This is a short piece I wrote for a creative writing class and never got to see what the others thought of it...so I thought I'd post it here instead!  Any comments/criticism gratefully received.

I turn the key in the lock and step into the hallway, throwing my bag onto the floor with a sigh of relief that the most significant – and certainly the scariest – day of my entire life is nearly over.   Now I’m a woman on a mission...to pour myself a large glass of red wine.  Well deserved, I tell myself as I head purposefully towards the kitchen.

Wine taken care of, I wander into the lounge and sink into my favourite armchair for a moment, letting the soft cushions take hold.  As I start to relax, my eyes rest momentarily on the gilt-framed photograph on the mantelpiece.  It’s of me as a child, with my parents at one of those theme parks, and we’re posing madly in front of one of the rides.  I kept that photo because we really look as though we don’t have a care in the world – Mum’s eyes are half-closed with laughter and Dad’s looking at her and I in what can only be described as rapt adoration.  Of course, things weren’t right even then, but that photo has always made me think of happier times and what could have been.  Appearances really can be deceiving, in more ways than one. 

A quick glance at the clock confirms that it’s 6:15 – just enough time for a shower before I go to meet my new workmates in the pub.  Actually, if I’m being honest the pub is the last place I want to go tonight. It’s amazing how trying to create a good impression can drain you.  But Mandy in particular seemed really nice, and I could do with some new friends.  Liberating as it’s been, living alone and being left with my own thoughts can be scary sometimes, which is the last thing I need tonight.  So, draining my wine glass and heaving myself out of the armchair, I go and get ready for Day One - Stage Two.

I step into the shower and feel the hot droplets of water gently start to flow over me, washing the day away.  The steam relaxes me instantly and I start to feel more positive about tonight.  They must have liked me – accepted me – or surely they wouldn’t have invited me out in the first place.  Would they? 

Wrapping myself in a big, fluffy towel I stray into the bedroom, where I scan the contents of my wardrobe, followed by the cosmetics lined up on my dressing table.  Is red lipstick a bit too garish for a casual drink at the local?  There’s such a fine line between looking stylish and looking cheap; I feel I’ve yet to fully recognise this difference, despite the magazines I read.  It’s an exclusive club for which I haven’t quite grasped all the rules, despite having read and memorised the manuals from cover to cover.

I sit down at the dressing table and take a long look at my face in the mirror, marvelling at how it’s no longer a map of my life so far, but the beginning of a free, open road.  I suppose that’s what changing my gender has been all about.  Finally coming to terms with who I am and being in control of my life.  It all starts from here.

I’m finally ready to go, and I put my coat on as I head for the door.   I promise myself that if this goes well, I’ll try calling Mum at the weekend.

“One step at a time…” I whisper, as I close the door behind me.