Transcript of 887: Two Is One, One Is None!

A quick warning: there are curse words that are unbeeped in today's episode of the show.

If you prefer a beeped version, you can find that at our website, thisamericanlife.org.

From WBEZ Chicago, it's This American Life. I'm Laura Starcheski, sitting in for Ira Glass. I'd been waiting for months for a certain moment to arrive. Garrett had mentioned it. Chrissy had mentioned it. And here we all were, sitting in their house in the suburbs of D.C. We were in their living room. Their son was hopping around with an icy popsicle in his hand.

This was left in the freezer overnight. Feel it.

And Garrett's laptop was right there. Wasn't open yet, but I was on the edge of my seat. And finally she asked me—

Are you ready for this?

I'm ready.

Okay.

Krissy jumped in to hype it up.

It's beautiful.

It's excellent. Yeah, it's a thing of beauty.

And Garrod opened the laptop and pulled up a file on her computer called Valkyrie, after the Norse women warriors. They were very into the Thor movies around this time. And suddenly, it appeared. A spreadsheet. Hold for applause. I was looking at many tabs, many rows, many columns, thousands of data points. This is where Garrett is mapping out their whole future.

We're getting deep into the inner workings of my mind.

Okay.

You know, I'm a data person by training.

And by nature.

And by nature. This is very much like part of my DNA.

It's also part of their DNA as a couple. Spreadsheets are how they make all their decisions as a family. Like after Garrett finished a PhD in molecular biology. Should she go into academia? Get a government job? Spreadsheet. She crunched the numbers, decided to rejoin the Navy as an active duty scientist. She and Chrissy had a whole plan. She'd serve for 20 years, retire, get a pension, healthcare. A stable life, where to live, the kids' schools, each and every one spreadsheeted with Chrissy's help.

Normally we're pretty good at doing really concrete game planning. I get on the mental carousel and predict the future, and then she makes a spreadsheet to like wrangle it in.

So that's how things normally go. But about a year ago, this family found themselves facing a big, complicated, very uncertain new situation. Garrett's trans and a lieutenant commander in the Navy. And last winter, President Trump signed an executive order banning trans people from the military. The order claimed that trans people are dishonest, unfit, and harm troop readiness. Garrett and other trans service members immediately brought lawsuits against the ban, so everyone was in limbo. Are we all about to get kicked out? Are we going to be allowed to stay and keep serving? What's going to happen and when? There was just so little data.

All these hypothetical things that could happen, could not happen. All the stress of trying to play chess around them and plan and spreadsheet around all these hypotheticals.

Yeah, I mean, you can't make decisions if you don't have information.

Yeah.

No matter. They would make a new spreadsheet and more spreadsheets. They would be on alert. They would be light on their feet because something big was coming for them. And they were gonna plan and bring all their skill and diligence and available data to be sure that they had control over how this was gonna go down. Today's show, how is this gonna go down? This family finds out, and it's not at all how they or I expected it to go. And another story of two people determined to make the exact right plans for the moment when everything's gonna change.

Stay with us.

It's This American Life, Act 1. Freak in the spreadsheets. So we're going to continue to hang out in Garrett and Chrissy's living room with their kids running in and out as they strategize together. The first time I was there was last March. It was less than 2 months after Trump had issued his executive order, and the little family scene I saw with them stood out to me because one quirk— let's call it a quirk— that I've noticed as a trans person reading all the coverage of Trump's military ban this past year is that the service members often appear like these islands. No family around them, no relationships, no community, just a lone, isolated person. I've talked to a bunch of trans service members over the past year, and that isn't any of them. They all have their people— spouses, kids, families— whose fates are tied to theirs, depending on them. Like Garrard. She's the main breadwinner here. They've been a military family from the start. Garrett enlisted at 17 and became a Navy diver. She and Chrissy met a few years later. They're both from military families. They have 2 kids, a daughter, 11, and a son, 9.

Right now, their son has his face in a video game. Zombies, skeletons, lava.

I almost ran myself into a pit of lava. Don't run into the lava. Life lessons.

This is life. This is big life stuff.

Garrett and Chrissy are good at keeping it moving. Chrissy's intense, blunt, but kind of dreamy too. She's an illustrator, loves to paint floaty undersea creatures, lotta invertebrates. Garrett is smiley and tall, notably tall next to Chrissy. She's got a bob haircut that she tucks behind her ears with great effort. Her hair is always falling in her face. She tucks it back again. Their house is full of nerdy hobby zones. In the kitchen, historical cooking with a focus on accuracy rather than deliciousness. Think cabbage stew every single week.

For the last year or so, I've been doing like medieval Europe basically, and have worked my way up from like the Viking Age to Tudor England.

Nerd alert!

The kids are in and out of the room as we're talking. I'm not going to name them here. We're just going to bleep out their names. What do you both know about what's going on with your mama's job?

Um, a lot.

Their daughter, the older one, answers first.

Okay, so the thing that I know, she filed a lawsuit. And then it went through one of the courts, and now she stares at the computer all day.

