Another Little Piece (20 page)

After another brief pause, I move in their direction, and with that their own uncertainty ends and they head toward me as well.

The shorter girl bounces, masking her nerves with a wide smile and outstretched arms. Short of pushing her back, there is no way to avoid her hug. So, this must be Gwen. It’s awkward, as hugs between strangers always are, but even more so because this is supposed to be the first in a series of increasing physically intimate moments between us. The friendly hug leads to the lingering touch, and that gives way to the first kiss. Except it won’t. This hug is it for Gwen and me.

Gwen pulls away, and behind her Annaliese has her arms crossed over her chest. No hugs from her then. Good. It would feel a bit too much like walking into a house before the previous owners had moved and measuring for curtains. We exchange friendly nods.

“Jaclyn, it’s so great to finally meet you in person! At last!” Gwen’s enthusiasm levels are cranked way too high, as if the idea of playing it cool never occurred to her. “So, I’m Gwen, as you’ve probably already guessed, and this is my friend Annaliese, who I told you about. Wow. It really is so great to see you. So great.”

“Yeah, it is,” I agree, but my mellow response seems almost sarcastic in contrast to Gwen’s exuberance.

An awkward silence falls, and I wish I’d never answered Gwen’s letter. It came the day after the two names fell from my locker. Annaliese or Lacey were the choices the Physician had given me this time. I would cross paths with both girls at some point in the month before my eighteenth birthday, giving me plenty of time to pick one and make the switch. Once—a long time ago—I’d written lists, debating which girl to take. Then I started flipping coins. Lately I go with the first one I meet. If I do the crossover quickly enough, I can usually miss out on ever meeting the second girl at all. It’s become a bit of a game with me, being fast enough to not discover what’s behind door number two.

“So, you and Gwen met on some kind of kids-of-shrinks message board?” Annaliese asks, still hugging her arms to herself, probably wishing she’d never let her friend drag her along on this trip. And yet she is trying to break the ice and salvage our weekend together. It’s nice of her. She’s a nice girl. She also has no idea why Gwen is really here.

“Yep, that’s right.” Gwen responds too quickly, too loudly. She sends me a look, part apology, part plea. In the email, Gwen had promised she would tell Annaliese.

My mom says she won’t drop me off in some strange town to meet a total stranger all by myself, even if she is only FORTY-FIVE minutes away in Columbus having her conference. So, we compromised. I’m bringing my friend Annaliese. She doesn’t KNOW about me, and I’ve never mentioned you before. But I know the whole point of us meeting is to be with someone that we don’t have to pretend with—so, DON’T WORRY, I’m going to tell Annaliese. She has been my best friend forever, but as you know from our many talks in the past, that almost makes it harder to get the words out. Let me know what you think.

“Yeah, on a message board,” I now agree. If they were staying the night at my place—with the falling-down farmhouse and Jaclyn’s Jesus-freak mother—there is no way Annaliese would believe anyone there knows anything about mental health. That isn’t the plan, though.

And what else can I say?

It wasn’t hard once I got the letter from Gwen to trace back through Jaclyn’s online history. Two years ago Gwen and Jaclyn met on a teen LGBT board. Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender. They must have clicked pretty quickly, because only a week after the email confirming Jaclyn’s registration on the board, the long list of emails and saved chats began. At first they mainly talked about how and when they knew, and the difficulties of coming out to friends and family. But then it got a little flirtatious. There were references to phone calls and heavy breathing. Then Gwen wrote, “I think I love you.”

Suddenly the emails stopped. I think I know why. About a week after that last email, Jaclyn made a deal with me to make a boy fall in lust with her. Then several months later Gwen’s letter arrived. It must have taken her that long to work up the nerve to send it. She said that she loved Jaclyn and knew that Jaclyn loved her, too. She begged—“Whatever went wrong, please give me a chance to fix it.”

Gwen claps her hands together. “Well, we should get going. Were you able to get a ride to show us around town? All we’ve seen so far is this and the Holiday Inn next door. My mom gave us money to stay there, but Annaliese and I agreed it would be better to use the money to stay here instead so we can each have our own room.”

