she waits at windows

Augustus is sitting on the front steps to her house, rocking back and forth in big sweeping movements, trying to figure out if she has maybe made a mistake. 

Her hip hurts every time she sways forward — something twinging painfully in her groin that feels less and less like a bruise the more she tries not to think about it.The motion was already not very satisfying because of how the big brace on her leg holds it straight out in front of her, instead of curled up against her chest the way she prefers, but she still does not stop rocking. The scabs on her hands itch and pull with every anxious flick of her fingers, but she cannot bring herself to stop doing that either. 

Augustus' head jerks uncomfortably to the side. She sniffs. Despite all her best efforts, she has not being having much luck in not thinking about anything about how she'd been run over by a truck last week. There is just too much crowding up inside of her brain for her to sit still, no matter how strange and awkward her body feels around her. 

Nothing is the way that it's supposed to be. Augustus' couch and bathroom and things and clothes are all in the basement where her room is, meaning that she cannot get to them even with the help of the crutches her dad had found for her at a Goodwill, which has been inconvenient. "Inconvenient" meaning: Augustus has to use the upstairs bathroom, and sleep in Aurora's room at night, and be okay with her dad going through her things to bring them up to her. Meaning: Augustus has not been sleeping very well in the wake of her accident at all, actually. 

(Worse: the hospital had given her pain medication for three days, which had not helped much. Unfortunately, neither does the Tylenol her dad gives her now.) 

There's a fracture under her knee, under the big black bruise on her calf she guesses, and there's something wrong with her hip that is supposed to be a bruise, although Augustus hasn't seen one there. She has to wear a big brace for the fractured part, and while she kind of likes the constant pressure of it, she does not appreciate the inconvenient shape it turns her whole leg into. The way it hurts to put weight on, and is kept from bending, also means that Augustus cannot drive to work, or work her shifts, or drive the Changeling home from its shifts, or go visit its house at all. Changeling has been texting her anyway, and Rosemary says it's okay since Augustus has been hurt, but Augustus does not like it. 

Privately in her head, she has been labeling these changes and annoyances and hurts and frustrations at a 4, and then concentrating very hard at packing them down somewhere tight and small until she can pretend they are a 2. Her dad has been working from home so that he can help her during the day after all, which has been nice but also strange. "Strange" meaning: Augustus is never really by herself, and so she does not have the space to be anything bigger than a 2 right now at all. Really, she barely has the room for a 1, but it's already hard enough trying to be anything smaller than a 4. 

Augustus realizes she's picking at the tight stretch of scabbing on the back of her hand, and shoves both under her thighs so that she can't anymore. Her head juts forward, and then jerks to the side in their stillness. Inside of her head, maybe, she is being "callous", but only because she's trying so hard to be "courteous" outside of it. Her dad likes to fix things, and he gets stressed out when Augustus gets upset in ways he cannot fix. Since he can't make it so that Augustus was never run over to begin with, there is nothing he can fix — Augustus does not want to stress him out worse than she already has by feeling too much like she always does. 

So: it isn't a 4, and it's most definitely not a 5, it's only a 2. And anyway, she thinks, switching from rocking back and forth to swaying side to side to see if that's better, she does not really even have anything to complain about. Everyone at the hospital and afterwards told her that over and over again: Augustus was lucky that the car did not kill her when it ran her over. It hurt her, but she did not die, so Augustus was lucky, and that means there's nothing to complain about. She knows it, she's trying. 

(There's something about being told over and over again how she could have died that Augustus has been, privately, having trouble holding in her head the right way with everything else. She's been trying not to think about that either.) 

She sniffs; swaying is a little better, but not much — something inside of her hip still twinges every time she moves. She'd never noticed how much moving her body means moving her hips until this past week. She thinks it would be easier to ignore if she could at least know how long it would take before the bruises and fracture heals so that she can go back to normal. She doesn't get to go to the doctor who will tell her any of that until next week, though. Augustus stops moving and leans all of her weight forward onto her hands instead, ignoring the sharp ache of the scabs. She has never been very good at waiting for things. 

Which is how she had gone and sort of messed up for herself today, maybe. 

"Maybe," she whispers out loud, head jerking. She does not know yet if it was a mistake, not until her dad gets home. 

(Augustus hates not knowing things too.) 

It's like this: Augustus is hurt, so she cannot stand or walk or drive very well, meaning that her dad is the one going grocery shopping for her this week. Since Augustus had turned out not very good at writing complete lists, or remembering the names of brands instead of just vague box colors, they had taken a "leaf" out of the Mendez's book and used the store's online shopping for curbside pick up option. 

