Queermance Anthology, Volume 2

by Queermance Anthology- Volume 2 [MM-FF] (retail) (epub)

  Thor 2 at GSC at 7:30?

  I’m hoping her Batman costume means she likes superhero films like I do. My phone chirps again.

  C u then.

  My hands tremble as I ride the two storey escalator to the fourth floor of the mall. What if she stands me up? It wouldn’t be the first time a Malaysian’s done that to me. Of course, all those previous times were men. I expect I’ll be there first, regardless, because Malaysians have a reputation for being late, despite the cineplex being a ten minute walk in the mall from TGI Fridays.

  As my head reaches the floor level, I see Zara standing against a post, smiling at me and holding up the tickets for me to see. Well, that’s far from what my expectations were.

  ‘Hey,’ I say with a shy smile. ‘Good to see you. Should I get some popcorn for us before we go in?’

  ‘How about some Twisties instead?’ Zara suggests. ‘Then we can go makan after Thor.’

  I love it when Malaysians throw Malay words into their English sentences, and I do like the idea of getting something to eat after the movie, so I say, ‘Okay,’ and head off to the candy bar.

  I’ve been here three years, but I’m still enthralled by how many Australian products are available here. There are even more Twisties flavours here than there are back home, but thankfully the cinema just stocks our usual flavours. I order the chicken, pay, and meet Zara back near the entrance to the theatre.

  After our tickets are collected, we find our theatre and settle into our seats on the right side, toward the back. It’s not where I’d normally like to sit - I’m more of a dead centre person if I can manage it - but the theatre is packed, so I suppose this was the best she could get on short notice, since the movie only just came out.

  ‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Thanks for getting the tickets.’

  My delayed gratitude is better than not remembering to comment on it at all, which would be typical of me. I don’t know if I should be offering to pay for my ticket. What is customary? I wish I’d been taught what to do in these situations, but even if I knew what is normal in Australia, customs differ in other parts of the world.

  ‘No problem,’ Zara replies, turning away from the ads on the screen to look at me in the dim light. Since she appears okay with paying for me, I want to ask her if she sees this as a date, but she answers my wordless question before I figure out how. ‘My treat,’ she says, placing her hand over my right one on the armrest. ‘You can get the next one. Besides,’ she adds, squeezing my hand. ‘I’ve been wanting to see this movie with someone.’

  I smile goofily at her. ‘I figured you might be a superhero movie fan because of your Batman costume on Halloween.’

  ‘Thanks for noticing. I take it you are, too?’

  I nod. ‘I like the Marvel movies best, though. I grew up with Marvel comics, so it’s only natural that I see them. I watched all the Batman movies that were around when I was a kid though. Michael Keaton was my favourite Batman.’

  ‘Adam West is mine,’ Zara says, and now her costume choice makes even more sense. ‘But I don’t have a preference over DC and Marvel. I enjoy it all.’

  I wonder how common it is for Malaysian woman to be interested in such things. I never met any Australian women back home who liked comics. Did I just get really lucky?

  ‘Then we shall just have to see more together,’ I suggest, because my husband isn’t particularly interested in them. It would be nice to go with someone who is. ‘It won’t be too long before the next Captain America movie comes out. Then there’s another Spider-Man film, and X-Men on the way.’

  ‘And Guardians of the Galaxy after that.’

  And suddenly I realise we’re planning perhaps too far in advance. We don’t even know if we’ll still want to spend time together then.

  I lean forward to grab the Twisties under my seat, but struggle to open them. Zara pulls the bag from my hands and pops it open with ease. She’s clearly more familiar with Malaysian packaging than I am. She takes a handful and hands it back to me just as the lights dim to black, and the movie starts.

  After the movie, we drive in my car, because I’m too scared to jump on the back of her motorbike, and end up at a nearby open-air mamak restaurant that serves local Malaysian food. We’re seated at a square metal table, and as I tear a piece of roti canai off to dip in my curry, Zara looks at me with a concerned expression from the opposite side of the table.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask. ‘Is this not how I’m supposed to eat this?’

  She nods at my left hand. ‘You’re married?’

