Life’s Rhythm        by: Rocketman

 

Even back before I was born, my family fought.

At my birth, they fought over what to name me. Not that it mattered any to my father, David Eberheart, what his relatives thought his son should be named.

I hear that he carried me out of the bedroom, wrapped in a sheet, and declared to everyone gathered that his son’s name was, "Gerald Eberheart." Well, since he had spoken, the matter was decided.

Aunt Beatrice always called me Jack when I was young, never around my father though. That had been her naming choice. It didn’t matter to me. I kinda liked having two names, made me feel special.

There was one thing, though, that the family agreed on wholeheartedly, that I should be raised a true Southern Baptist. Everyone remembered great-uncle Martin, who converted to some other faith. About ten weeks into his new life, he was drafted into the Great War and never returned.

Great-grandfather Jasper immediately recognized this as an act of God. It was decided no Eberheart would ever again deviate from the faith.

Anyway, getting back to the family. The Eberhearts settled the original Louisiana Territory back when it was bought from the French. A couple people, mostly my aunts and uncles, say that the conflict among the family began way back then.

However it started, I’d say I musta inherited it.

But, fortunately, I have helped to end it.

Then again, it ain’t truly over, yet.

It all began on a lovely Sunday afternoon back in 1960. We left church and went over to my grandfather’s place. He didn’t live far from our house. Most of the family members had houses less than ten miles from one another. The only exception was my cousin Andrea. She lived in the city of Baton Rouge, about forty miles away.

Grandfather greeted us in his normal way. He came slowly down the steps, one foot after the other, in no hurry at all.

He lifted his weathered face, glanced at each and every one of us with a pleasant smile, forsaking no one. When finally done, he’d speak, "Well, look at all of you, so pleasant, so kindly, all of you."

Even though certain relatives, like my aunts, would often quarrel with one another, when they went to grandfather’s house, they’d be as pleasant as hens, perhaps for show.

Grandfather invited us inside. The women, perfectly cooperative, worked together to prepare dinner, while the men spent the empty time talking about old times, about how great or how terrible they were. More often about how great they were.

The children, us, went out the back and played. My sister, Ann, glared at me. While I was over a year ahead of her in age, her height and constant need to be superior presented a far different picture.

She folded her hands, "What do you want?" I frowned in response, "What do you mean?"

She tilted her head slightly, and looked down on me, "You know exactly what I mean, you brat." Usually my sister’s verbal abuse didn’t hurt, but this time it did, "I’m not a brat!"

"Yes you are. You’re the oldest." I failed to grasp her logic, "What does that have to do with anything?" Ann tossed her head and went to join the girls, who marched off to play hopscotch and gossip like a well disciplined army.

I stayed behind with the pitiful assortment of boys, who looked more like a rag-tag band of misfits. Only Michael, my cousin, even approached my age and he was even younger than Ann was. The others, much too old to be interested in childish games, went off to do gosh-knows-what.

I shrugged and smiled at Michael, he smiled back. I sat down on the steps, Michael did the same. I sighed, so did Michael. I was sensing a trend.

Fortunately, I spotted a nearby pond. Seeing a way to occupy Michael, I dared him to try and catch a frog. His eyes lit up immediately. Here was a task not only dangerous, but with the possibility of trouble causing as well.

If he got his Sunday best wet his mom would certainly be infuriated. Robert was thrilled. I snuck off as soon as Robert bent over the pond, searching for the tell-tail signs of life.

As I rounded the corner, I saw grandfather coming out the side door carrying a tired banjo. He moved carefully and sat in the rocking chair.

"Hi, grandfather."

Grandfather looked up and gazed into my face until he had it memorized, then softly answered, "Hello, Gerry. What you doing?"

"Nothing right now, sir."

He smiled warmly and cradled the banjo in his hands. The strings of the banjo, while ragged and rough, were still wound tightly. The once white surface of the banjo had become a soft brown. Despite it’s flaws, I found the banjo to be perfect in all the respects that truly matted.

