until I could take it no more.

I made inquiries among a few close and trusted friends, which led to inquiries among strangers, which led to inquiries in a dark, smoky bar on the proverbial wrong end of town. It was a place where Elinor would likely be harassed at the least, raped or killed at the worst, so I left her in the motel room and went alone.

At the bar I ordered a whiskey. The bartender smiled sympathetically as he poured my drink, though he didn’t ask me any questions. I was grateful to be left alone. I sipped slowly, glad for the warm, distracting burn in my throat.

An hour later the man I had come to meet arrived. He was tall and handsome, with a tanned face and classic features that screamed privilege and superiority. He wore an expensive leather jacket over a black designer t-shirt and jeans, as if he were trying to pretend he fit into this neighborhood in a cartoonish, naïve sort of way. His eyes were a bright Teutonic blue. He walked straight to me.

“Dee?” he asked.

“That’s me,” I said, trying to sound as confident as he looked.

“Over here,” he said, gesturing to a table in the back. I followed him, looking around to see if anyone was watching us, but the other tables were all empty.

We sat down. “You don’t look Fey,” he said.

“I’m not,” I said. “It’s for a friend of mine.”

He took out a pack of cigarettes, tapping the end slowly before pulling one out and lighting it. He took a long drag. “Cash,” he said, leaning back in his seat like he owned the place. “Up front.”

“Of course. How much?”

“Fifty thousand,” he said. “That’s for the skin, the eyes and ears, and the uh…wings.”

“OK. How long will it take?”

“The eyes and ears are easy,” he answered. “Just colored contacts and a little reconstruction on some cartilage. The skin is a chemical peel, but again, it’s a fairly quick procedure. The wings are a bit more complicated.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“They’re connected under the skin by a unique set of bone and nerve structures, so the surgery takes a lot longer,” he said. “We can’t use anesthesia because, frankly, not enough research has been done on Fey physiology, and there’ve been lots of cases of respiratory arrest when it’s been tried. For whatever reason, they don’t respond well to being put under.”

“Oh, god,” I said, looking down, my head falling into my hands. “So she’ll be awake when they cut her wings off?”

“Yes,” he said. His eyes were twinkling. The bastard was enjoying the hell out of this. “It’s the best we can do. Take it or leave it.”

I thought for a moment. Elinor as a human. Elinor happy. What else was there to say?

“Alright,” I said. “Who do I contact?”

“You don’t contact anybody,” he said, taking another long drag. He shoved a small piece of paper across the table. “Write your number on this. We’ll contact you.”

* * *

When I told her what I had done, tears of joy streamed down her face.

“Where will we get the money?” she asked.

“I think we’ll have enough when the sale of the house goes through,” I told her, “in a few days. Then we just wait for the call.”

She wrapped her arms around me and I held her, sighing and breathing in the scent of her beautiful auburn hair. I wasn’t ready to tell her about the surgery that would remove her wings. It felt too good to have her smile again, and I wanted to savor the moment. Just for a little while.

* * *

“What about magic?” I asked her one day as we sat at a park beside the river. We were on a bench overlooking the water, watching huge ships and barges creep up and down the immense swirl of muddy water. The sun was setting on the opposite bank, bathing us in soft golden light. Elinor was glowing with an ethereal beauty that took my breath away. I could barely take my eyes off of her.

“I don’t know any magic,” she said. “It’s not a racial quality, Dee – it’s all lore. To be magical, you have to grow up in a Tribe, be taught the language and the skills. I don’t have any of that.” She looked down at her hands, quiet for a few moments. I knew she was thinking of the things that had been done to her before we’d met, the rape in high school that had left layers of scars invisible to the eye. “If I could have defended myself I would have,” she said, her voice much lower.

“I know,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady and without fear. “I just meant, maybe you could cast a glamour, or something, you know, to look human. So you wouldn’t have to go through this…process.”

“Glamours aren’t permanent, Dee,” she said, sadly. “Even if I could do it, which I can’t, I’d have to be constantly re-casting it, worried all the time that it was fading. I’d look ridiculous, and I’d be a nervous wreck.”

She sighed, looking out over the water to the huge evening sun. It shimmered on the horizon, a golden heart of warm, gentle light. “I love this time of day,” she said. “It reminds me of the old stories, the ones I used to read about as a kid. My human adoptive mother wanted me to learn what I could about my people, so she found all the books she could about Fey lore. Human versions of the old tales. There was one, I remember, about Tir na Nog, our equivalent of Heaven, I guess you’d call it. A place of freedom and happiness, where the sun shines bright and warm forever. I used to dream of it, of that sun, of how it must feel to bask in that light.” Her eyes misted. “I still like to imagine that it’s real. Isn’t that silly?”

