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“And how does Pain Threshold feel about this?”
You shrug. Even though you told your therapist all your skill’s names, it’s still a little odd when she calls them by your titles for them. It both catches you and them off guard. You imagine it’s akin to being young and having your mother call you by your full name. Not like you remember that, Harry.
It’s something that she calls ‘Parts Therapy’ and it’s been working wonders for you. It’s much easier to tell her how you feel without having you say it by answering that ‘Harry’ feels this way. Instead, you talk about the fights between Volition and Electrochemistry, about Empathy and Esprit De Corps, and all the other weirdos that bounce around between your ears. You as the bumbling ringmaster of this fucked up little circus.
Listening in on Pain Threshold, you gather up both their and your thoughts, and then tell Dr. Otte, “Well, they’re saying that I still don’t need this, therapy I mean. That it’s stupid and um..” Pawing at your mutton chops, you trail off. It’s not for a bad reason, at least, it isn’t in your crowded mind.
You maybe, perhaps, don’t want to say this in front of your therapist. This will open a whole can of worms that somehow always seems to happen at the end of a session. Because over the year of seeing her, you’ve slowly gone from going to this run-down office three times a week, down to two, and now you officially are seeing her on your one day off every week for two hours.
Gottlieb had at first brought you to the 47th’s own in-house therapist. He was nice enough, barely got paid for the grueling task he did of sitting with you almost every waking moment you weren’t actively working. But over time the arrangement wasn’t working for either of you. He was still going to school after all, and he definitely didn’t have the fortitude yet to deal with a patient of your caliber. So after shopping around for therapists with Kim’s help, you found Dr. Otte, a Mesque woman around your age, he explained your situation to her, and then you two got to work.
She quirks a brow, not in the way Kim does. He does it to command authority from you, though these days it’s used more jokingly than not. To you though, it will always carry that connotation it did on the first morning of meeting him. It still makes a ruddy flush cover your face.
When she does it, she’s telling you without words that she wants to hear more of your thoughts. With a sigh, you tell her, “I mean, they think that I still don’t belong in therapy because men uh…don’t go? Even though I know that’s not true! As a feminist myself, I deeply care about men sharing their feelings in a safe space!” As you start to go on one of many tirades about your deep feminist beliefs, a classic fallback of yours, time runs out for the session. You and Dr. Otte schedule for next week. She reminds you to call anytime, and as you leave, she then puts a hand on your shoulder, “You know Harry, you really are doing great. You’re a good man. I hope you know that.”
It makes a warmth spread in your gut. Dr. Otte has seen you in many states over the past year. From drunkenly walking into her office six months ago, your last relapse; all the way to calling the landline at her apartment at one in the morning to avoid all the demons. Demons in this scenario being the liquor store a five-minute walk from your apartment. You hadn’t wanted to wake Kim.
It had been a long day at work, and Jean had been in an especially bitter mood. He’d yelled at you for spilling coffee on his desk and that somehow evolved into him revealing that day had been the one in which Dora had left you. He remembered it in its entirety. Your wailing, your mournful screams over the phone.
You knew Kim didn’t particularly like the way Jean treated you, and that morning was one of the most awful in memory. Jean made you cry in the office, and not even the big, snot-dripping-from your-nose-kinda-funny-kinda-sad way of crying that has become your M.O.
No. It had been small, quiet bitter tears. After he finished his rant, you had simply gone back to your desk, sat down, and gently cried while you started to work.
Kim had been in a meeting with Judit and hadn’t been witness to the whole thing. He only saw your face, red with tears, and Jean sitting in the corner, now looking more sorry than anything, and with composed anger had said, “Vicquemare, a word outside.”
Judit had sat next to you as Jean owlishly nodded and followed Kim out to the roof. She’d turned to you, hiding shock. Kim had officially been at the 47th for ten months, and out of all of them was by far the most professional and took his job deadly serious. He was the unappreciated all-star of the 51st, and he was the deeply admired Super Cop of the 47th.
“Harry, he didn’t call him Sergeant Vicquemare or even Mister. Lieutenant Kitsuriagi must be really mad at Jean.”
That had stood out to you too. Esprit De Corps had shown you bits and pieces of their conversation. Jean, at least five inches taller than Kim, wider too, stood hunched over like a beaten dog. Kim wasn’t saying anything out of line, it was simply that he carried an aura about him. In your words, a ‘vibe’.
You knew Jean thought Kim was cool as fuck, just like you did, but he’d rather drown than ever admit it out loud. Kim was telling Jean not to upset you anymore, that it had been months, that you were much better.
“Sergeant, if this happens again, I will have to report this. Physical as well as emotional abuse of a fellow officer is intolerable. The Harrier you knew before is gone, try to make it better with this one.” He finishes the conversation by telling Jean with a little emotion, “He tells me he cares deeply about you, he wants to be close again.”
You blink out of the memory as you step out of Dr. Otte’s office.
As you walk out, you see the few paintings that hang proudly on the wall. Art from other patients; your therapist specializes in Trauma-and-Stressor Disorders and within that, she spends lots of time doing art therapy.
It’s not really your style though. Even though you consider yourself an Art Cop, and have explained to her the mural you painted, you don’t want to flex your artistic abilities in front of her. Because most likely, she would be much, much better than you.
You’re excited as you walk out onto the street and see Kim’s Coupris Kineema waiting for you in front of the townhouse-turned therapist’s office. His old precinct realized the carriage had been so modified, that no one else but him could use it. It now lives with him.
KIM’S COUPRIS KINEEMA- A part of me will never forgive you for the slaying of my kin. But, father is delighted to see you.
Said ‘father’ of the Kineema is standing out on the pavement, waiting for you to come and talk. He’s giving you a look that you know to be a small smile. You spent six days out of the week together. You have for a little under a year now, and after the case in Martinaise, you asked him to join the 47th. He did without a moment’s hesitation. The week you two spent in that town is still whispered about as semi-legendary in both of your precincts.
You have known him for as long as you have known yourself now. He will always be a part of you, he is your heart and soul, the beginning and the end.
You bound towards him like a big old dog, “Kim!” You wrap him up in a big hug, the kind where you gently rock your body back and forth. He allows it only barely. This has become a tradition now, every week after therapy, Kim will pick you up in his motor carriage and you’ll go back to your apartment and play Suzerainty.
It started because you both agreed that being left to your own devices right after the very emotional picking of your psyche probably wasn’t the best. On some of the harder appointments, he’d drive you back to your place and quietly sit with you. He never asks what you talked about, not because of a lack of care, he simply doesn’t want to pry. You always at least try to regale a little of the sessions to him in the Kineema, but there are sometimes you just lean your head on the window and try not to look in his direction.
This is not one of those times though, this was a very uplifting meeting. Over the past three weeks, you’ve finally started to say Dora’s name instead of strictly referring to her as Her. This was kind of odd at first, considering that Dr. Otte also shared the same first name, it caused many mix-ups when first trying to explain that to Jean.
You realized that calling Dora by her name takes away some of that fear. You also found that in your nightmares, she no longer comes to you in the figure of Her Innocence, instead, she is once again mortal. She is once again Dora Ingerlund. Your distant ex-something.
When you see her, it’s not that she is belittling you, or telling you all your flaws, you both just look at each other, sometimes she will smile, sometimes she won’t. Sometimes you two will just sit together. The smell of apricots does not haunt you the way it did once. Neither of your lungs glow, and that is a-okay by you.
