Author: Malebranche

Date: 05/02/04

Contact:

Genre: Original, slash, drama.

Comments: PG-13 for profanity. Short story. Gender issues, psychological issues. I started this ten minutes before leaving for school in a flash-flood of inspiration, then finished it when I got home. It turned out different from what I expected. It starts out with mass confusion, but don’t give up on it too early, because everything is clarified (hopefully) in the latter half of the story.

“Nothing is but what is not.” -- Macbeth

--

Tamyra comes home around eight o'clock every day, just in time for dinner. Eddie usually makes stir fry chicken with bell peppers and onions or something simple like that. Tonight, Eddie has made some fancy Italian pasta with heavy cream and a whole stick of butter. Delicious. He’s turned down the lights and lit up the few candles he could scrounge up from inside the tiny single bedroom, single bath apartment. The best china is out on the table, set for three.

Yes, three.

Napkins are folded carefully and placed into tall champagne glasses that are used maybe twice a decade. A bottle of cheap Charles Shaw chardonnay that Eddie got from Trader Joe’s is set inside a rustic (read: beat up) bucket full of ice to the side of the table. The “good china” is actually the china that is not chipped or broken. The only exception is an ancient white bowl with painted pink flowers around the rim. Tamyra picked it out during a shopping spree at a pawn shop and declared it “fit only to hold holy water” and bought it then and there, depriving the household of a much-needed lamp (for when they eventually paid the much-needed electricity bill).

Eddie is not in his usual ratty blue Gap sweater and jeans, but instead he is wearing a white semi-dressy Banana Republic shirt and a pair of slacks from God-knows-where. Probably a garage sale, directly after visiting the mall for the shirt. Call it consumer’s guilt. He is actually clean-shaven, which tells you a lot about how special this occasion is.

Then the doorbell rings. Eddie gets up from his spot on the couch; I’m watching from the windowsill. He wipes his sweaty palms against his new (theoretically) pants. He looks at the door tentatively. I sigh and run my finger through my hair. Brown and wavy. I get impatient, so I stare at the door to see if Tamyra will dig out her own set of keys instead of waiting for Eddie to get his slow ass in motion. Instead, Tamyra rings the doorbell again. Women are so fussy.

He swallows and reaches for the doorknob. The moment I hear the click of the knob, the door gives way and Tamyra walks in, four-inch black stiletto heels and curly brown hair. She’s wearing a little black sequined treasure they’d found on sale at Mervyns's. The cashier had looked at us funny when Tamyra asked Eddie if he thought she’d look nice in it. She did, of course, and Eddie told her as much. I was a bit uncomfortable standing in the women’s section, so I didn’t answer when Tamyra asked me for my opinion. Eddie had sighed. I guess he was frustrated that I never talked to Tamyra. But I do, actually. Just not when he’s around. It’s kinda like how I talk to Eddie when Tamyra’s not around.

So anyway, Tamyra waltzes in and smiles at the both of us. I return a grin but Eddie looks uncertainly at me; or rather, in my direction. Eddie’s got quirks like that -- he always acts funny when she and I associate in front of him. She gasps when she sees the dinner table, and quickly puts down her bags and sits on one of the rickety foldable chairs that Eddie had set up. I roll my eyes. Eddie has forgotten to set a chair out for me. Tamyra notices this and she looks at Eddie meaningfully. Eddie looks confused, but when Tamyra nods her head in my direction, realization dawns in his eyes and he gets up to get another chair. She looks at me apologetically as Eddie walks into the bedroom.

“Sorry Tammo. I don‘t know why he‘s acting like that.” she said,

“It's fine. I’m not bothered.” I said.

“I wonder what‘s wrong.” she said thoughtfully. “Has he ever been like this before?”

“I don‘t think...wait, today‘s your first day at work. Maybe that‘s got something to do with it?” I said, wondering why I hadn’t just gotten the chair for myself. Eddie is taking an awfully long time to find the spare I just know is in there.

Tamyra seems to think the same, because she turns towards the bedroom and says “Eddie, honey, are you having some trouble? Should we help you?”

Eddie promptly walks back into the living room, looking a bit nervous. “It's fine. It was just hidden under some junk...” he says, setting up the chair where the third set of dishes was, across from Tamyra and next to his own chair. I sit down as Tamyra serves us all some wonderful-smelling pasta. Eddie eyes my plate.

“Tammie,” he says.

Tamyra giggles. “Tammie sounds like Tammo, Eddie. Don’t make a habit of calling me that, or else we’ll start to get confused.” she says, winking and smiling at Eddie. “I might even get confused about which one of us you love.”

Eddie’s brow furrows. “Tammo -- I mean, Tamyra...” he begins, stumbling over the names.

Tamyra’s right eyebrow arches. “Eddie?”

“This is too weird, Tammo.” he finally gets out.

I look up from my yet untouched pasta in surprise, only to find that Eddie is still looking at Tamyra.

“What?” she says, looking as puzzled as I know I do.

“Tammo, I don’t know what to do with you anymore. Should I get you a shrink?” he mumbles absentmindedly.

“Eddie, what are you talking about?” Tamyra says, her breathing coming in a bit more rapidly.

“I’m talking about your...split personalities! Schizophrenic hallucinations! You’ve made a completely new person and you’ve made yourself an invisible entity!” he cries, standing up and supporting himself on the table. The candles on the tabletop flicker violently.

