Brass Rose

She stood in front of the mirror. The body that was her own seemed less like a temple and

more like a prison. She used her arm to cover her breasts and stared at her naked body. Tattooed

down the back of her forearm was a rose, notably flanked with two intersecting lines and marked

N at its peaka compass, just like her mothers.

Her mother had never done anything wild except her 30-year habit of smoking an

entire pack of Marlboro Menthols each day. She insisted that she could quit anytime she

wanted, but with the diagnosis of lung cancer, she didnt find the time to quit before her 45th.

Lung cancer. Six months was the doctors prognosis, and Jills mother knew that her time

was limited. She knew she wouldnt live to see her two daughters, Jill and Clarissa, walk down

the aisle. Shed never see them graduate college or have children or pursue their dreams. Shed

never see what her daughters would become. Instead of sulking during the next six months, Jills

mother wanted to do something wild. The day before Jill would watch her mother pass, she took

her mother for one last wild ride.

Jill arrived at the hospital early. It must have been one or two in the morning. But

someone had to bust her mother out of the hospital, and visiting hours had long since passed. The

heist of a bed-ridden cancer patient was hardly noticeable. Jills mother was ready to go, having

set her alarms, taken her medication, and slipped on her slippers. This was going to be her last

adventure, and she wanted to make it worthwhile, something memorable. A tattoosomething

so miniscule yet something so precious, her mother forked over the cash to permanently stamp a

compass rose on each of their forearms, meant to guide Jill throughout her life and remind her

that her mother is with her wherever she may go.

 The adventure was a success but had proven tiring for Jills mother. By the time they had

returned to the hospital, the sun was rising behind the hospital. It was well past her mothers

bedtime. Her mother fell asleep nearly as soon as her head reached the pillow, and Jill took to the

chair the nurse had brought for her to rest.

The sun shined through the hospital rooms window as it set, waking Jill. She was startled

by its brightness and the sudden cacophony coming from the machines connected to her mother.

Jill, she said, come quick! Jill hopped to her feet and neared the hospital bed. Her mother,

lying on the hospital bed which had become her new home, reached out her arm, the one with

fresh ink, and held Jills hand.

Its brass, her mother spoke, looking down at their outstretched forearms and holding

back tears, to remind you to find your inner truth and never lose courage. Gripping Jills hand

tightly now, her mother gasped for air, You are braveJillDo..dont letany...thing ch

chchange that. With that, her mother let out a final gasp and left the room silent aside from

the no-longer-pulsing noise of her mothers flatlined heart.

Jill, realizing she had been standing in the mirror for nearly a half hour, ran her hand over

the tattoo and stopped at the compasss needle which was permanently pointed north. She took a

step back from the mirror and exhaled. She had been holding her breath for who knows how

long, holding back waves of emotion. She put her clothes on and returned downstairs where her

sister, Clarissa, had been flipping through page after page of Vogue and Tatler, frantically

looking for another blouse or another necklace to keep her own feelings at bay. Jill accepted her

sisters habit; she herself had gone through a bout of shopaholic syndrome. After all, money

wasnt a problem. Their mother had left them a sizable inheritance, but with a double-story
home, a couple of cars for each of them, a full wait staff, and their late fathers return on

investments, Jill and her sister never knew a day without the very best that money could buy.

Jilly! Clarissa screamed as Jill came back to earth from the attic. LikeHumor me.

Lets go shopping. Theres, like, a huge sale on Jimmy Choo at Neiman Marcus and, like, an

even huger sale at Saks on Prada handies. Look! she shoves the foldout advertisement between

Jills eyes, so close to her face she can smell the perfume samples. Jilly, we just have to go!

You can practically hear the wannabe valley girl falling right out of her lips the way she insists

on adding emphasis on words by raising her pitch and adding unnecessary rs and -ies. Letting

out a sigh, Jill does little to hesitate, after all, she needed time away from the house.

They arrived downtown which is an oddity of its own, people walking on stilts, people

dressed in superhero costumes, people preaching in every language and of every religion all

trying to sell you some new serum that cures all your worldly doubts. Jill scoffed as she walked

past, but Clarissa and Jill paused when, walking out of Saks Fifth Avenue, came a six-and-a-half

foot tall black man wearing a dazzling turtleneck full-length black satin dress with long sleeves

and a nude illusion with beadings and feathered embellishments, Tiffany Jazz pagoda earrings in

platinum with diamonds, of course, and one of only 21 of the most coveted Alexander

McQueen pieces, 10-inch armadillo heels. Clarissa recited the ensemble as if she had rehearsed

a script and had the lines by heart. O-m-gawd, Clarissa trailed off, running short on air as

she gawked at the site. A tranny? Wearing those heels?

I dont know who you think you are, honey, but where Im from, you get your ass

kicked for saying something like that. Here, take these heels. Theyre killing my feet anyway,

and since you cant keep your eyes off them, I figure you can be miserable in them for a day.

The man in drag reached out to hand Clarissa a shimmering business card. On his arm was a
tattoo identical to the one Jill and her mother had. Call me when you get sick of them. With

that, he reached in to faire la bise each of Clarissas cheeks.