You finally let go of Kim, the hug was starting to go on a bit too long for his tastes. It’s the middle of the street in the late afternoon, people are walking by. He’s very private and he doesn’t exactly enjoy showing affection in public the way you do. What is a little hug between two masculine members of the homo-sexual underground anyway?
Okay, Harry ease up. We get it.
“Are you ready for me to kick your ass at Suzeranity Kim?” You wiggle happily on the passenger side of the carriage. At this point, the cushion of the seat has formed to the curve of your ass, it hugs your backside like an old friend.
BUTTCHEEK SUNKEN CUSHION- Harrier, no one will ever be able to fill this space again. Even years from now, people will sit in this seat, and their buns will lack the size and strength to combat where yours have been. Sail on, soldier. May they stay firm, the way father likes.
You flush at the last part, but what does Buttcheek Sunken Cushion know? BSC is only a seat, and you and Kim are only really good friends, and also the best damn detective partners Revachol has or will ever see. Even though, when you say that in the office, something will flicker in Jean’s sad eyes, if only for a moment.
Kim lets out a tiny chuckle, he cannot hear his cushion, he would most likely scoff and perhaps, his ears would light up at their salacious words. Instead, he is laughing at your insistence you will finally best him after over forty games worth of Suzerainty.
“You say that every time, detective, and then I always win.” He starts up the Kineema and you two are off. As he drives, you tell him about the session, he nods, and gives an appreciative hum after certain parts. You have urged Kim to go and see someone too. He also has Trauma-and-Stressor Disorder but he brushes it off. He has told you that every once in a blue moon, he would speak to the old woman who worked at the 57th but it never got him anywhere.
Some of his you think are more complex. Inland Empire whispers to you that his issues have more to do with Seolite diaspora, the racism he experiences, and homophobia. Those are not things that have to do with Kim’s internal, mental world. They are the results of the external society of Revachol and for that matter, the rest of the Elysium. No pills can fix a problem that big.
You turn on the radio, Speedfreaks FM is on. It’s playing some song that has lyrics you can barely make out. Something about illegal sexualities that makes Kim drive just a little faster. He likes this one, you’ve heard it once or twice before. It apparently is a part of a bigger subgenre called homo-sexualcore. It’s a bit of a mouthful, and you hope against hope that Electrochemistry doesn’t say anything dirty about that.
Ah. They already have.
You like homo-sexualcore, it’s cool; badass even. After your eight hours deep in thought about the homo-sexual underground after meeting Smoker on the Balcony; and certainly, after the events of that fateful week in Martinaise, you had a lot of free time. Free time before met drinking until you threw up and taking enough Pryholidon to knock out an Elephant.
After Martinaise, it met sitting around, trying to get sober and finding something to do in between getting clean and going to work. Captain Pryce had given you two weeks off, both for healing the two gunshots you received and for getting your life back in order. Fourteen days to fix a broken man. Kim had quietly let you stay at his apartment for the first four days, you slept on his couch. In all honesty, for those four days you lived on that couch.
Your leg still ached, but more than that, your body screamed for the good stuff. You think you drank more water in those four days than you ever had in your previous life. Those days were spent going between sweating and shivering to throwing up and begging Kim to go you alcohol when he came back from work. You also cried, a lot.
Sleep was something that did not come to you as you wished it would. Now that you weren’t running around all day. And with the drugs and Commodore Red had finally beginning the mass exodus from your weary body, you weren’t particularly tired any of those nights.
Kim, though not going through anything as severe as withdrawals and healing from gunshot wounds, still had the aftermaths of a concussion and a very grueling process of transferring precincts on his plate. On those four nights, he’d stay up with you and talk about nothing. Though, it was more you talking, and him occasionally adding something or bouncing off of you to continue the conversation.
During his workday, you found yourself getting bored of your howling mind and needed to move. You don’t want to say you started going through his things. It was more you looked at his wardrobe, fiddled in his shelves, and skimmed some of his books. Which to a normal person, in fact, is the definition of going through their things.
There were places that you of course didn’t search in, his bedroom being the main place, but every place else was yours. Classic working class thinking, it’s sharing instead of hoarding all that space. You were doing communist action.
You don’t think you liked books in your other life. That Harry might have thought reading was for pansies; a girly activity for binos and fags. You though? You pawed at Kim’s bookshelf, you tried to get into his heady sci-fi novels and you gave up after you didn’t understand half of the words on the first page. Most of the sci-fi ones were like that.
It was only when your eyes landed on one book in particular that you froze.
The History of Homo-sexuality in Revacholian Culture
It was a bit more tucked away than the other books on aerostatics and fixing Kineemas. Your big hands had slowly crept towards it like if you got too close, it would bite you like some venomous thing. You knew of Kim’s underground tendencies. He’d told you on the balcony of the Whirling-In-Rags but this was a physical manifestation of homo-sexuality, right here in the pulpy flesh.
It took a lot to go buy a book, and with the meager reál the RCM gave as a wage, being frugal was a must. All of that means that this book meant something enough to Kim that he had to have it, that he needed to know some secret history.
Over the next couple of hours, you read that book so fucking hard. You could have started a fire with how fast you were flipping those pages.
By the end, you had learned of homo-sexual culture from way before the revolution, all the way up to the 40s. A deeply enlightening read. So that night while a silence between thoughts occurred as you spoke to Kim. You told him, “I think I’m the first half homo-sexual in the world.”
It had been completely out of the blue. You had just finished a conversation about seagulls and you needed to tell him your new revelation. He’d been surprised, his lips pursing, trying to hide a smile until he couldn’t anymore, and he let out a melodious laugh.
It only took a moment for him to stop, adjusting his glasses and saying, “I’m sorry Harry, I..just wasn’t expecting that.” He pauses, thinking, “To be honest, I was but just not in this way. And I’m sorry to break it to you, but you aren’t the first ‘half homo-sexual’. If you remember, Ms. Amandou was one too.” He puts finger quotes around the word half homosexual.
He continued, “Some have called it deux-amours in the past, but in the modern underground, it’s just bi-sexual.” Kim’s book had made mention of that term briefly. Though you hadn’t fully understood what it meant.
After the four days spent thinking about your newfound identity as a bi-sexual man, Jean dropped by, telling you that you should clean up your apartment and stop leeching off the Lieutenant. You had taken it to heart and anyway even though you really, *really* liked living with Kim, you did eventually have to leave the nest. That night when he had come home, you had told him that you’d be going back to your own place. You knew that even he was a little sad at the realization you couldn’t stay forever, but that was Esprit de Corp’s doing.
That next morning, you packed up your meager belongings (all the clothes you got in Martinaise and a spare toothbrush from Kim) and waited until Kim got off of work again to help you drive there. When Jean had come to the apartment, he had given you a piece of paper with an address on it, and a key you’d given him as a spare a lifetime ago. It had been your own place of residence, not Hers and yours, just yours.
Kim got off early that day, seemingly having finished the rest of his paperwork at the 57th, and drove you to the place listed on the scrap. You’d told him it was probably going to be something awful, someplace horrible that would probably make Kim hate him. He’d told you that there was nothing to be worried about on that front. You’d felt your lungs take in just a little bit more breath after that.
You lived on the fourth floor at the end of a long hall. Half the bulbs in the long stretch didn’t work. It had caused you to think of long forgotten excursions to the cinema as a youth.
The memory came to you like an old reel of film, you were on a date, not with your ex-something, another girl. In this reverie, you’re at the start of your career as a gym teacher, early twenties. You don’t know how you know this, but you do. She’s sitting next to you, she has short hair cropped just a little under the ear, there’s piercings in her face and she owns them. Her eyeliner is so sharp it could kill a man. You thought she was the coolest, most disco-ass person you had ever met.
