30 Years

TW: There are a few references to suicide in this story.

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The following tale is a rock and roller coaster of a ride. It is an E ticket ride and not for the faint of heart. As with any coaster, it has to start with that first climb. Although you may want to quickly move on, that first climb is important. Soon enough there will be dips, hills, and sharp turns. It might even flip you upside down. Go ahead and feel free to scream, laugh, and cry.

By the time you come back to the station, brakes squealing, you will be out of breath with a smile on your face. Highway to Hell, Hot For Teacher, Every Rose Has Its Thorn, and Breaking the Law has been blasting while you are in the que line.

Your car is here. Let's go!

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30 years. It can be a long time, or no time at all. 30 years of change. 30 years of staying the same. I have changed quite a bit in the last 30 years, yet in some ways, I am still the same person as I was before. What about the school kids I knew from before? Some I saw for only 54 minutes at a time for 9 months, and they were gone. Some for several years.

Why should I even care about classmates who ignored me? Don't 'oh poor me' because I don't care. I preferred to be ignored. It was better than being bullied. I was a ghost. Hardly nobody knew me.

I didn't seem to fit in with much of anyone. The closest clique I fit in was the metal head stoners. Not really though. I wasn't cool enough and I tried to hard. I didn't have a job, and my parents, being of meager income, didn't give me much of an allowance. The others got tired of me bumming smokes off them, and I wasn't bold enough to shoplift.

It didn't help that I was also ostracized because of a mistake I made in 7th grade. Music was, and still is a great love of mine. Why not join the band and learn how to play an instrument.

The mistake I made was my choice of instrument. First day of band, our teacher went over each instrument, demonstrating it, and explaining how it fit in the composition of the piece. He brought out a clarinet and presented its mellow, earthy, sound. When he explained that it was an instrument that mostly women chose I was sold. This was my ticket in! One guy with a group of girls, I could become friends with them, and my teenage hormones told me I would date them. Yeah, didn't quite work out like I had hoped. I realized that after being in band for way too many years, I had zero musical talent.

I wasn't big enough, or coordinated enough to be in the sports crowd. Not smart enough to be in the computer geek, or intellectual clubs. Not from a rich family, so I didn't fit in there either. I was very average looking and not a funny guy. Yeah, some of you get it by now, I didn't fit in anywhere.

So why was seeing these people who ignored me 30 years ago so important to me? Its because I made a major change in my life and I wanted to show them. They can't fucking ignore me now. Part of me didn't give a shit about what they thought about me. My new and improved vanity wanted to show those jerks who I have become.

Its kinda hard to ignore, when a beautiful, shapely woman enters a room

Some 10 years ago, with the assistance of a therapist, I discovered that I am a transgender woman. Years of chronic depression and suicidal thoughts quickly went away when I came to the realization of who I am. Hormone therapy did wonders, and I assisted with a couple of surgeries. Besides my boobs, the other thing that helped me to stand out was my facial feminization surgery. I used to be a bland, maybe even ugly guy, and now I am a beautiful, confident, and courageous woman.

I was truly a sight to be seen. I was wearing an expensive bodycon dress that was low in front and high down below. Countless hours in the gym, and a strict diet gave me a lean, athletic body. The entire day had been spent at a day spa and it showed, my hair, makeup, and nails were flawless.

When I walked in, I spied the name tag table right away, and pinned my former name on my chest. Right next to the cleavage of my 34 D enhanced chest.

Who is that? I don't recognize her at all! What does her name tag say? Maybe her name will jog a memory. Steven Johansson? She doesn't look like a Steven. I kinda remember some weirdo ghost named Steven Johansson.

One woman, the always brash, arrogant Mimi, snatched a yearbook from a person who I didn't recognize, and quickly strode up to me.

"Allright who the fuck are you?" shoving the open book in front of me. "Cause you ain't no Steven Johansson."

I smiled, showing off a perfect set of gleaming white teeth. "You are right, my name isn't Steven Johansson. My name is now Casey Johansson."

For perhaps the first time in her life, the loudmouth Mimi was speechless.

"Nice to see you too, Mimi." I smiled with a bit of venom in my voice and went to the bar to get a drink.

