Marionette

by T. B. Markinson

  “Why don’t you tell me about your sister—‌Abbie. We haven’t talked about her yet.” Her eyes looked hopeful.

  “There’s not much to tell about Abbie. I don’t really know her. I know this may sound odd, since we are fraternal twins, but we’re like strangers. She’s a lot like my mom.”

  “How so?”

  “She’s not very nice to me. She isn’t outright mean like my mother, but she has a way of making it clear that she never wanted me for a sister. And she drinks, just like my mom. Abbie, though, has taken it one step further: she likes drugs.”

  Liddy scribbled something down on her paper.

  “What did you write?” I leaned forward. Surprisingly, Liddy showed me, but I couldn’t decipher her chicken scratch. “You write worse than my father.”

  “My girlfriend tells me that all the time.”

  Girlfriend? Like lover or friend? I tried not to react to the word, but I know I did. Was Liddy baiting me? Part of me wanted to confess, because keeping Jess a secret was difficult. Having three separate lives meant having to remember to put the correct hat on in each place. Sometimes, I would get befuddled about where I was.

  “Jess says the same thing about my writing,” I said, squinting at Liddy’s words to no avail.

  “Can you decode it?” I asked.

  “Of course. There seems to be a common theme to your childhood. Your mother, sister, and Alex all had issues with alcohol and drugs. I think that’s something we should explore.”

  I expected her to demand to know what I thought about that connection, but she didn’t. Instead, she asked, “How do you know Abbie uses drugs?”

  “How do you know the moon exists?”

  “I’m sorry, what?” She tapped her pencil gently on her leg.

  “I’ve seen it…‌I mean, I’ve seen her use them.”

  “Even though you are twins, you weren’t close growing up?”

  “Not one bit—‌it was almost like we weren’t sisters at all. We always had separate friends, different activities. We never had the same teachers. I loved sports and Abbie is a musician. I love to read. Abbie can’t sit still for more than a minute.” I folded my hands together and rested my chin on them. “We never wore each other’s clothes, never had heartfelt discussions, and we never plotted against our parents. Our rooms were on opposite sides of the house. We all live in different wings of the house.”

  Liddy looked up from her notepad. “Even your parents.”

  “Yes, even them. You’ve seen our photos in the paper. You probably wouldn’t have guessed that the four of us hated each other.” I stopped to mull something over. “Actually, I don’t think Abbie and I hate each other. There’s something else, but I’ve never been able to put my finger on it. We just don’t know each other.”

  “When did she start using drugs?”

  “Early on in high school. She has a lot of friends who are in bands. I know its cliché, but I think Abbie went down that path since she wants to be a musician. Music is her passion. I’ve never known her to date anyone seriously. Oh, she had a date for the prom and such, but never a boyfriend.”

  “What about a girlfriend?”

  I almost smiled at that one. Liddy was trying to make it seem normal for me.

  “Nah. She’s not gay.” I unfolded my hands and gripped the armrests of my chair. “It’s like she can’t share herself with a person. Music—‌music speaks to her. A couple of months ago, she tried to share her passion with me. At first, I was touched, but it ended up being a horrible experience.”

  “Why?” Liddy’s voice was low, soft and coaxing.

  “Well, it was right after”—‌I motioned to my scars—‌“the stitches were gone, but the marks were still quite visible, all red and puffy. She took me to Red Rocks to see one of her favorite bands. I can’t even remember their name. It was like walking into a hippie commune in the sixties.

  “Everyone talked with their heads tilted to the side, their eyes half open, their speech was slow and painful, and they all stank. You know when people use natural deodorant? That stuff doesn’t work, especially on humid days. It had rained earlier in the day. By the afternoon, it was muggy and stifling. For some reason, all of them wanted me to play Frisbee. I was afraid my shirt would slip up and reveal my wrists, so I sat out during the reindeer games.”

  I stirred in my seat. “I think Abbie was embarrassed by me. They were her friends and I was snubbing them. That wasn’t my intention, but I just couldn’t relate to them. That’s when it became clear just how different we were. While I had retreated into my own world filled with books, she had retreated into this one, filled with peace-loving hippies. It’s comical really. If my mother knew, she would rip the heads off all of Abbie’s cohorts. I can kinda picture her shouting, ‘Off with their heads.’

