A Murder Misstery Aloft

Early Sunday morning, without checking out of my dreary hotel, I packed my suitcase with my new dress, put on some wool slacks and a turtleneck sweater that I'd purchased the day before, and called for a taxi to take me back to the airport. All of the flights were delayed on account of the lingering winter storm, but I finally was able to fly from Montreal to Windsor by way of Toronto. It was early evening by the time I got in, which presented no problems since my chosen means of transport across the border was a courtesy bus from the Windsor Casino to downtown Detroit. Passport inspection was cursory, as I anticipated, but it was almost midnight by the time I found myself back in the United States.

Downtown Detroit is no place for a single woman, day or night, and I was fortunate to hail a roving taxi which took me to Detroit Metropolitan Airport. The last fight to Chicago was long gone, and I was too exhausted to search for an airport hotel, so I curled up in a plastic chair next to my suitcase and nodded off until the airport came to life on Monday morning. I'm sure I looked like death warmed over, but I was too groggy and grungy to care. After a chocolate croissant and a bracing cup of hot coffee at an airport Starbucks, I passed through security and boarded the 6:00 am flight to Chicago. Thanks to the time difference, I arrived into O'Hare a few minutes after I departed, Chicago time.

How strange it felt to be back in Chicago, almost a year to the day since I'd dressed as a woman for the first time! What a roller coaster I'd been on, losing my identity, my sex, and now my father...I found myself scrutinizing the flight attendants as I walked through the crowded concourse, wondering what had become of Tracy, the girlfriend who had first set me on the path towards femininity. Trying not to think about the enormity of all that I'd been through, I checked into the airport Hilton, asked for noon wakeup call, set the clock radio as a backup alarm and collapsed into bed.