The next month went by mostly like normal, except he'd stopped going out for drinks somewhere along the way. He figured saving up some of that money would be a good way to brace for the inevitable, or at least that was what he told himself. The truth was, he wasn't much in a talking mood. He stopped showing up to most of the outings. He'd written down the dates in the book and put them on the calendar. Big red circles. The first big group, May 3-5, approached like pall bearers to a coffin.
He knew on some level he was fortunate. He wouldn't go over to a steaming jungle to fight and kill like his old man had fought the Japanese. Pretty soon, when he filed that application, he'd be able to tell Uncle Sam he was a woman and therefore not eligible at all. He laughed bitterly sometimes at the absurdity of his new reality. May Day parades were far absent from his mind as the weekend of the first approached.
He did allow himself some pittance of relief: a stock of the cheapest Kentucky bourbon money could buy. The taste didn't matter, it was the content. He was saving most of it, of course, for the accursed nights that his humanity and manhood would again be stolen from him. What would his parents think? He didn't know, he didn't hardly bother to call and they didn't bother to call him. Too expensive for them and he knew that for however much they loved him, it was in their own way that they didn't express with presence.
He knew moving back in with them wouldn't be an option. To even risk it would be too much. He'd have to stick it out here as long as possible until he could pass as one of those young ladies at the textile mill. On occasion after work he'd drive to that part of town to catch the end of their shift, and surely enough, he saw droves of wolf women packing up their boxes into cars, either their own or those occupied by who he could only assume was their husbands.
After a few weeks of that, he'd put his mind off it. He remembered the words of the book. He couldn't give in. He needed to stave it off from being a daytime matter. He steeled his resolve. He was a man, he was a man for as long as he could stand to put off this humiliation at the hands of accursed biology. Occasionally, he would break into fits of tears and slap his face red to stop them from pouring.
If his coworkers noticed, they didn't say anything. He had always been excellent at keeping his head down, his heart never worn on his sleeve. He had continued unloading, reloading, directing the trains, as was his duty. As the monday prior to the dreaded third drew to a close, he for once bummed a cigarette off someone as he drove home. Didn't matter much when he was already doomed to a life of poverty and being hidden away like a secret. He'd die one way or another.
The next day was uneventful as far as he was concerned. He gelled up his hair, looked at his hazel eyes in the mirror, shoveled a bowl of corn flakes down his gullet, and put on his overalls and hat like usual. He was fairly certain he wouldn't change at work, but would it really make a difference if he did? Getting fired today wasn't much different from getting fired in August.
He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind as he walked into work on time, as per usual. Susie asked him if he was alright, almost as if she could tell something he couldn't. He flashed her a hollow smile and wished her a good day, assuring her he was doin' alright. No reason to involve anyone else in this nonsense. Wouldn't be like she'd be able to help him at all even if she did know.
The next few days would be handling cotton loads from Savannah and Birmingham. It was brutal, exhausting work, but it was a good distraction from what would by all accounts happen to him in the evening. He hauled bale after bale from one train to another, some of them heading to the textile mills, some heading to another part of the country. He, for just a moment, imagined himself doing the weaving instead of the lifting and shook his head at the concept.
Thankfully, the day ended soon enough. He checked his watch once he got home, thirteen past the hour. Plenty of time until sunset, plenty of time to drink his sorrows away, and hopefully restrict his ability to do anything but sleep off the depressed reality of his situation come the night. He poured himself a stiff drink and heated up a chicken parm microwave dinner.
The local news had a feature on local history, which he was disinterested in but put on in the background anyways as he loaded himself with just about as much booze as he could handle. Soon he was to the stage where he was swaying and giggling to just about everything the reporters said. He realized with some urgency as the show switched from the evening news to the Beverly Hillbillies that he'd forgotten to close the blinds again, and so he went to do that as he swayed from side to side.
It seemed hardly a moment too soon, as while the opening title played, he noticed his ears feeling something of a tingle. He grimaced a little as he, against what would've otherwise been his better judgement, decided to observe the process in the mirror. There was a surprising amount of discomfort and cramping to it, though the alcohol dulled it to a great extent. He felt himself rising on his feet, just as his ears expanded in the mirror and his nose blackened.
He whimpered wolvishly as his face contorted and his body reshaped. He closed his eyes to bear the last of it, before it was finished just as soon as it started. Everything was too loud, the TV, the hissing of the microwave in the wall, the spring birds outside the window. He unplugged everything, turned off the lightbulbs, and stared between the blinds at the sun setting opposite his window.