I reached over and took her hand, bringing it up to my mouth to kiss her smooth skin. “I love you just the way you are,” I said. “I hope you know that.”

She looked at me and smiled gently. “I know,” she said. “It’s why I fell in love with you, Dee. It’s why I want to be like you. I don’t want you to have to love me in spite of this thing that I am. I want you to love me without having to see past my deformed ears and my ugly skin. Past these.” She reached over her shoulder to touch the prominent lumps under her oversized shirt. “I want you to see me as you would anyone else. As your equal.” She looked away, out over the water toward the ships sailing past. “And I’m tired of having to fight for everything we have.”

* * *

Two weeks after the house sold the man from the bar called us back.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “5am, before dawn.” He gave me an address. I recognized the street as one of the city’s more seamy areas, fairly close to the bar where we’d made the deal.

“Cover her up with a coat or something,” he said before hanging up. “And don’t come to the front door.”

We didn’t sleep that night, but instead lay awake, making love and talking quietly. Elinor was excited, like a little girl on Christmas Eve, but I was more apprehensive. She could only imagine a positive outcome, but all I could think of were the things that could go wrong. What if she were horribly disfigured? What if she couldn’t take the pain? What if she died?

“Don’t worry, Dee,” she whispered, kissing me. “We have a higher tolerance for pain than humans. I’ll be ok.”

“I can’t help it,” I said. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You aren’t losing me. You’re gaining the new me.” Even in the darkness I could see the shine from her smile. She was like a child, bold and confident, seemingly unaware of the dangers that lay ahead.

When dawn came we dressed and drove to the address I’d been given. It was an older structure; probably turn of the century, a building that had no doubt started out as a respectable shoe store, or a milliner’s, slowly descending through the years along with the neighborhood into less well-respected ventures. In its current incarnation it was a tattoo parlor and tanning salon. We went around to the back, and were let into the stock room by a small Hispanic woman. She crossed herself as we passed her and went inside. The man from the bar was waiting.

“You have the money,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Right here,” I answered, pulling the fat envelope out of my pocket.

He took it and withdrew the contents, taking the time to count every dollar before he looked up. His eyes slid between Elinor and I. “This way,” he said.

He led us downstairs into the basement, which had been set up as a makeshift operating room.

“Tell It to get undressed,” he said, looking at me. “And lay down on the table with the paper sheet covering It.”

“She’s right here,” I said, already angry. “You can tell her yourself.”

He looked at her, his eyes flicking over her with little interest. “Whatever. The surgeon will be here in a few minutes.”

Elinor looked nervously around the room. Then she took a deep breath, as if she were gathering her courage.

“If something happens, promise me that you won’t take me to a human hospital,” she said. “I don’t want any questions, and we both know they can’t do anything for me.”

“I can’t promise you that, Elinor,” I said. “I’ll do whatever I have to to save your life.”

“Yes you can,” she answered. “You said you’d do anything for me.”

I looked away. “You make it so hard,” I said, tears filling my eyes.

“I’m ready, Dee,” she said, putting her arms around me. “I’m ready to do whatever has to be done.” She pulled me close. “I know there’s a chance I could die. I’m ready for that too.”

“I know,” I said. “But I’m not ready to give you up, Eli. You come back to me when this is all done with. I don’t care what you look like. You come back to me.”

She smiled, and my heart wrenched in my chest. “I always do, Dee.”

* * *

The wait was excruciating. Hours passed while I sat on a folding chair upstairs. Silence filled the little space like a heavy hand pressing down on me. There wasn’t even room to pace.

After some time I heard noises from below, the clanking of metal utensils, a scraping that sounded like a piece of furniture being pulled across the floor. A while later the door opened, and a woman emerged in surgical scrubs. She was covered in blood, and my heart dropped out of my chest and onto the floor.

I stood up. Her face was solemn.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Your friend, there were…complications.”

“Is she alive?” I asked. I couldn’t breathe. The room had started to spin. I grabbed the wall for support.

“Yes,” she said. “She is still alive. The surgeon did all that he could, but there was so much blood loss, and we don’t have the necessary plasma to replace it. This happens sometimes; we do the best we can with what we have. Regular hospitals won’t touch these cases.”

“How long does she have?”

“I don’t know that,” she said, looking down. “A couple of hours, I’d guess.”

“Let me see her,” I demanded, pushing past her and going downstairs into the room.

I gasped. Elinor was on the table, a dirty pillow under her head. Her face was a bright, angry red, burned by the chemical peel designed to hide her pale, flawless skin. Her ears were bandaged with bloody rags, as was her entire torso from her neck to her hips. I walked over to her and lifted her limp hand, kissing the fingertips. Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked at me for a moment before they closed again. I couldn’t tell if she had recognized me or not.

