To the Manna Born: The Life of Donna, by Christopher Leeson

 
By Christopher Leeson

Chapter 5 

The Thursday rehearsal had been on Donna’s mind since Tuesday, though she wouldn’t have admitted this to anyone, including herself. She didn’t care about the music—those guys didn’t do music the way she liked it—but wanted to hang with Glory. She didn’t know quite what it was, but keeping her happy had become her priority.

Donna arrived at Mike’s garage in jeans and a dark top—as good as what she wore last time. She found the boys already set up. Jake gave her a nod. Mike was looking at the sheet music. Neither of them had anything to say to her, and so there wasn’t much for her to do except sit and listen to their tuning. The other two guys soon dragged themselves in, and Glory arrived a few moments after that. This time she had come over in her car, which she left parked by the curb.

Glory had a shopping bag over one arm with an eager expression. She greeted Donna warmly and then crossed to Mike,mom and they whispered for a moment. Mike nodded. Glory came back looking chipper.

“Okay,” she said. “Mike says we can use his bathroom to get you ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“Your audition, remember? Mike has to give the okay that you’re going to make the group look good on stage.”

“He’s got a lot of nerve!” 

 “Don’t worry about it. When I’m done with you, you’re going to look incredible. I just hope Mike’s sitting down when he sees you. It could be embarrassing otherwise.”

“I can’t dance,” Donna said. “I’ve told you that.”

“This isn’t dance practice. This is the audition! Before you can face an audience, prove to the boss that you’ve got something to give.”

“What do I have to give?”

“Just follow my lead, and you’ll be surprised.”

#

Mike’s bathroom was small and smelled of shaving soap and old tiles, and also some perfumy stuff that probably belonged to his mother. Glory lowered the toilet bowl lid and had Donna sit on it. She brought a dress out of the shopping bag—black with silver sequins. Donna thought it was just one part of some outfit, but when Glory unfolded it, it turned out to be the whole thing. It looked dauntingly smaller now than it had at Glory’s house.

“Hey! The whole bottom part is missing. I’m not into showing off my legs.”

“Your legs will be in pantyhose. All covered up.”

“Pantyhose can’t cover things up like trousers can.”

“Know thyself, kiddo! Your legs are great. It would be an affront to Nature not to show them.”

“What is there to gain in showing them off?”

“Admiration, for one thing.”

“Being admired by boys is another thing I’m not into. And if I’m supposed to dance, I don’t know how.”

“You’re not dancing. You’re auditioning for the band. When you find out how easy it is for you to light up a boy’s eyes, it’ll light up your eyes!” Glory held out the dress. “Try it. If you can’t make a go of it, we’ll go home.”

Donna accepted the dress with considerable reluctance.

Glory stepped out of the bathroom and let Donna change clothes. Somehow she got the pantyhose on without her toenails cutting a run into it.

Then she put on the special brassiere from the bag. Try as she might, she couldn’t reach the hooks behind her back.

But the brassiere had her flummoxed. “I can’t wear this bra,” she said through the door. “The hooks don’t hook.”

“Let me help,” Glory said. When she came into the small room, she looked at the problem and told her, “Turn around.”

Donna pivoted, and Glory hooked her in, but the capacity of the cups could hardly hold her girl-parts in place.

Donna, who already knew how sausage was made, had made a giant leap forward by discovering how cleavage was made.

She looked at herself in the mirror above the sink. She struggled to believe the busty beauty she saw was actually her. Donna wasn’t sure whether she should moan or yell in indignation.

Donna couldn’t help remembering that conversation with Glory. Everything about female beauty was phony.

But Glory was giving her no time to analyze her discovery. She next foisted a pair of shoes on her. They were not extreme, but they were still the highest heels she had ever worn. Donna’s first three attempts at standing, let alone walking, forced her to hold onto the bathroom fixtures in fear of falling.

“Smaller steps,” Glory said. “And lead with your hip, not your foot.”

“What good will that do?”

“Just try it.”

She soon learned that the technique actually did pay dividends, and the technique allowed her to exit the bathroom successfully.

But Glory soon brought her back to the toilet seat for a makeup job. She worked quickly and without second-guessing herself. Liner. Mascara. A lip color that was bolder than the gloss but softer than the red she’d worn before. A few minutes of work got Donna’s hair into order, making it fall into loose waves that looked incredible in the looking glass.

Glory stepped back and studied the results of her craft.

“Okay,” she said. “That’s exactly the look I was going for.”

Donna to the sink mirror again. It no longer surprised her to look like an entirely different person.

“Now let’s get you into the dress.”

“I don’t think it will fit. It’s child-sized.”

“It’s made to stretch, and when girls wear tight clothes, they look great!”

#

Donna returned to the garage with Glory leading her by the hand to keep her from stumbling in those heels.

The guys’ yammering stopped when they came through the car door.

Mike’s put his drumsticks down. Jake put his pick into his pocket. The other two band members simply stood and stared.

The surrounding ambiance felt different from before.

“Well,” Mike said finally, “don’t you look nice?”

Jake concurred. “Yeah, nice.”

Mike took a deep breath and tried to get his star-struck mind working again. “Well, you disguised her as a hot dancer, but looks aren’t everything. She won’t help the group if she can’t move right.”

“She’s going to move fine,” Glory assured him. “Give us a week of practice.”

“Fine, it’s all up to you. Now let’s get this jam into high gear!”

The practice came off as it had the other two times, but now Glory directed her to jingle the tambourine standing up and to move her feet in a simple box step, approximating a dance. But even while the guys played their instruments, their eyes were mostly fixed on Donna’s legs and neckline.

#

When the band wrapped up, Mike gave his verdict regarding Donna. “She’s in. Provisionally. You’ve got until the gig to make her stop counting out her so people can hear.”

“That’ll be an easy habit to break,” Glory said.

“Then we’re good.”

# 

Glory drove Donna home afterwards, not saying much until they were drawing close to Donna’s house. The blonde girl had changed back into her street clothes before leaving Mike’s. 

“I keep forgetting to mention that we’re having a pajama party,” Glory said. “Saturday before Columbus Day. Kaylee’s house. You absolutely have to come.”

“What do I wear? I don’t own real pajamas. I sleep in jogging pants and a T-shirt.”

“Wear whatever you want to wear,” Glory said. “Anything that makes you comfortable. If I were you, I’d pick something that made me feel pretty!”

“But you’re not me, and feeling pretty is the last thing I want to do.”

“Why?”

“Prettiness is overrated. And, you said yourself, there’s no genuine beauty in the world.”

“You misunderstand. I didn’t say there was no real beauty in the world. I said, beauty made from paint and appliances is a fake out.”

“If beauty is only a disguise, why live like it’s permanently Halloween?”

“What an attitude! Don’t overthink things. You’ll recognize beauty when you meet it.”

“Well, I already I think you’re pretty,” said Donna.

“Ditto from me,” Glory replied. 

“Oh, there’s your house ahead,” she said. “Just don’t miss the party. It’s at seven-thirty Monday night at Kaylee’s. I’ll text you the address if you don’t have it.

“I don’t.”

“Also, we have to work harder on your dance lessons for the gig. We can practice some at the party. The other girls will be glad to join in.”

“I don’t belong dancing on a stage. It creeps me out to think of dancing in front of a group.”

“That’s stage fright. You’ll get over it. You’ll soon love dancing as much as I do.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” said Donna. 

At that moment, Glory slowed, hit the turn signal, and smoothly pulled into the parking lane in front of Donna’s house.

“See you tomorrow,” she said as Donna stepped out the passenger door.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” the blonde replied. 

#

But Donna didn’t see her friend on Friday because Glory missed school. This surprised Donna, since Glory hadn’t mentioned feeling ill the evening before.

Donna checked her phone for messages and found a new one from Glory. Sorry, not coming in today. Feel terrible. Save me notes. 

Donna gave a quiet damn. She felt as though the biggest planned event of the day had been cancelled. That was what Glory had become to her. She was the biggest event of every day.

