Darla, Darling, Dearest

It was only 9ish but Lavender mentioned most people here started work at 8 or slept in until lunch, so Danny found he had a practically empty kitchen to work with. It was large for farmhouse kitchens, but not too much bigger. A second beater fridge had been set up one side, and it was clear the room was straining to consistently feed the large number holed up in the house, the pantries were packed to bursting, and the counters were covered in extra food. A pan rack, clearly hasty constructed on site was suspended from the ceiling over the workspace with pots, pans, and bundles of fresh herbs hanging from its many improvised hooks.

Danny found the fresh chicken eggs and a bulk bag of spinach in one of the fridges, and so began to put together an omelet for them both. Beaten together with salt, pepper, and rosemary, let to fry then the spinach and garlic added on top, and then folded over into a half moon. The motions were soothing in an almost nostalgic sort of way, evoking the feeling of an artist returning to her craft after a long time away.

The shower was… interesting. He had washed away all the grime and oobleck, and really felt how wonderfully soft he was now. It felt good in a way that made him feel dirty in a different way. He felt like he was violating taboo after taboo. Especially after he decided he needed to investigate his… downstairs. He suddenly flashed back one of his old high school football teammates going on and on about how it was gay to wash your dick. The humor of that moment let him relax enough to check his junk.

He had known something had shifted when he woke up, but now that he looked there was some… shrinkage, and then he found a strange lumpy fold at the bottom of his… bits. He withdrew his hand like he had burned it. Was it even proper to touch that? What was it? No. He knew. He felt a queasy mix of anticipation, dread, and something he still could not name.

When he emerged he was in clothes Lavender had lent him. Danny didn’t know what to think. The person in the mirror looked nice in the cut up Oakland Hardcore shirt and black jeans, but gender was nearly impossible to read. He felt like if the changes just hurried up, the person in the mirror would look cute in a punky way, and on some level he was looking forward to it.

Now, Lavender leaned on the wall where a wood stove had clearly been torn out by the previous owners and stared appreciatively at Danny’s back. He supposed it was payback for when they first met two days ago. He decided to lean into it. He was going to have to get used to being an attractive woman anyway (his mother was a terrible person, but the least she could do for him was let him inherit her model bod). Instead of his normal dance moves, Danny began to show off as much of of his ass and his newly burgeoning hips as humanly possible while cooking. A sway here, a gratuitous bend-over there, and shimmies all-round.

Danny snuck a peek after what he could admit was a very provocative wiggle, and he made sure to do so while leaning over to plate the egg dish. Lavender was red as a beet. Gotcha!

The chef turned on his heel, two perfectly plated omelets held aloft. Lavender wordlessly motioned toward the dining room, and they trooped there together.

The table was still massive, and maneuvering around all the chairs so recently disturbed for breakfast, especially with two hot plates. So, Danny felt slighted when Lavender bolted to the other side of the room and sat down without pulling out a chair for himself first. That was no way to treat a lady! He decided to get back at her.

“No southern chivalry?” Danny said in his best impersonation of a 1930’s church mom, indicating the lack of a properly pulled out chair. “My, my, what is the world coming to?” He shook his head disappointedly at a baffled Lavender, who giggled nervously. “Well, If you won’t show me Southern Hospitality, I have no choice but to lead by example and demonstrate some Midwestern flavor!” Lavender leaned her head to the side seemingly wondering where this bit was going. He unbuttoned his flannel and hiked down his undershirt. Then he leaned over in a way that would even expose his pubescent budding breasts to lay Lavenders plate in front of her.

Lavender laughed while red in the face from blushing. “Ya know, you coulda just asked me to pull up a chair.”

Danny made a dismissive gesture “And miss flustering you? Never.” His mind wandered back to their discussion of trans people as he took an exploratory bite of his personal egg pancake. He hummed happily- It was perfect, just enough salt to draw out the pepper and rosemary but not enough to make you gag. He was always so proud of himself when he made things the right way, it hid how much of a loser he felt most of the time.