“Oh, okay,” I reply, pretending obliviousness to Gwen’s hidden invitation to spend the night with her. And then because I believe in ripping off the Band-Aid quickly, I spin and march back out the front door. “I’m parked over here,” I call to Gwen and Annaliese, who are following closely behind me.

He is leaning against the side of the car, impatiently waiting. I hate the very sight of his face, no matter how many times he changes it. The feeling is so strong I shouldn’t be able to hide it, but I do because I have lots of practice. I run toward him and into his embrace. He captures my lips for an endless and punishing kiss. When it is over, he slings a possessive arm across my shoulders, his right hand dangling down so that his fingertips just graze my breast. I force my body not to stiffen.

“Gwen, Annaliese, this is my boyfriend, Steven.”

I can’t look at Gwen, so I simply gaze up at him with what I hope is an adoring expression. My betrayal of Gwen is finished, and now my betrayal of Annaliese can begin.

KNOCK-KNOCK

As promised, Dex returned with massive amounts of junk food, and then we got back on the road. I tried to smile, but the razor in one pocket and napkin poem in the other left me feeling leaden. My smiles never achieved liftoff.

Finally, after two hours of driving in near silence that had me sinking deeper and deeper into my grim thoughts, Dex reached over and tapped my knee.

“Knock-knock.”

It took me a minute to understand, and say my line. “Who’s there?”

“A little old lady.”

“A little old lady who?”

“I didn’t know you could yodel.”

I groaned.

“Bad?” Dex asked. I nodded. “Okay, how about, Why did the midget get kicked out of the nudist colony?”

“I dunno.”

“He kept sticking his nose in everybody’s business.”

I groaned again, but this time a snort of laughter also escaped. And Dex kept going, one terrible joke after another, until I laughed so hard I cried. Then I just cried, while Dex held my hand. And when there were no tears left, I began to tell Dex everything, laying out all the jagged pieces of memory.

Finally, I confessed all of my sins. And it was easy, because I knew they had already been forgiven.

TWIN

SPILLED

Road trip with my best friend, Gwen.

Gwen who never shuts up,

who says every thought that enters her head,

has been quiet ever since we left Wooster.

Actually she was silent most of yesterday

only I didn’t notice, until we were in the car

and her mom asked how it was

and did we get along with Gwen’s internet friend.

I said, “Great, great. It was great. She was great.”

Gwen said nothing. Not one word.

Not yeah. Or eh. Or no.

Nothing.

Then there was only NPR news

and classical music

and Gwen’s silence, which was somehow

even louder and more annoying

than her usual endless chatter.

“I wish you hadn’t even come.”

Those were the first words Gwen spoke

as she stabbed at the button on the

gas station cappuccino machine,

not even looking at me,

not seeing my mouth fall open.

She’d begged me to come. Begged.

But I didn’t say that. I didn’t say anything.

“She was great. Great. Great.”

Gwen did that thing where she imitated me

in a whiny singsong voice.

“You don’t even know her.

You just thought she was great

because she let you talk about Logan,

the love of your life,

and she didn’t laugh.

And you were so impressed by her

pretty little boyfriend.

Well guess what?

That was all a lie.

She doesn’t even like boys.

She’s a freaking lesbian.

That’s how I met her.”

Caramel mocha flowed over the side

of Gwen’s cup and over her fingers.

“Shit.”

She flung it aside,

it hit the counter

then splattered out

at me,

hitting my shirt my jeans my shoes.

It stung against my skin.

“I’m sorry,”

Gwen said. She patted at me with

great wads of napkins.

I grabbed them away, and went

into the bathroom

daring her to follow me.

“Oh, Gwen, what happened?”

I heard her mother behind me.

“I just spilled—”

The bathroom door closed,

cutting her off.

Road trip with my best friend, Gwen,

who I think might’ve just told me

she’s a lesbian.

It’s gonna be a long ride home.