From behind me a male voice said, “We can’t be responsible for her care. You’ll have to take her.” I sucked in air, tears blinding me. “I’ll need some help getting her to my car,” I stammered.

“I’ll help you,” he said. I turned to see the man who had arranged it all. There was something in his eyes, sorrow, perhaps, or maybe remorse. Maybe I imagined it.

“Thank you,” I said.

I pulled my car up to the side entrance, and he helped me get Elinor into the passenger seat. As I went around the other side to get in I saw him gently place a pillow under her head before softly closing the door. He leaned in. “Good luck,” he said. I just looked at him, and then threw the car into reverse and slowly backed out of the driveway.

I didn’t go back to the motel. That wasn’t home. It was a way station.

I drove without direction, without knowing where I was headed. I could hardly keep my eyes on the road. Elinor was awake, but barely, her eyes unfocused. I kept putting my hand in front of her nose and mouth, to see if she was still breathing. Her exhalation was the thinnest of breezes, but it gave me hope.

Eventually, we pulled up in front of the little farm house. A soft breeze was blowing, the late afternoon sun throwing its warm, honeyed light over the landscape.

The new owners had apparently not taken possession of the house yet; I could still see our curtains in the window, and the silly ‘Come On In’ mat in front of the door. I got out and tried my spare key in the lock, and found it still worked. I pushed open the door and looked inside, but it was deserted, void of furniture or any trace of new people.

I went back to the car and opened the trunk, retrieving an old pillow and blanket we kept for impromptu picnics. I carried it through the house to the back porch, where I laid it out on the wooden floor before returning to the car to get Elinor. I struggled to help her up the steps, my muscles burning from the effort of holding most of her weight as we walked. Outside I helped her lie down on her side. The bandages wrapped around her chest were soaked through; the bright red blood was smearing on my hands and clothes. She let out a breath I hadn’t known she was holding, her face twisted with pain. I sat beside her, crying, and stroked her hair.

Her lips were dry and cracked, drawn up against her face. I had a bottle of water, so I put it up to her lips, barely pouring a few drops of the liquid into her mouth. She swallowed, struggling and coughing. Her eyes fluttered open once more, focusing on the dark red sun dipping into behind the trees, casting long, cool shadows over the grass.

She smiled faintly. “It’s beautiful, Dee,” she said. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

I took her hand. Tears rolled down my cheeks, soaking into my shirt. I watched her chest, rising and falling faintly, counting each breath.

The light shimmered as the last third of the sun began to slide behind the distant hills. A sudden smile broke over Elinor’s face and she struggled to sit up.

“Dee, look,” she said, her voice suddenly strong, her tone reverent and awe-struck. I followed her line of vision, but only saw shadow and the encroaching darkness of night.

“What, sweetheart?” I asked, wiping her sweat-soaked hair away from her forehead. “I don’t see anything.”

“There,” she said, lifting her hand and pointing to the west. There. It’s there.”

“What?” I asked again.

“Tir na Nog,” she said, her words escaping in a sigh of contentment. “It’s real, Dee. It’s there.”

I looked, straining and squinting into the last vestiges of the setting sun, seeing only a shimmer of heat on the horizon. Tears filled my eyes once again. I took a breath.

“It’s beautiful, Eli,” I said. “Just as you described it.” I looked down and away, my heart pierced with a hurt I didn’t know was possible. In my arms I felt her shudder slightly, and then become still. A sob escaped my lips and I pulled her close, rocking and keening in my grief.

From a distance her voice came again, stronger this time. “Don’t cry, my love,” she said.

I looked around, bewildered, still holding her warm body, my hands slick with her blood. There she stood in the grass, her form illuminated by the last brilliant rays of fading light, her eyes shining. She smiled.

“Elinor?” I whispered.

She said nothing, turning instead and walking into the glow of the vanishing sun. Behind her, her wings unfurled into beautiful iridescent sheets that glittered with refracted light, luminous and magical. As she entered the tree line she turned, smiling once again and raising a hand to me before turning and disappearing along with the sun. Night descended behind her like a curtain falling, and a cool breeze lifted my hair and caressed my cheek.

One by one the stars emerged like twinkling diamonds. For a long time I sat, holding the body she’d shed like a delicate butterfly. As the hours passed I watched the constellations wheel and dance across the sky, thinking about her, my beautiful Elinor. Eventually the sky began to glow faintly, as the darkness turned into a new day. I took a deep breath, alone, and rose to join it.

About the Author

Lynette’s stories have appeared in Niteblade, Everyday Weirdness, and The Absent Willow Review. She lives in Lafayette, LA, and is working on her first novel.

©2009 Lynette Mejía