Jill stood there, mouth agape, as the man started to walk away. Its not polite to open your

mother like that, sweetie. You never know what might get in there. He winked and vanished

down into the subway.

Jill was surprised, not that a man was in heels or had been sassier than her or her sister or

had a better fashion sense than both of them combined. Jill was surprised that the man was so

comfortable with himself in womens clothing. She took the card from Clarissas hand and read

the name on the card, Patricia Patti Hearst, Designer Pirate At-Large-and-In-Charge. Jill

chuckled and flung the card onto the city street, adding to the piling litter yet to be collected.

Clarissa found the nearest bench to rest on and to change from her Jimmy Choo flipflops into the

McQueen Armadillos.

They returned to the task at handSaks. They walked into the Fifth Avenue store

disheveled from the incident outside but all-too-eager to drop some cash on a couple new

handbags. They searched collection after collection, Clarissa finding an armful that she had to

have. Jill, on the other hand, felt out of place. She had always shopped with Clarissa; it was

their thing as their mother liked to call it even though she joined them on almost every

occasion before she fell ill. Jill was a spender. She had every big-ticket item she wantedevery

gown, every jewel, every fragrance. None of it felt like her.

On days when she was home alone or when she found the time to escape the endless

sprees with her sister, shed sneak off into her dads closet and try on his business suits. Shed

look at herself in the panorama of mirrors, admiring how tailored yet comfortable mens attire
was, how inviting it seemed despite a lack of space for her breasts. At least once a week for the

past eight years, shed sneak out a dress shirt or a tie or pair of shoes and dress them up, trying to

hide the manliness of the look behind jewelry or cardigans.

Her fathers closet was left exactly the way he had left it before he, too, passed.

Murdered, held hostage because he was an investment banker. After the economy hit rock bottom

in 2008, some middle-class man who had lost all he had ever worked for thought he was

justified in killing him, anyone who could possibly tied to the losses. Her father, though he told

his family otherwise, had been exploiting consumers want for a new home by handing out loans

to unqualified consumers and driving up housing costs. He was, in fact, one of many individuals

who caused such a disaster. The family was used to scares like that, however. Their home, their

fathers office, even their vehicles had become targets because people figured they could get

money out of them. They had managed to dodge every bullet, that is, until their father didnt.

Leaving Saks Fifth Avenue, Clarissa struggled to carry the handbags she purchased,

partly because of the amount of handbags and partly because of the McQueens, and Jill walked

effortlessly through the storefront where the doorman was waiting. Just as Clarissa stepped back

onto Fifth Avenue, one of the heels of her McQueens snapped, causing Clarissa to twist her

ankle and fall to the littered pavement. Jilly! she screamed, Help me up quick before

someone sees. Jill lent Clarissa a hand, and the two of them hobbled down Fifth Avenue until

they managed to hail a cab. We must find something to eat. I am so hungry and after the day

Ive had

STOP THE CAB! Clarissa shouted. Hey, honey, take your knock-off heels and eat

dirt, Clarissa continued as she launched the McQueens that Patti had stolen the designs for
and the broken heel from the cab window to the barefoot drag queen. Now what would you like

to eat, Jilly? she politely asks as if she were motherly and really cared what Jill wanted to eat.

Cabbie, take us to Masa in Midtown. Clarissa hadnt made reservations but had dated a

man that worked there who would let us in. She loved Japanese food almost as she loved

Japanese boys.

During dinner which is made of several courses handmade by Masa himself and takes

about two hours to eat, their conversation was mostly light and jubilant. The sisters talked about

how crazy the day was, sharing a few laughs. After the main course was served and the two

began eating, talk lent itself to silence. It had been a long day, but Jill had something on her

chest.

After several moments of silence, Jill cleared her throat, Clare, I have to tell you

something. Clarissa finished her bite and quickly interjected, If youre going to tell me you

want to go to Bloomingdales, it can wait until next weekend.

Jill let out a nervous laugh and shook her head. She adjusted the table napkin in her lap

and sat up, trying to prepare herself for her message. Clare, for the past eight years, Ive spent

every day thinking about Dad.

Me, too.

But Clare, Ive been thinking about how Dad dressed, how he acted powerful and

manly, how he didnt have to lug around a chest like this, how his voice was low and could talk

you to sleep. Ive been thinking about how much I hate my body and how much Id just rather

not be here, Jills voice cracked, and she began to cry. Clare, I think I might betransgender.
 Transgender? Clarissa asked, making her voice especially pitchy at the end. I mean, I

love you, Jill, but I justI just dont know. Clarissa grabbed her bundle of handbags and

frantically left the restaurant in tears without speaking another word, not even leaving enough

cash to cover the tip but leaving Jill alone.

Transgender? From then on, Jill could only think of the word with a raised pitch and a

question mark at the end. Days went by, and the sisters didnt speak. Jill stayed upstairs with the

mirror, and Clarissa stayed downstairs with her shoe collection. Then one day Jill came

downstairs to find every shoe gone, every handbag removed, every scent of every fragrance of

Clarissas gone. It was then that Jill knew that she was really alone.

