Story so far:  About six months or so before Ranma's return from China,
Kodachi Kuno was committed to an asylum do to the actions of a girl
named Eriko.  She is currently attending Furinkan high, taking
medication, and trying to come to terms with herself.  She has also just
realized that her brother is as bad off as she is.

	Like all the [draft] versions, this is fairly short.  Feedback is
encouraged.  This is part three or five, depending on how you count. 


******


	It is Sunday.  I have an appointment with Dr. Nakajima this afternoon,
and want to make a good impression.  Sorting through my clothes, I
realize that most of my wardrobe is either self-consciously wicked or
just plain tacky.  So many black leotards--you would think one or two
would have done.  And a white wedding dress? Please.  I finally select a
scoop-necked cotton sundress in a light plum which gives off a cheery
air of mental health.

	Putting it on, I examine myself in the mirror, turning this way and
that.  The dress is a little tight, especially across the chest, but
there are advantages to that.  I hike up the hem and pinch at my thigh. 
There's still very little fat, but the muscle is not as firm as I would
like.  I'll have to start practicing again.  Even if I can't compete
officially, I can still get back into condition.  How did it go--sound
mind in sound body?  I can still do one, at least.

	I add white pumps and belt, a little makeup, and a new hair ribbon. 
Smiling coquettishly, I flirt with my reflection for a few minutes. 
Why, hello, Ranma.  Fancy meeting you here.  Of course, I would probably
collapse and die of pure shame if I met Ranma, or anyone, really, at a
mental health facility.  With that sobering thought, I sigh and prepare
to leave.




	Dr. Nakajima is a thick, bearish man in his mid-thirties, and his
office is a rather musty, shuttered room with several chairs of
different types scattered about.  His desk is at one end.  As I enter, I
see him place a manila folder into a drawer--my file, I assume.  "Have a
seat, Miss Kuno," he says, "preferably on a chair this time, okay?"

	Back when I first came to this place, I was brought in for a similar
interview.  He told me to sit "anywhere I felt comfortable."  Looking
around at the furniture--the old overstuffed sofa by the wall, the high
hardbacked chair near the door, the two folding metal chairs--I decided
I was being tested, that each seat had a list of diagnoses to be applied
if I sat in it.  So instead, I hopped onto his desk and perched
seductively on the edge, feet practically in his lap.  His chair slid
back and hit the wall with a quiet thump.

	"I'm comfortable right here, Doctor," I said, crossing my legs lazily. 
"Are you comfortable?" 

	He wasn't.  

	At first, I was proud of my "victory" that day.  Later, I came to be
ashamed, and to privately wish he would not tease me so.  But as I sit
quietly in one of his larger chairs I feel again a small surge of
triumph.  I have felt so besieged lately.  His face, grotesque with
surprise and yes, panic, returns to me.  I smile to myself.

	I remember Eriko, and a deep wave of shame breaks over me.  Bully. 
Arrogant.  Selfish.  Vain.  I make a motion towards my purse, but
realize I don't have my medication.  It's not time anyway.  The air is
chilly and harsh.  

	Dr. Nakajima suddenly stands, comes out from behind the desk, and pulls
another chair closer to me.  "Kodachi," he says, sitting down.  "What's
wrong?  Talk to me."

	"I don't like me," I whisper, and burst into tears, bowing my head as I
struggle for control.  Dr. Nakajima waits patiently.  As my sobbing
diminishes, he reaches forward and touches my arm softly.  "It's okay,"
he says.  "Take your time."  My tears increase, and he slides closer so
I can lean against him.  

	"I wish you wouldn't tease me about the chairs," I say, after a while.

	"I'm sorry," he says.  "I'm sorry.  I won't do it again."

	I look up at him.  He doesn't understand, not really.  I straighten,
consciously arranging myself into a decorous posture.  He moves away.

	"I think my brother is ill, Doctor," I say formally.  "I think he
should be placed under institutional care.  I think . . ." my breath
catches in my throat.  "I think he is like me."   

	He nods.  "Why is that?"

	I tell him about Akane, his non-girlfriend, and how he doesn't seem to
properly listen anymore.  "He hears you, and he knows what you mean, but
he acts like you haven't said anything.  Isn't that what I used to do?"

	He sighs, and rubs at his eyes.  "More or less.  I'll talk to him.  Can
you bring him here sometime this afternoon?  I'll reserve some time
then."

	I nod.  "Thank you, doctor."

