NOVEL FROG Chapter 6: Holes
Getting back into my apartment is actually not all that hard, since it has a big hole in it.
The silly part to me is that I have to take the stairs down to the ground floor, open the front door to the building, and then go outside just to see it. And then, in order to get the altitude to fly to it, I have to treat one of the streets as a runway and do a couple of loops when I clear the lowest buildings. I want to be able to slowly glide in to land in the hole, with as much control as possible, so I want to start higher than it.
Still easy enough, just tedious.
The traffic is light enough today that I can do this. I might have to try climbing during rush hour.
And there’s tape and a sheet of plastic across the hole, but I don’t care about that.
I do note that the businesses that are directly below my apartment are closed for the day, with that sidewalk cordoned off for safety. But my coffee shop is still open.
I do really want people to know that this is all Whitman’s fault.
But tearing through the plastic and yellow tape to enter my apartment does give me a tiny little taste of what it must have felt like for Whitman to crash through a brick fucking wall.
I want to argue with the physics of that feat, but I can breathe fire, and we’re both physically dragons. There are things at work here that were not taught about in high school or college science classes. Or any classes at all, I imagine. None that I took.
My skeletal structure alone is something that biologists will want to study intently at some point. If I let them.
My apartment is even more of a wreck than it was when I left it. The landlord and anybody else that they let in had apparently cleared a pathway to the hole by just shoving debris to the side, piling it on my belongings without any care. They didn’t touch or ransack anything else, but this obvious disregard for a bunch of things I was probably going to have to discard anyway still feels like as much of a violation of my space as the damage done by Whitman.
I hate it.
And I spend a few seconds hating it some more before I crawl to the bathroom.
I’ll spare you a description of what I have to do in the bathroom to use the toilet, though. It’s undignified and you’re probably imagining it just fine anyway.
Suffice it to say, while I can fit in there, I can never get a full view of myself in the mirror. I have to use dark shop windows on the street for that, and I’m pretty eager to get a selfie somehow, or get somebody to do a whole set of boudoir photos of me. That would be both funny and really cool to look at. Especially if my boudoir is my living room in its current state.
Anyway, despite all the damage, I’m starting to feel a lot more relaxed now that I’m in my own place. And while I’m still on the toilet, I find myself singing and practicing noises again.
I even keep it up when I go to eat the rest of what’s in my fridge.
One of the really cool things about my new anatomy is that I can breathe and make noises while my mouth and throat are full of a quarter pound of deli ham.
I’ve found I literally can’t eat as often as a human does. Because of how my hunger and digestion works, I have to gorge myself every couple of days if I’m active, it seems. But, I very clearly eat more than a typical person, and that worries me. I can’t exactly afford it.
Also, what does it mean in terms of my future development as a dragon?
If I manage to keep eating this much, is it because my body just needs this many calories to do what it does? Or am I growing?
And thinking about that then raises the question of what my expected lifespan is now, if I don’t get eaten by someone like Whitman.
I just really don’t know. There’s no precedent for any of this, and no experts. Just a bunch of myths that seem reasonably accurate so far because they describe such a broad swath of possibilities that you could make the case that a white tailed hare is a kind of dragon if you wanted to.
And on that note, once I’m done eating, I crawl over to the hole in my apartment and lie down there with my foreclaws and snout poking out into the outer world to rest and start digesting my food. And I fall quiet for a bit.
I actually kind of like this, and wonder if I could convince the landlords to let me keep it. I’m not really serious about the thought, because I still agree with Rhoda that I should move somewhere more secure and less potentially harmful to any neighbors I might have. I like living downtown, and this hole in the wall apartment would be perfect for me now. But if I’m going to be occasionally attracting challengers like yesterday, it’s just not safe or practical.
I do wonder, though, when I move how am I going to move all of my stuff?
Besides Rhoda, Chapman, and the baristas of my coffee shop, I don’t really have a group of friends who I could call on to help me move. And, on my SSI, I can’t afford a moving company.
I could try to crowdfund a few hundred dollars for a move, but then I’ve got to be careful it doesn’t go over the $2,000 limit for SSI qualification. But if I move into a cave, at least I won’t need rent and utilities, and all I’ll need to worry about is food, phone, and… healthcare?
Who am I going to go to for healthcare?
A vet, probably. Shit. That’s not covered by Medicare.
This line of thought is just full of so many depressing realizations and –
Hey! There’s another dragon!
There’s another dragon flying across the bay, and it’s not Whitman!
Before I can stop myself, I’m rumbling. The rubble and dust on either side of me vibrates, and particles dance right off the edge of the hole in the wall and fall to the sidewalk below.
I lift my head to track their flight path, and feel this sneeze-like urge to squawk and rattle at them. It’s so hard to hold it back, and I might be revising some of my thoughts on instincts. But, dammit, I’m holding it in.