  “Abbie’s last attempt at bonding with me that evening was to teach me how to smoke pot. She said that I was leaving for college soon and I would need to know how to fit in.”

  I closed my eyes and pictured Abbie sitting in her car, teaching me the finer art of trimming marijuana leaves.

  “She said, ‘The secret to good pot is in how you cut the leaves,’ as she meticulously cut the leaves with her Eddie Bauer knife our mom had given her the previous Christmas. Closing one eye and sticking out her tongue, she cut the leaves into tiny pieces of art. Her precision amazed me. We were alone, and I think she felt closer to me and had started letting me in a little.

  “She continued, ‘You don’t know it yet, but college is going to be the best time of your life. Fuck Mom and fuck Dad. In college, we’ll really start to flourish.’

  “She took pride in showing me how to roll a joint.” I laughed, even though I found it pathetic. “Abbie’s one thing she wanted to teach me was how to roll a joint, and I didn’t even smoke pot.”

  Again, I shut my eyes on the room and put myself back in Abbie’s car.

  “Abbie handed me a slip of paper. Tapped the leaves onto it and then licked the ends.”

  I opened my eyes, and squashed the memory like a bug. “When she took her first hit, she was a whole new person: relaxed and kind. I hadn’t known her to be kind before. She talked about the classes she wanted to take in addition to her pre-med courses. Even though she wants to be a musician, our mother wants Abbie to become a doctor. Abbie doesn’t have the courage to tell her to go to hell. I felt sorry for her that day.”

  “Does your mom know Abbie doesn’t want to study medicine?” Liddy’s cheerless tone indicated that she knew the answer but felt compelled to ask for clarification.

  “Of course. But what Mother wants, Mother gets. She thinks that since she suffered so much, she is owed everything now. Thinks that my sister and I should just kowtow to her and not complain. She’s suffered, and we can never make it up to her completely.”

  “What happened after Abbie rolled the joint?” Liddy gestured for me to continue the story.

  “That’s when things started to get interesting. Her calmness didn’t last long. She started to flick her lighter. From an early age, Abbie had been fascinated with fire. She loved putting out candles with her fingertips or holding her hand above the flame, lowering her hand closer and closer until she couldn’t stand the pain.”

  The thought made me uncomfortable and I wriggled in my chair. “I’ve always been terrified of fire. Alex used to tease me about it. She said that in a former life I was a witch who was burned at the stake. Just lighting a match freaks me out. To this day, I’ve never lit a grill.

  “Abbie knew about my fear of fire, but she started flicking the lighter closer and closer to me. At first, I laughed it off and shoved her hand away. A few minutes earlier she had been in such a good mood, so I didn’t think anything of it. Then she singed some of my hair.”

  I rubbed my head. “That pissed me off. I reached for the lighter, rolled down the window, and chucked it out. When I did, my shirtsleeve raised a tad, enough to show Abbie what I had done.

  “She stopped and s
tared. I didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing. I was frozen. Then she said, ‘Jesus, Paige.’ She reached out and felt my scars, running her finger along one. ‘You weren’t messing around when you did this.’”

  I bolted up out of my chair and walked to the water cooler. When I depressed the button, I heard the glugging of the water as it dripped into my cup. My hands were shaking so much that as I lifted it to my lips, I spilled some on my chin. I felt too tired to wipe the droplets away.

  “It was like she was proud of me. That I hadn’t half-assed the attempt—‌that I really dug in with the razor.”

  “And that upset you?” Liddy probed.

  “Yeah, it did. She’s my sister. Shouldn’t she be a tiny bit concerned that I tried to kill myself? Instead, she was impressed. I wondered how impressed she might have been if Jess hadn’t found me in time. Would she have gushed at my funeral?” I took a sip of my water. “Sometimes I feel like no one loves me. And maybe that’s my fault. I haven’t really tried to let people in. Jess, well sh—‌”

  I froze. Liddy didn’t show any sign of recognizing that I had almost come out.

