True Storybook

Retiring from the dancefloor, Darla was checking that he remembered when she’d asked “Do you think it’s possible to be someone who’s supposed to be a storybook but they’re born in the body of a girl?”
Mr. Bingley had said “No.”
“But people who are supposed to be boys are born in the bodies of girls. What if this book was just trapped in the wrong object?”
Mr. Bingley said “That’s completely different and you know it.”
Now, Darla had an announcement to make, and she had brought the old conversation to his attention.
He said “Yes, I remember” (a little exasperated).
Darla said “I knew the answer all along – it was one of those type of questions”
“Those type of questions should really have a different name – TESTs, perhaps?” (a little theatrically infuriated).
“Yes! With a different marker, maybe – an upside-down question-mark at the start of the sentence…?? Anyway. I knew the answer all along. You were quite wrong. I gave you several chances to reassess your judgement. I asked it many times when I’d had a bit to drink, didn’t I?”
“Yes”
“ – so it must have been an important question. Each time, you reaffirmed what you said the first time. And you were wrong. And I knew for sure.”
Mr. Bingley put his arms around her waist in an attempt to knock some sense into her.
But all of a sudden, what he held moved like waking up with a hard object from your dreams when your hands collapse into each other. And a book fell onto the floor. Mr. Bingley was stunned, but he didn’t say anything to the book.
It was a storybook about waves, salt and perfume, and scratching messages into hard surfaces. It had a very nice cover of smooth rubber made-to-the-touch like soft leather. It wasn’t entirely new but it wasn’t old. Mr. Bingley kept it on one of his shelves for many years. It never changed back into the girl, which was a shame, because Mr. Bingley had just decided he quite fancied her.