That's all I know. All this staring at the computer, it's because Garrard's always reading court filings about the ban and memos from the military and signal messages with this whole network of trans service members who are all trying to figure out what to do. Now their son chimes in.

And which is bad for me because never plays with me and mom plays Stardew Valley a lot. And the only thing I know about her job is that she might get fired soon.

It's true. This was the situation. And if Garret did get pushed out, their whole life could go over a cliff. Fast. They could be forced to sell their house because they wouldn't be able to make their mortgage payment. They would lose their health insurance, which they really need because their son has a medical condition that they estimate would cost more than $500,000 a year to treat without it. So it's hard to overstate the existential threat they were living under. But Garrett, like almost every service member in her position, was still quietly continuing to do her job. She'd commute to a military research office nearby, spend the day making decisions about where the Navy should invest millions of dollars in research money. None of that work had stopped. So it was like, life as you know it may be about to end, but also act like none of this is happening. It was dizzying, all this uncertainty. The only way to deal with all of it at once was to develop the most extreme, thorough, multivalent family planning process I have ever seen. Garrett and Chrissy decided that they would make every possible version of a good future for their family come alive.

Exhibit A, a spreadsheet, of course. A sort of in case of emergency, break glass spreadsheet, gaming out their options if everything went completely to hell. Say Garrard not only got kicked out of the Navy, but also the overall backlash against trans people in America got even more extreme— more states passing anti-trans laws, new executive orders targeting trans people. If all that happened and Garrard and Chrissy decided the whole family needed to leave the U.S.

She's developed a very, um deep and complex spreadsheet of the best places to live based on her own rubric of quality of life that applies to only our family.

What's in the rubric?

Okay, God.

They needed to find a place where they could make a living, be safe, and have access to specialized medical care for their son. It's a short list, but a hard needle to thread. And not only that.

I'm very particular about data sources and like where you get data from. Most of the stuff, it's never clear, like, what the methodology was, like, how reliable it is.

So frustrating, all the subpar data just floating around out there. So Garrard unearthed sprawling files of original raw data from all kinds of studies. She ran her own analysis on it, tracking quality of life and values, happiness scales, the rights of queer people and women.

I feel like there's something else that I—

The weather that we like. Because we're not moving to Malta.

We're cold weather people. Yeah.

Chrissy and the kids have Italian citizenship, so Europe is on the table, but so are approximately 5,000 other places and sub-places. I couldn't even focus my eyes looking at it, but Garrett filled me in. So far, the place that's come out on top: Germany. So far. Garrett was always adding new data whenever she found some, running the numbers again. When do you look at it?

Whenever I get super stressed out and I just need to look at some math to calm myself down.

Yeah.

It's my way of touching grass.

It's worked in the past, but lately not so much. What does that look like?

Well, lately it's looked like a lot of crying. And Chrissy doesn't like crying.

I'm emotionally bottled up.

Yeah. Yeah. So she would find me in bathrooms at 1 o'clock in the morning because I got up to pee and just decided to start crying.

And I'd secretly roll my eyes, but also give her a hug. God, get it together.

You know, we'll talk about things or I'll talk at her about things until too early in the morning and she either falls asleep or gets frustrated because I'm keeping her awake. And so then I'll be like, okay, next time I'm just going to keep it to myself.

Which is sad. I don't want you to do that. But we also can't be up till 2 in the morning like every night. Yeah.

And I just want, you know, I just want my partner to feel my feelings with me.

I do feel your feelings with you. I'm actually really good at it.

You are really good at it.

But you exhaust me.

Here's how fast things were coming at them. The Trump administration banned trans service members from the military. That was last January. They were out. The service members challenged it. They could stay in. Weeks later, a federal judge wrote that the ban was most likely unconstitutional. Stay in. The same month, another federal judge: I agree. Stay in. Then the Trump administration went to the Supreme Court, claiming it was an urgent matter of national security. All the trans people had to go. Can't we just do this ban now while all these lawsuits happen? Will you allow it? A Supreme Court ruling on that question could come out at any time. Which, for Garrett and Chrissy, was like, Whoa, we're about to get a real answer on this. And that's when, in their perpetual effort to never be caught off guard, Garrett and Chrissy decided Chrissy would travel to Germany. In May, she got on a plane to see if she could actually picture their family living there. She'd been sussing out job possibilities, checking out neighborhoods and cities— Frankfurt, Berlin.

Tonight at the bar I went to called Mr. Susan— fabulous bar, everybody should go, great name— yeah, 5 Americans bellied up to this bar. Like, I was the 5th that walked in. The 2 couple on my right worked for the State Department. One of them had just retired, the other one was close to retirement, and they were beside themselves with the stuff that was going on. Everybody's like, "Do it! Bring your kids here! Get them out of there!" Which is heartening to hear. It makes me feel like we're not doing— like we're not being stupid, we're not being thoughtless.

Is there a part of you that feels like you have to justify this idea of moving out of the United States right now?

Absolutely. Absolutely. To ourselves, we've had to justify it. It kind of feels drastic, but at the same time, I don't want to be complacent. I don't want to pretend like nothing's happening.