You’re watching a horror film, you’re more scared than she is, you don’t show it to keep up some macho wall you’d built around yourself. She later told you she had no interest in you as a romantic partner, but you had charm as a friend. You think that if you devoted a whole Thought to this, you’d find something out about yourself. Something important.
Why are you remembering this now of all times?
You can’t really place it, all twenty-four of your voices try to find a reason and it results in red appearing at the corner of your vision.
“Are you okay, detective?” Kim puts a hand on your shoulder.
You give an unconvincing thumbs up, “Yep! Just had a weird memory. Nothing too different from the yoozh.” Tapping a finger on the side of your temple before you turn the key. There’s a click and you keep the door closed, taking in a deep breath.
You give him a bit of a head’s up. “Okay so uh, before we go in, I already have a feeling shit is gonna be really bad. Just a warning. And also, keep your gloves on because I think everything in this apartment has some kind of gross shit on it.” The key is still firmly in your grasp, you’re holding onto it like it’s going to jump out of your hand.
You cough, “Let’s just say, if you were going to shine a blacklight over everything in there, the room would be bright white. You know what I’m saying?”
Kim’s lips curl downwards, he doesn’t say anything.
“It’s a semen thing.” You don’t know if he got what you were putting down or not.
A small repulsed look wears on his face, “I got that. Let’s go in.”
For the next seven to eight hours, you and Kim cleared the sad apartment of all the alcohol bottles, drugs, and jizz-encrusted items from every nook and cranny of the place. For such a small place, you packed it full of so much shit.
Kim took it upon himself to clean the floor of your living room, luckily, the stench was somewhat manageable. It seems that the window you had opened before your rebirth in the corner of the room saved him from a muggy hellscape. You on the other hand had the unfortunate task of cleaning your bedroom.
Opening that door, you were hit with a putrid stench. It was like a body had rotted in there, but instead of blood and sinew, it was piss and trash. The window next to your bed was closed, the first thing you did was slough through the unseen ground covered in a sea of garbage to let in some fresh air and light. Kim had brought his radio to listen to music as you both worked, some quiet slow rock songs from another time.
You filled all of the trash bags you have and then some. Kim had run down to the Fritte to get more as you collected piles of broken beer bottles with rubber gloves and an old broom with broken bristles. Sometimes, you’d find something wrapped in tin foil, and you knew what it was.
Electrochemistry banged on the side of your skull screaming for you to take it. Only once did you feel yourself gravitating towards it, fingers shaking. Then you thought of Kim’s reaction, how disappointed he’d be that he only left for fifteen minutes and in that time you destroyed all your progress. That was the last time you were truly tempted by anything of the powder or pill variety.
Kim had come back soon after your almost tryst with speed, he’d cocked his head slightly at how happy you were when he walked in. The sun was halfway through setting when everything had officially been taken out to the dump in the back. You both scrubbed the walls and floor a little more. Kim had bought an air freshener from Fritte, something sweet and lavender scented. Then proceeded to spray many of the surfaces in the rooms. It was still wasn’t perfect, the smell of booze and piss still lingered, but with all the windows open and a slight breeze coming and going. It would hopefully be better by tomorrow.
The only place you hadn’t cleaned had been a tall, narrow cabinet next to your closet in your bedroom. You’d gone for the handle, about to open it up, but all twenty-four of your furies had told you in varying degrees, that you shouldn’t. You’d physically recoiled, jumping back from the onslaught of voices telling you no.
YOU- Why shouldn’t I clean out this wardrobe?
HALF LIGHT [Challenging: Failure] - You will die! Someone else will come from you that you cannot stop! What if it’s something awful? What if it’s the dead body of someone you killed!
DRAMA [Medium: Success] - Sire, this may be something that you do not want to face yet. There are revelations abound! It very well could also be a shrine to your beloved with all Her teeth in a jar.
VOLITION [Medium: Success]- It is nothing awful, you are not a murderer, but we sense something from behind this door. Stay put.
SHIVERS [Easy: Success]- SOMEDAY YOU WILL OPEN THIS WARDROBE, I WILL WAIT UNTIL THEN. BE WELL. I WILL CONTINUE TO LOVE YOU NO MATTER WHAT.
Well then. If they are telling you to wait, then you will wait.
Kim is on your balcony, a truly tiny thing, he’s waiting for you to come out with him to have his one a day. You do, he passes the cigarette to you, and you take a tiny puff and you definitely don’t try to taste him on it. No, not at all.
While you hold the cigarette, he goes inside quickly to retrieve something. You’re a little anxious, did you leave something awful out while he was cleaning. Did he find the bones of someone you murdered? Something tells you that even if he did you two are so bound together that he might just have shrugged and put them in the trash instead.
What he comes back out with is a book in a gloved hand, “I saw that you read this. When I was first discovering my place within the underground, realizing there were always people like me helped. I’ve gotten everything I could out of this book, and now it’s yours.”
It’s the book on homo-sexuality you read at his apartment. He hands you the book, and you hold it in your palms like a baby bird that had fallen from the nest.
Your hands tremble as you press it against your chest, and your voice warbles as you say, “Thank you Kim, thank you. You’re a really good friend, this means so much.” He didn’t know it would have that much of an effect on you, but it does. This is more than a book, this is being seen, this is the act of being known and understood.
He finishes his cigarette. “You’re welcome Harry.” He pats your back, “If you need to reach me, I left my number on the table, there’s also some groceries from the Fritte too.” You want to pick him up and spin him around. He’s literally the most perfect person alive, and you somehow by the will of the Innocences have hexed him into being your friend.
It’s dark when he finally goes. That night, you eat a pb&j sandwich, cry, think about drinking, and proceed to stare at the wardrobe in your bedroom. Not in that order.
What could possibly be in there that worries your mind so much? Is it connected to the thought you had as you opened the door, the one with the cool girl? Something about her still makes something swirl in your chest, though it’s not the way Klaasje or the Smoker made you feel. Or even Kim. This one has more layers. It’s gonna take you a while to think through this one.
Thought Gained: The Deeper Underground
Problem: What’s going on with your aversion to the wardrobe? Is it a fear of something you don’t quite understand yet? Or is it that once you know, you can never come back? Is there a connection to your pre-ex-something life? Something about your masculinity and the homo-sexual underground? Morphing and changing, the idea of fluidity. These are wonders that you can only dream of. I’m sorry to break it to you Harry-boy, but this one might be a bit of a doozy. You’ll become a new person by the end.
Research Time: ~8760 hrs
…
YOU- 8760 HOURS?
ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Easy: Failure] - HUH?
VOLITION [Easy: Failure] - What?
LOGIC [Easy: Failure] - Look, I’m just confused as you guys.
INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Failure] - That’s…
ENCYCLOPEDIA [Easy: Success] - About a whole year, give or take.
Holy shit. The longest thought you’d had before this was twenty hours of thinking about becoming sober. This is an entirely different beast, something wild and untameable. Are you really going to spend a year thinking about what’s in the wardrobe? Or is it more of a metaphorical wardrobe? You get the feeling that even if you walked over there right now and opened it, the time wouldn’t go away.
Maybe, the time is about getting to a point to understand what is in the wardrobe, and its symbolic meaning. It’s not that you are going to think about it super hard for a year, it’s just going to ferment in your mind for a while like the thought of becoming sober. Still, now you’re going to think about this at least once a day into the foreseeable future.