"What’s on your mind?" asked grandfather politely. I shook my head, trying to clear away a thought, instead it tumbled out my mouth, "What do you use that for, sir?"

Grandfather’s mouth widened, about to speak, then melted into a loving smile. Reaching down with his withered hand, he touched my face. The sensation was much like sandpaper touching wood, ‘cept it didn’t hurt.

"Well, every once in a long while, when things get rough in the family, I play a little tune." I nodded and frowned a little when I remembered why I was here.

Grandfather stared deep into my eyes and nodded as well, "Looks like you could use a nice little song."

Still cradling the banjo in his hands, grandfather placed his hands over the instrument and played. The sound that emerged from the banjo was remarkable, unlike anything I’d ever heard. Better than the songs on the radio. Haunting and comforting at the same time. It seemed impossible such music could come from such a simple thing.

As the sound caressed my ears, I felt something else caressing them. It felt almost like hair, but that was impossible. My light brown hair was much too short for anything of the sort.

I felt frightened that something strange was happening to me, but the music reassured me that everything was all right.

I closed my eyes, relying only on my ears. My head rocked gently back and forth with the melody. As my head rocked, so did some kinda strange material. It strung like hair, but it couldn’t be mine. I took a quick whiff and found the hair had a faint smell to it that reminded me of momma’s perfume.

Surely, it had to be some kinda wig or something.

As I continued listening, my head rocking back and forth, the music began to swell within me. Down my throat, it traveled a sweet, soft tickle. I breathed the music in and it filled my lungs.

I tried to open my eyes when the music made me realize I didn’t need to. I began rocking again, only this time my hands were clapping. Grandfather kept on playing.

I felt subtly strange, but it wasn’t enough to disturb me just yet.

The soft music that emerged from grandfather’s banjo sounded familiar, yet I couldn’t give a name to it. I began leaning around, like a dancer antsy to get on the floor. I ignored the sensations and focused on the music.

Like a message from long ago, before me or even my daddy, the banjo music seemed to speak with ancient wisdom. And its message wasn’t only telling me, it was changing me; that much I could tell, but into what?

My legs began to move, but without the feel of denim around them. Instead, there seemed to be something dangling down over my legs. As I danced, my body ruled by the melody, I became aware of differences.

Slowly, like he did everything, grandfather let the music fade way till only the giggles of girls and chirps of crickets drifted through the air.

My eyes opened. I looked directly at grandfather. He let the banjo drop into his lap, a faint smile played across his lips, "Go look at yourself."

My brow furrowed. I turned to the left and looked in the window. The faint reflection of frowning girl met my eyes. I turned my head slightly, she copied my motion.

I reached a hand up to touch my short hair. My fingers met hair several inches before they should have.

A small, feminine hand entered the reflection, reaching up to touch the girl’s light brown hair, which dangled around her neck. No denying what my eyes were seeing. I turned to face grandfather.

I knew, even before I made a conscious effort to speak, that the voice inside my head would not be the same one that would emerge from my lips. "Grandfather, what happened?" Sweet and melodious was my new voice.

I tried to look down, but I just couldn’t gather up the nerve. "What do you think happened?" I thought about that for a minute and came up with a conclusion, "I’m no longer a boy." Grandfather nodded. "Am I even Gerry anymore?"

"In spirit? Yes. In name? No."

"What’s my name now?"

"Sarah." I turned the name around in my head for a minute. It sounded pleasant, a rather common-sounding name, yet now it was what I’d be called for the rest of my life. I had another issue to resolve first though.

"Grandfather, why am I a girl?"

"Because every once in a while you need to see the world through a different pair of eyes."

"Will I be like this for a while?"

"Only till next Sunday."

I breathed a sign of relief. Sarah I would be, but not for life. So, Sarah. That’s me, Sarah. Sarah, honey. Sarah, dear. Sarah Eberheart. Gosh that sounded foreign to my ears, although three of my ancestors had lived in that name.

Sarah, a girl. Sarah, the name of other people, but not me. This would take some thought.

"What am I gonna do, grandfather?"