—ARG

CHIMES

The large farmhouse waited at the end of a bumpy and pitted drive. Behind it only the outline of an old barn remained. Weeds and wild grass swayed around us, brushing across my hands hanging limp and heavy at my side. A piece of plywood had been nailed across the front door, but it sagged on one end as if someone had pulled it away to sneak in. One of the upstairs windows had been broken, and gray curtains billowed out, waving in surrender.

“Seems like nobody’s home,” Dex said quietly. “Should we look around?”

It was six a.m. We’d spent the last hour in a Denny’s at the side of the highway, waiting for the sun to beat back enough of the night’s darkness so that we could knock on the door of a complete stranger. Except now we were here and there was clearly no one to answer our knock. And I didn’t want to explore. I wanted to go home. But this sad and hollow place had once been my home. Kind of.

“Let’s check the backyard first,” I said, stalling, because I didn’t want to step inside that house and smell the musty air and see what had been left behind.

Dex took the lead. I drifted in his wake, following the trail of beaten-down grass. We came around the side of the house, and the wind picked up, as if trying to blow us back. Low, thick clouds covered the still-rising sun, casting us in shadow. Shivering, I shoved my fists into my coat pockets and kept walking. Another, even stronger, gust of wind whipped by, and that was when I heard it. A tinkling, jangling sound. High little clinks interspersed with lower cowbell moans.

I looked up at Dex, and from the way his head was tilted, his right ear angled up toward the sky, I knew that he’d heard it too.

“Over here,” I said, and this time I took the lead, away from the house. The land dipped slightly, a gentle downward roll that carried my legs faster. At the bottom there was a crease with a trickle of water running through it, and on the other side the ground swept upward again, disappearing into a tangle of trees. Now the sound was louder, and as the sun poked out, bits of silver glinted through the bare winter branches. Hopping over the stream, I headed into the trees, following a worn foot trail that wound its way through the weeds until it ended at a clearing.

I skidded to a stop. Stunned.

Wind chimes hung from branches all around the clearing. Little clay birds painted bright shiny red, seashells strung on thick white cord, and long silver cylinders that shook like fringe on a flapper’s dress. All those and more created overlapping waves of music. And at the center of it sat a girl wrapped in a sleeping bag, a sketch pad across her lap. I recognized her immediately. How could I not? I had been her. It was Jaclyn.

My legs trembled beneath me, and then Dex was slipping an arm around my waist, supporting me.

Jaclyn didn’t seem as surprised to see me. She merely looked up from her sketching and gave one last flick of her pencil, before setting it aside and standing. All of her movements were languid, almost sleepy. Slowly she drifted in our direction, as easily swayed by each gust of wind as the chimes in the trees above her.

She came to a stop in front of me, and her hand floated up between us until it was at eye level. Index finger extended, the cold tip of her finger pressed gently into the fracture point on my forehead as if testing the depths of the damage. Everything went still. The wind stopped, and the chimes hung limp and heavy while she studied. A moment later another gust whipped through, and her hand fell back to her side, like a leaf being blown away.

Perhaps it was the shock of contact, but I realized then what I should have known immediately. This wasn’t Jaclyn. It was Jess. The twin sister.

“My mother did that,” she said, her voice surprisingly strong. “She did that to the girl she found Jaclyn with. Except that girl wasn’t you, not yet, because you were still Jaclyn.”

I nodded, admitting it. Not that I could have denied it. She knew. Somehow she already knew everything.

She looked back over her shoulder, and then gave one nod, as if she’d decided something between her and someone else.

“Come sit. All of you. You’re here to find something, so let’s see if we have it.”

The way she spoke. “All of you.” “We.” It made me feel strange, like there were more people here than just her, Dex, and me. Craning my neck, I looked around but only saw the trees and the shimmering chimes that filled them.

Unzipping her sleeping bag, she spread it flat on the ground so we could all sit on it. Jess settled herself cross-legged at one end, and then waited while Dex and I followed suit.

“I’ve never had anyone here before,” Jess said conversationally. “It’s my place to be alone with my sister, but she thinks I am too much alone lately, which isn’t true at all. This is the only place—” Jess stopped, as if someone had interrupted her.