That is a useful option, as it turns out. Shopping online hadn't been all that different from shopping inside the store — since the "categories" on the website are like aisles in the building and everything is shown with photographs — except easier, since Augustus didn't have to worry about noisy or crowded aisles or long lines or bright lights or bad overhead music. She thinks she might even keep doing it this way after her legs heal and she can drive herself places again. 

Except, maybe it had been too easy, since Augustus had gotten excited about something, and maybe a little bit ahead of herself, and maybe screwed up. Meaning: she had forgotten that it's her dad going to pick up the bags today. 

Meaning: there is a skirt in one of those bags that Augustus really does not want him to see. 

Augustus muffles a pressured noise in her chest and starts rocking again, because sitting still is worse than the twinge pain of moving, actually. She's been having trouble holding things in her head the right way — everything feels too large and abstract to fit, even if she wasn't packing her feelings up too tight to have room for any other thoughts in there. She keeps losing the train of thought before she can hold onto it, which is probably why she had been impulsive instead of thinking things through. Ughh. 

It's like this: Augustus is a woman, but she has always known that other people won't see it, or won't agree that she is, or won't like that she is. Meaning: Augustus does not buy or have any "women's" clothes for herself to wear. Usually, she doesn't mind that so much — it would be nice, and sometimes she wants things, but she likes the clothes she has, so she feels like it's mostly okay. There are lots of things Augustus wants that she can't get, that's what life is built like. 

Except: Everyone kept telling her again and again how lucky she was that the car that ran her over did not kill her. Enough that Augustus' brain had started thinking about what would have happened if she hadn't been so lucky: about being buried in a suit, and her dad telling everyone that he had lost his son, and about how no one would ever know the real truth, and that even though Augustus would be dead, the silence of it would eat her apart like a hole until she disappeared completely. The thought was like a horror movie, in a way that had made her feel sick to her stomach to think about. 

Except: Augustus did not die. She is still alive. So, what does that mean? 

This is called a Near Death Experience. Augustus is still trying to figure out what to do with it. 

So: The Skirt. Usually, Augustus sees them all the time inside the store when she goes, but she leaves them alone because she's too worried about what might happen if she doesn't, and someone sees her. When you are shopping online, though, there are no people around to see you — there was no one who could see her look at the sizes and colors and fabric, and there was no one around to tell her not to, or scold her, or get her in trouble. When she'd thought about ignoring the wanting this time, like she usually does, that Horror Movie Feeling had pushed up out of her throat like it wanted to make her scream, and that was even harder to ignore than the skirt itself had been. 

There's also no cashier you have to talk to when you shop online. By the time Augustus had remembered her dad still had to pick up the bags, it was already too late — it was already there where someone else might still see it after all. 

So now, Augustus is sitting on the porch, trying to come up with ways she might be able to get to the bag, if it isn't already too late. This has been something of a pain; it is difficult to plan for something when you don't know how someone else will react. She knows what the worst case scenario is, maybe — Augustus has seen movies and books and the news and online jokes and all, so she knows — but is her dad a Worst Case Scenario? Augustus doesn't know that part. 

After all, Augustus knows that her dad doesn't really see her as A Man, not the way he does other people. This is not the same thing as being okay with Augustus being A Woman, though, because she thinks it's mostly that her dad sees Autism more than any kind of gender when he looks at her. That's why he calls her "kid" instead of "son" even though she's older than Aurora, and talks to her about being an "Independent Adult" more than a "Real Man", and especially why he and all of Augustus' behavioral aides and therapists had made her do so many worksheets and story models about being a "Man" growing up, especially in relation to "being a Man around Girls". 

(There is a reason why Augustus still tells her dad that the Changeling was also born a boy; she has not had to do worksheets in years, and absolutely definitely doesn't want to have to start again.) 

Other people could be Men, but Augustus would always be Autistic first, is what it seems like. Then again, when she had been in high school still, her classmates had all seemed to chalk this up to "being A Faggot" more than "being Autistic", so maybe there is still something she is missing or not understanding about it. None of her scales or worksheets or tests had ever really covered this part. 

The point is, though, that Augustus does not know and she isn't so sure she's ready to find out. Especially not when she is already trying to pretend her 4 is really a 2 and when she can't walk or drive anywhere or do anything without help. Maybe one day Augustus might try to take a risk and see what happens, to make that Horror Movie Feeling she can't ignore anymore finally go away, but that doesn't mean she thinks she can do it now. 