Since midday yesterday, my life has just been this non-stop sequence of mini-disasters, and I don’t need another one right now. Couldn’t that dragon just fuck off? I need them to go away so fast. They need to get out of my eyesight. It’s way too early in the morning for this shit.
Maybe if I go down to the coffee shop and hang out there I won’t need to see this kind of thing.
Fuck ‘em.
“rrrrrRRRRRRAWOWAAAK!!! NOKNOKNOKNOKNOK!!!!”
Shit.
And here comes another –
“GRAAAAK NOKNOKNOK!!!”
And I’m relieved just like I’d sneezed.
A cry comes back that sounds so canned, so much like a famous scream, I decide to name that dragon Wilhelm.
But they keep flying, and even seem to veer away from me. My movement focused eyesight does a great job of catching that subtly. And honestly, it’s critical when doing things like flying right into a wooded park, like I did yesterday.
I feel myself relaxing, but then I see some people on the street pointing up at me. My head twitches to put them in the center of my sight.
They wave cheerfully.
Cool.
I feel kind of proud, so I let myself puff up my chest. It’s not as impressive as it would be if I had feathers to fluff or a dewlap to inflate as well, but I don’t really care.
My emotions are just so strong today, and now that I’ve fought off two dragons, or scared them away, it’s hard not to feel possessive of my space and confident that I can keep it just fine. I’m still telling myself I eventually need to move. But I’m no longer ruminating on how or when to do it.
So I find myself sitting here for some time before I consider doing something else. I don’t really know how much time passes.
I watch some birds fly by. Some crows. A bunch of seagulls. And the seagulls look like something I might be able to catch and eat.
And then there’s a knock at my door.
At first, I’m startled and think of the police. But then I remember that I left Rhoda’s apartment without mentioning where I was going or leaving a note. Because, mostly, I didn’t have a good way of doing either without waking her up.
But after I get myself to the door to answer it, I remember that it’s locked and I look forlornly at the lock switch on the knob.
I can manage the deadbolt, but I can’t manage that little thing.
I make the classic ringtone noise loudly enough I think it can be heard through the door, then wander back to the hole. That should let her know that I’m in here, at least. And confuse anybody else that it might be. And if the door remains locked, maybe she’ll figure out how I got in.
I hear the doorknob rattle just a little, and then nothing.
I’m hopeful.
In the meantime, I don’t see any other dragons flying about, and I’m thinking I might be ready to visit the rest of my territory, such as it is.
And before too long, Rhoda walks out to the empty parking space just below my apartment and waves up at me.
I do a short chirp of the ring tone, and launch myself from the hole, gliding out to land in the parking lot across the street, landing in a row between the cars. It’s pretty easy to turn and walk toward Rhoda from there.
“Has anyone told you that you’re loud as fuck, Meg?” Rhoda asks once we’re in reasonable earshot of each other.
I lift my head and give her the smuggest cat smile.
I can’t help it, I’m feeling proud of how loud I am today. It’s saved me from another fight, the way I’m seeing it at the moment. Please don’t tell me otherwise.
“I don’t suppose you’ve read or heard the news yet,” she says.
I turn my head.
“Well, you and that other one definitely are not the only dragons that are out now,” she reports. “It’s a worldwide phenomenon, and most people are taking it in stride. The anchors I listened to were reporting it like it’s the latest step forward in civil rights or something, or a fashion trend. But, oh, there are some people who are just mad as hell about it!”
I grunt and stomp a foot.
“Let’s go get coffee and I’ll fill you in,” she suggests, so we do that.
It’s the Kims behind the counter today. Or Kim and Kimberly. And they’re delighted to see me, if a bit grumpy about the sudden construction site next door. Then, as Rhoda is placing our orders and insisting on paying for them, Kim thinks to ask if it was my apartment that exploded.
I look at Rhoda.
Rhoda explains, “We were cleaning up Meg’s apartment when –”
“Oh!” Kim exclaims, looking at me. “Your name is Meg now? Cool! I love it!”
I cat smile, full of giddy feelings at recognition, and Rhoda smiles up at me, too.
Then she continues, “We were tiding up and Meg was telling me about meeting Chapman, when another dragon attacked and broke right through that brick wall to challenge Meg. It was a whole mess.”
“People’ve been saying that,” Kimberly says.
“Yeah, but they didn’t say it was her apartment,” Kim looks back and points at me with her thumb.
Kimberly shrugs, “I just kinda figured.”
Kim turns back to Rhoda, brow furrowed, and asks, “You weren’t hurt, were you?”
“Ha!” Rhoda barks a laugh. “I’m going to need some extra heavy counseling from the police visit later that night, but no. No, I’m fine.”
“Ugh! I wish cops would just fuck off forever,” Kimberly huffs, and then takes the order slip from Kim and turns to start making drinks.
I was just going to go for a big cup of drip, but Rhoda has ordered me another mocha.