Imagine that, a whole year, 365 days from maybe not this exact day, but somewhere around it. You can’t even begin to think of yourself in that amount of time, you’ve barely been a person for a week and then some. By then, you’ll be working again, hopefully fully sober, and this shitty apartment will be a place you and Kim can hang out after work.
You can only dream.
…
“Harry? Harry are you okay? You’ve been quiet for a while now. I can get you a juice box from your fridge if you need it.”
It’s Kim, you’re on the couch in your apartment. Lil’ Harry is meowing in your ear, making her presence known by purring in your lap. Blinking, you turn to Kim, confused, “Oh shit, sorry Kim. I’m working on stopping when that happens, I know it freaks you out.” Dr. Otte told you that they are called ‘dissociation episodes’, you have them semi-frequently. This one was one of the most severe in a while.
Kim scoffs softly, “It doesn’t…freak me out, detective. I just get worried.” Lil’ Harry goes on her back legs to headbutt under your chin. You laugh a little at the action, “I promise I’m disco now. I’m up and at ‘em! Ready to destroy you in Suzernaity.”
He laughs a small bit, then gets everything ready. For whatever reason, he likes to set up the board. You think that it’s so he can cheat but then, why do you still lose when you do it? You continue to sit on the couch, taking off your shows to hang out in your socks. You kick your feet up and down in barely concealed excitement. You admit this game with Kim has become the highlight of your week; it’s become his too.
Lil’ Harry plops down from your lap and goes over to her bowl near the window, meowing mournfully. “Okay, okay you little baby. Lemme get you some more food.” There’s a small package of cat food in the kitchen, on more than one occasion, you have accidentally eaten it. There are even more occasions when you have intentionally had some too.
Lil’ Harry is a six-month-old tabby cat that you found trying to get cold cuts from the butcher when she was just a baby. You’d been delighted, after months of waiting, you’d found a fabled ‘bodega cat’, something that Trant had told you about. You asked the butcher about the kitten and she sighed, telling you the poor little thing lost his mom and his siblings, and that she had been feeding him for the past week.
Your heart had been broken completely in two. It had been the beginning of winter and you knew this little one would perish without an actual home. So you scooped him up and took him back to your apartment. You went to a local pet store and bought the basics.
In Revachol, pets are more seen as a luxury than anything else. Owning one means you can support yourself, and you have enough for another whole creature. You found out that not spending all of your paychecks on liquor and drugs met you had just the right amount to adopt and provide for the little critter.
You still didn’t have a name for him. You just called him Baby for the time being. You had work that next day, and when the morning came, you were too afraid to leave him alone, so you took him into work with you. Everyone had gravitated towards you that day, you stayed back and finished paperwork as he explored the office. What you had learned in the twelve hours of having him is that he:
Number One: Loves People! A very affectionate little guy.
Number Two: Loves Violence! He likes to bite your fingers.
Number Three: Exceptionally Stupid! You watched him run into at least seven walls.
Jean had been the one to name him. Joking, “He’s like you if you were stuck in the body of a fucked up cat.” Lil’ Harry had been his moniker ever since. It was only two months ago when Kim told you that Lil’ Harry should be neutered and given his shots that you realized something about him.
You had asked the vet if you could have his balls as a keepsake. She had been very confused for multiple reasons but the one that shocked you the most was hearing her say, “Well Mr. Du Bois, we wouldn’t do that even if Lil’ was a male. The main reason being that Lil’ Harry is a female cat. She’s getting spayed so she can’t get pregnant.”
Surprise had run through you, Lil’ Harry had been a girl? In all honesty, you should’ve known, you guess you just never thought too long about it.
“Are you going to re-name her?” Kim had asked the next day at work.
You shook your head side to side, “Nope! Lil’ Harry is a unisex name, and anyway, it’s feminist praxis not to change her name. We’re living in a new world Kim, get with the program.” You’d added a quick wink and a smile there at the end.
He sighed, chuckling with exacerbation, “Lilienne should’ve never introduced you to actual feminist theory.”
Lil’ Harry bats at your face as you find yourself sitting on the carpet with Kim, he’s put all the pieces out. It’s time for you to make your first move.
The game goes as usual, over time, you’ve grown to somewhat understand Kim’s playstyle. Though even after all these games, hours and hours of learning what he likes to do, you just can’t seem to beat him. You never feel bad afterward, even as you keep losing. In a romantic sense, you’re winning by spending this time with him. You ask him questions about silly things, like if he’d still be your partner if you were a worm. He replies by saying that as long as you could still conduct police work, he’d allow it.
As you continue, you think of other things you two have done in the past couple of months. Three weeks ago, Kim had taken you to a homo-sexual bar on Boogie Street. It hadn’t been the first time. No, the first time was more like eleven months back. You’d been so nervous, asking him over and over again if people would even like you.
He had revealed to you in that moment that there was a whole subculture of the homo-sexual community dedicated to men like you. Bear he’d said, and more specifically for you, an offshoot of that. Being a Suresne word, “Ours en peluche.”, meaning teddy bear.
With flushed ears, he’d explained that there was a specific type of men in the underground who were like you, big and soft, with more facial hair than the usual, and generally hairier. But inside of that, there was Ours en peluche, basically the same as the first, but for a more ‘submissive’ man. You fit that to a tee with your puppy dog eyes and kind heart. You are a plush doll of a man just shuffling around Revachol.
When you did go to the bar, you and Kim had gotten a booth, and both ordered virgin drinks that you’re pretty sure were so sweet you could feel the cavities forming and quietly admired some of the guys together. You could tell Kim had never had this kind of camaraderie before, being able to go with a friend, a partner, to a bar like this and just talk and people watch. Genuinely, you liked everyone, everyone was pretty and handsome and especially Kim.
You only had a crush on him in the beginning, but over time it has grown and morphed into something so much more than that little word. You don’t know if he knows, you’ve tried your best to be subtle, though that’s never been one of your strong suits.
Now, you’re making your next move, trying to make affordable housing for everyone in your civilization. He doesn’t understand why you do it, but it impresses him that you care so much for these fake people in this silly game. He is instead trying to amass more apricots and build sustainable trade routes.
Behind him is your growing collection of books you have bought over the months. You’ve found that now that you’re sober, that there are so many hours in a day that you don’t remember being there before.
Finding good hobbies had been a first on your list of getting your shit together. You went threw a few, bird-watching, photography, and making homemade soaps before you landed on the ones you have now. You love to read and cook and garden, and it’s good because all of those are interconnected. You’ve bought books on gardening, watched small buds turn into hardy plants like thyme and basil, and then been able to add them to recipes. It’s awesome. It’s incredibly fulfilling stuff and Kim’s happy about it too. You’ve found out over time cooking is not one of his strong suits.
You don’t only read about plants though, you have a plethora of different likes. The one most pertinent right now is your growing collection of books you have gotten from the homo-sexual bookstore that you found on a whim. As you walked in, you already could sense it was different from Plaisances. The young woman working at the small counter had smiled and then had gone back to a fashion magazine she’d been reading. It was much, much smaller than Crime, Romance, and Biographies of Famous People but it had more books stuffed into every packed shelf than the other.
That day, you’d spent at least three of your last paychecks at that damn place. It would be broth and kebabs for each of your foreseeable meals. You’d gotten a frankly starling amount of homo-sexual erotica, many books portraying the ‘masculine form’ in pictures, and a few more history books on the underground’s past. Your bookshelf was about ten percent gardening and recipe books, and ninety percent homo-sexual literature. That’s not even counting all the books you’ve read at the library on the topic. You’re basically a professor on homo-sexual studies at this point; a real thing you found out one could be!