She stifles the ugly noise that wants to come up out of her chest when she sees her dad's car turn onto their street, and her head jerks to the side hard enough to make her glad the car also had not given her a concussion. She picks up her crutches and starts working to pull herself up onto her feet with them, biting down on her lip hard enough for the split to re-open and make her mouth taste like blood at the ache of it. 

Somewhere in the backseat is Augustus' new skirt, sitting there in a bag where anyone could just look over and see it. As long as Augustus can get to it first, then it should all be okay. 

Probably, at least. 

"You know, I am capable of bringing a few bags inside by myself," her dad rolls down the window to say, when Augustus has gotten close enough to the parked car to make herself an obstruction. That is a good thing to be right now. "You didn't buy all that much — you don't have to risk hurting yourself, kid." 

"I want to help," Augustus tells him, trying to make her voice firm. He hasn't said anything, meaning he probably has not seen it, meaning Augustus cannot let it happen now. She opens up the backseat and leans in, trying to ignore how bad it makes her hip hurt. She is not a very good liar, but it is important to be as close as she can get to that right now, so she ignores the hurt, and the uncomfortable way her head jerks again, and tries to focus on finding the right bag as quickly as she can. 

"Well, I hate to discourage you," her dad is saying, but Augustus can barely hear it over the flood of relief when she spots what she's looking for. She grabs for it, hurrying to shove the ruffled edge of fabric all the way down to the bottom of the bag, and tucking it quickly between two other bags of regular groceries to make it stay hidden. "But I do think you're definitely the one between the two of us in need of a little more help these days."

Augustus leans back out of the car, feeling jittery and strange as her dad gets out to hover nervously while she balances her bags onto her crutches. "I can still be helpful," she insists, just because she feels like she should. She holds the bags tightly around the handles of her crutches, and tries her best to look him in the eye so that he won't try to take them from her to be nice. "It's all been different; I want to do it like normal."

"Well," her dad sighs, stepping out of her way. "Can't argue with that. But I guess it's a good thing I'm here to help you help me, then."

He doesn't try to take the bags she has, but he does lean around her to get at all the ones still left in the car, and Augustus doesn't try to argue. She already has what she was looking for, and it is still a secret, and that is the Best Case Scenario, but that doesn't mean it's all over yet. She still has to make it inside and make sure it won't still be found. 

Augustus is still not very good at walking with the crutches, and the bags bouncing around her legs do not help her at all, but at least it is easy enough for her to convince her dad to leave her alone in the kitchen once they make it there. The space is small enough that Augustus doesn't have to walk much to put all the bags away — she can stand in just the one place for almost everything — and while Augustus isn't very good at arguing, she can make a good one sometimes in the right circumstances. It's all too easy to mention how all her schedules are off and wrong, and she wants to keep the routines she has — I want to do it like normal, and her dad was the one who'd always made a big deal about her routines growing up, so he doesn't argue back. 

Augustus can't really lie, but this one doesn't even count. Everything has been different and she does want to do it like normal. And if the relief of being able to hide the bag with the skirt in it makes the number in her head tick down from a 4 to maybe a 3, then that is closer to a 2, so that can almost make it a 1, which means that the routine does help and it isn't a lie at all. 

It's fine. Everything is fine. Augustus tells her dad, I want to do it like normal; go away, please, and he listens and leaves, and Augustus is able to put her groceries away and hide that there's a very last bag that she takes down to Aurora's room instead of putting it in a cabinet. This means that nothing was a mistake after all, although she does not think she'll be repeating any of it any time soon. 

In the privacy of Aurora's room, though, Augustus stares down at the bag in her hand and tries to figure out the feeling in her chest. It's a weird feeling, she thinks as she locks the door and sits in Aurora's desk chair — Augustus cannot tell if it is relieved or guilty. It crawls around in the hollow of her throat, and sits uncomfortably in her stomach. She doesn't like the feeling of it. Considers hiding the bad and ignoring it and pretending that she'd never bought it at all until the sensation goes away, and she doesn't have to think about it anymore. Maybe it would be better that way. Augustus has never worn a skirt before, so she does not need to try it now, right? 

The plastic crinkles noisily in her hands when they clench up tight; Augustus thinks about the Horror Movie Feeling that had gotten her into this mess to begin with. Her hands shake when she puts the bag down onto Aurora's desk so that she can clench them tight around the front of her flannel shirt instead, pulling the fabric taut over her shoulders. Looking at the bag feels like looking at a very big dog running towards her on the street — like she is afraid it is going to bite her, like it is backing her up into a corner. She wants to ask someone else to tell her what to do; she does not know if there is anyone in the whole world other than herself that can tell her. 

