"It's really okay," I said in my chocolate and satin voice. I smiled atmy reflection and it smiled back. If it were a dream the lipstick,mascara and eye liner would be on the dresser, but they weren't. Therethey were, in the drawer I'd swept them into during the night,carelessly laid atop a cream bra, some flowery panties and a packagedpair of sheer, black tights.What could I do? Scream and shout, smash the mirror, throw those woman'sthings around the room? Beat my breast, tear my hair? The police wouldcome, I could tell them I'd been the victim of some horrible trick andI'd be sectioned, sent to a secure unit somewhere for the therapists tounpick my disconnections.But I didn't feel disconnected. I didn't feel horrible. Perhaps I couldhave felt numb or tired or stunned, but I felt none of those things. Ifelt powerful, alive, humming with energy - fully charged. I closed thedrawer, stood and walked back to the bed smiling at the sensual roll ofmy hips, the gentle sway of my breasts.. It's going to be a shockfor both of us, but it's something I have to do." Are you going to tell him about Sappho?" I see no alternative. If the council wants to punish me for it, thenthey can, but I don't think my ninety-six year-old brother is in aposition to upset Sappho culture." You want me inside with you, Debbie?"I looked her over, unsure if she really meant it or was just beingpolite. "If I know my brother from long ago, he'd never resent seeing apretty woman. But it's your choice. This might be very grim," I warnedher.She nodded. "Then I'm coming." Thanks, Barbara. You've been a great friend."Traffic in the halls was light, just the occasional orderly and othersof the firmly alive here to visit their relatives like me. We found room112 easily. Its door was open so I looked inside, hesitating at thedoorway before entering. By the window, with a view to the garden, lay abed. An old man I hadn't seen for over seventy years looked back, barelyrecognizable under a lifetime of.
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