He dragged himself over to his bed. He recalled his plan, to go to sleep and wait it out. That was all he had to do. Just a few more months of this, and then…and then what? He'd just have to quit his job anyway, right? He began to weep in earnest, and didn't even think to tell himself to stop. As the sun's rays died out, so too did his hope for the future. His mind spiraled between his options in the near term, to his fate in the far term.
The textile mill, the women entering and exiting, it all presented itself to him as a photograph burned into the back of his inebriated mind. And then he thought something he hadn't yet even begun to consider, what would happen to him if he couldn't manage a job at the textile mill? He had relied on his strength, but suppose he weren't dextrous enough? Suppose that some boss simply didn't like him. There wasn't no union down at the textile mill. There wasn't no protection.
He thought back to how people had treated him the previous month when he had had the misfortune to be walking home alone. He supposed that men didn't need to worry so much about all that, but now he certainly did. He couldn't very well fight back, even with his muscles he supposed, lest someone shoot him for being a wild mutt.
He sobbed even harder at this before the tears ran dry and all that was left was the occasional sniffle and whine from his muzzle. He ducked beneath his summer sheets and tried to pretend nothing had changed, even as he made inhuman noises and his tail tucked itself between his legs. Even as he the absence of his masculinity in his very form.
When he was young, he had considered what it would be like to be a girl instead of a boy. He had thought of a name, but the other kids looking at him funny for playing pretend like that put him out of it before he could even think about it further. He still remembered the name in his mind, but he refused to put his voice to speak it. To do so would be to give this illness more power over him than it deserved.
He stayed in place there for some time, begging sleep to take him. Putting out the swelling feelings in his mind of the fixation on his new face, his new form. Maybe booze was the wrong decision to suppress the feelings, this hadn't helped at all. What normally numbed him only made the emotions pour out of him. How could he possibly be so weak now?
It was several hours of him swimming around before the hangover started to hit, first with a headache and then nausea. He spent another hour and a half next to the toilet, finally too exhausted and ill to even begin to think about his emotions anymore. He went to put on some coffee for himself. It might end up being cold come morning, but at least he'd be somewhat functional at work.
His alarm clock ran on batteries and so thankfully he could tell the time. Three AM had rapidly crept up on him, and he finally felt sleep dragging him down as he washed the remnants of the vomit out of his mouth with some coffee. It seemed like he was too tired for the coffee to even have a modicum of an impact, because before he was even halfway done with the cup, he was out like a light.
His head throbbed as he awoke with his alarm at eight like usual. He was beyond relieved to find himself no longer transformed. He sat in bed for fifteen minutes more than usual. What was the point of heading in? It barely mattered anymore. A wage today meant a few more days not spent on the streets he'd end up on anyways with his luck. He wasn't, as far as he could tell, the kind of looker that any man would want anyways if he were a woman. That wasn't even to mention how deeply awkward it would be to have a wife who used to be a man.
No, he wouldn't live a good life from now on. He groaned as he finally willed himself out of bed with the promise of cold coffee and corn flakes, and probably a painkiller for the heck of it. Rubbing his eyes blearily, he patted his hair down, not bothering to even gel it today. He knew he looked like shit, it didn't really matter anymore.
He double-checked for any signs that he had had a major appearance change like was mentioned in the book. His teeth looked the same kind of yellow they always were, with no extra serration or length. His eyes were still hazel, not yellow. His ears were the same fleshy outcrops he was used to, and there was, very thankfully, no tail to be seen.
It was time to figure out a new plan, he knew that. The booze hadn't worked and he couldn't do all that business again tomorrow. He kicked himself for being so useless. As he checked the alarm clock again, he noticed he didn't have the time to loathe himself, he'd have to be to work soon. He hurriedly put his cap and overalls on, forgetting to even brush his teeth.
As he drove to work, he kept the radio off. The buzzing from last night still hadn't quite found its way out of his head. He muttered curses as he pulled into his workplace. Today was going to be more exhausting work, all for a reward that wasn't going to be sweeter for much longer. Why couldn't he have just gone to fucking Vietnam? He was the right age, shit, they could just call him. Except he knew very well that wouldn't work now. A few weeks into training and one of their soldiers turning into a woman and he'd be sent home, probably. Without any money or opportunity to die.