I have a splitting headache. In fact, Tamyra seems to be in pain, too. Her painted lips twist in a pained grimace. She bites her lip hard, and I can see blood oozing from her lips where her teeth punctured the delicate skin. It drips from her lips to her chin like makeup gone wrong.

I feel something wet fall onto my hands. Looking down at them, I see with shock that the fluid is red. Blood. I wonder briefly about how Tamyra’s blood could possibly get on my hand, since we are sitting on opposite sides of the table before instinctively raising my fingers to my lips.

The tips of my fingers come away red with blood. I choke back a yelp of alarm. Tamyra stares at me, her mouth open in astonishment. “Tam --”

“ -- ayra?” I finished, and my vision doubles. I think I see Eddie sitting next on my right side, instead of on my left like he had been since we sat down for dinner. I see, instead of Tamyra’s feminine features across the table, my own. Wavy brown hair not unlike hers, but definitely unshaven with no makeup. Blood is dripping from the face of my doppelganger. Then I vanish..

But no, it is just the illusion that is gone. Eddie has gotten a wet cloth and is beginning to dab at my lip, muttering fervent apologies. He leans in, and I think for a moment that he is going to inspect the wound or something; the last thing I expect is the feeling of his lips pressed against mines. Strangely, the first thing I think is “What about Tamyra?”, instead of the typical “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Tamyra’s not real, Tammo.” Eddie says breathily, embracing me tightly.

I didn’t realize I had spoken aloud. Then the words register. “What?” I say, pulling myself out of his arms. ‘What do you mean?” I ask him frantically, looking around the room. No Tamyra.

“Tammo...” he says, looking at me pleadingly. “I don’t know what to say to make you realize it.”

I can feel the sticky blood drying uncomfortably on my chin. “Wait. Hold it. I’ll be right back.” I say, feeling like I am missing a very big point.

I turn towards the bathroom and take a few steps before my legs start feeling itchy. I try to scratch it, but I feel something get in the way of the nail-to-skin contact. Oh, it’s pantyhose...

...Pantyhose?! I stare at my legs in shock; I can see my manicured toes faintly through the gauzy flesh color of the stockings. My eyes move up. A black sequined dress. The shaking fingers that I hold up to my eyes are painted in a rosy color that is probably called something ludicrous like Cotton Candy Pink.

I run to the bathroom and stare into the dirty, streaked mirror. I see not me, but Tamyra. At first I think, “What the fuck did I drink last night?”, but then it all comes crashing down on me.

This is me. I am a gay man with a boyfriend named Eddie, whom I have been dating for over two years. I have recently started cross-dressing, and it must have gone too far (I was diagnosed with a tendency toward split personalities as a child). There is no Tamyra. I must have made a scene at the office today. I can’t remember; it is as if Tamyra really did have a separate life, because I am missing several hours of memory.

I wash my made up face away in the sink, watching the faint colors, diluted with tap water, swirl and disappear. I take off my dress and pantyhose and wash the hairspray that holds my curly hair together away in the sink. I try to remember if I had bought nail-polish remover during my time as Tamyra, but my mind draws a blank. Sighing, I lean on the edge of the sink and close my eyes, feeling the cold water trickling down my naked back to the floor. I feel eyes from behind me; it’s Eddie.

I turn around to see him looking worriedly at me. “Tammo...?”

I smile weakly. “Yea, Eddie. It’s me. Sorry.”

He walks towards me and takes me into his arms, wet hair and all. “God, Tammo. I didn’t know what to do, I’m sorry.”

I kiss the corner of his lip. He in turn kisses me hungrily. “I thought I'd lost my boyfriend to the lure of the female species.” he said, only half joking.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” I mumbled, kissing him repeatedly. “God, if this happens again, just hit me really hard.”

Eddie laughs and combs his fingers through my still-wet hair. “Don’t let it happen. I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to do that.”

I feel lonely being naked by myself, so I start to pull Eddie’s shirt up too, only to stop midway. “Why do you stay with me? I’m so much trouble. You can just leave me and I’d understand, because I’m so imperfect...”

Eddie groans and tugs his shirt the entire way off. “You thickheaded idiot. Who wants perfection? Even God isn’t perfect, seeing as he made the big mistake with Adam and Eve and the little scenario of the tree of knowledge and stuff.” he says, looking at me in the eye. “I’m not going to leave you even if you start dressing like motherfucking Elvis. I wouldn’t even leave you if you began acting like...” he searched for a name. “...Tamyra! Not even then. And that, er, woman, gave me hell.” he says triumphantly.

I feel an incredible surge of happiness at his words. “Eddie, I’m sincerely sorry about wasting the nice meal you made tonight, but...” I start.

He grins. “...Never mind the ‘buts’. I can make the pasta again any day.” He pulls me toward the bedroom, and I follow. When we get to the doorframe, I stop abruptly. Eddie looks at me curiously. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing. Just hold on for a second.” I reply, squeezing his hand and walking back to the living room. I pick up a post-it note pad and a pen and scribble something on it. Then I walk over to the oven and turn on the gas, watching the blue flame lick hungrily at the air. I tear off the post-it and dangle it above the fire. The yellow paper curls and browns, before I drop it and watch it smolder into oblivion. The name ‘TAMYRA’ stares at me from within the blue flames, my bold, capitalized handwriting quickly vanishing into the ashes.

“Tammo!” I hear Eddie say from the bedroom, sounding sinfully sultry. I turn off the gas and wipe the remaining ashes with a napkin. I toss the napkin into the trash can.

“Coming, love!” I say.