But Glory’s absence held a special inconvenience today. When the auto shop instructor called the class to order, he immediately announced a bright new idea for introducing a competitive class project.

He told his students that today’s diagnostic exercise would be performed in pairs. That meant each student had to find a classmate he’d want to work with.

Damn it! This would have been no problem had Glory come to class. As Donna looked around the room, she saw a couple of guys eyeing her. She didn’t like being looked at like a special car option that the shop guys wanted.

She looked around the room, trying to find the person least likely to make a pest of himself if they worked together. The boys found it easy to pair up with their close buds. However, there was an odd man out. Neil Kowalski was doing the same thing she was doing, looking around, trying to pick out some near stranger he could pair up with. 

Kowalski was one of those boys who always seemed to be off by himself, including when eating alone in the lunchroom. He was a shy boy, and Donna—and Langdon before her—had never noticed him much. But they also never noticed him giving any girl a hard time. But like most nerds, he seemed to lack male friends, too. The teachers seemed to like him, though, and his name had frequently appeared on the honor roll.

She thought Kowalski might be the least annoying person available in the class. She got up and went over to his desk, where he was sitting, looking forlorn and awkward.

“Hello, Neil,” she said. “Are you available to partner with me on this project?”

He looked at her suspiciously, as if suspecting she was putting him on. 

“Guess I could, if you really need a partner.”

Donna understood his lack of enthusiasm. The girls in school chased after only a handful of boys—those lucky enough to look like film stars, those from rich families, and the notable athletes. But down-to-earth boys like Langdon, and bookworms like Kowalski, got the invisible treatment. Pretty girls talked honestly to them; they only teased, attempting to make them feel foolish.

Then Donna saw the teacher, Mr. Briggs, pushing a metal dolly loaded with older model carburetors. He started putting one at each workstation in the workroom. 

When he came out, he said, “Each of these carburetor parts has an identified problem. Each team will check one over and see if it can identify what’s wrong. Do the standard diagnostic report for it. One on the team can do the disassembly, while the other writes the report. Monday is Columbus Day, but when you come in Tuesday, I’ll have your work graded. Now, get on the stick!

“One thing, people,” Bringgs added as an afterthought, “put down plenty of newspapers. The janitors don’t like it when you leave oily messes.”

Donna went into the workroom and chose an empty spot with a carburetor on it. She picked it up and turned it over in her hands with some measure of familiarity with its make.

“I can take it apart,” Neil said. “It’s going to make your hands greasy.”

“This is an auto shop. If I were afraid of grease, I wouldn’t have signed up.”

He shrugged. “It’s all yours, then. I’ll do the paperwork.”

Once they went into action, they did little talking, except about the carburetor. Donna disassembled the unit with confidence. Neil mainly worked on the diagram sketch, a task he seemed to have a knack for. Donna called out components as she worked, and Neil together recorded and cross-referenced the individual pieces using the manual.

“What’s the most likely thing wrong with it?” Donna suddenly asked.

Neil frowned. “Check if the needle valve seat isn’t at fault. The float height on these jobbies can drift.” Donna recognized the sense in this and decided that the boy was no dummy.

While they worked, Donna asked, “Are you familiar with this make of carburetor?”

He nodded. “It looks familiar. I’ve worked on old cars. My grandfather had a machine shop, and I learned a lot from helping him.”

But time was pressing hard. Neil concentrated on the report, but while Donna worked, he casually offered her one pointer after another. Some things he cited she already knew, but some of them she didn’t. Overall, Neil was more of a help than a hindrance.

While Kowalski was busy with his notes, Donna found what seemed to be the problem—a worn accelerator pump that someone had tried to compensate for rather than replace. It had been a botched job, probably because the shirk had wanted the problem to go away temporarily, without doing the sweat work of actually fixing it.

She held it up. “Here.” She then explained what she had seen.

Neil leaned over and checked her work. He especially eyed the worn pump, applying to it the focused attention of someone who found car tinkering genuinely interesting.

“Yeah,” he said. “You found it. Good catch.” And then, with what sounded like sincerity, he said, “I mean it. You recognized the real problem. Most people would have wasted time checking out the obvious stuff first.”

With the diagnosis accomplished, Neil and Donna applied themselves to finishing the project report. 

When the clean-up bell rang, most of the pairs were still deep into their incomplete work, but Donna felt confident in what they had accomplished with minutes to spare.

Neil hurriedly gathered the notes and diagrams. “We’ll have to turn this in now. I hope Mr. Briggs will be satisfied.”

In that moment of calm, he asked a personal question. “Do you plan to become a car mechanic when you leave school, Donna? I think you have what it takes.”

“I’m not sure,” she replied. “I just took this class because I needed an elective.” 

“But you must have been at least a little bit interested in cars.”

“I can tell you I was more interested in cars than I was in Home Economics.”

“I feel the same way,” unable to keep from smiling. 

“Say, Neil, I usually team with Glory,” Donna said. “But whenever she’s not here, I’d be glad to team up with you again.”

“You bet we can! That’ll be great,” he said with a nod.

“That’s it for now, class,” boomed Mr. Briggs. “Clean up the spilled grease and leave the parts on fresh newspapers. We’ll refer to them on Tuesday for the project reviews and demonstrations.”

When the class bell rang, Neil got up and nodded goodbye. Donna went to the sink to clean up. It occurred to her that Neil hadn’t asked her out for a soda after school. Maybe that meant he wasn’t interested in her and that his compliments had been sincere. That thought gave her satisfaction.

But on the way home, a contrary thought arose. If Neil had wanted to be friends, why hadn’t he suggested a soda? Can’t a person like a person and also respect them at the same time? Thinking in this new way made her lose some of her buoyancy.

 

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 6 

To the Mana Born: The Life of Donna by Christopher Leeson Chapter 4

By Christopher Leeson

Chapter 4 

Glory caught up to Donna right after Automotive Basics, waving the sleeve of her sweater like a flag of defeat.

“Look at this. Grease stain of doom! You know how to clean garage stains, right?”

Donna eyed the smear. “I’m sorry. My aunt’s the laundry genius, not me. I’ll ask her about it.”

“Please do,” Glory  said with a forced smile. Then she added, “Also—big news. The band scored a last‑minute gig. They’re going to play at some teen spot this Saturday. They have to cram their rehearsals to get ready. They’re meeting tomorrow night. Mike wants to know if you’ll be coming back. I think he’s into you. You don’t have to do anything special—just hang out with me and the guys. You can shake a tambourine if you feel like it.”

Donna didn’t care about the boys, but she liked being with Glory. “Yeah. I’ll come.”

“And is our study session still happening tonight?” the brunette girl asked.

“Yep. Come over about six thirty to seven.”

#

Glory showed up that evening armed with her textbook, a six‑pack of soda, and enough energy to power a small town. Elisa greeted her politely and then vanished, leaving the girls to spread out at the kitchen table.

For two hours, Donna walked Glory through fuel systems and timing chains. Glory listened like every word mattered, and Donna realized she knew more than she’d ever given herself credit for. It felt…good. Like she was finally the one who understood things.

“You’re saving my life,” Glory said, leaning back with a sigh. Her vanilla perfume drifted across the table, making Donna’s breath hitch. “If I pass this test, it’s because of you.”

“You’ll pass,” Donna said, warm all over from the praise.

When Glory packed up, she reminded her, “Don’t forget—rehearsal tomorrow.”

#

The next afternoon, Donna left school thinking she couldn’t show up looking like she was a fugitive from a junkyard. If she was going to meet Glory, she wanted to look…not completely awful.

The house was empty when she got home—Elisa was probably buried in clients again. Donna ate the leftovers waiting in the fridge, then headed upstairs. One look in the mirror told her school clothes weren’t cutting it. Too baggy. Too grimy. Too eager to be ignored.

She showered, picked her outfit from the thrift‑store pieces that fit best, and checked the mirror again.

Not bad. She could almost pass for a normal girl at school.

