"What the hell is wrong with me?" Martin asked himself as he leaned over the sink. Staring at the faucet without actually seeing it, trying to figure out if he was sick or going insane, he forced himself to breathe easy in an attempt to banish the Devil's thoughts.
After a couple minutes, he reached out, turned on the cold water tap and splashed a handful of water on his face. Reaching for the towel hung next to the sink, he dried his face and straightened up. Peering into the mirror, he tried to convince himself that he was mistaken, that he wasn't seeing what he saw, but found he couldn't. Tossing the towel onto the counter next to the sink, he grimaced at the smooth, round, almost babyish feminine face that peered back at him.
"It's got to be the hair," he thought as he peered at his hair, which was fuller and down almost to the midpoint of his back. Displeased with its length, how it made him look, he reached for the scissors and clippers he'd left on the sink earlier that morning and began to work at trimming down his hair to how he believed he it should be.
As he worked at this, he let his thoughts drift to the past couple hours. Church services had been an nightmare in his opinion. Twice he found himself thinking that he should be downstairs with the rest of the kids for bible classes and study, and, upon reaching church, had almost followed Taylor when the thought first came to him. But stopping himself at the last second, he instead managed to force himself to follow Charlotte, telling himself, "It's the Devil's thoughts. Lead me not into temptation," and taking his seat, he silently prayed as he forced himself to focus on the Sunday morning services, hoping he wouldn't do anything stupid or have any more of the Devil's thoughts.
Yet, this wasn't to be so. For as more people filed in and sat down, some of them greeted him and Charlotte. Only, the thing was, a number of them called him Holly instead of his God given name. Trying to shrug it off, telling himself he'd misheard, he greeted them in single sentence words and was glad when services finally got underway. At least until the kids came upstairs and took a seat near the front, in which the Devil's thoughts came back and he found himself, as he brushed a lock of hair back, thinking he should be sitting with them and, as he noticed what some of what the girl's had on, that he should be dressed in a pretty outfit like they were. Tearing his eyes away with some difficulty as the congregation rose for final prayer, Martin found he couldn't focus on the words he was supposed to saying.
Glad when services were finally over, he hoped they could leave right away, but was disappointed when Charlotte insisted on staying for the social gathering over coffee and doughnuts and pastries. Greeting a couple people, most of whom he'd known all his life, Martin was frustrated when some of them addressed him as Holly. And then, to his alarm, the pastor greeted them, calling him Holly as she did so.
Unsure why people kept calling by a girl's name, Martin tried to remain good mannered and when nature's call caught his attention, he was only too glad to excuse himself. Trying to figure out what was going on as he moved across the basement common room, he exited toward the classroom and without paying attention to where he was going, very nearly walked into the woman's restroom. Embarrassed by what he'd almost done, he didn't miss a beat as he hastily switched course and, hoping nobody had noticed, headed for the men's room, where he sat down to do his business without giving it a moment's pause.
After church, in which he found more of the Devil's thoughts threatening to intrude, Martin tossed the car keys to Charlotte, giving the excuse that he was tired. Home, he struggled to ignore Taylor and his want to go out and play with her as soon as they had changed out of their church things. Heading upstairs, and not giving it a second thought, he made his way toward the empty bedroom, where he collected the denim romper skirt. Starting to unbutton his shirt, he caught himself and staring at the garment as if it was the most offensive thing he'd ever seen, Martin asked himself, "What the hell am I doing?!" before putting it back where he'd gotten it, turned to leave, but stopped at the last moment, staring at the room, thinking something was off.
The unmade bed still sat pressed against one wall, Martin saw that a dresser, matching vanity and end table had joined it. Of the box of clothes he brought down from the attic, Martin could see no hint it had ever been in the bedroom. Wondering if the matching furniture had always been in the room, he found he couldn't remember, now could he suddenly recall where he'd gotten the denim romper skirt from or where he'd put it, though he felt the closet might be the best guess. Confused, listening to make sure there was nobody else upstairs, he exited the bedroom as fast as could and made his way toward his room.
There, he didn't waste any time as he strode purposefully across the room and into the attached bathroom, where he stared in the mirror at his reflection. Thinking something wasn't right, asking himself, "What the hell is wrong with me?" it took him a minute before figuring what was off as he reached for the clippers and scissors and set to work.
When he'd finished cutting and trimming his hair, Martin stared at his reflection a moment longer as he absently cleared the hair from the sink and counter. Displeased his face still had a round, feminine look to it, he ran a hand over his chin, cheeks and upper lip. Feeling only smooth skin, he thought how he'd shaved earlier that morning, but he could never get it as smooth as it was. Turning his head one way, then another, he studied his face, wondering how it was someone's appearance could change as he thought about the lighter shade of colour his hair was now. Sighing, he headed back to the bedroom and began to change his clothes. Figuring it couldn't get any worse, he began thinking of the things he needed to take care of and how he'd promised the neighbours he'd come help them put a new roof on one of their sheds.
Downstairs, distracted by what was happening to him, he kissed Charlotte goodbye, told her, "I'll have lunch at the Reynold's," before grabbing his coat, hat, keys and heading out.
The drive over uneventful, Martin used the short time to try and keep his thoughts focused on what he knew he needed to be taken care of, even as he could feel the Devil's thoughts threatening to intrude with such notions of wanting to play with his big sister Taylor, wanting to play dress-up, or have mommy show him her jewellery, among many, many things he considered girly. Pulling into the Reynold's driveway, he stuck a hand out to wave at Mr Reynold and as he pulled in next to John's truck and stepped out, he paused as he listened to Davis trying to convince his father to let him bike over to Taylor's for the afternoon and how John wouldn't let him do so until he had his chores finished and the boy helped them a bit on the roof. Brushing a bit of hair from his forehead, Martin grabbed his tools from the bed, then started to greet Mr Reynold with a, "Hi," but stopped when he thought something didn't sound right about his voice.
"Now what," he thought sourly as John and his son reached an agreement and following after them as they started toward the shed they'd be working on, he paid close attention to how his voice sound as he talked about pitch, yaw, types of boards and tar paper, and shingles. Approaching the shed in question, it came to him what was wrong as he heard his voice give one final pubescent crack and then permanently shift in pitch and cadence. Starting up the ladder, he grimaced as he thought that, if he didn't know any better, he sounded like a little girl when he spoke.
Reaching the roof, hating how his voice now sounded, he told himself, "Hopefully this cannot get any worse," as he set to work, oblivious to the fact that the hair of his head was almost down to his shoulders, whilst the hair on his body had started to recede.