  Does it count if it wasn’t intentional?

  Glancing at her notepad, I noticed she hadn’t jotted anything down, not that she would need a reminder. What did I think she’d write down, “Ask Paige if she is a dyke”?

  “Go back to Abbie. What happened next in the car?”

  “I sucked in some air and my lungs burned. Abbie started laughing and said, ‘Make sure Mom doesn’t see those. She’ll kill you.’ Then she laughed hysterically and said, ‘Or maybe you should, since you failed.’”

  Rubbing my eyes, I left my hands in front of my face. As I stared at my fingers I said, “One moment she was proud of my attempt, and the next she was mocking my ineptitude. I didn’t say anything and Abbie stared out of the windshield. Then she said we should hike to the top, to the amphitheater, so we wouldn’t miss the show.

  “That was it. The rest of the night, she didn’t mention my wrists. In fact, we didn’t talk. Abbie was in her element, dancing and singing. She kept offering me hits, but I bluffed my way out of it.

  “The next day we bumped into each other in the kitchen and neither of us said a word to each other. That night, in her car, was the last conversation we had before we both left for college.”

  * * *

  Thoughts pounded in my head. Who did I have in my life? I couldn’t face the weekend in my dorm room, pretending. I didn’t want to fake liking Tom. I didn’t want to act normal. What I wanted was to curl up in a ball and cry, kick, scream. I couldn’t do that at school. At school, I wore my frivolous college girl hat.

  I grabbed my bag and started to throw in some clothes and a couple of books when Minnie walked in.

  Giving me a wide berth, in case I accidentally heaved her into my bag, she assessed the situation quickly and asked, “Are you going out of town?”

  I wanted to say, “What the fuck do you think?” Instead, I mumbled, “Yes.”

  “Is everything okay?” She looked nervous.

  “Yeah, I’m just running late.”

  “Oh.” Minnie’s relief spread throughout her body.

  I was amazed by how quickly she could relax.

  “I’m not sure when I’ll be back,” I said.

  “Okay. I’m heading home as well. I’m sure Karen and Jenna will hold down the fort for us.” She smiled, apparently not noticing my look of derision. She was such a simpleton.

  The drive to Jess’s wasn’t fun at all. Not once did I cut someone off, which angered me. I wanted to weave in and out of traffic. I needed the excitement to make me feel alive, to get my heart pumping.

  When I walked into Jess’s apartment, she was taking a nap on the couch. Groggily, she lifted her head up and smiled. “I wasn’t expecting you this evening.” Her voice was thick with sleep, as if she’d been asleep for hours.

  “I’m sorry that I woke you.”

  She motioned for me to come to her. “Don’t be silly. This is the best way to wake up.”

  I sat down heavily on the couch.

  “What’s wrong, Paige?” She popped up next to me and wrapped me in her arms.

  “Nothing.”

  Casually, she wiped my tears off my cheeks. “Ah, sweetie. I don’t think it’s nothing. But if you don’t want to talk, that’s okay.”

  I nestled my head into the crook of her neck. “I’m just so tired, Jess. I’m so tired.” My eyelids felt like steel traps, forcing themselves shut. Before I knew it, I was drifting off to sleep.

  When I snapped my eyes open, it was dark outside and Jess still held me in her arms. At first, I thought I had been asleep for just a few minutes, but the clock informed me otherwise. Two hours had passed.

  Jess felt me stirring, kissed my forehead, and asked, “Are you hungry, baby?”

  I realized I was ravenous. “Yes.”

  “Good! I discovered this Mexican place recently and I’ve been dying to take you there. Let me shower and we’ll go. Would you like to hop in?”

  The thought of warm water oozing over me enlivened me. I used to love baths, but now the thought of lying in a tub disgusted me. I briefly remembered the bloody water, and trembled.

  After showering, we walked to the restaurant. It was only a fifteen-minute walk and the chill in the air helped wake us both.

  “Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

  Jess looked at me askance. “Yeah, why?”

  “When I came in, it looked like you’d been sleeping for some time. Did you call out sick today?”

  She waved her hand. “Oh, that. I worked another all-nighter, so Richard let me leave early today.”