She turned to the empty space beside her. Her head tilted, listening. Nodding, she held her right hand out in a stop motion, and then looked back to us. “Jaclyn doesn’t like when I misrepresent her opinions. She says what she meant by alone was flesh-and-blood living people, like you two. She also thinks it’s good for me to see that there are other freaks out there in the world, so that I’ll know I’m not the only one. It’s hard to feel alone, she says, and she should know because of the whole lesbian thing.” Jess rolled her eyes. “You know, for all that she didn’t want to talk about it when she was alive, it’s the only thing I hear about now. And also, as I’ve told her, chatting with the dead is a little stranger than liking girls. There is no LGBT community for me. No real role models. She had Ellen. I have
The Ghost Whisperer.
”

“You know, that’s an excellent point,” Dex broke in, since it looked like this one-sided conversation between the sisters could go on forever. I could see why Jaclyn wanted her sister to mix with the living. The way Jess covered both sides of the conversation as if it was natural was strange, but even worse was how obviously thin her argument was. She didn’t really care about finding a support group. She was at ease living with the dead, so much so that she didn’t seem firmly attached to the earth herself.

“Thank you,” Jess said, throwing a raised-eyebrows I-told-you-so look to her right.

“So,” I said hesitantly, wanting to make sure I understood everything correctly. “Jaclyn is sitting next to you?”

“Not sitting. Floating would be more accurate. Just like the other girls.”

“The other girls?” Again I felt the urge to look around, searching.

“Oh, you don’t feel them there?” Jess asked. “I thought . . . They came with you. Of course, lots of people have stringers and never have a clue they’re there.” Jess jumped as if nudged. “Oh right, sorry. Stringers are what I call the ghosts who kinda attach to and travel around with one person. Like at a street fair where they’re giving balloons away and every kid has one attached to their wrist kinda bobbing along behind them. The ghosts are like that, sort of. Except instead of being bright and round and bouncing, they’re tattered and heavy. Even floating, they always seem so heavy.” Jess’s gaze locked on to the treetops, as if she were floating and lost among them. Dex and I said nothing, simply waiting for her to return. In another moment she did, her focus sliding back down to me. “But I thought, with you not being really alive yourself, that you would be more in touch with these types of things.”

I didn’t know what to say. I had stringers. Tattered and floating and heavy. I might be one myself. The obvious question was to ask who they were . . . except I already had a pretty good idea. Tucking my hand into my pocket, I grabbed hold of the razor handle with the names of eight girls. Maybe it should’ve been comforting, made me feel less alone. Instead, I felt haunted.

“Well, this is awkward,” Jess said, not looking as if she felt any discomfort at all. “It’s like I just told you that you have spinach in your teeth. Except it’s invisible spinach that you’ll never be able to pick out.”

“It’s fine,” I lied quietly.

Dex, seeing my obvious distress, stepped in. “Can you tell us about Jaclyn? Anna has remembered bits and pieces, but it would help to have the full timeline.”

“Of course,” Jess answered immediately. “The full timeline.” She took a deep breath. “Well, I’d ask if you want the short version, but you already know it. Jaclyn died, but her body didn’t and then it did. So, the long version.”

Jess fell back into the grass, and began to tell her story to the sky.

“My mom ran away from home when she was fifteen. For no reason as far as I can tell. Everybody round here says my grandparents were the nicest people, and it just about broke their hearts when Mom left. And Mom’s never said nothing bad about them neither. Just that they held her too tight when she wanted to be free. She became an honest-to-God groupie. Followed bands and tried to fuck the rock stars, but usually ended up settling for some roadie. At nineteen, one of those roadies gave her twins and a pair of Mick Jagger’s snakeskin boots. I guess the idea was to sell them for enough money to get rid of us. But she kept the pair of boots and she kept the pair of us, and came back home here. Grandma had died, and Grandpa was ready to sell the house and move to Florida, but Mom convinced him to give it to her instead. So she raised us alone, and I guess she gets some points for that, but not too many, because she never missed an opportunity to remind us of all that she had given up. Her glamorous life and her fabulous friends.