#

Once more she bussed across town. Mike’s garage felt smaller and hotter than it had on Friday. Mike and Jake were already setting up. The second they saw her in better clothing, something in the air shifted—subtle, but unmistakable.

Mike gave her a slow once‑over, the kind boys applied to girls in the hallway. He didn’t look away when she caught him staring.

“Damn,” he said. “You clean up nice.”

Donna’s stomach dropped. Maybe dressing like a standard person had been a mistake.

Jake’s glance had a new brightness to it also. “Tambourine’s there if you want it, Donna.”

She took it without answering. She continued to feel the boys’ new vibe crackling around her—charged, expectant – and in some way totally wrong. It reminded her of the way pretty girls sent a surge of power through a room just by walking into it. Except, this time, felt directed at her. She was the target, not the bystander.

Still, Donna refused to bail. She kept her face neutral and, when the boys started making music, she tapped along with their off‑beats. She pretened that she didn’t feel like she’d somehow wandered into the wrong universe.

Glory arrived a few minutes later, and Donna felt relieved not to be alone anymore. For a while, the dark-haired girl just watched them jam. When the second tune started, she jumped in with her rattle‑stick instrument. Donna relaxed enough to follow her lead. Whenever Glory shot her a welcoming smile, Donna managed to send a small one back back to her.

By the third song, the other two members of the band had shown up. They drifted toward Mike and Jake, engaging them in loud talk. Glory tugged Donna aside.

“You’re killing it,” she whispered. “I think you’ve got music in your blood.”

“That’s nice, if it’s true.”

Also, I can see that Mike and Jake are totally into you. Don’t freak—they’re harmless. Mostly.”

“I knew they were acting weird,” Donna muttered. When she glanced back at the boys, she caught the late‑arriving boys staring at her, too.

“Don’t let boy-staring get in your head,” Glory said. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you about Saturday’s gig. If you want, you can be up onstage with us.”

“Why I can’t play anything,” Donna said. “I’m barely managing this tambourine.”

“You’ll pick it up. Maybe you can sing, too, if your voice matches your face.” Glory grinned. “But if you want to dance, you’ll need to dress the way party crowds expect.”

Donna stiffened. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning, let them know you have legs and cleavage that won’t quit,” Glory said bluntly. “I’ve got an idea. We’re basically the same size. Come over tomorrow—I’ve got dresses that’ll make you look like a dancer with everything to offer.”

“No way. I’m strictly the butch type,” Donna said.

Glory shook her head. “Nope. You may enjoy dressing butch, but your body doesn’t fit the fashion. Trust me—you’d look amazing flashing something hot. But no pressure. Wear whatever you want.”

The reassurance didn’t help. Donna’s stomach twisted at the idea of walking into a room full of strangers gawking at her skin. 

“I… I’ll think about it,” she managed.

Glory heard the hesitation and pushed right past it. “Come over tomorrow. I’ve got ideas about setting a whole new vibe for you. Everybody wants people to notice them.. Dressing the right way is a giant step toward doing that.”

Donna wanted to say , “Absolutely not”—but she didn’t want to mess up whatever was germinating between the two of them. So she swallowed the automatic refusal.

#

Just before 10:00 pm, Donna caught the city bus home. The boys’ music was still echoed in her head—horns, strings, the thump of the bass. But mostly she thought about the way they’d been looking at her fully covered. How would they act if she showed up in a flirty dancing dress of the sort Glory was imagining?

She slipped into the house and passed Elisa by without a word, and then shut herself in her upstairs room.

Donna stripped down to her underwear, intending to change into pajamas, but something made her stop in front of the mirror. She wanted to take a good look at what the boys were seeing. Damn it! Before this, it really hadn’t registered how she’s look to boys who were hot to trot. She looked like the kind of girl Langdon would have dragged to a mattress without thinking twice.

That thought made her skin crawl. She yanked on her sleep clothes, shoved in the earbuds, and lay stiffly on her bed while the familiar recording played. She barely heard it. Her mind kept drifting back to Glory—her smile, her voice, the way she smelled like vanilla.

#

All the next day, Donna kept telling herself she wouldn’t go to Glory’s house. She wasn’t going to try on all those party girl dresses. She wasn’t going to let herself be turned into someone she didn’t wish to be.

And yet, that evening, she found herself standing on Glory’s porch, finger pressing the doorbell.

Glory opened the door immediately and pulled her inside. The house was quiet—the girl’s parents being gone, as usual. Lamps filled the room with soft light and cherry-scented candles flickered on the sill of the big picture window.

Donna followed her hostess upstairs, feeling like she was being led into some kind of enchanted cave. Glory’s room had an agreeable smell and a nice look. Fairy lights dotted the walls. A full-length mirror occupied one corner like a shrine. A clothing rack beside the bed held dresses of every color—delicate things that looked like they belonged to someone half her size.

Donna crossed her arms. “I still think this is a bad idea.”

“What's with you?” Glory laughed. “How does a girl make it to seventeen without getting obsessed over dresses? I swear, there’s a whole wild, sensuous woman hiding inside of you. We just need the right bait to coax her out.”

“You think these are the clothes that can do so much?” Donna asked skeptically.

“Just try them,” Glory said. She was already taking a burgundy dress from the rack. “If you hate it, you can bail. But at least give it a shot.”

Donna sighed. “Fine.”

Glory helped her out of her clothes and into the burgundy dress. It was sleeveless, flared, and richer in color than anything Donna had ever worn. She looked in the mirror and shook her head.

“Nope,” Glory said immediately. “Next.”

The blue babydoll that Glory foisted on her was even worse—short, sugary, and impossible to wear modestly. Donna kept pulling the front hem down, and this only made it ride up in back and show off her briefs. She could imagine s0me other girl looking incredible wearing such an outfit. Just… not her.

Glory's  next offer was a pale yellow sundress with thin straps and a neckline so low that showed her bra. The thing was a total loser.

They went through outfit after outfit, until Glory finally lifted a green dress from the rack.

This one didn’t so much scream for attention like the others did. It was quiet—dangerously quiet. It offered the kind of quiet that made people stare without knowing why.

Donna had gotten less surly endlessly about trying on these dresses. She stepped into this new one, and when she turned toward the mirror wearing it, she was too surprised to speak. Glory was rendered quiet, too.

The dress fit Donna like it had been made for her. When she moved, it moved with her, caught the light, and transformed her posture like it had fashion sense of its own. She stood with her arms slightly out while beholding the reflection, unsure what to do with her hands.

“Uh, this one at least has character,” she said, refusing to admit to its strong effect on her.

Glory stepped behind Donna and gently lifted her hair, twisting it into a loose shape that changed the whole line of her shoulders. “Look at yourself now.”

Donna stared. The changed hairline did make a difference. The girl in the mirror wasn’t no longer just pretty—she was elegant. She could suddenly see herself with boy’s eyes, herself as boys would see her. In fact, as she sized herself up, if she were a boy so she could sweep that girl into her arms and kiss her until her cheeks turned pink.

“I like it," Glory murmured, "but it’s missing something,”

Donna met her eyes in the mirror. “What?”

“I think you’re only seeing half the girl you could be.”

“I don’t get you.”

“You have a face you that's just begging for makeup,” Glory suggested softly.

“I’m not into makeup!” Donna said strongly.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious what you would look like if you became to total and complete girlie girl?”

“I… I think I’ve had enough of being girlie for one night,” she said, a rumble in her voice

“I believe you,” Glory said. “But unless we do more experimenting, we'll cheat ourselves of knowing how far this can go. Let me show you the full version of the perfect you—just once. If you hate it, I’ll never nag you about it again.”

Donna couldn’t tear her eyes from the reflection. It fascinated her. She wanted—needed—to see how far she could go into girlhood.

“Fine,” she said. “One chance.”

Glory grinned. “Wonderful. The art world will thank you.”

"But go easy on the makeup!" she declared firmly.

"I will." Glory's voice was conveying no pressure, only the calm certainty that she was on the right track. "I'll use just enough to bring out the full effect of the dress. We'll see this girl with all the accouterments. We'll do it only once. If you hate it, I won’t bother you about makeup again."