  ‘Oh… my wedding ring. Right.’

  Zara places her fork tines-down in her mee goreng. ‘You didn’t tell me you were married.’

  ‘Well it’s not like I was trying to hide it from you, or I’d have left the rings at home, wouldn’t I?’ I say, placing the Malaysian bread back down on the metal plate.

  Pushing her plate toward the centre of the table, Zara adds, ‘I don’t think I can date a married woman.’

  ‘Because I’m married, or because I’m bi?’ I ask nervously.

  ‘Both,’ she says, and I try to hold back tears. She whispers the next part, to try and prevent the other customers from overhearing. ‘I don’t want to be in a complicated relationship like that. I want someone I can tell my friends about at least, not someone who’s cheating, and least of all cheating on a man.’

  ‘But I wouldn’t be cheating,’ I whisper back. ‘My husband’s okay with it. I don’t want a secret relationship either. I’ve had too many of those to know I can’t ever have that again.’

  ‘I still can’t,’ Zara says, louder now as she stands and grabs her plate. She leans into me and whispers again. ‘I mean, how do I know your man ain’t just itching for a threesome?’

  Before I can even answer, Zara takes her noodles and moves to a table as far from me as she can conceivably get. I don’t want to make a scene, so I finish my roti on my own, then pay the cashier, and leave. If Zara’s going to have this attitude, she can just walk back to her motorbike at the mall.

  Against my better judgement, as I walk to my car, I text her, My husband’s not interested in threesomes. He just wants me to be able to fully explore who I am.

  A week after the initial shock of the way my date with Zara went, no reply to my text, and my inability to even talk about it with my husband, I wonder if I should leave things be. Why would I want someone who’ll be that judgemental about me in my life? But I don’t even have any local friends here. I want to know why we can’t just be friends instead. I really liked the idea of having someone I could see superhero films with.

  So I stupidly text her again. We don’t have to date. We can just be friends.

  I go back to cooking dinner on the stove; stirring the pasta and frying the minced beef. As I add the chopped vegetables to the meat, I feel Jon’s arms wrap around my waist, and I lean my head in to the nape of his neck.

  He kisses the top of my head and asks, ‘Are you okay?’

  And that’s all I need to completely lose it. I leave the spatula in the frypan, turn around, and cry into his chest. Jon reaches behind me to turn the burners down, then wraps his arms tightly around me.

  ‘Let me finish dinner,’ Jon says. ‘You go lie down. I’ll serve the kids and then bring dinner to you. Then we can talk.’

  I nod against Jon’s chest but don’t move until he ushers me toward the door.

  Fifteen minutes later he brings me pasta in a bowl and places it on my bedside table, then he crawls into bed next to me and starts eating his own. I join him in silence. Halfway through the meal, I return the bowl to my bedside, and close my eyes.

  ‘I can’t do this,’ I say.

  ‘Do what? Us? You don’t want to be married any more?’ Though I can’t see him with my closed eyes, I can hear the fear in his voice. Why is he always scared I’m going to leave him when I’ve given him no such sign?

  ‘No, of course not,’ I say, opening my eyes and turning to him. He’s no longer holding his b
owl either, so I rest my head on his chest. ‘I mean Malaysia. I can’t live here any more. I don’t understand how people work here. I want to go back home.’

  ‘Is this about that girl?’

  ‘Kinda. I guess.’

  ‘I take it the date didn’t go well last week.’

  I just shake my head.

  ‘Do you want me to start looking for work back in Australia again?’ Jon asks, brushing my hair with his hand.

  ‘I guess,’ I say. ‘But I don’t want to go back to Perth. Can we try Melbourne?’

  ‘Sydney and Canberra will probably easier for the work I do.’

  ‘Well, I guess, just see what you can find.’ I lean up and softly kiss Jon on his lips, then go back to my pasta.

  It’s early March now, and I’ve gotten over Zara’s behaviour enough to have dinner at TGI Fridays again. I’m there with Jon and our sons to celebrate his Sydney job offer. I figure if Zara is working, then if she’s assigned our table, she can always ask someone else to take our order. But I kind of want to be there with my family to show her how unaffected by things I can seem.