Her brain starts to think about everyone telling her how lucky she was again, and about how the skirt is already bought and here, in a locked room with no one but Augustus inside — already a secret no one knows about. So if she hides it now, then who is she hiding it from? Just herself? 

Well, it's not a very good secret from herself if Augustus already knows about it. She squeezes her hands tighter and tighter, feels the way the scabs pull and sting in protest, and then lets go so that she can pull the skirt out of the bag and on over her big, clunky brace. Her brain does not have enough space in it for wondering about things right now, she decides — at least this way, she can know. 

Augustus pulls herself back up to standing with the corner of the desk so she can pull the skirt up all the way, running her fingers over the slippery black fabric of it. It feels a little like breaking a rule in a good way, the same way lying tangled up with the Changeling feels sometimes, and the comparison makes it all feel less overwhelming to push through. The elastic on the skirt does not pinch her waist, and she does not think the fabric is bad or uncomfortable to touch, and the bottom of the skirt looks like it's the right length instead of being too short on her. 

She looks up into the mirror hanging on the back of Aurora's door almost on accident. Augustus' face is still all scraped up from the road — a big smear of scabs over her eyebrow and a huge split in her lip that she hasn't figured out how to shave around yet, all the skin around the edges turning yellow from the bruising. Most of the other scrapes on her arms are covered up by her shirts, and Augustus glances down and sees that the skirt covers her big brace entirely, and it fits her, and it even looks okay with her usual big t-shirt and flannel shirt — like a whole outfit she could have put together on purpose. 

I look cute, Augustus thinks, and her head jerks unsteadily when she has to strangle a squeal in her throat from the realization. It doesn't look awful at all; I look cute! Her head feels too full from the thought, and Augustus feels her whole body go stiff with the flood of it, muscles shaking and spasming almost painfully, and her teeth bite down over her chin to try to balance it out. She fights against the current, folding all of her fingers into tangled shapes on top of each other and ignoring the scabs on them that pull and ache as she tries to breathe without screeching or moving too quickly and hurting herself. She carefully avoids her reflection in the mirror again, head jerking as she tries to stay calm. 

She wishes she was alone in the house so that she did not have to fight so hard to keep the noise inside of herself. She wishes she had not been run over so that she could move and let the feeling out before it explodes in her and ruins everything. 

She remembers that maybe she would have never bought the skirt at all if she hadn't been run over, though.

It's too much to fit in her head; Augustus stops thinking about it again. 

She peeks through her eyelashes at her reflection again, waiting for the skirt to start feeling like a scary mistake again, but it does not seem to be happening. Augustus does not regret it, because now there is no reason left to have to wonder about skirts anymore, because now it is something she knows. Augustus knows that she likes the way she feels wearing a skirt, knows that she likes the way she looks in it. It is something that's hers, now. Something that no one can make her forget. 

A little chirping noise ekes out of her mouth before she can stop it; Augustus scrunches her face up in a smile and clenches her hands into fists so tight they ache a little and has to look away from her reflection again before it gets too overwhelming. Hurriedly, she takes off the skirt so that she can hide it in the bottom of her hamper, and tears up the receipt and flushes it down the toilet so that it stays a secret. After a moment of consideration, she lays down inside of the empty bathtub and closes the shower curtain around her, and tries to lay very still and remember how to be calm again. Even an excited number has to be smaller than a 2 right now; there is no room for anything else yet. 

Still, in the back of her head, Augustus remembers the overwhelming shape of it like a good thing. She thinks about Near Death Experiences and the future, and maybe one where she doesn't have to make herself make peace with Neithers or swallow down the truth over and over again or live like she is wearing her own life like an ill-fitting mask anymore. It still feels too big and nerve-wracking and like too much change to fit anywhere the right way, but for once, it does not feel quite so impossible as it used to either. 

Eventually, she thinks in the shower curtain silence. Eventually, I will figure out what to do with it all. Eventually. 

Augustus thinks she might even mean it. 

Author's Notes:

This fic is a bit of a set up for two follow-up fics; both are still in early drafting stages, but one will likely be the longest fic for this project so far!

As a note: I'm going to start to dig into Augustus' experiences with gender more after this point in the timeline, and while I'm referencing transfeminist and autobiographical texts written by trans women to do so, I'm also TME, so if there are any fans of this project that are trans women (or otherwise TMA) that have feedback, I'm more than open to hearing it!