Wednesday, April 5, 2017

Two Hearts chapter1

Chapter 1
My favorite season has always been summer, or it was until I found out hers is winter. So I guess my favorite season is winter now, and I’ll learn to love it. But right now, it’s one-hundred-degrees outside, and I love it. I love that it’s hot, I love all my free time, and I love that Mason is spending most of his time at football camp instead of in my face. As much as I love my twin, I need space because I’ve lost my mind to Erika. There is no space left for me because there is Mason and there is Erika and I’ve gone missing in the mix.
            I really think I'm getting fat.  When I turned twelve my breasts grew overnight and so did the rest of my body, horizontally. Suddenly everything fit too tightly and I became increasingly aware of the space I took up and of the male gaze. I suppose it’s the curse of being a girl; Mason got tall and muscular at an early age, and I stayed short and changed shape. I wasn't ready to look like more than a little girl. I needed to blend in and I always did, other than for the fact I was a twin made me an anomaly. Otherwise, I was unnoticed but liked and then suddenly I was changing.  Maybe it’s not as bad as being one of those fat girls at school, bottom of the barrel, who have to squeeze into their hand-me-down clothes and can’t afford to get their hair done. Speaking of which, I’m due to get mine re-done. The reddish roots are showing and it’s throwing off my whole look. Mason thinks I’m crazy, losing weight and darkening my hair and trying to fade my tan out to porcelain. He often claims I’m obsessed with Erika. I am, but I’ll never truly be her. It's out of reach, just as she's out of reach. I will never be that poised, that intense, that intelligent, perfect”
“She’s such a snake,” Mason told me when I was told him she was spending the night. “I don’t know why you want her here all the time lately. And if you aren’t with her you text her even if she doesn’t respond for hours.”
“She’s not a snake, she’s perfect. She's kind of handling a lot.”
“She looks like she’s never been in the sun! Miriam, you are perfect,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. “You could have been a cheerleader or on dance squad. You could have stayed popular. You could be just like me, but you spend too much time obsessing with that weird girl.”
He looked at my cleavage and I folded my arms across my chest.
“Weird is better than boring,” I defended. “And you know it's true that my old friends are boring. Your friends are too.”  I turned away. The new cuts on my thighs sting under my pants.
“Whatever. Well, you two have fun. I’ve got some friends coming over too and we’re watching plays from last season on the big screen so keep her out of here.”
“Fine.” I always have to obey Mason. It’s such a drag. He has something against Erika because he doesn’t want me spending time with anyone other than him and Erika is the first person to really threaten his time. Mason and I were always close. He has friends, though. Why can’t I?
      Erika finally arrives at five, one hour after two of Mason’s obnoxious friends did. They look her over as she walks with me to my room and the silence itself feels audible.
She stares right back.  Please, no one say anything.
“I think your sister is a lesbo,” I hear after shutting my door. Erika jerks her head upward, staring at the door with patience that cannot afford to burn any thinner. Her eyes are piercing green, bright, I try not to get caught looking into them for too long.
“I will slit his throat,” she says calmly. “Are they assuming you’re a lesbian because they're assuming I am a lesbian, or are you a lesbian?” she asks.
I am shaken by the sudden arsenal of personal questions.
“They’re idiots, I mean, they are Mason’s friends. I have a boyfriend, you know,” I tell her. She sits on the edge of my bed. I just had my room painted purple and replaced my orange decorations with purple and black ones. These are Erika’s favorite colors, I assume, because of how often she wears them. Something about lavender makes her look very appealing.
“Not surprised. Who is it?” she asks. She's studying my room. I watch her face for a sign of approval and, as usual, see nothing.
“I can’t tell you,” I say, sitting beside her on my queen-sized bed. I really *can’t* tell her.
"And why not?"
"It's still a secret. I promised."
Erika rolled her eyes but respected my boundary. Promises mean everything to Erika and even though she doesn’t seem to have much of a conscience, she abhors the breaking of a promise.
“Well, then, what is he like? Do I know him?”
“You may know him,” I tell her, lying back. I stare at the ceiling. She lays back with me. “He’s cool. He’s strong and cute and funny. I think we may get married.”
“You are sixteen.”
“So? I won’t be forever.  Do you have a boyfriend?”
She had never mentioned one, but I felt it necessary to check. Other than me, her friends were male and she spent time with them although I never saw her act romantic towards anyone. Many times I had been surprised to learn of a new interest or hobby of Erika's. More than that, though, I wanted to pry and take attention off my own relationship.
“No, I do not,” she replied quietly, each word spoken in their own time like a sad script. Well, she definitely has someone in mind.
I decide to press the issue a little further; maybe she’ll tell me who it is.
“Who do you like?”
“No one. I hate everyone, even people I like. You know this.”
She pushes her black hair back over the top of her head, revealing her widows peak. She rarely does this and it's rare to really see her face. It’s obvious she’s hiding the fact that she likes someone, that there really is someone who pops up in the maze of her brain every time love is mentioned. I roll over on my stomach and look at her.
“Well, if you could, maybe, have sex with anyone in the world, who would it be?” I ask. She looks at me, confused.
“Why are you trifling?”
“Just talking! I told you I have a boyfriend, you have to tell me something. Just give me a hint,” I pry. She rolls her eyes. I wonder if Mason’s rumor was true and Erika liked a girl.
“Someone you know.”  I think. Who is someone I know that she also knows? It's such a small town that it could be anyone so I can assume she means that I know them well. She’s friends with Robin; he goes to the same church as me; we talk sometime on Instant Message.
“Robin Cross?”
“No way,” she said quickly. "I like him platonically."
“How well do I know him? I know tons of people,” I say. "Be a little more specific."