"Don’t worry, Sarah. The banjo makes things like they would be if you were born this way."

At least one worry was out of the way, I had a true identity, even if it wasn’t the one I was familiar with. I sighed and looked at grandfather. He patted me on the head, "Don’t worry so much, my dear. Go play with your sister and cousins." Grandfather smiled.

I walked around grandfather’s house and over to where Ann and the others were. "Hi, Ann," I spoke softly, which came out even lighter with my new voice.

Ann turned and looked at me. Her face, for once, was placid.

"Hi, Sarah. Come on and sit down. What did grandfather say?"

"He played some music for me."

"Really?"

"Yup. What y’all doing?"

"Well Samantha here was talking about a boy at school that likes to stare at her." Samantha blushed and illuminated a little, "Well, he actually sorta leers."

We all giggled.

The afternoon vanished with the girls. I found myself connected to my sister in a way I hadn’t even contemplated yesterday. I discovered things about her that I’d been fearful to delve into in my other skin.

It was a small piece of understanding women in general. But it was a piece at least. Being an outsider, I couldn’t even begin to understand the other pieces. I still had the handicap of being born male despite what the rest of the world thought.

Momma called to us, "Girls, supper’s ready." I took a deep breath. Girls. Now I knew there were no minute flaws in my appearance, no imperfection to give me away, but I felt afraid, at that moment, of being discovered. I tossed back my hair, and tried to walk as lady-like as possible. I quickly discovered it wasn’t necessary.

Ann frowned at me and my absurd posture, "Sarah, are you all right?"

I relaxed and looked into Ann’s eyes. I shrugged. Ann nodded.

Ann leaned over and gave me a sisterly hug, full of warmth and devoid hurry. Slow, purposeful, like grandfather, she clenched my body and held it tight.

I realized several things because of that hug: First of all, Ann always wanted a sister; Second, I had breasts, albeit small ones; and lastly, I liked having a sister who cared.

We looked into each other’s eyes. Ann put her arm around me, "Come on, Sarah. Let’s go in."

I followed her.

The inside of the house felt like a hundred different glories. The wondrous smells mated with one another producing a comforting atmosphere. Momma walked over to the two of us and smiled, "Come with me, girls."

The whole idea of convincing people I was really female left me mind. If my momma was convinced, then I guessed everybody else took it for granted.

Dinner was wonderful. After we were done, I felt a slight pressure. I had to use the bathroom. Knowing I didn’t have the parts I once did, I felt kinda nervous.

I walked casually over the bathroom, but still with worry. It felt like I was trying to get away with something.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I made it to the bathroom. I locked the door, then gazed at the bowl. I looked down at my dress, the first time I could actually remember taking a good look at my body and not some reflection.

I was clothed in a perfect, white girl’s dress. There was a faint protrusion around my chest, but just a faint one. Being about ten at the time, I suspected Sarah was also ten. Looking back with what I know now, I’d say Sarah was just beginning puberty.

I closed my eyes and felt my body, my arms. They only seemed faintly smaller. Perhaps it was my equally smaller hands.

My hair, so much like the hair I’d known all my life, only now several inches longer and cut to frame my head. I avoided touching my groin. Perhaps it was fear. Or something else.

I laid my hands at my side. I realized from tactile contact that Sarah would probably become a beautiful woman when she grew up. Not that I wanted to be there to experience it, it just seemed as though I got the bad deal as Gerry, in comparison.

Looking at the bowl again, I thought for a moment how best to go about this. If I had been wearing something more familiar, it wouldn’t have been a problem. As it was, I didn’t know whether to scrunch the dress up or pull it off.

Seeing as the simpler way is the common way, I hiked up my dress, revealing my underwear. While my panty looked quite different from the briefs I was used to wearing, it worked the same way, pull them down over your legs.

I rolled my eyes when I pulled them down, but curiosity made me look down at myself. Instead of the parts I was used to, there was something else. At the time, it kinda reminded me of an open zipper with more than one hole and button at the top.

I grimaced and bit my lip. How was I supposed to go about this? There was nothing to point; just some opening that could do whatever it wanted once I let go.