Susie smiled at him, not bothering to repeat the question of if he was alright, perhaps remembering the conversation yesterday's result. He was a full eight minutes late. His foreman, a surly old man, gave him a talking to, and he nodded and "yes sir'd" his way through the whole thing without so much as processing the words being said more than "don't make it a habit and take better care of your appearance".
He walked over to the yard and started tossing bales. About halfway through the day, a more senior worker walked over to him and informed him of a mistake.
"That car's going back to Huntsville, son, we just unloaded it," the man gruffly explained. "What's goin' on in your head today?"
"Not sure, Bill," he replied. "What do you want me to do about it?"
Bill narrowed his eyes. "Well, a good start, son, would be that you unload it again and get it into the proper car."
Bill pointed to a rail car about fifty yards down the track, with other workers already piling it full. Jack looked at the bales in the car, looked at Bill, looked at the car being filled, and just started to walk away.
"Son, what's going on?" Bill asked. "Don't go doin' this."
"What if I told you I basically got a death sentence, Bill?" he asked. "What then? What do the cotton bales matter?"
"So you're gonna die sometime, we all do," Bill replied gruffly as he lit a cigarette. "Right now, mister deadman, we're loading cotton. Now you best start loading cotton if you don't want to be poor before you're dead."
It was as those words left his mouth that Jack resolved that he was going to be unemployed. Or at least, that was what he told himself in the moments after he snatched the cigarette out of Bill's mouth, crushed it in the dirt, and walked back to his car to the yelling of his coworkers in the background. He had half-expected Bill to take a swing at him. It wouldn't be undeserved, but nothing ever came. Instead, everyone just watched as he drove out of the railyard's parking lot, including his boss. He felt some modicum of shame, but shame had quickly become something he'd grown used to.
The quiet on the way home aside from his engine gently humming brought some amount of peace to his mind. For the first time in weeks, he felt a smile creep onto his face. He knew, of course, the amount of money he had left in his account, and that he'd make it maybe three months before his landlord knocked on his door, then six before he'd be on the street. In the moment, he supposed, he wasn't worried about that. Sometimes you just have enough.
The job wasn't a bad job, he figured. It was honest enough, and he had nothing against Bill. His emotions had just felt more…important at that time. He was thinking about leaving the job anyways, and the first moment of him revealing some amount of his pain was met with nothing but disdain. Maybe he was justified, after all.
It had been near the end of the day anyways, he figured. He looked at his clock, four fifteen. With luck, he wouldn't be fired the next day. Everyone had an off day. If not, well, he had bigger things to worry about this night. Speaking of, he felt his ears start to extend above his head as he pulled into his apartment complex. Too embarrassed to exit his car looking half-transformed, he decided to let the changes wash over him.
This time, it was still painful, but felt less overwhelming. He found, most importantly, that while his hearing had gotten more sensitive, he didn't feel the intense ringing from last night. If anything, the sounds around him appeared more alive. He walked into his apartment, with a neighbor down the hall looking at him suspiciously. He squinted at her and she ran back into her apartment. Wasn't her business anyways, he told himself as he sighed. The phone rang in his apartment about three times after he got home. Probably his boss telling him what he'd already feared, that he was fired. He simply didn't answer. They'd send him his last check in the mail sometime in the next few weeks.
He opened the newspaper and looked through the classifieds. Nothing stood out to him as work he would particularly enjoy, but just for the heck of it he circled a few opportunities. He looked at himself in the mirror in the bathroom. Overalls and a sweaty undershirt were an…interesting look on his new form. He resolved to get something that would at least be comfortable like this, denim felt almost too warm in the rapidly surging humid heat.
However, that was a tomorrow problem. The evening news was coming on, and it would provide something else to think about. He saw Willie Mays broke the record, which was pretty nice. There was some coverage of the government and civil rights protests, too, but all that was still a little foreign to him. Something that stuck out to him was some coverage of the lycanthrope rights movement. Dangerous radicals, an official was calling them.
He thought for a moment. Did he know any dangerous radicals? None of the women he'd seen coming out of the factory seemed to be working for Red China, and Dave certainly didn't seem like a Soviet. Surely, then, these were some other wolves than the folks he'd seen around his town. They were good, honest people. His mind turned to more pressing matters as he switched off the TV to take another look at the newspaper as he began to heat up some more meatloaf.