“I was seven years old when I told her to go back to them, and when I said it I was half certain she would, but even then I was damned if she was gonna hold that over my head for the rest of my life. Jaclyn started crying. ‘Mommy, don’t go, please don’t go.’ Mom slapped her for crying, and then me for making her cry. Or maybe she slapped us ’cause she liked to see the shape of her hand across our cheeks.”

Jess paused and glanced to her right. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m telling my story the way I see it, and I don’t wanna be fair to her right now.” Putting her hands beneath her head, she gazed upward once more.

“Anyway, she didn’t leave. Told us that type of life was for the young and beautiful, and she wasn’t either of those anymore, not after we’d stolen her youth, and wrecked her body too. Not only were we responsible for her stretch marks, but we’d also pushed her up four clothing sizes. You’d think KFC might’ve shared some of the blame, but no, Mom didn’t see it that way. Her being so unhappy and making us so unhappy, it just felt like the way life had always been and would always be. But Mom must’ve decided she needed a change. Some women might’ve found Weight Watchers and aerobics, but ours found Jesus and she gave herself to him and his great church of judgment and shame. But that wasn’t enough. She had to give Jesus her greatest treasure, and burn her sins. When she told us that, I was pretty sure Jaclyn and I were going on a spit, and Jesus was gonna be wearing Mick Jagger’s snakeskin boots. Turns out the boots went on the big bonfire in the backyard, and we were headed to Bible camp to begin our journey on the road to redemption. Except I wasn’t going down that road, and nobody could make me. Jaclyn, though, she ran straight toward it, as if Jesus was the nice daddy we’d always hoped Mom might someday bring home.”

Jess sighed softly.

“That was the first time I lost my sister, and I didn’t even know it until it was too late. We were never those mind-reading, practically-share-a-brain type of twins, but we had something better. We saw each other clearly. Knew the other better than we knew ourselves. Our first week at Bible camp, Jaclyn asked to be baptized. They had a pool they used, so she went all the way in, and it seemed like they held her under for such a long time, like they literally wanted her to be reborn. I remember trying to see her face beneath the water and thinking that if she looked scared, I was gonna jump in and pull her out. But I couldn’t see her, and even years and years later when I looked at her, it was like she was still underwater. Of course, some of that might’ve been from me, because my new motto was smoke ’em if you got ’em. And I almost always had ’em.”

Pinching her forefinger and thumb together, Jess brought them to her lips and inhaled deeply as if taking a drag from an imaginary joint.

“The second time I lost my sister was the night she went on a date with Steven Benedict. His dad is a big deal at the church. He has lots of money, and used a bunch of it for this seventy-foot cross they built near the highway. I was there when Steven picked Jaclyn up at the house, and Mom smiled at him even though we weren’t technically supposed to be going out on dates. But this was Steven Benedict, and they were going to the teen prayer meet at the church—so it was okay.

“His eyes were too close together, and I didn’t like him. I looked at Jaclyn. And for the first time in years I saw her clearly again, and I knew that she didn’t like him either, and that the only reason she was letting him hold her hand in his sweaty little paw was because she was completely desperate and didn’t know what else to do. And then I blinked, and she was smiling at him, and I thought I’d made it all up in my head. I told her to say a prayer for me. Those were the last words I said to my sister, because the next time I saw her, she was you.”

“Wait,” I said, not because the story was going too fast, but because the black was coming and I could no longer feel Dex’s hand in mine. I was leaving this now for another, and that was all the warning I could give before I disappeared.

DOING IT

Jaclyn stands, a hand to her head. “I feel sick. Migraine, I think.”

Immediately, the room goes silent. They stare at her, and I stare at them—gauging their reaction. She is green and trembling. You can almost see the headache pounding behind her eyes. No one can fake that. All the suspicions that flared up when she entered the room with Steven are extinguished.

Or not.

Steven’s face contorts, trying to find the right way to arrange his rodent-like features so they express surprise and concern. He shouldn’t even bother. In an instant he gives them both away. Jumping to his feet, he grabs hold of her with his grasping hands, as if she’d just called his Powerball numbers and was his winning lottery ticket too.