Ask

I’m suddenly a 40-year old woman in the body of a sixteen-year old boy. Overnight: the following things are true:

• My English is now good enough to pass as a native speaker with some subtle Japanese biases. Aforementioned English is also spoken very femininely, and child me has no Japanese accent. This alerts my parents, my friends, my teachers, everyone. Trying to do that accent voluntarily feels racist and horrible. I’m immediately caught out and everyone is asking me questions.
• My wife, who I’ve fallen asleep to every night, is now a 19-year old kid in Texas. I will miss her deeply and I cannot even grieve without arousing suspicion. Her existence at this point in her life is miserable. I know what she’s suffering through and which address she’s suffering at. Even if I went to go see her, she wouldn’t know who I am. I don’t look like me. She also hasn’t met me yet.
• I know full well that I’m trans and I know that my mother and father are hostile to such notions, and I know there’s nothing I can even do at that point in time. They will also start questioning how I went from struggling through Goosebumps, to wishing I could read Ryka Aoki one more time. I don’t have access to HRT and will get very depressed very fast.
• Most of my favorite music doesn’t exist yet. I will hum songs by Hitorie, The Beths, South Arcade, Battle Tapes, and Emi Nakamura under my breath decades before they’re written. This is a problem.
• The technology I use to make my art doesn’t exist yet. Digital cameras at the turn of the millennium were ass.
• I’m still 40. I’d look at my friends then, who I don’t talk to at all in the present day, and would abruptly drop them. They’re assholes then, they’re assholes now. I wouldn’t be able to connect with anyone my age cause they’d see a 16-year old boy talking about photography for a style of camera that can’t exist then.
• One of my two strokes gets undone. My body moves somewhat easier. However, I still walk like I had two. This alerts my parents, who have been keeping close tabs on my medical record.
• The house I’m living in now hasn’t been built yet then.

In summary, endless culture shock. I would panic forever. My life would immediately be one of those television shows where suspicion keeps mounting against the main character and there’s jack shit anyone can do to stop it.

I suppose I could tell her that in a month, 9/11 is happening and what transpires, down to Kevin Cosgrove’s phone call. She’d panic and try to contact the feds, and I’d just say that Bush already knows. It’s in the commission report that doesn’t exist yet.

That might actually radicalize them…