I was desperately frightened. This was unfamiliar territory. I pushed my legs back behind the bowl. Hopefully the urine wouldn’t spill out of the bowl.

Taking a deep breath, I finally relinquished bladder control. A thick stream followed gravity to the bowl. It turned out my position wasn’t necessary. I wiped myself carefully, then pulled up my panty, and dropped down my dress. Standing, I looked over my appearance in the mirror.

I gulped. One week. It could be done.

After dinner my parents, my sister, and me went back home. It was peaceful there. Ann turned on the small black-and-white in the living room. I sat next to her and watched.

Our parents joined us a little while later. My momma tapped my shoulder, "You two done with your homework?"

Ann frowned and got up. Seeing as I had no way to know one way or the other, I followed her.

Where as we each had a different room on a different floor before, we now shared a nicely-sized room and a bunk bed on the second floor. Ann opened her school bag, retrieved a couple of papers, a large book, and pencil. She laid everything out carefully and went to work.

I found my school bag after a little searching; I also found a box full of diaries. They went back about five years. Discovering that Sarah had already taken care of her homework, I looked at the first diary dating back to when she was five.

As I made my way through the books, the quality of the entries got better. They changed from simple daily lists to emotional stories. It turned out Sarah had a deeply hidden, potent crush on Roger Andrews. My heart nearly stopped, he was my best friend. This presented a problem. I also realized that I was now the enemy, so to speak. Being a girl, my former friendships were probably now null and void.

Searching through the diaries, I tried to find what new ones I had. It turned out I was friends with the half the girls in school.

I breathed a sigh as I put the latest diary back in its place. Ann closed her book and looked over at me. "Can I tell you a secret?"

I shrugged, "Sure."

"I kissed Billy Hillkins last Thursday. It was just a peck, but he seemed to like it."

Hmm. I sensed the persistent topic of the opposite sex. Interesting that my former sex felt similar interest and curiosity.

"I’m happy for you, Ann." Ann smiled back. "Well, I guess we better get ready for bed before mom and dad get upset."

Sleep was dreamless, as most often it seems.

Morning came quickly. I awoke turning over a strange dream in my head. While I was at grandfather’s house, he played a song for me that changed me into a girl. Shaking my head to clear idea away, I felt a long layer of hair shifting with my motions.

I got up and looked in the mirror. I truly was a girl.

After changing into a nice blouse, an ankle-length plaid skirt, and black sandals and placing a pink bow in my hair (my choices were ruled by instinct), I walked downstairs and had breakfast. The indifference of my parents to this female condition remained. I consumed a piece of toast and bowl of oatmeal and waited for Ann.

Ann came down, had a meal similar to mine, and gathered her books.

We walked to school together, the first time we’d done so in all the time I’d known her. We even chatting quite a bit with one another, yet another first.

The Everton Elementary School had remained constant despite all the changes so far. The two of us walked up the stairs, then parted company. I froze.

I had no idea if I had the same teacher, in fact, I doubted if I did. Wait, what did it say in the diaries about my teacher?

I could remember the names of all the teachers the diary had mentioned from first to fourth grade, but this year’s teacher eluded me.

I looked around, surely with all the friends I had there would be someone who recognized and could help me. I tried looking for someone I remembered. Only the guys were familiar, but they didn’t know me personally.

Then, a blond girl came up to me, "Hi, Sarah. Did you have a good weekend?"

Aside from the fact that I only knew about half of Sunday, personally at least, I had to admit my weekend had been pretty good. "It was a learning experience." An understatement.

"That so? Great. By the way, I hope you studied, Ms. Ross is planning a surprise pop quiz for the beginning of class today." I stifled a smile; it was not longer a surprise.

Using the blond girl, who turned out to be my best friend Rachel, as my compass, I made it to Ms. Ross’ class. Ms. Ross, an auburn hair young lady that always sported a pleasant smile and kind word, greeted me at the door.