Donna was easy to persuade because she as curious about getting the full girl treatment for once.

"Fine," she said. 

Glory smiled. "The art masters of the ages are looking down, thanking you."

#

The vanity chair was positioned in front of the mirror, and Glory worked with the focused efficiency of a professional makeup artist. Donna sat very still and observing the changes on Glory's intense face rather than her own reflection—the slight furrow of concentration between her brows, the way her hands knew precisely where to go, the warmth of her fingertips against her skin.

All this was unfamiliar to Donna. Primer came first, cool and unfamiliar. Next, foundation so light it was almost nothing. Concealer was applied with patient fingertips. Eyeshadow in neutral tones and blended carefully was next applied. Liner, thin and precise. Two coats of mascara. A touch of peach blush swept high on the cheekbone and blended until it seemed to have always belonged there.

"Relax," Glory reminded her.

"I am relaxed."

"You're sitting as though you're already condemned and waiting for the sentence."

Donna unclenched her jaw and attempted to behave less defensively.

Then, horror of horrors, lip gloss was applied with a small brush. After that, Glory's fingers constructed a loose updo. In the end, she left a few strands loose to frame her face with calculated casualness.

Glory finally stepped back.

"Okay," she said.

Donna looked at herself in the glass.

What Glory had accomplished hit her like a splash of cold water into her face—not gradually but all at once.

What she saw in the mirror went beyond femininity, beyond mere prettiness. She could eyelining make her eyes so electric? If a speaker with such a face shouted, “Off with their heads!” people would instantly obey. This was a face to launch a thousand ships. 

The makeup gave her cheekbones a definition she had never imagined. And the green dress, which had seemed nice enough before, now looked to be something designed by the Maker of the Universe specifically for this face, this hair, and for the strange luminescence that seemed to hang about her.

She stared, trying to reconcile herself to the idea that she was the girl in the mirror.

Donna as she stared, it never once occurred to her that this vision of loveliness had once been Langdon. It was like she was someone different, living in a world parallel to his. What amazed her was that this girl had been lurking inside her all along and had only been freed this evening. 

One can't build something from nothing. How had Glory used her scant raw material to build this vision of loveliness?

"What do you see?" her companion asked from behind her.

Donna swallowed. "I'm not sure."

Then Donna shook her head emphatically. "No. There's nothing to her. It’s all makeup!" she said.

Glory stood in place quietly for a moment. Then she admitted, "You’re right. What you're looking at isn't real beauty. Your face is acting like a canvas under a beautiful painting. There's a very real difference between real beauty and what this is."

Donna captured her reflected glance. "What's the difference?"

Glory rested her hands lightly on Donna's shoulders. It was several seconds before she started fashioning words.

"Beauty is a spirit," she said finally. "The makeup, the dress — those are just the material flourishes, like the costume an actor puts on. Physical things can't produce real beauty. They’re like a well-done statue. It can’t be a real person, but it suggest something that's ideal. 

"What do you mean?" Donna asked. "What is real beauty?"

"I believe real beauty isn’t just how something looks. It’s the total of those invisible qualities that make a person deserving of love." Glory restated it simply. "All the best qualities in a living being heart and spirit is what beauty actually is."

Donna looked at the girl in the mirror. The glossy lips. The wicked promise hot flesh inside the green dress. She looked at the reflection of her own bright eyes that hypnotized and fascinated her.

"If you’re saying that this is only a disguise," Donna said quietly, "it's a very good one. I don't recognize myself at all."

"Nobody else would recognize you either." Glory agreed. "But that's not the point. The point is, the girl in that mirror isn't any real being. She's just a material suggestion of what beauty may look like in Heaven."

Donna frowned.

“If this isn’t beauty, is there any real beauty to be found in the world?”

The girl saw Glory’s reflected smile.

“Of course there is. Haven’t you seen a spring day? An orchard with fragrant blossoms as thick as flower beds?”

“Are you saying women can’t be beautiful?” Donna asked.

“In a sense, no. Beauty is spirit. Things spiritual can only be seen with the heart."

Donna looked back in the mirror. The girl was still there, but now she sensed something false about her.  She saw paint and craftsmanship. She could not see the beauty of Nature that thrills and captivates.

"This is sad," Donna said.

"It is," Glory agreed. Neither of them spoke again for a span of time.

#

For a ride home, Donna walked to the bus shelter, again wearing her school clothes. She had told Glory that she wanted to keep the makeup a little longer. It was a small part of the evening that she could take home with her.

Before leaving Glory's wardrobe, she had picked out a garment that she could consider wearing with the band on stage. It wasn’t the green dress. Donna thought that was something special. It was too special to be shown to a room full of noisy kids. 

She slipped into the house without encountering Elisa and went upstairs. For a long time, she stood looking into her own mirror wearing ordinary clothing, her makeup still in place. As she stared, she tried to reconcile the two existing versions of herself, the illusion and the reality. They were the artist’s concept of beauty, and the pretty-but-ordinary girl who felt more natural in a hoodie. She couldn't find the line between these two worlds. All she could fathom was that both of them were false.

Eventually, Donna went to the bathroom and scrubbed her face clean with methodical thoroughness. The paper towel came away showing colorful smears. She folded it and threw it into the basket without looking at it again.

But even yet something compelled her to keep looking at the bathroom mirror.

Langdon had seen her, he would have wanted the girl the girl in the green dress. Man! How he would have wanted her.

But would she, herself, have wanted the company of someone like Langdon?

She knew the answer. 
 

Langdon lacked something to make people like him.

He was always angry. He didn’t know how to be kind.

And there was still another reason for Donna to be sad. There was another something that kept her lonely. She could not believe that anyone could ever like her. Could she even like herself?

Then Donna went back to her room and climbed into bed, her intense feelings making her eyes burn.

Donna needed to think about something different, something less melancholy. That's why she reached for the small box holding the earbuds and the recording.

She needed to hear that familiar voice talking about broad shoulders, strength, and the promise that she was on her way back to becoming the person she used to be.

But tonight, like on other nights, Donna wasn’t listening, but not really hearing. She heard instead Glory's voice saying, “Beauty can only be seen with the heart.”

“Whose heart?” she asked herself. 

She didn’t know.

Did Glory know?

Did anyone know?

Probably not.

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 5

To the Mana Born: The Life of Donna by Christopher Leeson Chapter 3

 

 By Christopher Leeson

Chapter 3 

Tuesday morning came cold and bright. Donna stood before the full‑length mirror on the closet door, wearing the least objectionable outfit from Saturday’s shopping trip: dark jeans loose on her new hips, a charcoal hoodie two sizes too big, plain black sneakers. She yanked her golden hair into the tightest bun she could manage. Stray curls still escaped and clung to her neck.

The face in the mirror looked too soft, too noticeable. She scowled. It didn’t help.

Elisa appeared in the doorway, keys in hand, travel mug steaming. “I’ll drive you this morning — first day only. After that, it’s the bus. My showings start at nine‑thirty.”

Donna’s stomach twisted. A bus full of staring kids. Perfect.

“Cousin Donna Ellis from Iowa,” she recited. “Mom passed last month. Living with you. Keep it short.”

“If they push, say it’s still raw,” Elisa said. “Head down, short answers. The quieter you stay, the less they poke.”

The drive was silent. Donna kept her hood up until they reached the parking lot. When she pulled it down, her hair caught the sun immediately.

“Text if it goes sideways,” Elisa said. “I’ll answer if I can.”

Donna grabbed her backpack — Langdon’s old one — and stepped out.

Students milled on the lawn. Heads turned. Quick glances, second looks, murmurs. She hunched and walked fast toward the doors.

Inside, the office smelled of burnt coffee. “Donna Ellis?” the registrar said. “Schedule’s ready. You picked Automotive Basics — good choice. First period English 11 with Mr. Torres, Room 214.”