  She’s not assigned our table though. I don’t see her at all, which offers me some relief because it means I don’t have to face that reality. Maybe she wouldn’t recognise me anyway. My hair is bright blue now, rather than the dull, washed-out purple over bleach it was when she last saw me. Maybe she wouldn’t notice me with my family.

  Of course, that would be too easy, wouldn’t it? Because when our meal is ready, Zara’s the person to bring it out to us. After placing the two servings of deep-fried mac and cheese on the table, she scoots into the booth next to me, opposite my husband.

  ‘Hey, Bess,’ she says. ‘I’ve missed seeing you around here.’

  I’m at a complete loss for words. This is the last thing I expected to happen.

  Jon says, ‘You must be Zara.’ He’s clearly read my face and body language to figure that out.

  Zara holds out her hand to shake Jon’s. ‘And you must be Bess’s husband.’

  ‘Jon,’ he says.

  ‘And what are your names?’ Zara asks, looking at the boys sitting in the inner part of the booth.

  ‘I’m Sam,’ my now-seven-year-old replies. ‘And he’s Billy.’

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Zara says with a smile.

  ‘You too!’ Sam is always enthusiastically meeting new people, and this is no exception.

  I still don’t know what to say, so I pop a mac and cheese ball in my mouth.

  ‘Bess, I’m sorry.’ Zara says. ‘I dropped my phone in the toilet and lost your number. I’ve just been hoping you’d come back so I could apologise.’

  ‘We’re moving to Sydney,’ I blurt out.

  ‘Oh,’ Zara says, sounding disappointed. ‘When?’

  ‘Soon,’ I say. ‘Jon starts his new job next month. I’m going to stay here with the boys until he finds us a place to live, so I know where to ship our stuff to, but I can’t imagine I’ll be here past April.’

  ‘Well… can I have your number again? Captain America will be out before you leave. We could go see it together.’

  ‘Is your number still the same?’ I ask. She nods. ‘Then I’ll text you if I want to see it with you.’

  ‘Oh. Okay.’ It’s clearly not the response she wanted to hear from me, but I don’t know if I want to spend any more time with her. No matter what she’s looking for, I wonder what’s the point if I’m not even going to be here much longer anyway. ‘Well, I better get back to it,’ Zara says, and leaves our table.

  When Jon is already in Sydney a week later, I nervously decide to send Zara a text.

  Hey, it’s Bess. Do you want to come over? My husband’s in Sydney so it’s just me and the boys.

  An hour later, when I’m Googling moving companies, she replies.

  I finish n 3 hrs. txt me ur addr. ill cm aftr.

  Her text shorthand is more frustrating now than it was before because it’s harder to decipher, but eventually I realise she must mean she’ll come by when she gets off work, so I text her my address.

  The kids have been in bed for a couple of hours by the time the doorbell rings. I really have no idea what to expect. I haven’t seen Zara since she met my family. I don’t know what made her change her mind about wanting to see me again. I don’t know if she just wants to be friends, or what. Despite all this, I try to clear my mind of all theories so I can just see what happens, and answer the door.

  ‘Hey,’ she says as I let her in. ‘Where are your boys?’

  ‘Sleeping,’ I say, and direct her to the couch. ‘Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?’

  ‘Just some water, thanks,’ Zara says, sitting down.

  I nod and go get some glasses of water from the kitchen.

  When I come back and hand a glass to Zara, she says, ‘I didn’t think you were going to text me.’

  ‘I didn’t think I would either.’ I sit down on the couch next to her and take a sip of water.

  ‘So what changed your mind?’

  I shrug. ‘Curiosity, I suppose.’

  ‘Curiosity?’

  ‘I wanted to know why you wanted to see me again.’

  Zara puts her glass down on the coffee table and takes my empty hand into both of hers. ‘I made a mistake,’ she says. ‘One of my friends helped me see things differently. But by then I’d already destroyed my handphone. I wish I’d given you more of a chance.’

