I am led into a small room with plain, white walls and a dim, warm light. I am sat on the half-egg-shaped chair in the middle by the two burly escorts. The chair restricts a full view of the room. There is only a small steel chair in front of me, about three feet away. I look down at my sterile white outfit. It itches a bit. A loud thud. The two men are gone. The door opens again. A pair of important sounding footsteps enter. He appears suddenly, a short man, and sits on the vacant chair. His shoes are shiny. They must have taken days to polish. He has black pants and a white shirt and a black tie. His short blond hair is combed to one side and he is wearing a pair of thin eyeglasses. In his right hand, a notepad. A4 size. He opens it. He is missing the tip of his middle finger on his left hand. He readjusts his grip of the pencil he pulls from his shirt pocket. His remaining nails are chewed to the nub. He hasn’t looked up yet.
“Date of birth?” his voice is short and cold.
“March 13th, 2044.”
“Age?”
“Sixteen.”
“Name?”
“Cassiopeia Annealer.”
“Case number”
“Pardon?”
I see his green eyes, “What number did they tell you outside?”
“I don’t… I think… six-sixteen.”
He continues, “Gender?”
“Gender?”
“Male, Female, or fluid?”
“Ah, I’m a girl.”
“Female?”
“Female.”
“Percentage?”
“I am at eighty-three percent feminine spectrum.”
“Sex at birth?”
“Girl. Female.”
“Sexual orientation?”
“Hetrosexual.”
“Mother?”
“Susan Annealer.”
“Father?”
“Marcus Annealer”
“Siblings?”
“One.”
“Name?”
“Danny…Daniel Annealer.”
“Date of birth?”
“April 1st, 2042”
“Gender?”
“Male.”
“Date of death?”
“April 1st, 2059.”
“Cause of death?”
“Do I have to answer that question?”
Those damn green eyes. “In order for me to make an effective evaluation on your recovery, I need you to answer every question. Cause of death?”
“Asphyxiation.”
“Complete answers.”
“I can’t.”
“You need to answer the question, or I will be forced to reconsider your application to return home.”
I try to hold it in. My eyes are cloudy, “Suicide! But it was an accident!”
The man is still. I am crying.
“That will be all.”
He closes his notepad and stands up. His important footsteps end with the sound of the door shutting.
***
“This isn’t right. It’s not right…”
“It’s never perfect.”
“I don’t know if I can accept it.”
“Her. She is a human being, she…she is real, Marcus. Isn’t she, Doctor?”
Half-moon reading glasses sit at the end of his hooked nose. He too, is dressed in the white shirt with the black pants and black tie. Company standard. Bright lights reflect off his head. His fingernails are otherwise immaculate
“We are the very best in asexual reproduction. Memories usually don’t follow all too well. In some cases, it’s for the best.”
“But what if she remembers something?
“There is always a chance. The hypnosis usually is ninety percent effective.”
“So, there is a chance she could find out the truth?”
“But of course, on-going psychiatric care is included in the price. Lifetime care.”
Susan grabs for a tissue, “It’s too late now, isn’t it?”
The doctor smiled. Black pupils; eternal darkness. They draw in the couple. “We do offer that, if you refuse to accept the purchase, the product is sent into foster care pending adoption.”
“Product? That’s our son!”
Marcus murmers, “Daughter, Dear. We have a daughter now.”
The doctor pulls out two forms. Almost identical in every way including places to sign at the bottom. Setting them apart: the subject. The one on the left, an acceptance form whereby the company, Huang-Di Biogenetics Corp., forgoes all legal ownership of the child. The right: the company retains legal guardianship and the parents are released from any further legal or financial responsibility or obligation.
“I think we should sign, Dear. We paid all this money. I can’t bear to lose another child.”
Marcus reads the contracts.
***
“Dan! Danny? Dinner is ready?”
Susan pours the pot of pasta into the colander in the sink.
“Marcus! Can you go upstairs and get your son?”
Marcus pulls himself off the couch. Upstairs, he bangs on the door.
“Open the door, Boy. Your mother is calling.”
The music is loud through the door. Danny doesn’t respond. Marcus tries the door.
“Danny. So help me, I will kick this door down.”
No response.