The traditionally ever handsome John Jameson was getting a drink, and offered to buy me one. John sat in front of me in homeroom class and was always very courteous to me. He comes from old money and always looked like he stepped off the cover of GQ magazine, and today was no different. He had aged well.

Although he was very good looking, he wasn't my type. Too much a pretty boy. I am a rock and roll chick by heart, and I like my guys to be a little more rough around the edges, maybe even a little dangerous. You know, the typical rockstar look. Tattoos, long hair, day old unshaven face, leather jacket, boots.

Oh, in case you hadn't noticed my sexuality has changed. About 5 years after graduation, I realized that I like guys. Now if I should happen to be in bed with a man and a woman, I wouldn't ignore the woman, but my primary focus would be on the man. You see, I really like that thing dangling between their legs. Alot.

I still have that thing between my legs. All it does anymore is dangle, and I am perfectly ok with that. I know of a couple of other ways to please a man. Will I ever have that surgery? Ah, who knows. By this time at my age, if you are that concerned about what others think about your personal sexuality, then I don't want to have anything to do with you.

"That Mimi has always been such a bitch, I never liked her."

"Thanks for the drink. Then why did you date her?"

"You know how high shool is. We were all so shallow. The popular date the popular, just so they can be popular, and improve their status. Even if it means sacrificing their own identity."

"Nice to meet you Casey, big improvement over Steven. You look good." as he smiled at me and walked away.

"He's right, you do look good."

I turned around to see where the voice came from.

"Brian!" I exclaimed with excitement, and a huge smile. "You look good too my friend!"

I was very surprised to see Brian at the reunion. He was my only friend in high-school, he dropped out midway through our junior year and I hadn't seen him since.

"No I don't, you are just being kind," he sadly replied. " I am a loser, always have been, always will be." as he slammed back his drink and asked the bartender for another.

He was right. He was in rough shape. As a 17yo he was lanky. Now he was downright skinny, and his clothes looked too big on his 6ft frame. His unshaven face was pushing 3-4 days growth. The long mop on his head was oily, unkept, and greying. The dark circles and deep wrinkles on his face told me alot. He has been in a dark place for a long time. He didn't look 49, more like 60. It was obvious that he has emptied many bottles, and sampled a myriad of illegal substances.

"I am sorry Casey, I don't know what I am doing here," as he got up and turned to leave.

"Wait, can I get your number?"

"Why? I am a bum and you are beautiful."

"Because, despite your current opinion of yourself, I am happy to see you and I want to catch up with you."

"Ah, what the hell, I got nothing to share though," he replied with a cute Eddie Van Halen impish grin.

"Ok great," I smiled as we exchanged numbers.

"Sure is good to see you Casey, you look happy."

"I am happy, Brian," I replied smiling bigger than before.

"Look, I gotta go to work." as he staggered down the hall.

Oh crap, he was even worse off than I originally thought. Going to work drunk? Not a good sign at all.

I didn't stay at the reunion much longer. Showing the new and improved me to a bunch of people I really don't care about was what I came to do. Now that I accomplished that, I got bored. Besides, why should I make fake niceties to a group of kids that ignored me 30 years ago. Now they want to be friends with me because I am beautiful? I don't fucking think so.

The hotel I was staying in was right across the street from the host hotel. I could have booked a room at the host, but I didn't want anyone to see me until I was ready to reveal myself.

As I walked across the lobby of my hotel, I spied a poster advertising the band who was playing in the bar that night. A quick Google search of the band name, yielded no information so I asked the desk clerk. She had no idea either, so she called her manager. "Rock and roll covers, and some originals."

My night was already looking better. Nothing beats live music and I always took a chance to see a live band whenever I could. Some are fairly lousy, and some make it to my playlist. There is just something about seeing a group of talented musicians up there on stage showing off their hard work. That kick drum beating in my heart. Fast fingers working on 6 strings, squealing sonic blasts. Never ending deep thump of the bass, keeping time. The singer who belts their heart out, pumping up and exciting the crowd of enthusiastic fans. Nothing else makes me feel more alive.

Upstairs, I finally understood the reason why women pack heavily for even a short trip. It was just one night, yet I brought a full suitcase and a small carry-on. I was adventurous and was ready for anything on a moments notice. Just let me change first!