“You see him frequently. You had a class with him last year.”
I think further and my stomach drops.
“Mason?” I ask and my voice catches. I see him every day and we had a class together last year! Lord, I hope she’s not after my twin…That would be beyond a tangled fucking mess.
“Hell no! I do not want to do it with your brother. Try harder.”
I stare at my new purple pillow for a moment. Who does Erika hang out with? Who does she talk to? She talks to a few people – again, all guys except for me. What would Erika want in a guy? She turns her head to me and stares, as if the answer were obvious.
Her best friend in the world.
“Oh, Lewis!” I said. “Am I right?”
She doesn’t say anything, and turns back to the ceiling. I begin giggling uncontrollably. Lewis Ellington.  A pain rose from my stomach and wormed into my heart. I don't feel fondly towards Lewis. She’s always with him at school, sometimes on the way home from school, on weekends. He calls her all the time. Why didn’t I suspect anything?
“If you tell anyone,” she says slowly, “I will kill you.” She means it.
“I won’t tell anyone, but why don’t you tell him?” I figured Lewis would jump on the opportunity to date Erika because then he could justify how protective he was of her.
“Why would I? So I can lose him altogether? He has no reason to like me."
I wanted to smack myself for not seeing the signs. Lewis never dated, not that many people ever showed interest. The few that had, Erika scared them all away. I thought she was doing him a favor.
“Why do you think he doesn’t like you?”
“He doesn't. Only as a friend and barely that some days. Now you have to tell me about your boyfriend.”
“I did. He’s strong and amazing. I sleep with him all the time,” I said in boredom.
“Dude, gross,” Erika said.
“What, like you’ve never done it?” I asked.
Erika stayed silent for a moment. Oh, shit… I forget that not everyone starts so young. But my honest impression was that Erika was promiscuous.
“No. I haven’t ever done it. I have done nothing resembling it.”
“Well, it’s not that great,” I say. It is pretty over-rated but then again, I’ve never been with someone who knew what they were doing.”
 This is my attempt to have a normal-girl conversation with Erika but I can tell it’s making her uncomfortable. When I used to have friends, this is what we talked about; girls we hated, like Erika, and sex. Guys who think they're the more sex-obsessed gender are wrong. Sometimes we would talk about celebrities or clothes we wanted, too. I was part of the group that hated Erika; they talked about her constantly throughout the school year and sometimes in the summer they watched her social media. They were obsessed, and when I started having issues with Mason, I began to think being like Erika wasn’t such a bad thing. So really, I had been obsessed with her all along; my attitude just changed. Cold, distant, peculiar, unpredictable, and even hostile became positive words.  When my attitude switched, I started having less of a desire to hang out with anyone other than Erika or Mason. I started getting questioned about why I don’t have a boyfriend and I couldn’t give an answer. Everyone was wondering why I was dressing like it was winter when it wasn’t, although I insisted I wasn't hiding anything beneath my clothes, and they completely flipped when I dyed my hair darker. It got more and more obvious that I was trying to look like the most enigmatic girl in school.
“Your hair is growing out,” she says, startling me out of my reflection.
“I’m going to get it done soon. Making the appointment takes more effort than I’ve put into anything lately. I am so hungry,” I say, sitting up.  Mason and his friends are still in the living room, but I decide that I have just as much of a right to exist as he does. I open my bedroom door. “You coming?”
          Mason is sitting with his two friends. One of them has short blonde hair - kind of cute. The other is ugly as sin and has a hat on backwards. Mason catches me looking and narrows his eyes as I feel myself shrinking back.
I turn my attention to the cupboards. Erika is leaning against the counter, ignoring the glances from Mason’s friends. I quickly grab a box of cookies and lead Erika back to my room before anyone says anything to provoke her to pull the large pocket knife out of her back pocket that I just noticed.
“Why do you carry that thing?” I ask quietly once we're alone again.
“In case I have to stab someone, and-or make a sandwich. Tends to be the latter but you never know."
I begin eating the cookies mindlessly. They’re diet, but I don’t think it counts if you eat the entire package. I always eat the entire package.
               After almost an hour of Erika informing me in detail of all the interesting ways to dispose of bodies, I put a chick-flick into the DVD player and turn off the light. I get under the covers with Erika, who finally agreed to put on one of my t-shirts rather than sleeping fully dressed.
“What is this shit?”
“What time do you have to be home tomorrow?” I ask, ignoring her question.  I quickly regret it. It's a question with no answer.
“It doesn’t matter, remember?”  Erika’s grandmother died only a few weeks ago. She's being allowed to stay in her apartment because of the sympathy of the owner, until the lease runs out in November.  Her grandmother was the only family she had so she has to figure something out quick.
“I know, I know,” I say. “Sorry.” I grab her hand under the cover. Even if she shows nothing at all, I like to assume she’s upset like anyone else would be. If I was in her situation I don’t know how long I would stay alive.
              Erika fell asleep halfway through the movie and is breathing slowly. I am still holding her hand so I remain very still as I hear creaking outside the bedroom door. Mason, I’m sure. I turn the TV on silent with the remote. I can hear the door creek as he leans against it, probably trying to hear what I’m doing. My heart speeds up as the handle begins to turn. I close my eyes, feeling the cold air rush in as the door sits open. Go away, go away, go away. Not now. Don’t wake up Erika or she may stab you.
 I wait several long minutes with my eyes squeezed shut, and Mason finally leaves. I sigh and open my eyes. The door is shut and everything is okay. It’s better than okay, because Erika is here.  Her phone lights up on the nightstand beside me. I quietly pick it up and read the text message from Lewis. U awake? I think about telling him she’s asleep. Then I think about the conversation we had earlier and I text him back. Fuck off.

