A date with Destiny
“Only the scorned and the ridiculous make good stories.”
Barnes, Djuna. (1937). Nightwood. Harcourt, Brace & Co.
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Jacob's dilemma was resolved in typical Jacobian style when Emily's boyfriend pulled into the Johnson family driveway in his sporty, blue, two-seater convertible; as usual, fate made the decision for Jacob, allowing the poor boy to continue simply being a passive observer in the moving panoply that was his life.
Only right now, it wasn't his life. Right now, the girl he loved was living his fat, lonesome, do-nothing life. And right now, Jacob was Emily Johnson: the beautiful, redheaded girl of his own dreams. And right now, Jacob was going out for dinner and a movie with her boyfriend Michael.
Michael Jones: broad shouldered, square jawed, ruggedly handsome high school sports star. There he sat, toothsome smile, wavy chestnut hair, chiseled features … not at all the soft, doughy puddle of languid asthenia and vacillating doubt that was Jacob Smith.
Jacob hated this tall, clean-cut hunk of cocksure masculinity.
But Emily liked him.
And right now, seen through Emily's limpid emerald eyes, Jacob couldn't help but admire Michael's pleasing appearance and self-assured manner.
“I must be thinking with her brain or feeling with her hormones already,” Jacob mused silently.
From the car, Michael winked and gestured.
“You'd better go,” hissed Emily from Jacob's body. She nudged him forward with an elbow.
Hesitantly, Jacob took a step towards Michael's automobile. He felt rather like a baby taking its very first steps. In his case, these were the first couple full leg movements he had ever executed in his smaller, female form. He nervously watched his tiny, new feet, presently shod in Emily's little black ankle booties. Timidly, he placed his weight on the balls of his feet, as though not daring to do more than tiptoe for fear of exposing himself as the clumsy oaf he secretly was. One, two, three small shuffling baby steps. Emily's shoes were soft and well-cushioned, and even with all his new body weight centered on Emily's petite metatarsus he felt no pain from his unusual gait. Her body was light, airy, graceful, nimble, and so energetic. After a lifetime of being a stumbling, bumbling klutz, Jacob now knew what it was to be a dainty, limber, dexterous pixie. He felt so alive. With a lightness of heart, he found himself inexplicably shifting from a simple shuffling tiptoe motion into a full-blown emboîté as he literally danced with joy across the lawn. He felt the black skirt around his legs twirl airily as he skipped, spun, and flitted breezily towards Michael's car.
Michael laughed as Jacob reached the patiently purring convertible.
“Someone's happy to see me,” he said, flashing a winsome grin.
Jacob blushed, suddenly remembering himself. He'd have to be careful while inhabiting Emily's body. Don't let her hormones and emotions get the better of you, he reminded himself. And secondly, don't get too accustomed to being an agile, zingy little slip of youthful, vivacious femininity. It felt good to be so happy, so exuberant, so vitalized – but this wasn't really Jacob's body. Eventually (through means and methods yet to be explained), he would have to surrender this physical form to the real Emily. Remember that.
As Jacob got into the car, he shot a glance back at the original Emily. Was that a wry look of reluctant humor on her now chubby, male face? She was finding this whole situation amusing, wasn't she? Well, probably not the bit about having to miss a big date with the one-and-only Michael … but Jacob's quandary: him dressed up like a girl, dancing across the front yard in full sight of the universe, and now driving away for a romantic evening with a gorgeous dream boat like Michael … well, Emily was clearly trying not to laugh out loud at the whole surreal absurdity of Jacob's predicament.
He had to admit: if it were happening to someone other than himself, he'd probably permit himself at least an uncomfortable giggle at this sort of awkward pickle of a problem.
“So, baby doll!” said Michael from the driver's seat. “I was thinking Italian for dinner? I think you mentioned how much you love that, uh … what was that pasta thingy?”
Jacob fluttered his eyelids, distantly aware Emily had applied an heavier-than-usual coating of thick mascara to these lashes. It was flattering that Michael remembered Emily's favorite food. Jacob felt his pulse quicken with delight.
“Pasta Carbonara,” he said with Emily's voice.
How did he know that? Was he acquiring Emily's memories now, too? No, he'd heard her mention it before. She'd started fancying that after seeing some old romcom film it was featured in. She tried the dish, fell in love with it, and had been gushing about it a couple years back. That was how Jacob knew. He actually paid attention when she spoke about her thoughts, interests, opinions, likes and dislikes – unlike the jerk sitting next to Michael who couldn't even remember the name of Jacob's favorite food.
“Emily's favorite,” he corrected in a sotto voce whisper.
“Yeah, that is Emily's favorite, isn't it?” grinned Michael with a wink, mistakenly thinking Jacob had been addressing him. “And I'm hoping I can become Emily's favorite, too. You'd like that, wouldn't you baby doll?”
God, he's so full of himself, thought Jacob. Is this really what women want? An arrogant, egotistical mass of burly brawn! If only Jacob had used that crazy, steampunk ring of magic metal to wish himself into being Michael Jones. But … no, Jacob didn't really want to become the sort of blockheaded mass of testosterone and braggadocio that was jerks like Michael. But still, there had to be some kind of middle ground! Couldn't he have improved his own life without inadvertently wishing himself into the body of the girl-next-door? Jacob heaved a weary sigh and watched his own perky, little breasts rise and fall beneath the cottony, green fabric of his crop top. Damn, he was cute!
Dinner proved anticlimactically uneventful. Michael was a perfect gentleman, opening doors for Jacob, holding a chair out for him, and exhibiting every gesture of storybook chivalry known to teenage jocks. It was sweet, really. Uncomfortable for Jacob, but endearing on the part of Michael nonetheless. A bit dumb, but still touching. If only Jacob were here on a date with Emily instead. Of course, she wouldn't be pulling out chairs or opening doors for him … unless of course he remained in her body while she somehow got put in Michael's body … No! He shouldn't think such things. But it was possible, wasn't it? Would that hypothetical have been the best possible scenario, after all? Jacob really had feelings for Emily, but he had to confess a big part of him was secretly enjoying living the life of a pretty girl. God, he was so messed up.
Of course the right and proper course of action wasn't to indulge in such outlandish, genderbending fantasies. The just course of action was to smile politely at Michael, laugh at his jokes, hold hands with (and maybe, gulp, even kiss during the movie!) … and then thank him for a wonderful evening when he dropped Jacob off back at home. Then, the next morning, Jacob and Emily could put their heads together (with, he admitted, some help from that precocious know-it-all weirdo, Kaitlyn) … and somehow things can go back to normal.
Sad, pathetic, lonely normal. Well, for Jacob at least. But if he played his role well this evening, then when Emily reclaimed rightful ownership of her life and body, things could go back to “happily ever after” for her. Hurray!
That was the right course of action, no?