My new outfit consisted of pleather leggings, spike heels, more intense makeup, and a loose fitting linen blouse. I tossed my hair up into a wild look, and I was ready to rock. One more quick check in the mirror, and I unfastened another button on my blouse. I paid enough for these puppies, and I like to show them off.

Entering the dimly lit bar, I was a happy girl. The band was already onstage and playing Photograph by Def Leppard. If it was the only song from my childhood formative year that they would play, then I would call it a good night. Anything more would be just a bonus.

Pulling up a stool at the bar, I ordered up a screwdriver, Patron please. I smiled again when the band went into Crazy Train by Ozzy. The guitarist was pretty good, the singer, in my opinion did a better job with the Def Leppard song, and the drummer was just plain average.

Deciding the barstool was a bit uncomfortable, I headed to a high top table on the left. Stage right.

The bass player was the weakest point of the band. He just kinda stood there playing. He didn't move around much at all, just stared at the floor off to the side in the dark. Like he was trying to hide. It was hard to tell, but my impression was that he knew what he was doing, and was probably good at some point. Not tonight, he wasn't playing very well at all.

For some reason he intrigued me, and I paid more attention to him than the other guys. At one point, he stumbled forward and his face was briefly caught in the spotlight. It was my friend Brian! Now that I saw his face, I could recognize the rest. The long dark hair and clothes that didn't fit. That was him for sure.

I was relieved when I recalled that he said he was going to work despite being tipsy. Its a rock and roll party, why not knock back a couple before you hit the stage. Then I thought back to the word he used. Work. Its a word that many people use when they don't want to be there. He didn't say that he had to go play a gig. Or that he played bass guitar in a band. He had to go to work.

His playing was lousy. I took notice of the other band members looking at him and talking amongst themselves. It seemed they were all struggling, changing tempo at the wrong time just to keep step with him, instead of the other way around.

As Barracuda by Heart came to a close, the singer announced they were taking a break and asked the small crowd to stick around for more. Brian set his bass in a stand and went to walk off stage. Before he could, the singer grabbed him by the arm and spoke to him. I couldn't hear what they were saying, all I know is that it wasn't good for my friend. After a few minutes, Brian wretched free and headed to the bar. The singer looked like he wasn't done, but let him go anyway.

I followed him up to the bar. He staggered as he walked. Earlier he was tipsy, now he was quite drunk.

"Hi again!" I said, as he waited for a drink he clearly didn't need.

Turning my direction, it took him a few seconds before he recognized me. "Casey? What are you doing here?"

"I am staying here at the hotel. I have a room upstairs. The reunion got boring after you left, so I thought I would check out the band."

He just looked at me with a blank glassy eyed stare. "I'm going outside for a smoke, ya wanna join me?"

"Sure," I smiled. "I don't smoke, I will come out with you though."

The moment we were outside, a cigarette was lit and he puffed away happy to satisfy his fix.

"The guys aren't too happy with me."

"I can see and hear why."

"Like I said earlier, I am a loser," facing downward, unable to look at me. He knew I would see shame in his eyes.

"In high-school I was a lousy musician on an instrument that I didn't care for. You seem like you used to be really good, yet you are drunk and that is affecting your playing and you just don't seem to care."

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't be sorry. Did something happen?"

"My dad died a few years ago. He was an abusive jerk and I hate him. I don't know why I miss him so much."

"I don't know why either. I met him once, we were in maybe 10th grade, he didn't seem too bad."

"Let me ask you again. Why are you here? You are very beautiful, and very successful, and not an alcoholic drunk. Better question is, why are you here with me?"

"I am here by serendipity. It just so happened that we should meet up again tonight." I took a sip of my drink before proceeding. "You were my only friend in high-school at a time when kids really need their peers. I just wanted to see you again. Maybe thank you for being a friend."

Just then, the door popped open and the singer poked his head out. "For fucks sake Brian!" he said angrily. "There you are! Come on!" He snatched the drink out of Brians hand with one hand, and grabbed his arm with the other hand. "We gotta get back on stage!"

Just before the door closed, a lit cigarette came flying out to land in a smoldering mess on the ground. That is Brian. A smoldering mess. I stared at it a few minutes before picking it up and extinguishing in an ashtray.