  ‘But I’m moving now,’ I say, enjoying the comfort of the way her fingers brush against my palm.

  ‘I know, but…’ Zara takes my glass now, and places it next to hers, before returning to hold both of my hands. ‘Shouldn’t we still try to make the most of the time you have left here?’

  Her beautiful dark eyes appear to delve deep into my soul. My breath slows. I don’t know what to say, so my body takes over, and before I know what’s happening, I’m kissing her, and she’s kissing me back. Her lips taste like chocolate and cherries and I just want more. Zara’s hands wrap around my back to pull me closer, so our breasts touch, and then she’s leaning forward, pushing me back into the couch. One of her knees is between my legs, and I can feel her warmth on my thigh.

  When she pulls away, all I can say is, ‘Wow.’

  The next four weeks are a blur of events with how much time she spends with me and the boys, or just me when Ella can watch them for me. We’re watching them play on the playgrounds at Lake Gardens in the city. We’re holding hands in the couple seats watching Captain America, but barely pay attention when we use my scarf to cover us and touch each other in other places. We attempt the upside-down Tobey Maguire/Kirsten Dunst Spider-Man kiss in one of the stairwells at my condo.

  All the nights she shares my bed, whether it’s staying up to talk and make love, or sleep in each other’s arms. The days we spend watching other superhero movies with the kids on the TV before all my DVDs are packed up by the movers.

  Evenings at a mamak or staying home to cook her dinner. Making her breakfast when we wake up together. Watching her play Mario on the Wii with the boys.

  I want to savour it all.

  Zara comes with us to the KLIA airport in a taxi, helping us with our bags, and waiting in line, making sure the boys don’t wander away. After checking in, I let the kids play at the playground by the KFC so I can try and enjoy my last few moments with Zara. I want to hold her hand, but we’re in an incredibly public place, and our relationship is still frowned upon by society here. So instead I simply look into her eyes, and share in her sadness that this all has to come to an end.

  ‘I’m gonna miss you,’ I say.

  ‘I know, me too,’ she says, and embraces me.

  It feels like no time has passed before I’m already calling Sam and Billy to come with me so we can go through immigration and security. I take a selfie of the four of us by the escalator so I can remember this final moment.

  Zara stands with me, face to face. I can see in her eyes that she wishes she could kiss me now
as much as I wish I do. But it’s impossible. So instead, I hug her tight, resting my chin over her shoulder, and try not to cry.

  When we part, we say our goodbyes, and she watches us head down the escalator to immigration.

  After the struggle of getting the boys through the security check, we arrive at the gate ten minutes before boarding time. I get my phone out so I can update my Facebook status, but waiting for me is a text message from Zara.

  I miss you already. xx

  Jon, the boys and I have been in Sydney a month and a half now. I’ve only occasionally exchanged messages with Zara through Facebook. We’ve ignored conversing about what happened between us during my last month in Malaysia. I’ve tried not to think about her like that, and distract myself by doing things. Right now, I’m at the Supanova pop culture expo, super excited to be seeing Stan Lee, creator of so many of Marvel’s superheros. I’m in costume, dressed as a female version of Thor, even though I’m not participating in the cosplay competition. It’s just fun to be amongst other fans celebrating their favourite things.

  Jon is off finding us some lunch when a couple of guys come up to me. The blond one asks, ‘Who are you supposed to be?’

  ‘Thor, of course,’ I say.

  The shorter guy with brown hair jabs at me, ‘Thor can’t be a woman.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ I spit back. I have no time for douchebags.

  The blond comes into my personal space and starts touching my bleached-blonde hair. ‘Dude, you can’t even get the hair right.’

  The other guy takes the blond’s lead, and comes up to start touching my armour, and I freeze. In all my time dressing in costumes, this has never happened to me. But I only started when I lived in Malaysia, because I didn’t discover cosplay until I went to my first Comic Fiesta event there. Are Malaysians just better behaved when it comes to this sort of event?

  ‘Hey Davo,’ the blond says, removing my winged helmet and putting it on his own head. ‘Look at me,’ he says in his stupid version of a feminine voice, ‘I’m Thor.’