“It sucks you’re going to have to move,” Kim says to me. “Or, is the landlord going to give you a temporary lodging while they fix your place? Aren’t they legally required to?” She squints back to Kimberly.
“This is all new territory,” Rhoda says. Then she turns to me and says, “I’m sorry. I’m going to say what I think is the truth.”
I bow my head in acknowledgement. But I don’t really want to. I’m trying to think of ways I can stay in my apartment, even and including fully draconic methods for making sure it’s known I’m not leaving. But, I know I’m going to have to.
Rhoda turns to the Kims and explains, “If a dragon can break through a brick wall like that, and fights like that are at all likely, none of them can be staying in buildings with humans. It’s just not going to work out well for anyone. Even if the management agree to keep Meg in the building, she’s going to want a place that’s more secure. Like a cave. For her own sake.”
I bow my head again.
“Oh, that sucks. But I guess that makes sense,” Kim says.
“It’s hard,” Rhoda says. “The news says that statistically there could be anywhere from fifty to a hundred dragons in our own city alone. And I can’t believe there are that many suitable caves in the county. Though, I wouldn’t know.”
Eyes wide, both Kims say, “That’s a lot!”
“Jinx!” Kimberly says.
“Eh,” Kim responds. Then repeats, “That’s a lot.”
“Just zero point one percent of the human population, if that,” Rhoda says. “But, yes. A lot. Dragons take up a lot of space.” She glances at me. “Even if they can fit in a one bedroom apartment without scratching the walls too badly.”
I make a knocking sound as quietly as I can.
Eventually, Kimblerly finished our drinks and takes them both to my favorite table, which is up front near the counter. And we continue our conversation, mostly with me listening and slurping up my drink. And Rhoda fills us all in on what she’s been learning.
And I’m thinking I wish Chapman would show up, because sie is probably just swimming in all of this, and would love to hypeshare about it. Sie’d probably grill Rhoda for what she heard, too. And we’d all end up even more well informed.
But Rhoda is on it as anyone can be, and it turns out that there’s still just not that much known about what’s going on.
People are wondering, though. They may not be all that surprised by the appearance of a dragon, or the discovery that a loved one is a dragon. But everyone is wondering what’s going on. Including other dragons. There were a couple that were using AAC like me that got interviewed, and they expressed their confusion as well.
And, of course, there are some people who are up in arms about it all, too. About the same people you’d expect of any big social change, or emergence of a minority group. White supremacists, mostly, really. Terfs, Evangelicals, conservative Catholics, Militia groups, Trumpists, Fundamentalists. There’s a really strong religious contingent, and mostly Christian in nature, who are objecting to the presence of identifiable dragons in the world. And some are citing it as a sign of the end times or something. I expect there are other religions that have sects and denominations that are raising concerns or preparing to be militant about it, but being in the U.S. and English speaking, we’re not hearing much about it yet.
With the looming election, it makes my blood run colder than it already is. And I remember I’m also trans.
My life was already complicated and in danger because of my disabilities. But now I’m the new hot target for political debate, and I haven’t exactly been able to lie low locally in the past day. And my shape, size, and territorial instincts aren’t going to make it easy, either.
I have a moment wondering if, since people seem to recognize the dragons they’ve known since before the change, how this will all play with intersectional oppression. But I’m not really sure of my own ability to assess that, besides to conclude it will be complicated. I know that, in my case, I didn’t have a lot of resources before, with not much to lose, but not much to draw upon, either. And, also, I’ve traded in a couple of disabilities for a whole new one.
And thinking of that, I realize there are a few things I want to say to the Kims, so I nudge Rhoda with my nose and then point my snout at her purse.
She understands and pushes her phone across the table to me, after opening up the AAC app for me.
I hold up my claw and flex it, and then proceed to knuckle out a few simple sentences.
“My name Meghan the Dragon,” I say. “Meg OK. Cute. She and her.”
Both the Kims smile in response to that, and Kimberly says, “Well, you’re cute!”
“I see two dragons,” I continue. “I name: Whitman, Wilhelm. Whitman ass. Wilhelm smart.”
Rhoda chuckles, and says, “Oh, so that one that attacked was Whitman?”
“Yes.”
“And I haven’t seen Wilhelm yet?”
“If smart. Won’t.”
“Ah,” she says. “Is that why you were making so much noise this morning?”
“Yes.”
“Speaking of noises,” Kimberly says, “I hear you can imitate the door chime.”
I hold up a crooked claw in the best sign for one moment I can make, then knuckle out, “How fifty dragons eat?”
Everyone stares at me. I hear the rest of the cafe go silent.
“How hundred?” I ask. “What cost? What eat?”
Then I see some fortuitous movement outside the window and let my head track the flight of a seagull passing by, then look back at the Kims and tilt my head.
“Oh, shit,” Kim says.
In agreement, I make the door chime sound.
“Don’t do that during business hours, please. Or at all.”