One thing still nags at you though.
it’s something you’ve wanted to bring up to Kim for a while now. Therapy today reminded you, everything that Pain Threshold was saying. You don’t think it has to do with sexuality, but it might be a symptom of it, you really don’t know. None of the many books you’ve read have said anything about it, so maybe it is just so normal no one has to bring it up because it would be redundant.
It might be like reading a book on being a doctor and it saying that you should keep your patients alive; it’s just a given. Maybe this is just part of the human experience that you forgot. You don’t trust anyone else enough to ask them just in case, so Kim is perfect. He watched as you fumbled around asking what money was to Garte. This will be a walk in the park.
“Hey Kim?”
He looks up from the game, “Yes, Harry?”
“Does…” You pause. “Does every man feel like a girl sometimes?”
“What?”
“Y’know like, you wish that you were a girl every once in a while or that you were a supra-natural shapeshifter so that some days you could be one, and some days not? Everyone feels like that right?”
Kim is looking straight at you, his face unmoving. He’s not angry by any means, he’s just confused, “...No Harry. To my knowledge, most men don’t want to be women sometimes.”
Now you’re a little worried, this was supposed to be a simple question like when you asked him if people lay eggs like birds. You wanted to know if you were an egg at some point, now though your mind is far from that place.
The game has stopped in its tracks, Kim’s apricot trade no longer brings the fruits to his kingdom. “Oh.” You play with one of the pieces, “I didn’t know.”
You really didn’t. You had no clue that this wasn’t a universal experience. There’s so much more to it too; when you're with Kim on the job and see women on Boogie Street with their makeup and clothes and carefree attitudes. When they wink at you and you don’t know if you want to be with them or be them.
That once when you were in Revachol East interviewing a suspect working in a women’s boutique, how you marveled at all the fine silk and lace adorning the walls. How you thought yourself to be too big and oafish for any of it to ever be yours. The moments in which you are in the precinct with Chester and Torson, the ways they talk, how they joke with one another. Some brotherly language, of both body and words you can’t comprehend. You just thought that being part of the homo-sexual underground had been the only thing that made you different in that regard. Now, you’re finding that even within the members of said underground, what you are is something entirely new.
“What do I do now Kim?” Don’t betray the actual panic you’re feeling right now. Lil’ Harry rubs her head against your knees, you reach out to pet her, and she purrs into the touch. She’s a calming force in your life.
Kim furrows his brow, he’s thinking about how to help you because he has no idea what this means. “How long have you felt like this?”
You want to say maybe forever. Both you and he know you’re one repressed-ass motherfucker if the Smoker is anything to go by. You buried your attraction to men in your past life with built-up walls of toxic macho posturing, but maybe that wasn’t the only thing you were trying to hide with all that flexing and overcompensating.
“I think that this is like being bi-sexual. I just spent so long keeping how I felt down before all of this, now that I’ve been a new person for a while, I don’t know. I just..it’s been on my mind.” You tap your socked feet slowly and rhythmically against the carpet. They make a dull thump noise that is most likely annoying your neighbors.
Kim looks at you, humming when he understands what you’re saying, “In that case, maybe…explore your options? Find things that make you feel good about yourself. I’m sorry I can’t give more help than this Harry. Just know I still want to work with you, and play Suzeranity on these days off.” He’s telling you that even with this ‘coming out’ just like the first time, there will be no difference in your private and working relationship. You love him for this.
You don’t even know if this is a ‘coming out’ or not. You know that you aren’t the first bi-sexual person, but maybe, you’re the first…bi-gender person. Both bi in your sexuality, and in your own self! There are so many options!
“Thanks, Kim. Yeah, I think I’m gonna try shit. Really go crazy! I’m gonna…” You trail off.
Just what are you going to do now? When you came out as bi-sexual in the office, it had been a complete accident. Chester and Torson had been shooting the shit, throwing around some stupid phrases, calling people in the office fags. They’d called you out in particular, citing your clothes and all-around ‘faggy’ vibe.
Torson had made a joke about you wanting to fuck him, and you shot back with a cool, “I only fuck attractive men, Torson. Just asking, is your dad still running that butcher shop near the Pox? Because, if memory serves right, Carson was hot as-”
He then proceeded to punch you in the gut. You had a sizable bruise on your stomach the next day, but neither of them ever said any shit like that again. Super worth it. You’re also pretty sure that Jean reprimanded them too, telling them they would be written up if they said it again.
After that, Chester had told everyone in the office, and no one was surprised.
This feels different from that. You’ve already met many people in the underground over the months, there are whole bars and bookstores dedicated to homo-sexuality and its contemporaries. You don’t think you’ve encountered anything of this type.
You confess, “I don’t really know what I’m gonna do now Kim. This feels more internal than external. This isn’t about who I want to kiss or have fuck with, this is just about me and how I feel about myself.”
Kim nods, smiling a bit at your mention of that blunder in front of Klaasjse. “I see. So this is about presentation and self-expression? Well, you’ve always been..eclectic in your tastes. Your snakeskin boots are technically heels and that awful robe you had can attest to that.” Oh yes! Your snakeskins! You love those shoes more than life itself, they make you just a little bit happier when you put them on in the morning. They add a pep in your step.
And with the dragon robe…well, you liked it, but at the same time, you understood that culturally, it wasn’t very disco. So with a heavy heart, you cut it up and made it into a blanket for Lil’ Harry to sleep on which she doesn’t even use because she cuddles in bed with you instead. There’s also the mesh top, but you’ve figured out that’s more of an underground garment. Other than that, most of your clothes are what others considered to be fashion crimes, but still masculine fashion crimes. Would you want that to change?
“So what you’re saying is that I should try new clothes and stuff? I guess that makes sense.” You glide your hand up to the side of your face and rub your mutton chops.
You’re about to do a big ask for Kim. You just want to try something out. It might be a bust, but it might not. You just have to try and ask. He’s already told you nothing is going to change and that he’s still your friend, he’s the safest to ask this of.
“Could um, could we try something Kim?”
He looks a tiny bit weary, then nods, “Sure Harry. As long as it doesn’t involve the dragon robe.” He knows the robe has been converted into a cat blanket, he’s just teasing.
“Could…could you like, call me a lady? Y’know um, pretend you’re talking about me to someone else and then say it? I know it’s weird, but I just want to-”
Kim reaches over and puts a hand on your leg, “Yes, that sounds fine with me.”
You were starting to talk too fast and your palms are covered in sweat. It’s like someone plunged a hot iron into your chest and then doused it in freezing water. It feels as if you ate a trash kebab again.
Kim gazes at you, crow’s feet at the ends of his dark eyes curling, “Okay. I’m with Harry right now, I was playing Suzernaity with her, and now she and I are talking.”
Oh. Yeah. That’s really nice, the good stuff. You feel a warmth from the tips of your fingers to the top of your head to the pads of your feet. It fits.
“Uh, can you do the other now?”
“Last week, Harry learned animals could be homo-sexual, he cried a lot at the thought of animal homophobia. I had to console him.”
You’re used to that one, but it still fits. You think you had such a strong reaction to the first because no ones ever called you those ones before.
You slowly nod your head, “I like both. It’s nice. Wow, this is, huh.” It’s information overload with the skills right now. They’re all scrambling around.
