On the Run

It was almost noon, and the bright Arizona sun reminded me that I would need a pair of women’s sunglasses as I walked through the strip mall to my final destination that morning: a Payless shoe store, where I found a pair of extra wide black skimmer flats for $10. For the last time, I endured the smirks from a cashier, then I was back outside and on my way to my motel room.

The housekeepers had come and gone, and I carefully hung up my new dress and piled the rest of my purchases on the bed. Methodically, I began to cut off all of the price tags and remove the cosmetics from their sealed packages. I was reasonably certain about the sizes, having learned enough from my Halloween experience to know that I was a perfect size 16, and that my feet could squeeze into a woman’s size 9 if I had tights or stockings on. The lingerie and pantyhose had been educated guesses, but they were less critical.

More worrying was how to put on all of the makeup. My girlfriend had made me over while I watched, and I had been around girls long enough to have a rough idea of their techniques, but actually doing it to myself was going to take some trial and error. First things first, though. I picked up the bubble bath, razor and blades and brought them into the small, Spartan bathroom. While the tub slowly filled up, I lowered myself into it and tried to relax as I soaked myself in the swirling hot suds.

Up until this point, my plan to access the money had all seemed like a fantastic game. Now, as I prepared myself for what lay ahead, the reality of the situation took hold. If I was to avoid spending the best years of my life in prison, I would have to remake myself completely, from the inside out. The next time I walked outside, I would have to appear, and act, like a completely different person. The next time I used my voice, I would have to talk, and sound, like someone else. The prospect, as I closed my eyes and let the hot water close over my head, was strangely liberating.