Yeah. Okay.

Where are you?

I'm walking to get the kids. I only have a couple minutes.

Oh my God. I just saw what happened.

Ja.

I called Garrett because while Chrissy was in Germany, the Supreme Court ruling came out. It was bad news. The court had sided with the Trump administration. The military could go forward and kick everybody out. So for Garrett and everybody else, this ban that had been looming in a theoretical realm for months was all of a sudden real and imminent.

Hi.

Are you kind of in shock or—

A little bit.

What's your mental state? I can't tell. I know you also have to be a parent in, like, 3 minutes probably.

Yeah. I mean, it's a little shocking. Yeah, I guess I think as it's setting in, I guess as we're talking, it's a little surprising that they didn't even carve out room for the plaintiffs, because that means that now we're going to be processed out of the military just like everyone else before the case even gets back to the Supreme Court to be ruled on its merits.

Will you say anything to your kids, or are you trying to spare them from the, like, blow-by-blow stuff?

I don't know. I think Um, yeah, I might talk to them in the next day or so because they get triggered by all this big time. So I don't want to freak them out about that kind of stuff if I don't have to.

I didn't read the opinion, but I did talk to Garrett about it at length.

I reached Chrissy the next day in her hotel room in Germany. It was late at night, almost midnight her time.

I think she feels a lot of guilt.

What does she feel guilty for?

I think that what she's feeling guilty about is feeling like her transition is creating this— these problems for us. So I just tried to talk her down a little, and I don't want to catastrophize I'm trying to look forward instead of getting hung up on what a bunch of bully fucking pricks think about us, because I don't care what they think. You know, I'm here in Germany with the intention of marching forward.

Speaking of marching forward, now that the ban was real, here was the military's new policy: trans service members had less than a month to make a choice. Leave voluntarily or wait for someone to find you and make you leave. Basically, the Department of Defense was saying, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. You choose. Coming up, Garrett and Chrissy try to find another way. That's in a minute from Chicago Public Radio when our program continues. It's This American Life. I'm Laura Starcheski, sitting in for Ira Glass. This is the story of Garrard Morgan and her wife Chrissy trying to navigate the military's ban on trans people and keep some control over what's going to happen to their family. So one thing I asked Garrard: have you ever had any issues with your commanders, your colleagues, since you came out as trans? 'Any problems with anybody serving in the Navy with you?' 'No,' she told me. 'Not once.' Which is wild. I asked a bunch of other service members from different branches of the military, different ranks, what was their experience. And overwhelmingly, people said, 'It was good. I actually got a lot of support.

I got a round of applause when I came out to my unit,' one Army captain told me. This surprised me because I was at least expecting more of a mixed bag. I'd read a few horror stories— those were documented in the court cases— but so many people had been serving through multiple administrations without issues. There's about a decade of experience to draw on, look at, study on how it's affected the military having trans people serve openly, and it's been kind of a nothing burger, I have to say. I mean, there's been no catastrophic failure of unit cohesion, no indication that trans service members somehow harm troop readiness, as the Trump administration has argued without evidence. That's been true for years, which is why it was particularly hard to believe that what the Trump administration was claiming about trans people, that was going to carry the day and not the reality everybody was living in. But now the ban was here, and trans service members had less than 30 days to decide: would they go voluntarily or involuntarily? The easy way or the hard way? Presenting just these two unfavorable options is really just such a maniacally effective way to get people to do something they really do not want to do.

This is evil genius stuff. Mob boss stuff. So I just wanna spend a minute on this choice, voluntary versus involuntary separation. Voluntary separation, the first option, would mean you'd raise your hand, self-identify, and your branch would start the process of discharging you. You'd be eligible for an honorable discharge and you'd get separation pay. Involuntary separation, there was way less information about what that would look like. How exactly would the military find everybody and identify them? Was there any real way to challenge it if they did find you? And if you were pushed out involuntarily and got discharged, would you get an honorable discharge or something else? Even a dishonorable discharge? Was that possible? Because that follows you out into the civilian world forever. It shows up on background checks. You can never get any VA benefits. It's a big deal. But those details weren't part of the policy memo. Nobody seemed to know. And there was one more penalty to choosing that path. You'd get just half the separation pay that you would have gotten if you'd gone voluntarily. People had different ways of thinking about this non-choice when I asked about it. One thing that came up was the weirdness of volunteering to not do something.

To quit. It went against all their training. Hank Young is a staff sergeant in the Army at Fort Drum in far upstate New York. He operates artillery pieces. He served for 9 years, done a deployment to Afghanistan. And Hank told me that of the 2 options, voluntary felt like the only way to have any control over this process. So he'd put in his paperwork, checking the box that said, I'm here, I'm trans and you can kick me out now. Um, how did that feel to be communicating that?

It was, it was scary. Um, I weirdly was like, I was actually like more concerned in my head. I was a little bit more concerned that I was going to get judged for, um, electing to get out than I was for being trans. I really cannot emphasize, like, how strongly the Army frowns upon anybody trying to get out of anything ever for any reason. So that was actually probably the part that made me the most nervous.