Then it hit him. “You know, I feel like a lot less of a fuck up when I’m using my feminine wiles on you.” Lavender, who had been busily adding salt to her own omelet much to Danny's dismay, remained flush, but then smoothly turned it into a shit eating grin. “I’m being serious!” Danny whined in a very unmanly way. “and you really didn’t have to add all that salt, it’ll spoil the meal.”

Lavender locked eyes with Danny and pulled out a bottle of sriracha and squirted it over the breakfast like it was ketchup on fries, then she using a knife and fork and carved off about a third of her omelet and shoved it in her mouth, all while observing the cotillion school of manners, never breaking line of sight. Then, breaking with all manners and good taste, she spoke with the food in her mouth. “I know what I’m doin’.” She bounced her eyebrows up and down and smiled into her mouthful. “It’s very good, with or without my additions.” She swallowed, and it was Danny’s turn to blush. “You should try addin’ sriracha to eggs sometime though, it’ll break through your gringo pallet and blow your mind.” She began carving off a more reasonable chunk of egg. “Anyhoo, point is I’m glad feelin’ feminine is makin’ you feel better ‘bout yourself.” she stopped, burped loudly, excused herself, and went back to sawing. “Puttin’ on a show like that, well, we all get gender euphoria in our own way, don’t we.” She stopped, fork in food chunk, and gave Danny a meaningful look. “I’m surprised you were freaked to admit you were a gimme.”

“What’s gender euphoria?” Danny whispered between bites, after too long a time. The metaphorical fridge from earlier teetered on the brink. He knew whatever it was, it was forbidden knowledge, and its reveal would be a Lovecraftian bargain, but like any good protagonist in the eldritch horror genre merely knowing the knowledge existed compelled him.

Lavender sighed, muttering something about ‘unknowing gimmes’. “Look, it’s straightforward as hell: You feel shitty about being manly? That’s gender dysphoria. You feel great about being feminine? That’s gender euphoria. QED.” She stuffed a much more reasonable, but still large chunk of omelet in her mouth.

Danny froze mid bite. Fuck. He quickly flashed back to how much he hated being a football player, how his washboard abs did nothing for his self esteem, and prom night when he had a panic attack he couldn’t explain mid-coitus. Then he thought of all the times he had felt warm when people treated him like a girl in the past day. Was Joan and Lavender right about him(her?) being a transgender woman? It certainly felt like all that was Dysphoria and Euphoria displayed in textbook fashion.

“Shoot.” he (she?) muttered to himself (herself?). Was it really that easy? Danny wanted to be Darla. So fucking badly. He thought back to a lecture his father gave about how Narragansett sufferers are tested by God. Suicide was sanctioned only for the faithful, if you still felt you had sin in your heart you must live your days as a God-fearing woman- and hope that come judgment you will be saved. She didn’t believe in God anymore, at least not that god. He came back to the same thoughts she had when he first got Sett’s he didn’t want to die, she shuddered at the idea of taking testosterone, and he didn’t want to marry a man. That last one was the least bad of three options, but the gears were starting to move, the clog jamming things up was being crushed.

She remembered talking to Joan about liking girls. He remembered relating to what she said so deeply it was uncomfortable. He decided to be supportive, but distant. She daydreamed about being two gay best friends who crush on each other until in highschool they finally confess, having to hide their love from the narrow minded small town for which they grew up. She could be a lesbian too.

The fridge fell over with all the feelings, shattering the fragile edifice of manhood holding it up. Darla did not cry. Not this time. She grinned, wider and wider till she felt like she had passed the point she had ever allowed her smile to go in years. “I’m frea-fucking Trans!” she shouted.