Donna mumbled thanks and slipped into the hallway. People still noticed her. A boy grinned as she passed. Two girls whispered, looking like they had just discovered the Nile.

In English, she took a back wall seat. 

“Ellis, Donna?” Mr. Torres called. 

She wearily waved her hand. “Here.” 

“Page twenty‑six of The Great Gatsby. Read aloud. Somebody, give her the book.”

A boy passed her the novel. The girl beside her — curly red hair, band T‑shirt — leaned over. “Hey. You’re from Iowa, right?” 

Donna nodded. 

“Cool. I’m Kaylee. If you ever need notes…” 

“Thanks,” Donna said while searching for the page.

The class dragged. She answered one question, short and correct. That was her active participation for the day.

In the hallway between classes, a tall boy slowed and let her catch up. “Hey, new girl. Name?"

“Donna.” 

“Nice. See you around.”

Another boy whistled. Her cheeks burned. Langdon would’ve given him a shove for being annoying. Donna just kept walking.

At noon, she ate lunch at an empty table. Curious eyes drifted her way. A senior girl with a hairstyle combining dark braids with a ponytail stepped up. 

“You’re the new junior from Iowa?” 

Donna nodded. 

“My name's Esther." She pointed at a group of seated girls. "You can sit at our table if you want.” 

“Maybe I will,” Donna said with a tight, forced smile.

#

Gym was the day's last class. Warm‑ups, then dodge ball. Donna moved awkwardly — unused to her weight, build, and balance — but she still avoided most balls aimed at her. Her heavy sweat, however, made her shirt cling in embarrassing ways.

In the locker room, girls peeled off PE clothes. Unlike the boys' shower room, the girls had little curtained stalls. Donna ducked into a stall with her street clothes still on and stripped quickly, avoiding looking down at her own body. To keep from getting her gym clothes wet, she put them in a pile outside the stall.

The water felt good. Someone in the next stall was humming. A girl walked nude past the part in Donna's curtain, towel low on her hips, breasts bare and trembling as she stepped along.

Donna reacted. Her thighs pressed together. Her nipples tightened. It was an automatic reaction, but different from what she was used to. "Damn!" she thought. "This body can't even look at a hot chick and do it right!"

She carried the bundle of gym clothes with her back to her locker and put on her street clothes with shaking hands. The warmth, lit by her sight of the mostly nude girl, lingered.  

After the final bell, she walked to the bus stop. Though kids glanced at her on the ride home, nobody spoke. From the stop she fast-walked home.

Elisa’s car was already in the drive. “You’re home early,” the girl said. 

“Took the afternoon. Wanted to be here for your first day.”

“People stared,” Donna said. “A lot.” 

“That's to be expected. You’re new,” Elisa said gently. “And… you’re pretty.”

Donna’s jaw tightened. “Stop saying that.” 

“I’m just telling you what people see.”

Donna headed upstairs.

That night, she avoided the mirror. She put in the earbuds to hear the doctor’s recording. Visualize your true form. Strong shoulders. Deep voice. Temporary. She pictured Langdon filling doorways, taking up space. She fell asleep gripping her pillow like a lifeline, her drowsing mind still listening.

#

The rest of the week dragged the way new routines do. Cold morning walks to the bus stop. The same alley with the two older guys smoking. They never bothered her, but she kept her pace brisk.

By Thursday, Kaylee and her friends waved her over to their table. She accepted and took a chair with them. The conversation went shallow and easy. She contributed just enough to let people know she was present. This kind of socializing felt… manageable.

She dined with the other junior girls at lunch the next day. But they had a girl with them that Donna didn't recognize. She had dark waves spilling over a cropped black hoodie. She looked at Donna and introduced herself. "Hi! I'm Glory. I just transferred from Cedar Falls in Iowa.

"Hi. You must be crazy to want to a place like this," Donna quipped sourly.

“Rough week?” Glory asked, peeling the foil off a yogurt. 

"Surviving.”

"I'm lucky that I met some people right after I got to town. Do you know Mike Potter?"

"No, I don't."

"He and three other guys have their own band. They invited me to join it. They wanted somone who could sing and dance."

"Are you sure you can trust three strange guys?" Donna asked.

"So far, so good. Say, doing anything tonight? The band guys are rehearsing tonight in Mike's family's garage. Guitars, drums, bad pizza. Come watch?”

Donna thought about it. She had no special interest in music, but she was willing to use it as the excuse to hang with Glory. “Sure, I’m in!” 

Glory slid the phone across the table to her. "Please put in  your number and address," she urged.

Donna did as asked and then slipped the phone back. Their fingers brushed when Glory took it. The touch gave Donna a thrill, both strong and unexpected.

#

After dinner, Donna rode bus connections to Mike’s neighborhood. His garage smelled of motor oil and old carpet. The band was already playing — tight groove, steady kick drum, two guitars weaving together. Briefly, Donna stood in the doorway, listening.

Glory hurried up holding a tambourine. “Donna! You made it."

Donna stepped into the garage, giving perfunctory nods to the four band guys, then noticed the empty dog carrier near the amps and sat down on it. While the musicians prepared for the next number, Donna mostly watched Glory.

Then the performance began. Glory moved with an easy rhythm — jingling the tambourine competently. And she also had a sweet singing voice and sang with her hips swaying in time. When the band played for her vocal, they got serious and bore down. Donna felt the shift in the room. Obviously, she wasn't the only one interested in Glory.

Glory laughed at something one of the two guitarists said. Donna felt jealous when the brunette focused her attention on the guy.

At the break, Glory approached Donna and made herself a seat by putting peach crate on its side, sitting close enough that their knees kept brushing. “We don't do too badly, do we?” she asked. 

“Listening is better than staring at a ceiling,” Donna said. “By the way, you've go talent.”

Glory gave an amused shrug. “And I'm guessing you’ve got rhythm too. Whenever you stop stomping around like a gang girl, you can move in the cutest way.”

"The one thing I'm not is cute," said Donna.

"Of course you are. Don't you ever look into the mirror?"

"I try not to. 

Donna blinked. “I noticed you talking to the Auto class teacher, Mr. Adams. How come?"

"My parents just gave me a car, and I don't want to be a dummy about it. Say, can we study together?"

"It might hurt our friendship."

"Why?"

"People don't warm up to me very easily." 

"I don't believe that!" declared Glory. "Who told you that?"

"Nobody has to. I can feel it."

“Well, we’ve got to work at getting rid of that feeling. I know! This band could use more than one dancer,” Glory said. “Ever think about dancing?” 

“No.” 

“You might be good at it.” 

“I said no.” 

“I heard you.” Glory bumped her shoulder. “I'm just saying what I see.”

“I don’t know a thing about stage dancing.” 

“Nobody knows anything when they're just starting out. I learned to dance from YouTube. I can teach you.”

Donna hesitated. She was being given an excuse to spend time with Glory. Cool. “Maybe,” she said. 

“Wonderful.”

The guys began the second set just then. When Glory took the lead vocal spot on the last song, Donna watched her — really watched her. Glory was the kind of girl that Langdon would have loved to get things on with. A guy with a girl like Glory would be looked at as somebody. But he could never get any of the really pretty girls to like him. Right now, though, Donna had her antennas up to find excuses to spend more time with this girl.

While the boys straightened up the garage, Glory walked Donna to the bus stop. “Thanks for coming,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll wait with you. Every neighborhood is swarming with creeps.” 

“I’m finding that out,” Donna said. “That’s why I always dress to not draw attention.” 

“I think you have a nice face,” Glory said. “What you most need is a total fashion reset.”

“Attention is the last thing I want.” 

“If you ever change your mind about that, I can help you shine.”

"If I change my mind, I'll let you know." But Donna doubted her mind would ever change.

They parted and she rode the bus downtown. She had to wait ten minutes for her transfer, but fortunately none of the after-dark types gave her any trouble. When she got off in her own neighborhood, she walked home carrying an unfamiliar warmth in her chest. She never admitted to being happy, but the aftermath of the rehearsal left her feeling something close to that.