I heard this concern a lot. That leaving voluntarily would mean letting other people down. Everyone felt responsible for the people in their units, the people they supervised, even their commanders. Briana is a Sergeant First Class, Army Aviation. She's done everything from helicopter mechanic to drill sergeant, 2 deployments to Afghanistan. She's only out as trans to her family and one close friend and her immediate commanders. And was still showing up to work as a male officer. So to protect her, I'm only going to use her first name. Brianna was hoping to take the involuntary separation. She didn't want to capitulate. But her main worry seemed to be that her commanders could be blamed or punished for not turning her in. She didn't know what to expect.

I have no idea. Like, I'm honestly prepared for a witch hunt, so to speak. And that's really the last thing that I want to experience myself. And I don't want, like, my commander, an excellent commander, my first sergeant, an excellent first sergeant, or any of my peers, I don't want to put them in this position of loyalty to the service or loyalty to a human being. So to me, that would be a very compromised and difficult decision to make. And I don't want to do that to him.

In the end, Brianna decided to take the voluntary too. Most people I talked to did. Garrard is one of the few people I talked to who did not choose voluntary separation. She didn't submit any paperwork at all. She decided to dare the military to come and find her, betting that she could find a way through before they could kick her out. Which brings us to Act 2. Act 2: When the bureaucratic shark bites. One quick thing I need to say before we keep going: Garrett and all the service people I talked to did not speak to me in any official Department of Defense capacity. They shared their own thoughts and feelings, their personal views. And the Department of Defense wouldn't answer any of my questions about the military ban. They said they don't comment on ongoing litigation. Okay, so the clock had started. There was less than a month left. Volunteer or we will find you. Garrett entered this new intense phase with the same focus she'd brought before. She would master every element of this bureaucracy, watching out for traps, gathering data, staying two steps ahead if she could. One small example: once the countdown started, Garrett learned that the military was on the verge of adding a new question to this mandatory health assessment that every service member has to fill out online once a year.

The new question would ask if you'd ever experienced gender dysphoria. Basically, are you trans? If you clicked yes, a notification would appear saying you'd been rendered non-deployable, not fit to serve, and telling you to await next steps. So Garrett jumped online before they could change the form and quickly filled out the old version before the new question was added. She figured correctly that would buy her time. This was the kind of careful maneuver she was executing on 4 different fronts simultaneously, keeping all the possible realities alive. Scenario 1: A court victory. She and the other plaintiffs win the court case. It could be years away, and sure, maybe they'd all have gotten kicked out by then, but it was still possible. Scenario 2: Medical retirement. A while back, Garrard saw a doctor about an old injury that was giving her trouble, and he referred her to be assessed by what's called a medical evaluation board. If the military deemed her too disabled to serve, she could be medically retired. And now that seemed like it could actually be a good option since the threat of getting pushed out was looming. So Garrett threw herself into this notoriously arduous and unpredictable process of going to doctor's appointments, getting assessed, putting in a mountain of paperwork to document every injury from her service.

And then she waited. Scenario 3: Someone could turn Garrett in. And she'd be forced into the involuntary separation process. Normally, there are options to appeal and make your case if the military is trying to kick you out. Garrard could request to go before a panel of officers called a separation board. But it was unclear if that process would actually help her or just be humiliating. And then after all that, she could just get separated anyway. Scenario 4: Germany. If necessary. She and Chrissy kept up with the house repairs in case they had to sell, had the kids start learning German. I could not imagine, in all my trying, any base that was not covered here, any possible path out of this maze that was unexplored, any blank on any form that was left unfilled out. But the stakes of involuntary separation seemed to keep getting higher. The more time passed, the more Garrett learned. A few weeks from the deadline, Garrett found out about an alarming detail buried in a memo from the Department of Defense. It said that if officers— Garrett is an officer as Lieutenant Commander— if officers did not self-identify, when they were eventually discharged, they'd get a special code assigned to them.

It would go on their DD-214. That's a piece of paper that summarizes your military service. It's an official document. Garrard likened it to a birth certificate. You show it for jobs or to prove you've served. A JKQ code means serious misconduct. BDU means alcohol abuse. The code for trans officers who failed to come forward? JDK.

And so JDK is going to designate— essentially designate us as national security risks.

What?

Yeah, and so it was sort of buried in there and we didn't really know what to make of it. And the lawyers got into it and it was like, oh, this isn't good. And it was like, oh shit, this is like actually really bad. And it just feels so unnecessary. Like if you don't self-identify, if you don't make it easy on us and you make us like, if you drag this out and make us come and find you, we're gonna make it as painful as possible. For you and as risky as possible for you. Yeah, I think that that's, you know, that's the message, I think.

The JDK code would make it hard or impossible to get any kind of job where you'd need a national security clearance, which is the kind of job a lot of people hope to get after they were kicked out.

As it was all kind of sinking in, it really was really hurtful and felt very scary. Honestly, like, the next, like, a day or two later, I just started feeling really indignant. I was like, "You know what? Like, that sounds like a cool new tattoo.