Miriam









A Disabled Morning in April

April is here and spring is surely in the air in most places; one can tell by the plethora of flowers, the rising temperatures, the April showers, and the godforsaken blue puzzle pieces everywhere. It's Autism Acceptance month. If you don't yet know why Autism Speaks is bad, google "eugenics" or just look at my youtbe channel DizzyDollie7 where I make a habit of ripping them to shreds. Or ask any mildly self-aware adult Autistic. Either way, Neurotypical people are getting their fill of disability inspiration porn and the disability community is just plain getting their fill. We're fed up. And I, myself, am discontented on a very personal level.

A disability pours into every area of ones life. Much like the personality, and much like the temperament, passions, voice, and smile, a disability is part of our makeup as human beings. When I speak of my own "disability" I am referring to the disorders that exist alongside my "mild Autism" or "Asperger's" and indeed sometimes the Autism itself. This is the disability that matters. I'm also nearsighted, but that disability has, for the most part, been tended to via contacts and glasses. That is a disability I share with quite a number of others and it's a disability considered mild enough for me to be treated still as human and not as a disposable burden despite the fact that without an aid, I will walk into walks and cannot drive. Autism with a side of ADHD, panic disorder, a sleep disorder, and discalculia (math disorder)are very deeply embedded in my life and mind and behavior. Do let me tell you how.

I wake up at four in the morning, sleep, anxious but ready to write. I spend a few hours in my head, writing, drinking coffee, jumping from task to task without hesitation but with intentions that are never quite fulfilled on time unless I set timers to remind me to go back to task one. I have things to do - I need to work on this book, that book, that research, this chore, prepare for a phone-call, make my daughter breakfast. I do one thing. Another timer for task two. A note on the whiteboard about task three. I reply to messages and texts I fell asleep on the night before, and flip my phone over so I cannot see the response until I am prepared because I need to control my social interaction. The same album plays through my headphones over and over and I find I'm not in my chair anymore. This is the kitchen, and I'm twirling, and I'm swaying. My gaze meets itself in the dark window, because the sun hasn't taken to the sky yet. Now I'm baltering about the living room. Life in my apartment is forever an adventure.

The sun is up and my time reminds me to do a few workouts. Feed and change my daughter. Because I do not have a direct employer, I don't have insurance, and I recently moved to New York and am in the middle of getting medicaid again. As a disabled person, legally, I qualify, but the process for both myself and my child takes time. After giving myself a pep-talk, I call medicaid. I give them my name, and my social, which I only remember because I rap the numbers.
 They ask for my zip code. I ask out loud, "what is my zip code? Give me a minute." 
I try to remember or find a piece of mail with the zip code on it. Reading numbers is hard. Repeating them back from memory after moving a dozen times in the last few years is nearly labor.
The person on the phone loudly tells me I have to already know it and hangs up on me as my ex condescendingly writes my zip code largely and sloppily while smirking after trying to rip the phone from my hand. I feel a meltdown coming on. Breathe. He doesn't matter. He's worthless. This is why we're divorced. Go to hell. Go to hell. 
I call back and speak to a better human and straighten out the issue. I need more documents. I will have to pay out of pocket for nearly $300 of medication again.

My mode is switched to offense. Life my head is forever an adventure, as it would be for an alien abandoned on this planet. My daughter is speaking in broken words and I love her and I change clothes into something softer, because I am exhausted, and she is loud while the cats smell bad and I am so alone.



This is all over by ten in the morning.

J.Endsley