Suddenly, alarm. The doctor had warned that if she started feeling, she might have to stay a girl for the rest of her life. What she needed was to get angry again, and fast.

Elise was at home, but Donna walked past her without speaking. Upstairs, she quickly shoved the buds into her ears. The familiar recording once again reassured her, using talk of broad shoulders and deep voices, and the ease with which she could break the magical spell. She let the enthusiastic pep‑talk wash over her, until she fell asleep after only a few minutes.

Through the long night, the sleep-teacher played on.

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 4

To the Mana Born: The Life of Donna by Christopher Leeson Chapter 2

 

TO THE MANNA BORN: THE LIFE OF DONNA

Chapter 2 — Learning the Rules

The waiting room of Dr. Harlan's clinic smelled of antiseptic and old magazines, which Langdon supposed was either very reassuring or very ominous depending on your disposition. He sat rigid in a male hoodie and jeans — far too wide in the legs and shoulders. His now golden-blonde waves had been shoved under the hood in the way of disguise. His vivid blue eyes were fixed on the floor, carefully avoiding the glass coffee table, which was reflecting things he had no interest in confirming.

The doctor emerged from his inner office and introduced himself as Dr. Harlan with the unhurried courtesy of a man who had conducted a great many unusual consultations and found them all, if not routine, at least navigable. He had calm gray hair and a steady gaze and the particular quality of stillness that belongs to people who have learned that most situations improve if you don't make them worse. He listened without interruption while Langdon recounted the story — the medallion, the chant, the desperate and apparently catastrophically successful wish regarding the trial — and when he finished he leaned forward and met her eyes with a seriousness that she found both reassuring and deeply alarming.

"Magic is real," he said. "If you didn't believe it before, you certainly have grounds to believe it now."

"I gathered," said Langdon, in the flat tone of someone declining to be impressed.

"What you should have known before attempting to work magic," the doctor continued, with the gentle patience of someone explaining something obvious, "is that magic responds to more than conscious intention. It is the unconscious mind that directs it. And the unconscious mind is, in most people, thoroughly overpopulated with buried fantasies."

Langdon's jaw tightened. "I don't have any buried fantasies that would explain — this."

Dr. Harlan regarded her with the expression of a man who has heard this particular statement before, in this particular office, from people sitting in that particular chair. "Is that so," he said, without inflection.

"That is absolutely so!"

"Then let me ask you something." He folded his hands on the desk with skeptical challenge in his eyes. "Is it genuinely true that you have never, in your entire adolescence, imagined it might be exciting to be a pretty girl? To have a body that attracted boys and made other girls envious? Did you want to be admired and have people want to be with you?"

The ensuing silence, in its own way, eloquent. 

Langdon, in fact, had had all those fantasies over the last few months. Were fun, and so arousing. He had imagined, in considerable detail, looking hot in a thong and wearing a short, short mini dress. He'd imagined looking like his favorite AI girls on YouTube videos, sizzling chicks with dazzling eye makeup and cherry-red red lipstick. That type of fantasy had thrilled him so much that each night he'd fall asleep and dream about being the exact sort of girl that he would have liked for a girlfriend. He seldom dreamed, though, and that annoyed him. 

Despite this, he -- now a she -- had absolutely no intention of admitting any of this, not in this office, not in this body, not to this man. It would have taken torture to get this guilty secret out of her.

"Never," she said. "Not once. Not even slightly."

Dr. Harlan nodded with the serene acceptance of someone who has decided not to press the point because the point has already been made. "Well," he said, "if that is entirely true, then the cause of your current situation remains somewhat mysterious. However, there is a thing called "woman envy" that is very common among young men. And it's normal. Raging hormones often produce all sorts of fantasies. If you're holding back some needed information merely out of embarrassment..."

"Is this reversible or not?" Langdon asked.

"The good news is that the spell can be broken," said the doctor, pivoting with professional grace. "Magic follows the positions of the stars. When a spell is cast, the counter-spell must be cast when the major heavenly bodies have returned to the same configuration they occupied at the moment of the original casting. Some configurations take many years to recur. Fortunately, the most powerful ones repeat annually." He paused to let this land. "In one year, with proper preparation, the reversal spell has an excellent chance of succeeding."

"One year!" Langdon repeated.

"I'm afraid so."

"One year. Like this."

"That's how it has to be. "But you are," the doctor offered, with apparent sympathy, "an extraordinarily attractive young woman. People tend to treat the type of girl you are rather well, on the whole."

 Langdon stared at him. "Don't call me a girl! Maybe I look like one on the outside, I'm not that on the inside!"

Dr. Harlan accepted this protest with equanimity. "Is there anything else I can clarify?"

"Is there any faster method to break the spell?"

"None that I'm aware of. Amateur magic-casting does, unfortunately, all too often produces disruptive results. The stars move at their own pace and are not interested in our impatience." He rose and went to his back room, returning with a shoe box that he set on the desk and began to unpack with methodical care. 

He handed Elisa a booklet. "For addressing practical matters, this will be useful, Mrs. Arden. It deals with establishing a new identity for a transformed person, navigating daily life, that sort of thing. It is best to avoid telling anyone about what has actually occurred. People's reactions are rarely helpful."

Elisa took the booklet and looked at its cover: Helping Someone Adjust to Sudden Magical Transformation. She turned it over, but there was nothing on the back.

"There is also this." The doctor produced a card and handed it to Elisa. It bore a name, a phone number, and the notation: Cash only. No receipts. Three to four days turnaround. "Sometime a bewitched person needs to establish an alternate identity, and I would strongly recommend it in this case. Man listed is a specialist in identity documentation. Discreet and reliable. I've found his work indistinguishable from official articles."

"What about the counter-spell?" Langdon said, with the tone of someone who has been waiting for the relevant part of the conversation to begin.

The doctor produced from the box a picture of a small and unobtrusive audio headset device. "If we tried the spell now, it will fail. You have a lot of work to do to prepare for it. Wearing this device to bed help nudge your troublesome unconscious mind into line. We will need its help for the reversal. It will play sleep-teaching lessons. The more you use it, the more good it will do you. The speaking voice will reinforce your connection to your male identity — visualization, memory, intention. With you unconscious ready to receive the spell, there is a very good chance it will succeed."

He said it like he had steady confidence in what he was saying. "The critical thing," he continued, "is this: the counter-spell will only succeed if your unconscious mind genuinely wants it to. You must not undermine the lessons the sleep-teacher gives. If you allow yourself to enjoy the things that come with being a girl — your unconscious will not be so susceptible to the contrary ideas the headset is feeding it. If that happens, the reversal can fail." He looked at her steadily. "To succeed, you must guard your thoughts. Do not let yourself become comfortable. Don't admire yourself in the mirror. The more your current situation displeases you, the better will be your prospects next year."

Langdon straightened. "Staying displeased," she said, "will not be a problem."

"Excellent," said Dr. Harlan. He closed the shoe box and folded his hands. "Call me if questions arise."

#

The ride away from Omaha was quiet – or sullen. When they arrived home, Elisa sat at the kitchen table read the booklet cover to cover while Langdon went upstairs. When Elisa went up to discuss what she'd read, she found the girl pacing in tight circuits around the room. The contained energy inside him seemed so intense that if it escaped it would probably demolish the entire room.

"The booklet suggests starting with basics," Elisa said, from the doorway. "Voice, posture. Sounding and moving like a girl will help you blend in when we have you registered at school."

"I don't want to blend in," Langdon said, without stopping. "I don't want to wait. I want this insanity finished with."

"It won't be finished for a year. You can't stay in the house for a year." Elisa kept her voice even. "I'm going to call the document man. As soon we have papers saying who you are, we can register you at school. We'll tell them you're my cousin — orphaned recently, living with me until you come of age. It's a clean story, and it won't invite questions." Langdon stopped pacing. "And what about the real me? What do we say about Langdon Ardens disappearing?"