Lavender laughed. “Yeah. You are, dummy.” She reached out across the table and put her hand on Darla’s cheek. “So…”

Darla pushed away the hand. “Hey! Don’t take me back before I apologize!” Lavender smirked and flipped her hand so it was now holding Darla’s across the table. Raising her eyebrows as if motioning for Darla to continue, but the newly minted girl was busy blushing and stammering for who knows how long. Too busy imagining what sort of illicit fun they could have together. Finally she got out “I’m-sorry-for-being-weird-about-your-method-of-transition! I-I still think you’re, uh, attractive, and, uh, I-I...”

“Yeeesss?” Lavender purred luxuriantly, like a big cat playing with its food.

“Let’s go on a date!” Darla blurted. “We can go to Corker’s Saloon, and have drinks and a burger and talk about our lives and it’ll be great!” Darla’s eye went wide. ‘It’ll be great’ wasn’t something she had said genuinely since she was a kid. She was the quiet dutiful son to the neighbors and a restless cynical lout internally. She felt the optimism and passion sealed deep within the darkest cave of her mind bubble outward. All of who she was was churning. She realized there was a deep realignment going on in her soul.

The existential crisis of becoming someone new was drowned out when Lavender cupped Darla’s cheek, this time with her other hand, looking deep into Darla’s eyes. “I’d like that.” She murmured rubbing her thumb across the girl’s jawline. Darla shivered with need. She didn’t feel the wood that had been the bane of her existence for what felt like her whole life. This arousal felt… different. She wondered idly how much her plumbing had shifted in function.

Darla smiled at Lavender. “Despite everything, I’ve got a great feeling about this.”

Lavender began to stroke Darla’s hair. “Me too, kid, me too.”

Darla’s stomach gurgled, and she looked down to realize she had barely made a dent on her omelette. “Oh Jesus, let’s at least finish eating before we do anything hasty.”

Lavender nodded and went back to wolfing down food with a mixture of ladylike precision and animal instinct. She finished eating well before Darla was halfway done, and so began to talk at her to fill the void. “You’re a pretty good cook, but you’d be better if you didn’t have that gringo spice shyness.”

Darla felt her hackles raise. “Yeah? What’s it to you? Where do you get off calling me a gringo? You don’t look Latina.”

Lavender laughed in her face “Me and my bro were the only Lebanese kids in an exurb of El Paseo, who do you think were my friends?”

Darla flushed in embarrassment, was she being racist? “Sorry… I thought you were Italian or something.” She winced, maybe that was also racist.

Lavender sighed. “Everyone does. My dad didn’t want us to be Lebanese after the civil war.” Darla really didn’t know what to say to that. She watched as her potential girlfriend balled up her fist on the table, an expression of profound loss crossing her face. “He kept me and my brother from our culture.” She trembled a little. “Fuck him. Cowboy LARPin’ asshole.”

Darla at least knew what to say about that last bit. She sniggered “Sounds like one of the fine folks we have to worry about, presently.”

Lavender narrowed her eyes “Vincent Darrow, right?”

She smiled in response. “Sounds like a black hatted villain from an old western, no?” The new girl pushed aside her plate finally sated. “I’ve been thinking about what to do about my dad and Darrow, and I might just have an inkling of a plan.”

Lavender laughed. “All we gotta do is show the fuckers we got as many guns as they do, that’ll make anyone against us shove right off!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Darla interjected sullenly. She knew exactly how this would go, a Waco of leftist queers. She saw a vision of Lavender clutching her shoulder, blood streaming out from it, white foam on the side of her mouth, screaming obscenities and shooting wildly with her free hand as the sheriff's posse closed in. Darla felt like she had just jumped off a fifteen story building.

“No, see, I know guys like this.” Lavender was saying. “As long as you show the things y’all have in common, the wider community won’t give a fuck and those pieces of trash who want us gone can say peep, but can’t do shit”

Darla sighed. Okay, different approach. “Look. All I’m saying is you can’t just fit people into neat boxes like for or against you” Darla gave Lavender an exasperated look. “Twin Crossings might be in the process of dying, but it’s still a living community right now.” She began shoving her finger into her palm to emphasize her point. “If you look at this as a clash of good versus evil the whole town will view you as an interloper.” he looked over to Lavender who was nodding along. “You gotta demonstrate value, and figure out who can be won over and who can’t.”