PAIN THRESHOLD [Challenging: Failure] - Harry, look, you’re already a fag, I’ve finally come around to that. Man-on-man action is great. But this? This is too much.
SUGGESTION [Medium: Success] - Kim would never say anything about this without your consent. Though, the thought of him going to work tomorrow and telling Jean, “She’s just running a little late.” in reference to you is completely world-bending.
COMPOSURE [Impossible: Failure] - Wow. I can’t even be regular about this. You go Harry, become the bi-gender phasmid you were always met to be. Scream from the rooftop that binaries are your bitch and that move you freely both within and completely out of them. You think you are a future that even liberals are afraid of.
All you can muster up is a very shakily said, “Thanks so much Kim.” You bridge the gap between you two, knocking over all the pieces on the game board, and hug him. Your head finds its way nestled under his head, and you try not to cry. When it’s just the two of you alone like this, he allows for this kind of intimacy, and even though he doesn’t fully comprehend what he just did for you, he’s glad you’ve found out more about yourself. He’s glad he could be a part of that process.
You hold onto him for a while longer and then slowly drawback. You think in moments like this, you wouldn’t have to move back if you two were in an actual relationship with each other, but after this, you don’t even know if he would be interested in you anymore. He’s only attracted to men, and you’ve just figured out you’re not entirely one. That might break whatever deal you two might’ve had.
Kim’s ears are the smallest amount of pink when he answers with, “No problem Harry. If you ever need help with any of this, I’m here. I might not be able to give you the same amount of advice as I have about being homo-sexual, though I have a feeling you’ll find your way.”
It’s only then you realize that the sun has gone down outside of your window, the stars are coming out to play. The night is young and you have work early in the morning tomorrow.
That means Kim has to go home. He notices at the same time as you. Tonight, neither of you wants to be alone. You want to spend more time with him and he with you. For god’s sake, you didn’t even finish the game you were playing; it’s pretty obvious considering everything that Kim was still going to win. You tally up one more win for Kim. 48-0.
He gives Lil’ Harry a small pet before getting up off the floor, he helps you up with a strong hand in yours. You met to make dinner for him tonight but the time got away from you.
You bid each other a soft good night. He tells you that you can call him whenever you want and that he’s there if you ever need someone to talk to about this. Once again, you thank him, and then he’s gone. Outside, you can hear the Kineema drive away, back to Kim’s apartment.
Now what do you do?
Eat probably. And after that? You have no motherfucking clue. Last night you made pasta and put leftovers in the fridge for today’s meal. As you eat it on the couch, you find it tastes a little better cold. You drink down a Fruit Punch Berry Blast™ juice box and then go into your bathroom to brush your teeth.
Once everything is done, you’re finally in bed under your covers. Everything hits you all at once.
YOU - What the fuck happened today?
SHIVERS [Medium: Success] - SOMETHING THAT WAS BOUND TO HAPPEN.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Failure] - Maybe we could just get a drink and think this whole thing over? Your old buddy Commodore Red doesn’t give a shit if you’re a guy or a girl, just as long as your boozing!
VOLITION [Trival: Success]- No. Back to all of this, truly, this is a big step! A whole new way of existence has opened up for you!
It really has. Once, you thought you only had one way of being, the rules you had to follow to a tee or else wrath would rain upon you. You never were never much one to follow the rules, where you now Harry? There are so many possibilities, new ways of expression, novel new ways to look at the world.
Though, there is a creeping feeling lingering in your stomach.
Are you really the only person who feels like this? At first, the thought had been kinda exciting, now that the hours have gone by though, that feeling is starting to wane. In all the books you’ve read, nothing of this sort was ever brought up. You would’ve remembered. And Kim has been a card-carrying member of the underground for more than twenty years and he’s never heard of such a thing. It might be that they go to different places, or that they blend in so well with everyone else that nobody knows.
Look at you for example. You’re a damn Ours en peluche, a textbook example of being more of the masculine persuasion than others in the community. No one would ever think you could be a woman. They would think that of someone like the Smoker, but only because he was a more feminine-looking man. That didn’t say anything about how he saw himself. There’s always more than meets the eye.
You have infinite time in the world to figure yourself out now. Even if you are the only person, you will be a light for others in the future.
…
The next day, you and Kim are given an assignment to go down to Martinaise, back to the church nightclub you helped create a year ago. Back to the place with the two-inch hole in the universe.
Apparently, there’d been multiple muggings in the area and seeing how you and Kim already knew the surroundings Pryce trusted you two to get to the bottom of it. In the Kineema, turned down the winding roads to the fishing village Kim glances at you.
“Did you sleep well, Detective?” He’s wondering if you’re okay after yesterday’s revelations. You give him a thumbs up.
“Yep! I’m finer than fine Kim. Ready to show off some of my moves again at the club after all this time.”
He reminds you that you aren’t going there to dance but you pay him no mind. When you roll up, you’re greeted by a familiar face.
“Hey copper-boy! It’s been a while!” It’s Noid. There were many wacky characters you encountered in your week during the Hanged Man case, and Noid was no different. Now though, you see him in a different light; with his unique appearance and aptitude towards woman’s attire, you find yourself slightly envious of him. There’s not a particular thing you envy but you can feel it.
It reminds you of the memory with the girl at the cinema. There was just something about her that you wanted, not in a sexual manner, more of an abstract yeaning. This time around, he’s also wearing a shiny kind of makeup over his eyelids, it’s golden and matches with his necklace and earrings. You walk into the nightclub with Noid, Kim is next to you with his notebook in hand.
This was the place you truly saw him cut loose for the first time. He danced those cool-ass steps and didn’t care if anyone was watching. You wish he’d do that more often.
Kim decides that the best course of action is to split up and talk to the locals. He leaves, probably expecting you to do the same. Instead, you turn to Noid. “I like your…whole thing you’ve got goin’ on. Very punk and disco at the same time. Like a paradox of genre.”
His thin lips twitch into a smile, “I don’t try to limit myself to ideas imposed onto me.” He leans in, “I have a feeling you don’t either.” Noid goes to the dance floor and starts to slide back and forth to the music playing. You decide to join him.
The outfit he’s wearing is different too, it’s a tattered black sweater and a purposefully torn-up ankle-length skirt. It spins as he dances; something in your chest squeezes.
Boldly, you point to the skirt and ask, “Where’d you get that?”
Noid waves his hands in front of you and replies, “I make everything I own, I don’t want to belong to anyone, copper.” Of course he does. He wouldn’t want to participate in any kind of exchange of goods and services if he didn’t have to.
The song changes and you two continue to boogie.
“Are you part of the homo-sexual underground, Noid?”
He raises a non-existent brow, “Maybe, maybe not. If you’re asking what I like to align myself more with, it would be the dissolvent of the gender economy both above and under our feet.”
Oh shit. This just got super fucking interesting.
As you’re about to ask what in the world that means, Kim comes back in, walking in on you busting a killer move. He fixes his glasses.
“Detective, how is your investigation going?” He’s being sarcastic, he knows you’ve just been partying in here since you two split up. You aren’t gathering information on this case, but you are collecting intel on your own case into the mystery of yourself.
You walk up to Kim like a dejected child, “I was just hangin’ out with Noid! He was telling me secrets about my private investigation.” Winking, you hope Kim gets the message. He does, and he purses his lips, “Work hours might not be the best time to do that Harry.” He’s kind of right. Curse Kim and his smart ideas; even though you really just want to run over to Noid right now and ask him what the hell he was talking about. You do have adult work responsibilities. Gross.