	Well, that's done.  My brother may well hate me for this, but I must
see it through.  The rest of the visit, is uneventful, even dull.  We
discuss possible changes in my medication, but decide to leave things as
they are.  He asks questions about my return to society, and eventually
pronounces himself satisfied.

	As I am walking to the door, I turn and ask a question.  "Doctor . . .
do you like me?"

	"In what sense?"

	I consider that.  "Am I someone you would want as a friend?"

	"I'm very fond of you, Kodachi," he says softly.  "You've had some
severe problems and you've made a lot of very difficult progress.  I'm
proud of you, and I hope we already are friends."

	Warmth floods me.  "Thank you, doctor."  I walk out.



	I do not go home, but wander about the neighborhood with no
destination.  Tatchi will not simply go quietly with me to what might be
a long or permanent stay in the asylum.  He will object.  He will fight,
as I did.  But I do not want to subject him to a court-ordered,
police-enforced imprisonment, or the label of criminally insane.  I keep
my feet and my thoughts moving.  

	I could drug him, render him . . . no.  I will not return to my old
ways, not even for a short time, or a good cause.  The old patterns have
too much strength.  I fear relapse, the reawakening of the worm.  If
both my brother and I fall mad, our house is doomed.  I cannot take such
a risk.

	A few more turns, another street.  Must I lie to him?  It seems the
only way.  Perhaps begging might achieve something, but I can think of
no other useful alternative.  I turn my attention to what lie I will
use.

	On and on my feet carry me, until I see two figures approaching.  I
recognize Akane Tendo, but the other girl is a stranger.  I stop and
wait for them.

	"Hello, Kodachi," says Akane.  She smiles and gives a polite bow.  The
other girl neither smiles nor bows, but looks away uncomfortably and
receives a swift sideways kick for her trouble.  

	"Hello, Akane," I say warily.

	"I want to apologize for what I said about your brother.  I had no
right to say that."  She looks down.  "I'm sorry."

	"What did you say?"

	She flushes. "I . . . I said I wished your brother had broken his
neck."

	What on earth is she talking about?  Oh, that's right.  "It's okay."  I
give a half shrug.  "Don't worry about it."

	"Thank you."  She smiles gratefully, and I find myself smiling back. 
I'm beginning to see why my brother was so taken with her.  She has
charm, and to spare.  The other girl watches her, an odd look on her
face.

	"Are you going to introduce me to your friend?" I ask.

	The two look at each other.  "Well," says Akane.  "This is.  Um."  She
seems at a loss as to her friend's name.

	"Ranma Saotome," supplies the other.

	Ranma Saotome?  How strange.  I suppose I should have known she would
be related to my . . . to Akane's fiancee.  They look much alike, even
to the pigtail.  "Your fiancee's . . . sister?" I offer.

	"Uh, sure." says Akane.

	"Whatever," adds the pig-tailed girl.

	Silence descends.  Akane smiles again, but there's no charm in it. 
It's a dishonest smile, a covering smile.  The other girl stares moodily
at a clump of weeds.

	I smile back, equally falsely.  I have no idea what their little secret
is, but I wish they had had the courtesy to tell me a believable lie. 
"Well!" I say.  "My brother needs tending to.  I guess I'll see you at
school, then?"

	"How is your brother?" asks Akane.

	The unanswerable question.  "His arm is healing." I offer, then
counter-challenge.  "Why?  I thought you didn't like him?"

	"Yeah," says girl-Ranma.  "You like him?"

	"You jealous?" asks Akane.

	"Not me."  Girl-Ranma looks away.

	"What's going on?  Oh I see."  I guess Ranma--boy-Ranma--was right
after all.  "Does your fianc� know about you two?"

	"You've got it all wrong!" objects Akane.  "I . . . We . . ."  She
splutters to a halt.  The two look at each other.

	"Screw this.  I'm gonna get some hot water."  Girl-Ranma turns and
heads into a nearby house, hers, I presume.  I glare at Akane.

	"So what's going on?"

	She sighs.  "Well, there's this curse and . . . actually, it's easier
just to show you."

	We wait.  Soon the pig-tailed girl emerges from the house, carrying a
kettle.  She walks to Akane's side and turns to face me.  I fold my arms
as she upends the kettle over her head.

	She . . . she grows.  Changes.  I find myself looking up into Ranma's
face.  Boy-Ranma.  Oh.  Oh, impossible.

	"Oh, my," I gasp.  My vision turns dark and I slump forward.


-- David