“Oh yeah!” Lavender snapped her fingers. “Like a power map!”

Darla stopped. “What’s that?”

“Oh man, we used to do them back when I was an activist to figure out who to target our abuse at.” She gave a toothy grin. “It’s fun! You try and draw out who has connections or power over who, to try and parse who’s making decisions and who’s bein’ used.”

Darla clapped her hands. “Oh man! That’s perfect! Get me a piece of paper.”

Lavender shouted “On it!” and ran off.

Darla was alone in the dining room. The late morning sun shone on the table and counter. From the kitchen she could smell the drying herbs and and hear pans suspended from the ceiling sway and chime in the mild breeze. A housefly buzzed its wings struggling against the flypaper intermittently. She took a deep breath, savoring the moment. It was so beautiful that she could forget the existential threat looming up like an obelisk to a forgotten king of some slave empire, and just be.

Lavender returned holding a sketchbook, pen, and a smile. Darla blushed having to look away from Lavender’s radiance, before accepting the utensils and starting.

“First off we have the Mayor and owner of Corker’s Saloon, Mark Corker. He’s the closest thing we got here to a chamber of commerce, but doesn’t really have much power beyond that.” Danny drew a circle with Corker written on it and connected it to the three extant small businesses in Twin Crossings.

“Small town mayors are usually mascots or local businessmen who want a vanity title. He’s very much the latter.” She circled the businesses and wrote under them ‘real power’. “As long as you don’t directly compete with him, he’ll probably see you as fellow entropenures led astray, not hostile, but probably less sympathetic than you might hope.”

“Then we have the churches.” She drew a second circle at the top area with an ‘M’ in it. “There’s a Southern Baptist congregation out of town, but its far enough away that only a few people from town attend.” She drew two small circles next to the big one. “There’s also a Catholic one that a good chunk of Latinos go to but mostly same deal.” She filled in the two smaller circles with ‘Sb’ and ‘C’. “Most people attend the Methodist church in town though.” She thumped the ‘M’ “Which is led by Pastor Rockwell.” She made a face as she wrote ‘Rockwell’ in the Methodist bubble.

“What’s his deal?” Lavender asked, interest clearly piqued by Darla’s reaction to his name.

“Fence sitter. Big into holy anguished indecision.” Darla spat. “Doesn’t speak on abortion, doesn’t speak on ‘the Gays’, avoids talking about Gimmes like the plague, only thing he cares about is absolution through Christ.” She was on a tear now, the bitterness she felt towards him letting the congregation pick sides in the culture war was overwhelming her. His face disinterestedly aloof as they forced Chelsea, a local single mother who drove all the way to Chicago to have an abortion so she could raise one kid instead of two, to leave the state. “Too much of a coward to face the loud rabid dogs of reaction.” She looked over at Lavender who was nodding deep in thought. “Not sure where his politics are, but I can assure you he won’t pick a side.” Darla frowned, annoyed at the thought she just had. “Actually he might be a good person to set up as mediator, since for whatever reason, a large chunk of the local congregation respects him.”

Lavender, smiled and made eye contact. Darla’s heart went wild. “Well okay, we got him as a potential mediator, what about the others?”

“Uhh…” Darla was too busy getting lost in the dark chocolate corduroy of Lavenders eyes. “Right!” She remembered the paper she had been scribbling on and flushed. “Then we have the farmers.” She began to sketch a couple circles below Corker and Rockwell. “They employ most folks who don’t have work out of town, or work for Corker.” She spoke their names as she added them to the map “The big farmers will probably all work together, and that means siding with Pops. Bob Threshman, John McCormick- who is also the sheriff, and Vince Darrow, own a good solid chunk of the land here, though the Gates Foundation just bought out the Cane’s.” She added the loose cradinal direction the mega farms were from town. “Honestly, everyone thought The Gates’ were going to take the McDaniel's, too.” She grinned at Lavender. “I’m glad that didn’t happen.”