  I whistled. “Man, they have been working you to death lately.”

  Not the best word choice, but we both let it slide.

  When we entered the restaurant, I relaxed completely. The place was a hole in the wall. It had enough room for a small stage, and a mariachi band was in full swing. As soon as the waitress sat us at a table, Jess tugged on my arm, dragging me onto the dance floor. I wasn’t the dancing type, but Jess knew how to persuade me. As she writhed around the dance floor I did my best to wiggle my butt some in a pathetic attempt to keep up. Several other people were dancing, and one of them was just as bad as me. We chuckled together and stood to the side. Jess paired up with a bulky man to show us amateurs how it was done. After they had finished, the entire restaurant broke into a cheer and, laughing, Jess led me back to our table.

  “How in the world did you learn to dance like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, like you know what you’re doing.” I couldn’t think of the right words and felt silly.

  “I just let the music tell me what to do, Paige. You can’t think, you just feel.” Her face glowed with perspiration and she placed her hand on my heart.

  The waitress came by to take our orders and it was obvious that she knew Jess and knew what Jess would order. I hadn’t had a chance to look at the menu, so I just said ditto.

  Soon, two tamale platters and two Coronas arrived. It was hot in the restaurant, and the enticing lime in the neck of the bottle lured me in. Before I knew it, I’d had another one. After the third, the hefty man tried to teach me how to dance. I was utterly hopeless, but he didn’t give up on me. By the end of the night, I could manage a half-decent spin without making a complete fool of myself. To celebrate my victory, all of the remaining patrons partook in tequila shots. It was my first time, and Jess had me lick the salt off her chest, which got a rise out of everyone—‌which called for more dancing. Jess and the man paired up again and I leaned against the wall. The room started to spin, but I didn’t care. The music soothed me.

  On the way home, Jess had to hold me up. She was giddy and it had started to drizzle, but I didn’t bother putting my jacket on. The drops felt like electrified bee stings, only pleasurable. I peeled off my long-sleeved shirt and raised my arms, soaking my scars. Jess giggled and peeled her shirt off too. By
the time we reached her apartment, Jess was down to her bra and skirt. We stepped outside, onto her balcony, and I stripped from the waist up. The rain, the cold air, and the alcohol made me feel alive. I hadn’t felt that alive in years.

  Gazing into Jess’s eyes, I started to cry. I never wanted the moment to end. I wanted to stand naked in the rain with a radiant-looking Jess forever. I slipped off my jeans and threw them over the railing. Jess did the same with her skirt. Then I rushed inside Jess’s apartment, grabbed the shirt I had been wearing, and ran back outside to heave it as far as I could. Tugging off my panties, I then threw them even further.

  Both of us stood there, stark naked. Flashes of moonlight broke through the passing clouds, revealing her body to me like an Impressionist painting. I could no longer resist. We hadn’t made love since that day in the bathtub. Jess had felt that I was too vulnerable. Now, I stood before her, naked, crying, and in control. Powerful. Alive. Jess must have sensed it, because she led me inside, into her bedroom.

  * * *

  Three hours later, Jess lay next to me, sound asleep. We had kicked the covers from the bed, and although sunlight was starting to peep in through the window, the apartment was cold and autumn was in full swing. Birds were fussing about outside. After placing the comforter back over Jess, I left the bedroom and walked to the front room. The place was spic and span, as usual, apart from a stack of business books on the kitchen table. Jess was already preparing for her MBA program. Her classes didn’t start for months, but she had already started cramming.

  I flipped through the books. Honestly, I didn’t understand why she loved business so much. The topics seemed boring: marketing, management, finance, and strategic operations. I shuddered. I wondered if Abbie’s medical coursework gave her the same feeling.

  On the coffee table, I spied a copy of The Stand. That appealed to me more than her schoolbooks. I curled up under an afghan and cracked the book to the first page. I felt free: lying on my girlfriend’s couch, completely naked, reading a Stephen King novel. If my parents saw me, there would be blood on the walls. The thought made me smile. When I was with Jess, they couldn’t touch me. She was my refuge.