The 3rd song into their second set was Faith No More's song, Falling to Pieces. The singer did an amazing job mirroring Mike Pattons vocals. It was a song he obviously loved and it showed.

The problem came, when about 2/3 into the song, there is a standout bass line. Time for Brian to shine. Just like the songs name, he fell to pieces and the rest of the song fell flat.

Apparently the band had enough. The singer dully thank the crowd for coming and shut things down early. Then he proceeded to yell at the drunk bassist. Brian just stood there and took the beating. Eventually he was done, and pointed toward the door. Brian just nodded, put the guitar in its case and walked away.

"Hey!" I quickly caught up with him.

"Go away Casey, you don't want to be around me. Nobody does. All I will do is bring you down."

"Where are you going? I sure hope you aren't driving in your condition."

"No, I don't have a car. 4 DUIs will fuck your life up bad."

"Well I can't drive you home. I wasn't planning on driving tonight and I have had 4 drinks tonight."

"I don't have any money for a cab, I'll just walk or something."

"My room upstairs has a second bed. Why don't you spend the night with me, and I can take you home in the morning."

In my room, I helped Brian get partially undressed for bed, leaving his boxers on. My heart dropped when we got his t-shirt off. Underneath was a multitude of burns and nasty scars. I could see some before, but this was next level horror. In addition there was an array of tattoos. Most was in dedication to time in the armed forces. Tattoos that said things like, death before dishonor, semper fi, a tattoo of the Marine Corp bulldog, barbed wire, guns, knives, demons, and a few alcohol brand names.

"Why are you crying?" he gently asked as I gingerly traced a nastier scar not wanting to hear it's story.

"Do they hurt?"

"Sometimes more than others. Right now your fingers feel really good."

I jerked my hand away in surprise. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't be sorry. It felt good. It's been a while since I have felt a woman's touch."

"You know that I am not a woman."

"True and not true. You are very much a woman, and I know who you used to be."

I almost missed a small tattoo in the middle of his chest. A small red heart about the size of a quarter. Tracing it, I asked, "Why the heart?"

Brian laid back, closed his eyes, and while smiling uttered one word, "Robin." Moments later I could hear a soft snore.

I brushed out my hair, and took off my makeup. Dutifully I took my meds, changed into a clean pair of panties, and a pretty nightgown and went to sleep in the other bed.

Some time during the night, Brian joined me in my bed. It had been a while since I have had a man in bed with me and his closeness felt good so I didn't object.

He was good looking under all that scruff, and he still has a tender heart. Can I help him? Does he even want help? Maybe he has lost his way. Who is, or was Robin? What about the two of us? I think I want him, bigger question is, does he want me? Am I ready for whatever baggage it is that is pulling him down?

In the end, I decided that all questions will be answered given enough time. We are right here and right now. I was on my side and pushed my butt backwards. He wrapped a long arm around me and we snuggled into a comfortable spoon position. This was nice. Really, really nice. We both fell back asleep before too long, waiting for the new day.

Who woke up first I have no idea. Maybe it was mutual. All I know is that arm started to roam over my body, and he started to push into me more. His touch felt really good, so it was difficult to roll over and ask him to stop.

"Stop right there!" Brian softly sang out in falsetto. "Before you go any further, do you love me forever, will you make me so happy, will you make me your wife?"

I giggled at the Meatloaf reference.

"Stop? Why?" as he leaned into kiss me.

I pulled back to avoid the kiss. "Two reasons. Probably more than two. Two immediately come to mind."

"Ok", he smiled. Shit, that smile is probably going to kill me some day.

"Number one. We didn't get to talk about this yesterday. I still have my boy parts down there."

Brians smile didn't fade at all. "A wise man once said, its not the label on the bottle. It's the wine inside. I think your label is outstanding, sexy, hot, and beautiful. I don't care about what is down there inside."

"I have to agree with you. To a point. Your label is very desirable. The problem here is that you have the potential to be a Lafitte Rothschild and you are currently a Mad Dog 20/20."

"I don't know a Lafoot is. It sounds expensive and upper class. Can you settle for a Kendall Jackson?"

"Kendall Jackson it is. This brings us to number two. Brian. You stink."

"Uh yeah sorry. Been on a bit of a bender lately."