She laughed “Me too!” And stole a kiss.

“H..hey!” Darla detached flustered. She pulled back from Lavender who now had a worried look.

“Oh shit! I’m sorry!” She made a pained expression as if this had happened before. “I should have asked.”

Darla fidgeted nervously “N-no… I-I liked it.” She said in a small voice. “Being a man is all pressure to pursue… a-and being pursued…” She flushed unable to finish the sentence, biting her lip and looking down instead.

Lavender raised an eyebrow. “Are you calling me mannish?”

Darla spluttered. “No! Never!” She shook her head vehemently. “It’s just something I wasn’t allowed and always wanted, you know?”

Lavender smiled, not unkindly, but it had the tone of explaining something very basic to a 5 year old who doesn’t know any better. “It’s called being a bottom, hun.” She kept the smile as she sort of spaced out looking at the wall behind Darla. “It’s always funny to me how in medieval times, on both sides of the Mediterranean, mind you, women were stereotypically tops and men were stereotypically bottoms…” She trailed off smiling to herself as if imagining a fond memory. “Being able to sexually intimidate any man I wanted… mmmm… It would have made taking their money so much easier.”

Darla coughed, having no idea what she was talking about and wishing to get out of the awkward as fast as possible. Lavender’s eyes slowly drifted back to the girl sitting across from her. “Anyone else you want on the map?” Darla asked, trying desperately to pull them back on track. It was clear getting anything constructive done before they went to bone town would be like herding to cats in heat, but she put in the effort anyway. This fledgling community was worth protecting… Maybe… If it didn’t turn out to be a cult and they were just love bombing her… Or human nature didn’t favor collective living, as his… her! Her father always told her.

Honestly, it was all too much for Darla to process. The Ecovilliage, her being trans, the fact that pops thought she had been kidnapped by herself. She rubbed her face, and groned in a delightfully feminine way.

Lavender finally responded to her question, interrupting that line of thought. “Can you add the superfluous guys?” Darla looked out through her hands with utter confusion. What the fuck was she even… How do you even define that? Lavender rallied. “No look, ok? It's a thing.” she shifted in her chair, seemingly uncomfortable under Darla’s complete incomprehension. “There’s like a history theory where like having a large group of guys doin’ jack shit is what generates ‘civil conflict’,” She said ‘civil conflict’ in a shitty impression of a stuck up academic and put air quotes around it. Darla suddenly got the distinct feeling that Lavender’s use of small words and accent were very deliberate, in order to hide her academic background. “And so, uh, who are the guys who have nothin’ goin’ on?”

That gave Darla pause. “Well, let’s see…” It was honestly fairly easy when she thought about it that way. “There’s Mike, the Pastor’s son, and his crew.” They work for the Threshman farm occasionally, and Mike cares about his family enough to defend his dad.” She added the circle and requisite connections. “There’s five of ‘em, but Mike’s the only one with military experience.”

Lavender stared intently at the circle. As Darla thought about it more a dawning horror began creeping on her, and the koto music returned. “Lavender.” She looked up from the bird’s eye view of movers and shakers in Darla’s home town. “Lavender, Mike was the only one I told I had ‘Sett’s. Except, I told him at the end of a bender…” Darla looked down at her hands, unable to meet Lavender’s gaze. “I fucked up so bad with Pops.” She shook her head of greasy black hair. “Mike’s a good friend… If Mike thinks, I’ve been kidnapped…” She finally dragged her eyes back to meet Lavender who’s were needlessly compassionate. “Y’all are so fucked.”