“Marcus, Hurry up. It’s getting cold!”
Marcus watches the doorknob, expecting it to turn.
***
It’s just as I remember it. Mum and Dad follow in behind me, arm in arm. Mum always wore pretty dressess. I always envied them. Dad never put in the same effort.
“We didn’t change a thing. It’s just how it was when you…”
“How long has it been? It all looks familiar, but I feel like I’ve never been here.”
Mum and Dad’s smiles dissapear.
Mum is first, “Go upstairs. See your room. It’s exactly the same. The drumkit, the PS4, your clothes are…”
I acend, Mum stops. I head straight for my room and stare at the doorknob. I turn it.
Inside, mum is right. My bed is unmade; I never make my bed, the Pearl kit; still tuned, my vintage Lego pirate ship; free from dust, everything is… perfect.
“We prepared your room for your arrival. Fresh sheets but they’re as you like them; messy.” Mum is sweet.
“Where was I? Why can’t I remember anything?”
“Your brother’s death hit you pretty hard, Cas. I don’t know how you got on the drugs, but it’s over now. The doctors said you’re all fine. You can start over. Start back at your old school.”
“I need some time alone.”
“Of course, Da-Dear. Anything you need.”
The door shuts, and I am alone. I pick up a pair of sticks, but I can’t bring myself to play. Zildjian and Pearl stare at me, longing for a jam. I inspect my desk. My stuff is still the same. Dad enjoyed building the Lego sets with me when I was a kid. One of the better memories I have.
“Dinner’s Ready!”
Dad will be up soon. I go to the closet. It isn’t at all as I remember. All my clothes are different. New.
“Your mother is calling.” I jumped. “Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to scare you. Dinner is ready. Your favourite; pasta.
“Dad. Where are all my clothes?”
“We donated a lot to charity after… We just didn’t want you to keep the ones your brother got you. We felt that it wasn’t best for you.”
“But they were my clothes. I don’t care that Daniel bought them, they were mine.”
“You have new clothes now. What’s the issue?”
“The issue is that they were my clothes. He bought them for my birthday. You had no right to take my things.”
Dad steps closer to me, “We are your parents. We discussed it with the doctors and they all agreed. We gave you a whole new wardrobe. We shopped at Forever New, Iconic – online, of course, but we got everything for you. To help with the change.”
“I don’t think I’m hungry. I think I’ll go straight to bed.”
Dad grabs my arm. It hurts. Tears form in my eyes. His face changes.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “Your mother worked very hard to cook your favourite. I think you should really make an effort to understand how hard we worked to bring you back. If only you knew how much we gave up. How much this all cost.”
Dad leaves. I shut the door.
***
Marcus kicks the door in. Daniel jumps.
“Dad! You scared me.”
“What the hell is going on in here? What are you wearing? Where did you get that?”
“I bought it.”
“A dress? Why are you wearing a dress? You’re a boy! Act like one. Get changed and come down stairs and eat with the family. Your mother is waiting.”
“Dad, I took a test. One of those GenderMe tests. I may look like a boy, but it says that I am eighty-three percent feminine. The average girl is like above seventy-five percent.
Marcus turns to leave, “Rubbish! Get rid of those clothes. It’s embarrassing.”
“No.”
“What?”
“…No.”
“No what?”
“These are my clothes. I bought them, and I’m keeping them.”
“Them?”
Marcus turns back and opens the closet. Behind hanging shirts and jeans, he finds bags of clothes with Forever New written across them. He begins emptying the bags.
“What are you doing? I paid a lot of money for those clothes.”
Marcus ignores him. Daniel grabs at his dad. Marcus turns and pushes Daniel to the ground. He grabs an empty bag and is moving toward Daniel.
“You’re not my son.”
***
“So, there is no way to guarantee a son?”
“No, unfortunately. We are bound by international ethics law. It is a fifty-fifty chance. Not including intersex. Just like in nature. Gender spectrum, as you may be aware, is calculated as a percentage. There is a high chance the gender will remain the same as the sample, your son.’
Marcus stands up to leave.
“Wait,” Susan grabs his arm. It is unusually tight. It hurts. “Don’t take this away from me as well.”
Marcus sits back down. He picks up the pen.