Elisa had spoken with Jethra Courtindale about this exactly. "We'll say he ran away. That he was afraid of the trial and panicked. After the counter-spell works next year, you can come back as yourself and deal with the legal situation then."

"I'm already in legal trouble. Now you want to add a year of being a fugitive."

"You were already looking at twenty years in an Iowa prison," Elisa said, with the quiet of someone making a point they wish they didn't have to make. "At least you won't have to serve time surrounded by criminals." 

Langdon threw up his hands. "Fine. Whatever."

"There is also the matter of clothes," Elisa continued. "You'll need a wardrobe to look normal when you leave the house. Your boy's clothing won't do."

Langdon lurched as if slapped. "Shopping?!" he said. "For girl clothes?"

"This afternoon," said Elisa.

"If we're going to keep your true identity secret, we have to do everything exactly right."

#

When Elisa dialed the number of the document man, she had a name to give him. There was a branch of her family called Ellis, and Langdon's name suggested the alias of "Donna." She gave this name to the man on the phone, and answered a list of prepared questions about what should appear on the forged papers.

All in all, creating a new identity for her stepdaughter Donna -- her mind had already shifted to the new name -- had not been a difficult process.

#

They drove forty-five minutes to a large discount store in Omaha — neutral territory, far enough from anyone who might know Langdon — and moved through the aisles with the quiet efficiency of two people who have agreed, without discussing it, to get the thing done as quickly as possible.

Langdon's --Donna's -- selections were made with the grim purposefulness of someone on a supply run: the baggiest cargo pants available, the largest hoodies in the darkest colors, plain tees, loose sneakers. Nothing fitted. Nothing decorative. The strategy was comprehensive invisibility, and she pursued it without hesitation.

Elisa followed at a careful distance, adding to the cart the items that Donna was either overlooking or refusing to acknowledge were now necessary. Panties. Sports bras. A box of sanitary supplies that he -- she -- placed in the cart without comment. When Donna saw what she had added in, her eyes blazed and her teeth were set on edge. This was probably her first inkling that there were some repulsive things involved in being a girl.

Fortunately, Donna didn't grab the items and throw them away. It was a small surrender, but it was a necessary one. 

But buying all these things was mortifying and, at the register, Donna kept her hood up and her eyes on the floor. At the moment, the scuffed tiles was the only thing she wanted to look at. If the cashier noticed her volcanic expression, she said nothing. With the transaction concluded, they went home.

#
 
Back in her room, Donna submitted to checking out the new wardrobe by the time the sun was down. The jeans she squeezed into fit in a way that cargo pants never had. Elise stood in the doorway, amazed by the amazing body-crafting the magic had performed on her stepson. "Passable," was the only comment she made. To give Donna a compliment at such a time would have been touching a firecracker to a match.

The next day, Elisa called the police and reported that her stepson had runaway. The voice on the other end sighed, as if it were an old story he had heard many times.

# 

The sleep-teaching device arrived the same mail drop that the false documentation did: a birth certificate for Donna Marie Ellis, a social security card, a learner's permit bearing a photograph Elisa had taken that morning with Donna's hair pulled back and her expression arranged into the most neutral sort she could then manage.

Elisa thought the documents looked authentic and guessed that they might hold up to official inspection.

When Donna saw the learner's permit bearing the name Donna Marie Ellis, she set it face-down on the table. Out of sight, out of mind.

That evening Elisa handed over the headset with the explanation the doctor had provided, and Donna took it with what seemed like desperate hope. She plugged it in and lay on the bed, allowing the voice to guide her:  Visualize your true form, strong, male, Langdon — and followed it down into sleep with the focused commitment of someone who fully intends to be a boy again in twelve months.

Underneath the surface voice, in the frequencies where conscious attention does not reach, the recording said different things entirely. It spoke of softness and warmth and the particular pleasure of being noticed, of eyes that follow you across a room, of clothes that move with you rather than hiding you. It said these things gently and repeatedly and with the patient certainty of water finding its way through stone.

Donna slept soundly and did not hear any of it.

Jethra Courtindale had told Elisa that when her stepdaughter slept, the recording's real work would begin.

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 3

 

 

To the Mana Born: The Life of Donna by Christopher Leeson

 

TO THE MANA BORN: THE LIFE OF DONNA

Chapter 1 — After the Screaming Stopped

Langdon jerked upright in bed and realized the screaming had been his.
Something about his body felt wrong.

Footsteps hurried down the hallway outside his bedroom door. He had woken up screaming, loud enough to wake the house.

The footsteps stopped outside the door.

“Langdon?” His stepmother, Elisa, spoke through the paneled wood, her voice cautious, almost a whisper..

“Don’t come in!” Langdon shouted.

The sound of his own voice made him freeze. It was thin. Higher than it should have been.

“Langdon, I’m coming in.”

“Don’t.”

The doorknob turned.

It was three in the morning. Elisa stood in the doorway, looking pale and unfinished, her hair loose around her shoulders, her robe pulled tight at the collar.

Then she looked at the bed.

Her expression froze.

The person sitting tangled in Langdon’s sheets was not her husky stepson.

It was a brown-haired girl wearing Langdon’s oversized white tee shirt.

For several seconds neither of them spoke.

The girl looked about eighteen. Her eyes were wide and furious, as if she had just been thrown into the worst situation imaginable.

“What do you see?” the girl demanded hoarsely. “What do I look like?”

“I see a girl whom I have never seen before,” Elisa said uncertainly.

Then she forced her self to ask: “Who are you… and where is Langdon?”

“What do you mean, who am I?” the girl snapped.

“I mean exactly that. Who and what are you? Langdon’s new girlfriend?”

The girl stared at her in disbelief.

“Don’t call me a girl!”

She flung the sheets aside and jumped out of bed.

“Stop staring!” she said wildly. “Don’t look at me at all until I wake up.”

“Whoever you are,” Elisa said slowly, “you are not asleep. And you should be polite. This is my house you're in.”

The girl shook her head as if she were trying to wake up from a dream.

“I’m Langdon,” she shouted. “I went to bed, and now I wake up like this!”

Elisa stared at her.

“You are very confused,” she whispered. “Why don’t you look in the mirror and then tell me who you really are?”

The girl glared at her.

Then she turned and stumbled toward the mirror on the closet door.

Elisa snapped on the light.

#

The girl in the mirror looked nothing like Langdon Arden.

She had dark, wavy hair that hung in a messy curtain around her shoulders. Her eyes were hazel, wide with shock and anger. Her young face was flushed and tense.

Langdon leaned closer.

The reflection leaned closer.

“This is sick,” he muttered, “but at least I know I’m dreaming.”

He grabbed the hem of the oversized sleep shirt and lifted it.

The body underneath was unmistakably female.

Langdon had chased enough girls and paged through enough porn to know what a girls looked like under their clothes.

Then he looked at the reflected face again. “Well, damn!”

Distraught though he was, he could see how pretty his reflection was. But where were his muscles?

Langdon Arden had been a stocky, big-shouldered eighteen-year-old who got through life on size, attitude, and a willingness to intimidate people.

The reflected person looked like someone who belonged in sunlight, not standing in a messy bedroom at three in the morning.

Langdon lifted the shirt a little higher to have a look. He saw that the body it contained had everything a girl should have.

He slapped himself. “Why in hell can’t I wake up?”

"Surely you have memories of who you really are?" said Elisa.

The girl pushed her shirt-hem low and veered toward her stepmother.

“This is a dream,” she said stubbornly.

“I don’t think so, but I don't understand it either. Only magic like in the movies could turn a boy into a girl, and Langdon didn’t play with magic"

The girl, running both hands through her hair, began talking quickly. “I did do some wish magic, but I didn’t wish for this!”

“What are you talking about?”

The girl started jabbering about the medallion and how she’d been chanting over it for the last few nights.

“If that's true, there has to be magic in the world.” Elisa said when Langdon finished. “I used to watch online videos about strange things. Stories about money created out of nothing, about people cursed to have accidents. Supernatural stuff. Also, there were stories about people turning into other people.”

Langdon stared at her.