JPK." Did that make you want to do anything differently knowing about this code?

You know, it did. I guess it just sort of steeled my resolve to not self-identify. And I'm going to try to make my exit from the military as much on my terms as possible.

I'd never heard Garrard sound like this, just openly defiant. But I was worried this was all going to end in the worst-case scenario for her. She'd get singled out, punished for not self-identifying, and walk away with nothing. It was getting hard to see it going some other way. The deadline came and went. Garrard was still going to work, waiting. But nothing happened. One by one, almost all the trans service members she knew were put on leave pending separation. One guy Garrard knew who had also chosen involuntary got a notice after the deadline passed. He's an instructor at West Point, was up for a promotion, but his name got flagged and he was put on leave. I couldn't understand why Garret's name hadn't been flagged too. But it hadn't. She'd drive to work, check in, sit at her desk, look around.

I'm really starting to feel like kind of, kind of like out on this island while everybody else is like back on the mainland.

Yeah.

And I'm like, am I the only one out here?

Garret worried that somebody at her duty station would report her for continuing to show up. At work, she started avoiding the bathroom and the locker rooms, changing in her office or in a closed bathroom stall. She didn't want to raise any alarms. A few weeks later, Garrett got an order to start working from home. It was like one more door closing. Still have a job, can't show up at work. But she'd just work from home as long as she could. And then in the beginning of August, Garrett texted me. She had some news. She said I should call her. It was gigantic news, it turned out, and it was a good thing. Her medical retirement had come through. When I called, it sounded like she was afraid to get too excited or she'd jinx it.

It's slowly been sinking in, and I've been like— it's, uh, I've been getting like more, um, positive feels about it every day. This is sort of like sinking in, like, the reality of what this means.

Here's what it means: Garrard would get a pension for the rest of her life, health insurance for life for her and Chrissy, and for both kids until they were adults. She'd be a regular retired veteran, no special JDK code branding her. She'd get an honorable discharge.

And so I've got somewhere between, say, like 50 days to 90 days to where I'll be a civilian.

Oh my gosh.

I know.

Holy shit. Like, that's really soon.

Turns out somehow the best-case scenario in all this was that Garrett had been deemed a permanently and fully disabled veteran.

Chrissy just— Chrissy's sitting next to me now. She said that She's worried I'm going to use that to get out of doing dishes, which I am now.

Chrissy, what do you feel about all this?

I feel really lucky, to be honest with you. It took a minute for it to sink in with me, as it usually does. Um, I noticed that that day I felt happy. I was like— there's like a moment in the movie Bad Guys where the wolf shakes his tail because he did something nice and his tail wags. I like turned around and my tail was wagging. Like, is this— what is this?

So how do you square, like, this kind of process of persecution for who you are leading to this outcome?

I was thinking about a way to answer a question like that while Chrissy was talking, and I don't have a good answer. It's just Like, I mean, I think this is all really raw right now, so the most clear way to look at it, I think, at this moment—

Garrett started talking about this outcome in a really passive way, as if she and Chrissy hadn't been meticulously planning and mapping out all the different options, as if she hadn't pushed to submit all the paperwork for the medical retirement and stayed on top of every detail.

It was fortuitous that the medical review board process got started before all of the policies started rolling out after the executive order.

I mean, that was your strategy.

Yeah, I mean, that was a— that was a hope to try to get like that option on the table.

Hi, I think that Garrett's trying to sound very circumspect and not like we made this happen 100,000% and everybody just needs to deal with it. But we have been gaming this.

What?

Like, not gaming, but we've built a future. We knew this shit would happen and we worked to build a future based on— we worked to make lemonade out of these fucking lemons. And then you get to have a pension and be rewarded for the sacrifice you made to join the military to take care of us.

I mean, I just don't like the gaming. That sounds like—

that's not sneaky. That's not Bad News Bears. You made a plan, and our plan worked. That's okay. God, what? Give yourself some credit.

What are you feeling, Gared?

I'm feeling like I'm still drawing a military paycheck, so I cannot agree or disagree with anything my wife just said on the record.

We are just protecting our family.

Yeah, strategically and methodically marching through the halls of a very complex bureaucratic system. Until we found the right door to open. And now we're going to walk through it.

The happy solution that Garrett and Chrissy found, it was pretty rare. Most of the people I talked to got discharged over the winter, and even the ones who pivoted really fast started school or found a new job. They told me they were struggling and disoriented. Wrecks, mental health-wise. Garrett and Chrissy's safe landing was like one bright spot born out of skill and a smile from some god of fortune that most people weren't going to get. There are so many efforts right now by our federal government to pry entire groups of people away from their jobs, their communities, their lives as they've been living them. This particular effort to purge trans people from the military stands out to me, not only because all of them are serving their country, making sacrifices so many people have no interest in making, but also because who is allowed in the military tends to be a kind of signal for the rest of America. Who is allowed to wear our uniform? Who belongs here? Who are we as a country? And for the last year, the government has been putting on a pretty flashy show of forcing out this one group of people only because of who they are.