On Wednesday you find out who’s been doing the muggings; it was just a local wannabe gangster who was trying to show his worth to get into La Puta Madre. You have a feeling that won’t be happening anytime soon. He was an easy arrest, he did spit on your favorite new shirt, a paisley eyesore you found on the floor in a bar a few weeks back. Other than that, an easy case.
“Kim!” You gasp on the way back to the station with the kid in the back. Kim flinches slightly at your outburst. “We never named the case!”
He hums, “Khm, well I named the last one, I think it’s your turn now Detective.”
You put a balled fist under your chin in the classic thinker pose, “Okay, this one’s simple but it explains the whole thing.” With both your index fingers you start a little drumroll, once you crescendo you say, “The Nightclub Mugger.” You can tell by his face he likes it. His favorites are ones with intrigue that don’t lie, same with The Hanged Man case.
For the rest of the week, you’re just catching up on paperwork from past cases. Even though you’ve been working at it for months now, you still have a stack of paperwork from the before times that you have to do too. Cases you don’t even remember, witnesses you have no memory of ever talking to. It’s a little uncanny at times. You think differently of that Harrier now though, still not kindly by any means. That you was cruel and monstrous, terrible to Judit and Jean and you assume many, many more people.
You think of his quiet moments, him sulking in the apartment that you live in now. He still haunts you. You see him in the mirror, but less now. You no longer wear The Expression on your face, you haven’t in a long time. You wish you could tell him what you know now, though you know he wouldn’t listen to you. In fact, he’d probably hate you and the more you think about it, the more you think that’s a really good thing. Or maybe somewhere deep inside of him, he’d be envious of you the same way you’re envious of Noid and Mystery Woman From Past.
Speaking of them, once you get off of work tonight, you’re taking the public transport down to the fishing village. Tonight, you’re going to ask Noid just what the fuck the gender economy is and how you fit into it. When you’re finally done, you take the first bus down and end up getting there as the sun goes down.
There are a few people both inside and out. Egg head and Andre are outside talking about something or other, you butt in and ask where Noid is.
Egg head tells you he’s inside. When you go in, you see him on the steps, smoking a cigarette while everyone dances. He sees you first, he doesn’t wave, instead, he gives you a head nod and you go ambling over.
“Yo.” He’s wearing a black dress with all his regular jewelry, and black makeup on over his eyes and under them. It makes them look deep and sunken. And also like a rocker from the 30s. It’s fucking cool as shit.
You dive right in, “So, I’ve been thinking about the gender economy all week. I’m dying to know what that is.” The anodic dance music is so loud that you can barely hear yourself talking over the bass. Noid flashes uneven teeth at you, they fit him somehow. He’s looking at the clothes you have decided to wear: it’s your classic snakeskins, a pair of ass-hugging bell bottoms, a long pastel pink shirt with may bell embroidered on them, and small hoops earrings you got when you decided your ears pierced after three months of sobriety.
It would be good to add in the length of your hair too, it’s almost as long as Noid’s, reaching past your shoulders now and to your upper back. It’s fun to be able to swish it around and to put it up into ponytails and buns.
All of this is to say that Noid looks and your clothes, and then into your eyes, and something clicks, “I see.” He’s reading you for filth Harry. He knows!
“I think we’re more alike than you think, copper-boy.” You blink. Is he saying what you think he’s saying? Are you and Noid both….?
You didn’t realize you said the first part out loud until he chuckles, “Yeah man, all of us ravers are to some extent. But for me? I’m nothing, and everything. The gender economy is saying that like money, gender is just made-up bullshit. We all live in this false dichotomy where we’re told to pick one or the other. Breaking free of that is the most hardcore, transcendental thing you can do.”
Wow.
They turn back to watch the people dance, the cigarette hanging loosely in her hand. It feels like you’ve really understood for the first time what this all means. “This doesn’t feel revolutionary though, I’m just me. And I guess just *being me* means that sometimes I want to be a woman and wear nice things and see myself differently. I know a piece of fabric won’t change anything, but it means more to me than to someone else.”
They nod, “Yeah. Material symbols still hold power, and that’s fine if they do to you. If you find your own empowerment in them, that’s all you need.” Empowerment, what a thought.
You two talk for a little bit longer, he tells you about trans-genre, androgyne, and non-binaire meetups they have at one of their friend's places. He writes down an address and says the next meeting is in two weeks from tonight. You will go even if the world ends.
INLAND EMPIRE [Legendary: Success] - This will start years and years of going to these meet-ups. You’ll meet many interesting new friends there, they will be people both younger and older than you. Your new family. And even some familiar faces?
ESPRIT DE CORPS [Impossible: Success] - Yes. Jean Vicquemare already goes to these meetings, he has for a while now. A friend from outside of work convinced him to go. They are the kind tailor who made him his first suit when he was a younger man coming into his own. In two weeks when you go, he’ll be drinking a beer and choke on it so bad it will come out of his nose when he sees you dressed up.
“Holy fuck.” You say to no one. Your voices can out people? Yikes. But also at the same time, Woah!! Jean is also part of this deeper underground, that’s so cool! Maybe being able to bond over this will be the start of a new kind of bröderbund. This time, more like a sïblingbund if you take into account yourself.
The bus ride back to the neighborhood near your apartment is quiet. You look out the window to see all the people walking the streets or sitting in their homes. Some of them are laughing, some are dancing and you can feel all of it. Birds nest in their trees, and the oak beings themselves sing. Tonight, you are La Revacholière. She’s you, and you, her.
When you get home, you call Kim. It’s not too late, you know he stays up a little later when he doesn’t have work the next day. You tell him everything you’ve found out, what Noid taught to you, the meetings. You don’t bring up the Jean thing, it’s not yours to tell.
You cried into the phone, tears clouding your vision and making your voice murky, “It’s not just me Kim, it’s not just me.”
Even though it was harder to tell over the phone, you could hear the pride in his tone, “Like I said Harry, I knew you’d find your way. You always do.”
You spun the cord of your landline around your finger like a teenage girl as you talked to Kim for a while longer. As you kept blabbering on, an idea started to form in your head, and so did the memory of a year’s long Thought.
In the middle of talking about a diner he’d gone to in his twenties, you interpreted Kim by saying, “Tonight I'm going to open the wardrobe.”
“Really?” He wasn’t even bothered by the cutting in on what he was saying, he didn’t even like the diner anyway. You wanted to nod, but then you remembered this was a phone call, “Yeah Kim, I don’t know. I just feel like there’s something in the air tonight. The wardrobe is calling to me, she needs to be opened.”
You’d told Kim about the wardrobe the day after you cleaned your apartment together. That morning, you’d formed a plan with him. He’d have to be there when you did it, maybe not right next to you, but in the general vicinity just in case you fell over dead or you had a heart attack.
Into the receiver, he asks, “Should I come over? I know it’s late but I don’t mind.” Bless him.
“Honestly, I think I’m good Kim.” You hold the phone in the nook between your neck and shoulder, “Okay, actually, maybe you should stay on the line with me while I do it and if you hear anything fucked up, come over.”
A sharp chuckle comes threw crunchily on your end, “Sure Harry, I will.”
Luckily for you, your phone is right next to your bed and the wardrobe is only a few feet away. You telegraph your movements to Kim, “I’m walking over right now, within a foot of my destination.” You stand in front of the old wardrobe, its old metal hafts challenge you. “Okay, um, my hands are on the handles, ha, hand on handles. Anyway…”
You start a countdown.