“I got that medallion in the mail and the note said it could grant wishes. It sounded dumb, but I gave it a try and wished to be the most popular guy in school. Guy — not girl!”

“If you really are Langdon, magic has to be real. But you have to prove it. Langdon has a middle name he hates, and he never tells anyone what it is. What's your middle name?"

"Upchurch!"

"That's right!" She hesitated and then said, “…maybe it's because you played with magic, that this has happened to you.”

Langdon dropped onto the bed and pounded the mattress with both fists.

“This is insane—insane—insane!”

“That net series I watched had some shows about breaking spells. It said there are people who supposedly can use different magic to deal with this sort of thing.”

Langdon looked up.

“There was a medical doctor in one of those programs,” Elisa hurried on. “A specialist. He said that strange cases come into offices and hospitals that seem impossible. Real doctors can’t help the sufferers, so they send them to magical practitioners.”

Langdon stared, a glint of hope in his — her — hazel eyes.

“Those are people deal with magic,” Elisa said quietly. “Breaking spells. Maybe they can fix a transformation, too.”

Langdon rolled over and sat up.

“I never heard of such a thing!”

“Doctors are scientists and scientists refuse to admit that there is real magic. My gynecologist and I are good friends, so I asked her about doctors knowing about magic,” Elisa said hurriedly. “She said the stories were true. She even had a phone number of a magical practitioner she once had to consult.”

Elisa glanced toward the hallway, her mind racing.

“I’m going to call her.”She gave me her home number for emergencies.

Before Langdon could answer, Elisa slipped from the room.
#
While his stepmother was gone, Langdon stepped reluctantly back to the mirror on the closet door.
He was not surprised when that damned girl showed up again.

Langdon lifted the shirt once more with grim concentration. There was no way of escaping the fact that he was inside a completely female body.

And, in the nude, that girl was annoyingly attractive.

Langdon shoved the shirt down again.

“My whole life is going to be ruined!” he--she--muttered.

#

Elisa returned a few minutes later.

“I spoke to my doctor,” she said from the doorway. “She gave me the phone number of her magic man, and I called him.”

Langdon turned toward her excitedly.

“He’s willing to see us this morning. Nine o’clock.”

“Today?”

“Yes.”

“Why not tonight?” Langdon declared. “I don’t want to stay a girl for another six hours.”

“He said there’s no point in rushing. Transformations like this aren't supposed to get worse with time.”

“I sure hope not!” Langdon groaned.

Elisa hesitated. “Do you want to get up and have an early breakfast?”

“No!” Langdon said. “I still think this must be a dream. I want to fall asleep and wake up again.”

#

Langon wasn't able to fall asleep, and when she staggered out of bed, she was still the same girl she had seen in the mirror.At 8:30 am, Elisa drove her new stepdaughter to the address she had. The doctor’s office turned out to be inside a converted Victorian house in a quiet part of the city.

There was no sign outside except a small brass plate by the door with a suite number.
The man who answered the door looked like what a doctor ought to look — mid-fifties, gray hair, calm expression, white coat.

His foyer was serving as a small waiting room.

He shook Elisa’s hand politely.

Then he looked at Langdon. She was wearing a shirt, pants, and shoes borrowed from her stepmother. “Is this the transformed boy?”

“Yes,” said Elisa.

“We are apparently dealing with an extremely effective spell. Sit down,” he said to Langdon. “Tell me what happened.”

The black-maned girl told him, barely stopping for breath.It was the same story she’d told Elisa. The medallion. The chant. Falling asleep. Waking up.

The doctor listened without interrupting.

Finally, he leaned back in his chair.

“I’m going to tell you something most medical doctors pretend not to believe,” he said calmly. “Not because it isn’t true, but because the medical associations insist the public is not ready to hear that most science is just a bunch of hooey.”

Langdon waited with fists clenched tight.

“Magic is real.”

The girl blinked.

“Damn! I was hoping Elisa was all wrong about that.”

“She’s not.”

The doctor folded his hands.

“Your mistake is very common. You attempted to make a wish by using magical forces you didn’t fully understand. That is extremely dangerous.”

Langdon frowned.

“I was trying to improve my life. Not turn into a girl.”

“Yes,” the doctor said mildly. “But magic listens to the unconscious mind more than it listens to the conscious mind.”

Langdon stared at him.

“Your unconscious desires can have wishes different from what you ask for, and it can redirect magical forces in unexpected ways.”

“You’re telling me my subconscious made the magic change me into a girl?”

“That is a simplified explanation,” the doctor said. “But essentially correct.”

Langdon felt heat rising to her face.

The doctor continued calmly.

“In thirty years, I have seen eleven cases of transformation. Each involved a person's hidden fantasy that the magical brought into reality.”

Langdon sat saying nothing.

“The good news,” the doctor said, “is that transformations can be reversed.”

Langdon leaned forward avidly.

“How?”

“It will take time.”

“How much time?”

“Almost exactly one year.”

Langdon groaned.

“Magic is influenced by the position of the stars,” the doctor continued. “The celestial alignment must return to the configuration that existed during the original transformation.”
 
He left the room and came back with some papers. He handed Langdon a printed sheet.
“This describes how to perform the meditation you must follow.”

Langdon took it. The magic-man gave Elisa a half-inch of additional papers.

"This in information to help you manage this unusual situation," he told her. "Like, it would not be wise for you or Langdon to tell the world about this. It would scoffed at and people would laugh at her for pretending to be a transformed boy. You might want to establish a new identity for her. There is a contact email for a person who creates false identity papers. Maybe you can say that Langdon ran away, and the girl living with you is a niece or something. Talk the details over with the identity man."

He glanced back at Landon. “There is one important thing you hve to remember,” the magic-doctor said.

Langdon looked up.

“The reversal will only succeed if your conscious mind strongly desire to return to your original form. If its wish to be a male isn't stronger than your unconcious wish to be a girl, the spell-breaking ritual might fail and you may have to remain as you are now for as long as you live.”

Langdon stared at him.

“You’re saying the spell might not be broken?”

“There is that danger. If you find that you enjoy living as a girl,” the doctor said calmly, “that will empower your subconscious to resist the counter-spell.”

Langdon shook her head with dream in her eyes.

“I have a will like iron," she said.”

The doctor smiled faintly.

“Many people say that. But in your case, I hope your every wish comes true.”

#

The ride home was quiet.

Langdon sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, looking grumpy. She's just been told that she would have to remain female for an entire year. She couldn't let the people at school find out what happened!

The idea of enduring this for a year was ridiculous!

Still… the doctor had had tried to encourage her.

But what was the choice. If she couldn’t tough it out, her only other way out was suicide!

#

Later that evening Langdon  gloomily in bed for an hour, until she gathered nerve enough to face the mirror again.

When she did, that same infernal girl stared back at her.

As far as girls' went, this one was absolutely beautiful. Langdon had look at himself as a superior short of man. Maybe it was natural that his female side was a superior sort of girl. Damn, plenty of girls in AI videos didn't look so good as her reflection. That was a good thing, maybe, but she didn't dare feel good about it. She remembered the doctor’s warning about letting herself enjoy being being a girl too much.

Falling in love with her own image might make the spell permanent.

Langdon slapped herself three times on the cheeks.

“Keep yourself angry,” she muttered.

Things were going to be like this for a year.

This was going to be the worst year of the rest of her life.

#

Outside the room, Elisa picked up the phone and dialed a number she knew by heart. This had been a day that was too much for her to handle alone. She needed someone to talk to.

The lawyer from Wizard's Law Office, Jethra Courtindale, answered on the second ring.

“Well, how did it go?” the lawyer asked.

Elisa looked back at Langdon’s bedroom door and then hurriedly explained everything that had happened so far in a low voice.

“From what you say, everything is moving ahead smoothly,” Jetra repied confidently. “Now what we have to do is give that girl of yours the most fun and exciting year a girl has ever had. By the time we're through, she'll be singing, "I Enjoy Being a Girl!"

 

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 2