There have, of course, been decades of case law making that extremely hard to do because it's discriminatory and unconstitutional. But here we are. Garrett finally retired a few weeks ago. She and Chrissy thought about having her ceremony at a gay bar, but decided just to do something small with family. They're planning a trip to Germany later this summer for them and the kids. You know, keeping their options open. That story was produced by Miki Meek and edited by Nancy Abdike and Hana Jaffe-Walt. Act 3: Beast Friends Forever. To end our show today, another story of two people facing a huge disruption to life as they know it. But instead of making a million different plans, they have just one single, very consequential choice to make. It's from a new book of short stories by Rachel Kang. In this one, God has given up on humans. It starts like this: And on the 2,556,750,000th day, God reconsidered what he had made and decided that the world would be much better off if humans were other animals entirely, if there were no such thing as human beings at all. And then God gives every single person one choice.

Here's the story.

Jade was at her best friend Ruby's house when both of their phones pinged with the news, like it was an Amber Alert or a hurricane warning. At the end of the month, God declared, all people would be transformed. Ruby, Jade, and the rest of humanity would have 30 days to select what they wanted to spend the rest of their lives as. They had the entire animal kingdom to choose from. After the deadline, humans would not exist. Jade was straining pasta over Ruby's sink. The hot steam rose into her face, a carbohydrate facial. Ruby stirred the pot of sauce over the stove. "What animals have friends?" Jade asked Ruby. Ruby typed the question into her phone. "Cetaceans are capable of true friendship," Ruby read. "Higher primates, elephants, camelids, certain members of the horse family." "Camelids, or camels?" Jade asked. "And llamas and alpacas." They sat down to eat their dinner. Ruby poured their wine into her favorite little museum store glasses, which were shaped like egg cups. "What animals get drunk?" Ruby asked. "That one I know," Jade laughed. "Elephants and parrots. Deer, moose, bats." "So elephants have friends and get drunk?" Ruby mused. Jade twirled spaghetti around her fork and conveyed it to her mouth.

"What do you put in this? It's so good." "Fish sauce. You like it?" "I'm gonna miss your cooking." "You won't though," Ruby said, laughing sadly. "I mean, that's the kind of beautiful thing." For the first 2 weeks after the announcement, political bickering paused. Instead, Zoologists were in high demand, appearing on television shows, looking a bit confused by their newfound fame. Nature programs saw a surge in viewership and revenue. "What's your choice?" people asked one another. Everyone everywhere was trying to make sense of things, ferret out the superior choice. Groobie thought it was ludicrous. The point was to be freed of trivial human concerns, and yet humans were already trying to extrapolate based on human social conventions. Like romance and marriage. Penguins were well publicized as animals that mated for life. Many, many people wanted to be penguins, but were we going to have a world full of penguins when it was getting so warm? 28 days before the deadline, Jade and Ruby met at their favorite old movie theater. At the concession stand, Jade ordered a large popcorn from an acne-riddled teen named Halvor. What's your choice? Jade asked Halivor. It was small talk now.

Electric eel, Halivor said. Very cool, Jade replied. In the darkened theater, Ruby produced the friends' preferred condiments from her purse. Furikake, sea salt, a double-bagged baby food jar of melted real butter. They had been friends since they were 6 years old. That was 30 years of being friends. At 6, they'd made perfume together by steeping rose petals in water. At 12, they practiced freak dancing. At 18, Ruby held Jade's hair back as she puked from too many Jell-O shots. They knew which movie the other wanted to see without asking. The friends emerged from the darkened theater, their eyes squinting to adjust to the light. Ruby loved the movie, but she could tell from the neutral expression on Jade's face that Jade hadn't liked the film, so she tempered her enthusiasm. It happened more frequently than you would think. That someone you loved loved different things than you. At their favorite pho restaurant, Jade ordered for the both of them. "Animals that get the most sleep," Ruby said, "are sloths, koalas, bats, armadillos, cats." "You know, bats sleep a lot and get drunk, so those are pluses," said Jade. "But they gross me out." "You're only finding them gross because of your human-ness." You wouldn't find yourself gross as a bat.

You wouldn't, like, consider yourself in any reflective surfaces. Their pho arrived, pink lily pads of rare meat, thin rings of white onion. They were both artists, Jade a painter and Ruby a novelist, but Ruby had always been the more practical of the two. It was what it was. Ruby disliked her own practicality. While everyone was busy being upset that they would be transformed into non-homo sapiens, Ruby had come up with a spreadsheet of animals, listing the pros and cons of each. "Don't make fun of me," Jade admitted, "but I'm thinking of seeing an astrologer." "Jade!" Ruby said, shocked. "I knew I shouldn't mention it." "No, I'm sorry, of course you should. I'll be curious to hear what they think." Even though there was less than a month left of capitalism itself, businesses were still springing up. Consultants who claimed to be able to look into your soul via your eyes and tell you exactly what animal you were meant to be. "What animals experience sexual pleasure?" Jade asked Ruby. "Dolphins, maybe? Don't dolphins seem so, I don't know, basic? The golden retrievers of cetaceans." "Definitely." Jade dipped a raw bean sprout in sriracha. "We should be together though, you and me, don't you think?" "Not as penguins," Ruby said.