"Good morning, Sarah. Did you have a good weekend?" I nodded slowly. I placed my school bag in the cabinet and was quickly surrounded by a throng of girls, all possibly my friends. They hit me with questions, which primarily focused on the precise details of my sister’s secret.

Holding firm to my sister’s wishes, I did not tell them her secret. The girls went about their business when they realized I wasn’t gonna give in. Only a few, probably the only true friends, stayed behind, asking me various questions.

The school day went quickly, I ran into Robert only once. He said, "Hi." I returned the greeting, but not without looking him over for a minute in an attempt to figure out what Sarah saw in him. He was tall for a boy of his age and perhaps a tad stronger than some, but there was nothing awe-inspiring about him. Not that I was interesting in him, or any other boy.

This ended on Sunday, no time for relationships.

Sunday came quickly; school and home time flew by like a blur. I knew as I sat in that church that my little adventure in a different skin was soon to end. I closed my eyes, and awaited the reversal.

As we sped along to grandfather’s house, nothing happened. At the door, nothing. Shaking my head, I found grandfather on the side, in his rocking chair as usual.

"I’m still Sarah."

Grandfather smiled and lifted his banjo into his arms, "Go inside."

I frowned, but followed his directive. I sat down on the couch and waited, Ann sat by my side. Everyone was here.

What was missing?

Grandfather walked in the house, he was playing his banjo. The room froze, as everyone listened to the music.

It drifted around the air, spreading to each and every corner of the room. Momma’s form shifted into the shape of a handsome man that bore a slight resemblance to her. Dad’s form shrank and took on a womanly appearance, a small baby appeared in her arms. I knew instantly it was my little brother, Jack.

Ann became Andrew, yet I stayed the same. Everyone paused when the music finally faded. Dad-turned-momma took one look at her new self, her baby and breasts filled with milk and fainted.

Baby Jack didn’t seem to mind too much, his only purpose was to get his little mouth on a nipple. All else was just a side matter.

I shook my head and walked over to Grandfather, he waved me off and addressed the family.

"Now I suppose that y’all are wondering what just happened? Let me tell y’all it’s for your own good. The whole lot of ya have been getting a might too cross with one another. As I recently showed my grandson, Gerry, sometimes you just gotta see through another’s eyes.

The changes that have happened to y’all will vanish away next Sunday. Since my grandson took a liking to his new life, I gave him an extra week with which to seek greater understanding. As for the rest of ya, the whole world thinks this is the way you’ve always been."

There was stunned silence. The men in the room that were now woman looked themselves over carefully. The women beamed in pride at their new position of superiority. My new momma picked herself up and sat in the nearest chair. You could tell this would all take some getting used to.

The week went by quickly. Everyone seemed quite settled in their new roles after a few days of getting used to the changes. Most of all, the family seemed, all in all, to get along in a way they never had before. Momma and Dad didn’t disagree at all anymore. So much so that my new momma had another baby a couple of months later.

Speaking of which, the next week, everybody came back to grandfather’s house and announced that they liked the way they were, even me. The only exception was Andrew, who wanted to go back to being Ann and being my sister. Grandfather agreed it would probably be better that way.

After quite a few weeks, one Sunday, grandfather approached me and said, "I’ll be leaving soon. I need you to keep the banjo and make sure when things get rough among the family that it’ll be that to smooth things over."

I told grandfather that I didn’t know how to play it. He smiled, "You don’t have to, just let your fingers glide down against the strings and the banjo does the rest."

I took the banjo into my hands and smiled. Grandfather went inside the house. That was the last I ever saw of him. He died about four days later of a massive heart attack.

That was close to 40 years ago. Now I’m a grandmother as well. Ann calls every once in a while, now she lives up in Boston. There are few of us left in the South. Fortunately, there’s a family reunion coming up. I hear the new generations aren’t getting along so well. I hear the banjo calling to me.

Well, maybe grandfather didn’t completely end the Eberheart troubles. But, I’m gonna make sure that they end with me. That’s how he would have wanted it.

I never have figured out how the banjo does its thing, but then again, it don’t really matter to me.

The End

 

 

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