YOU - Three.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Easy: Success] - Oh shit Harry! Let’s go!
HALF LIGHT [Challenging: Failure] - Death! Death! Destruction and Bones!
YOU - Two.
DRAMA [Medium: Success] - Sire, this is so romantic with Kim on the line! Confess your love for him now!
YOU - One.
SHIVERS [Trival: Success] - HERE BE DRAGONS.
…
Your eyes widen.
There is only one article in this closet. It’s on a clothing hanger in front of you.
“Harry?”
The phone falls out of your hands and drops to the floor.
PLAIN GREEN DRESS (VERY LOVED) - Hello beautiful. I’ve missed you.
oh.
You hold the cotton fabric in your hands with more gentleness than you ever have anything else in your entire life.
YOU - You think I’m beautiful?
PLAIN GREEN DRESS (VERY LOVED) - Yes! You are Harry! You’re so so beautiful!
YOU - I don’t think anyone has ever called me that before.
PLAIN GREEN DRESS (VERY LOVED) - Oh contraire mon frere! You have! A woman in your youth, kind and gentle. She knew you were different from the others, she would dress you up and paint your face with beautiful shades of pinks and blues!
The woman from the cinema. Her name is lost to you, but she was the first person. The only person who you could confide in about this feeling. She felt it too. You stopped being her friend when Dora came into your life a couple of years later. At the time, leaving her was your biggest regret. You think that this dress sounds like how she did in your memory.
YOU - Did she buy you for me?
PLAIN GREEN DRESS (VERY LOVED) - No, my amour.
YOU- I know so little about you. How did we meet?
You’ve spoken these words before. She somehow knows this.
PLAIN GREEN DRESS (VERY LOVED) - One day a nervous young man walked into a clothing store. He looked a bit scared. Like he didn’t know what he was going to do once he got this item. He needed something to be beautiful in, something he thought he wasn’t. Jubilee MS catalogue no. J628 shone on the dress rack, trying to get his attention. The nervous young man picked it up and put it on at home. He Smiled.
You take a shuddering breath.
YOU - Can I put you on?
PLAIN GREEN DRESS (VERY LOVED) - Of course you can darling.
She’s a sage-colored wonder. You take off the clothes you’re already wearing and now you’re just in your underwear in front of the wardrobe.
Another wonder about this wardrobe is that instead of a regular wooden back, it has a mirror instead. You can only see yourself and the dress.
She has no complicated ways of putting her on. No zippers or bows, she’s made to be slipped on with ease. For a moment, you’re afraid you’ll rip her, you don’t have the body you used to have after all. She’s a little tight around the middle and the chest, but you make it work, nothing that a bit of altering couldn’t fix.
YOU - I’m afraid to look in the mirror.
PLAIN GREEN DRESS (VERY LOVED) - Why my heart?
YOU- I feel like I don’t deserve you.
PLAIN GREEN DRESS (VERY LOVED) - Beautiful people deserve beautiful things.
YOU - You said I was called beautiful once. I’m not anymore. I ruined myself.
PLAIN GREEN DRESS (VERY LOVED) - Please just look at yourself, then you’ll see what I see.
You take a big breath and then turn your gaze up towards the mirror.
PLAIN GREEN DRESS (VERY LOVED) - There she is. My Harry.
It’s you. In a dress. The dress itself is made for a bigger body so nothing strains. The small straps stay on your broad shoulders and there’s a sash around the middle. She’s cut a little low and some of your chest is exposed, you like it. Under the sash, she poofs out a tiny amount into a chiffon type of material that ends under your ankle.
You sway a little back and forth, it twirls out. You graze the fabric at your thigh with your fingertips. It’s cold.
YOU - Why didn’t you call to me before this? Why was I so afraid of you.
PLAIN GREEN DRESS (VERY LOVED) - I’m many things Harry. I’m your past, the only thing hidden away in this wardrobe. I’ve been here for many years. Dora didn’t know about me. You hid me from her at all costs. You thought about burning me, but you couldn’t.
PLAIN GREEN DRESS (VERY LOVED) - When you used to wear me, I confused you. You liked wearing me, even though you didn’t know why. Other men would’ve worn me to simply wear me. I was more than that to you. I was an admission, a declaration of difference.
PLAIN GREEN DRESS (VERY LOVED) - When you wore me, you never wanted to take me off, love. I never left the bedroom of your apartment before Dora. And when you lived together, you put me away for those years. After that, you would get drunk and hold me.
PLAIN GREEN DRESS (VERY LOVED) - Now was the only time.
YOU - I’m so sorry I hid you away for so many years.
PLAIN GREEN DRESS (VERY LOVED) - Oh sweetness. Tell that to the girl in the mirror.
As you open your mouth to tell yourself you’re sorry, your bedroom door is flung open and Kim is there, panting.
Two months ago was Kim’s birthday. For his birthday, you got him back the hubcaps he sold for you, a mini model of his Kineema, and a spare key to your apartment. The last was you’d told him, was just in case anything ever horrible happened to you and he needed in. Esprit de Corps told you that one had been his favorite gift.
“Kim!” You put a hand on your chest, covering yourself like an unwed maiden before the wedding night.
“Harry?” Kim is staring at you with a mix of worry and surprise. His eyes are transfixed on what you’re wearing.
EMPATHY [Trivial: Success] - He thinks you look lovely.
“You dropped the phone.” He’s still looking.
“I did.” You cough into your fist.
“I thought something bad happened.” He’s now realized he’s looked at you for too long.
“No. I was just shocked by what was in there.”
Kim uses his detective skills, he studies the dress and then the open wardrobe. “Was that the only thing in there?”
You shake your head, “I know, it was a shock for me too.” You decide to spin in it a little. You don’t know why, maybe just because it’s novel to wear something that twirls when you move.
“It’s very pretty Harry. May I?” You say yes even though you don’t know what he’s referring to.
Then he walks over and touches the sash around the middle, the tightest part.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Easy: Success] - THIS IS IT!
Kim’s ears are pink, “Tomorrow after your appointment would you like me to adjust this? It would be easy with my sewing machine.” The words come out shy.
“Yeah. That would be disco.” He’s very close to you now physically; as if he wasn’t before.
There’s a moment in which you two just look at each other, really lock eyes, and then there’s an understanding. He asks, low and sweet, “May I kiss you, Harry?”
Holy fuck.
“Even after all of this?” You gesture to the dress, but also the entirety of your life. You’re sober now, but you don’t know if you’ll be on the straight and narrow forever. You might falter on that path.
ESPIRIT DE CORPS [Medium: Success] - Remember the first thing I ever said about the Lieutenant? How he would hurl himself in front of death for you? Listen to me Harry, and then look at him.
No one’s ever looked at you the way he is now.
“Yes, I want all of you, Harry. Only if you let me.”
And you do.
Thought Gained: The Deeper Underground
Solution: You have had many identities in your life Harrier Du Bois. A young rascal. A high school gym teacher. A cop with the RCM. With that, you’ve been a husband and a divorcee. Now you live outside of secular notions of being. You drift from self to self in a primordial ooze of being. You are man and woman. You are beautiful and good. You might not always feel your best, but you know there is nothing to be afraid of. Take pride in yourself Harry. You’ve found someone who thought she’d never see the light of day. Harry, meet Harry.
Bonuses from the thought:
3 Shivers: Finding yourself
1 Inland Empire: A connection spanning through time
-1 Pain Threshold: Wearing heels will hurt