"I refuse to be a penguin." "We won't be penguins." "I wonder if God would let us be rocks," Ruby joked. Jade and Ruby, stay who we are forever. One week remained. Ruby wanted to bask in the most human things. What were they? To her, they were domestic tasks that most others found unspectacular. Cooking noodles, solving crossword puzzles, pumicing her rough feet, responding to emails with, sorry for my delay in getting back to you. She even savored for the first time sitting in traffic on her way to Jade's apartment. What's the most human thing we could do right now? Jade asked. Escape an escape room? Bake a multilayered cake? Jade nodded. Let's bake a cake and do an escape room. They were frosting the cake when Jade, using the offset spatula to smooth the frosting around the cake sides, spoke up. I think I wanna be a whale, Jade said. She seemed nervous to be saying this out loud, and Ruby turned, surprised, to her friend. It was the first time either of them had expressed a real desire. Until that moment, they had only brought up possibilities in a joking way. Oh, wow, Ruby said.

She tried not to seem too surprised or at all alarmed. What kind? "Bowhead whales live to 200." "I don't know if I wanna live that long," Ruby said slowly. "Really?" Jade asked. "Don't you think it would be fun being in the same pod for 200 years?" "I would love to be in your pod," Ruby assured. "What if we chose a shorter-lived whale? Blue whales only live to 80 or 90." Jade's voice had a tinge of desperation in it. "Or beluga whales, they live to 50." "Plus, they're cute." "We won't know that we're cute." "Don't be like that, Ruby," Jade said. Tears were gathering in her eyes. "Be honest with me. Could you be a whale?" "I don't know, Jade," Ruby said. "I have to think about it, I'm sorry." They sliced and ate the cake in silence. When it came time for their escape room appointment, Jade told Ruby she wasn't in the mood. "Actually, I think I'd rather be alone right now," Jade said. "Okay," Ruby said. "Of course, no problem." She took her car keys from Jade's kitchen counter. Then she hugged her friend, who returned her embrace stiffly. All her life, Ruby had felt like a weirdo.

What other people had—groups of friends, romantic partners, weddings where they were treated like celebrities, spacious houses, adorable and well-behaved children— Ruby had never wanted. She wasn't shirking these things as a point of identity, but simply because she had always viewed them as extraneous. Empty. Only two things made her feel like she wasn't completely inhuman. One was working, immersing herself in her writing. The other was being around Jade. Only Jade had witnessed Ruby in every iteration of her life and not fled. Why couldn't Ruby agree to be a whale? It could be so simple. 32 hours remained. Jade and Ruby carpooled to their friend Cassandra's house. In their larger friend circle, everyone had been throwing extravagant parties, trying to spend all the money they could before money no longer mattered. Last week, they attended a party where a turducken sat on an enormous doily. The host sliced neatly into it with an electric carving knife. Exposing the wonders within, a breathtaking meat geode. Cassandra welcomed them. She wore a silk dress that draped beautifully across her round, uniquely human breasts. Servers circulated with champagne flutes and crystal dishes of the finest beluga caviar. Jade and Ruby were pleased to see their friends enjoying themselves, but as usual, the two of them wound up talking to each other.

Ruby's parents planned to be turtledoves, and her younger brother would be a partridge. They were irritated with her for not wanting to be a bird along with them. Ruby's mother was so beruffed that she wouldn't speak to her. What are you thinking? Jade asked finally. The friends had been avoiding the question all night, wanting to enjoy the party. I think, Ruby said slowly, watching her friend's face, I think I wanna be a turtle. Ruby had abandoned her spreadsheet. She couldn't explain it, but Ruby felt deep in her bones, that she wanted to be a turtle. Jade loaded a potato chip with caviar, placed the entirety of it on her tongue, and chewed for a long moment. But turtles live even longer than whales, Jade said, as neutrally as she could manage. I guess it wasn't about the lifespan at all, Ruby admitted. I don't know if I can explain it. A freshwater turtle? I don't think I wanna be a sea turtle. Unfortunately. So we won't even be in the same body of water. I know, Jade, I'm sorry. You can't let me hold you back from being a whale. Jade said nothing. Please, please don't be mad at me, Ruby said.

I couldn't stand it if you were mad at me in our last, she looks at her watch, 29 hours. Jade said nothing still. "I'm just sad," Jade said finally. "I'll miss you." "You won't, actually." "Stop it, Ruby," Jade said angrily. "Don't tell me I won't be able to miss." Tears fell down her cheeks in pronounced dramatic rivulets. "I will miss you." "And I'll miss you, Jade," Ruby said. She told herself she wouldn't, but she started crying too. Jade slept over at Ruby's. In the morning, they indulged in a hungover feast of painkillers and waffles and bacon, which Ruby made extra crispy the way Jade liked. Afterward, they climbed onto Ruby's roof and threw dirty dishes off the side of it, because they didn't need to wash them anymore. The dishes shattered satisfyingly on the asphalt. That evening, Ruby and Jade visited their families. At the front door, Ruby hugged her father and brother. Her mother was still too upset to speak with her, so Ruby left a handwritten note that she hoped sufficiently expressed how much she loved her. Back at Ruby's house, they popped popcorn and watched Chungking Express. Over the years, they'd found the film charming, and then annoying, and now charming again.