It was then that Jill decided that she was Jack and that Jack was a businessman, even if he

had never worked a day in his life. Jack went to his fathers closet and took off his blouse, let

down his hair, and looked in the mirrors. His eyes traced over the contours of his girlish body,

and he quivered when he caught glimpse of his breasts. He covered them with his arm and again

was reminded of his tattoo, the brassy compass.

He buttoned down a dress shirt and tucked it into his new businessman pants, the pleated

kind that scream Im rich. He fastened a black tie around his neck and looped a belt around his

waist before throwing on the finishing touch, the dress coat. Though everything was a bit large,

hed grow into it, then he set off for his fathers old investment bank, AxisBank.

He walked right past security, flashing his fathers old clearance pass, and to the elevator

which he took to the forty-fifth floor. The elevator dinged, and he was greeted by a receptionist

which he knew from when his father worked there. Beverly, how are you?
 Im sorry, but do I know you? And who may I let know youve arrived? Beverly asked

as politely as he had remembered.

Mr. Calloway, please, Jack said, ignoring the reintroduction of himself to Beverly.

Again, Im sorry, but Mr. Calloway no longer works here. Would you like to meet with

Ms. Baker? Beverly said as she gestured toward what was Mr. Calloways office.

Umno thanks, Jack stuttered as he reached behind himself to press the elevator

button. With that, he walked awkwardly backwards into the elevator and returned alone to his

two-story abode. Ripping off the tie and breaking every button on the shirt, Jack stripped to his

new boxer-briefs and slumped onto the chaise, crying, trying to just fall asleep. Distressed by his

lack of acceptance and lack of know-how, Jack resorted to staying at home, hardly leaving his

bed to eat or shower.

Eventually, the wait staff left. There was no work to be done because no one made messes

nor needed any assistance. Aside from that, Clarissa had seized her late-parents assets and

refused to have any contact with JILLY as she still referenced him. Jilly is clinically insane.

Like, she really needs some help. I guess shopping doesnt work for everyone. With that excuse,

her parents money, and Jacks growing carelessness, Jack was served papers to immediately

vacate the home. He was no longer the owner or the heir to any of his parents fortune, and he

was forced to pack what little he could carry, a few of his fathers suits, a handful of ties, and the

upstairs mirror, and vacate the premises.

The cash he had on hand would be enough to support him for a few months. He just

needed to find a job, and he did, working retail in the mens department of J.C. Penney. He

dressed to the nines for each shift, as if he had much of a choice, but the pay was only good for
his rent and just enough food to scrape by. He hated the classless lowlifes that shopped there, and

it seemed as though everyone was that way. Coming from such wealth to landing flat on his

back, he entered the world of living paycheck to paycheck.

It was during that time that he managed to move in with a coworker, Rhonda, who had a

couple of kids of her own. The deal was that Jack could stay there free of charge if he paid for

the groceries. He managed this well and grew to love Rhondas kids as his own. It was for the

best. Rhonda worked long hours and often stayed with a man uptown who she would have liked

to have called her boyfriend but reserved that for real men. Then one day Rhonda didnt show

for work; she kept the rent and utilities paid up, but she left the kids to Jack with no way of

getting in contact with her. When he tried to find her, he was met with busy signals and

abandoned apartments. He figured she had skipped town, but one Sunday paper had a black and

white mugshot of her with the caption Woman Charged with Selling Counterfeit Apparel. The

story noted that each shoe, dress, and jewel had a shimmering price tag with the brands name

printed: Patti.

Jack realized that Rhonda had told Patti about him and that Patti made sure to take care of

him, especially after Patti found out how despicable Jacks sister was. With the financial help of

Patti, though, Jack could barely make the bills while maintaining the apartment and taking care

of Rhondas two children. He remembered the tattoo on Pattis forearm. Find your inner truth

and never lose courage. His mothers words resonated with him in his time of misery, and the

memories of losing his mother pained him.

It was in this time that he began a few habits. He began smoking the same cigarettes his

mother once did and found solace in a slot machine. It was what he did to cope. He figured it was

somehow better than shopping. Jacks habit became an addiction, an addiction which no one
could save him from. He was alone now and had nothing and no one to help him. He only had a

world of problems and worry and two children who he had no idea how to care for.

He left the apartment each night when the children had fallen asleep and found his way to

the casino, one with the classic style slot machines with the huge levers and the manual wheels.

On one particular evening, Jack left the house without having dinner. He couldnt really afford it.

Instead, he put the children to bed with empty tummies and told them there simply wasnt any

food tonight. They looked into Jacks eyes, and he hugged each of their necks.

Jack sat in front of a slot machine on a stool in the smoke-filled adult zoo with all the

bells and whistles going off. He reached for his cigarettes. This could be it, he thought. He lit

the tip of his cigarette and reached for the lever with an outstretched arm. He took a breathy

pause, looking for a moment at the compass on his arm, and remembered the childrens faces as

he told them there was no money for food. He pushed the thoughts aside and took a long, breathy

drag from the Marlboro Menthol and pulled the lever.

And that was when the bells went off