They brushed and flossed their teeth, not because they had to, but because sleeping with clean teeth felt nice. Lights out, lying side by side, they began to talk the way they had when they were girls having sleepovers. Earlier that day, they had texted their final decisions to God: whale for Jade and turtle for Ruby, and received brown thumbs-up emojis. At 4 in the morning their time, all of humanity would evaporate. Each person would be transformed and placed in a suitable habitat. "Remember that time we raised snails?" Jade asked. Ruby could hear her smiling in the dark. "And my mom got so mad because it was dinnertime and the snails were too slow?" "I remember," said Ruby, "and we brought them inside in our pockets to race in the bathtub. Delilah and Joseph." "I can't believe you remember that." They lay in the silence for a long moment. "Do you want to be conscious when this happens?" Ruby asked. "Or should we try to get some sleep?" "I don't know. What about you?" "I don't know either." There was another long silence. "Jade, I'm sorry that—" Ruby paused. There were so many things she needed to apologize for that she didn't even know where to begin.

The times she neglected her friend because she believed her work was paramount. The times she knew Jade was going through difficulties but hadn't known what to say. During those periods, she'd cook bulk meals for Jade and mop Jade's floor. She knew Jade would have liked Needed verbal reassurance too, but Ruby didn't know how to offer it. She never would know. It's okay, Ruby, Jade's voice was clear and steady. I know, I know you. I don't think I can sleep, Jade said. Me neither. Should we do something else? Ruby stood up and turned the lights on. She peeked out the window and saw that other lights were on too. What about, Ruby thought, what about YouTube karaoke? I have a good one, hang on. Ruby angled her laptop away from Jade so that the song selection would be a surprise. The familiar notes of Pachelbel's Canon in D came on. Jade broke into laughter, delighted. They didn't need the lyrics. La la la la, la la la la. Ruby and Jade sang together at the top of their lungs. They put their phones down and with their arms around each other's waists were singing as loudly as they had ever sung when in a moment, a hundredth of a second, Ruby and Jade vaporized with the rest of humanity.

Atoms scattering, traveling, reassembling. Jade in the Pacific Ocean and Ruby in an Australian pond. But as to be expected with such an enormous undertaking, there was a glitch. For a fraction of a second, Jade, in the body of a blue whale, and Ruby, in the body of a freshwater turtle, sustained human thoughts. Jade thought, "Ruby," and Ruby thought, "Jade." Then God put his divine palm to his divine face and corrected the error. From then on, Jade swam and Ruby basked in the sun's warm rays. And God looked upon everything that he had made And behold, it was very good.

The story was read for us by actor Melissa Tang and produced by Diane Wu. You can read the full version of this story, "D-Day," in Rachel Kong's new book of short stories, "My Dear You." There's a hundred bluebirds up above the clouds, putting all the color in the sky.

Twice as many teardrops They wash down. Everyone's another lovebug. But there's only one, only you. Who could go me, me, lonely?

Our program was produced today by Miki Meek and edited by Hannah Joffewalt. Editorial help from Sonner Kurt. The people who put together today's show include Fia Bennen, Zoe Chase, Adrian Lilly, Stone Nelson, Molly Marcello, Katherine Raimondo, Ruthy Petito, Nadia Raymond, Marisa Robertson-Textor, Ryan Rummery, Lily Sullivan, Frances Swanson, Christopher Swatalla, and Julie Whitaker. Our managing editor is Sarah Abdurahman. Our senior editor is David Kestenbaum. Our executive editor is Emmanuel Berry. Special thanks to Lieutenant Nicholas Talbot, Commander Emily Schilling, Major Erica Vandal, Major Julie Clavier, Captain Gordon Herrero, Senior Master Sergeant Jamie Hash, Specialist Wendelin O., Priya Rashid, Emily Starbuck Gerson, Shannon Minter, Jennifer Levi, Amanda Johnston, Malkia Hutchinson, Lauren Gray, Sabrina Hyman, Kay Petrin, Yowei Shaw, Kyle Pulley, Lindsay Church, and Minority Veterans of America, and the organization Sparta Pride. This American Life is delivered to public radio stations by PRX, the Public Radio Exchange. Please consider supporting the show as a This American Life partner. You'll get regular exclusive bonus episodes, listen ad-free, and more. Join at thisamericanlife.org/lifepartners. Thanks as always to my boss, Ira Glass. Movie night with him is always the same thing. I brainstorm a ton of ideas, but he only wants to watch his favorite movie for the thousandth time.

Any movie I suggest is met with the same response. That's not Bad News Bears. I'm Laura Starcheski. We'll be back next week with more stories of This American Life.