Chapter 2 - Two Lacy

Looking through my younger cousin's closet, while somehow wearing her shape, made me feel hotter around my ears than seemed possible. Fortunately, she had something proper for wearing around our grandparents. Unfortunately, it included an ankle-length, orange skirt and a black, sweater top.

That was appropriately themed for Halloween but would leave her without anything to wear for the occasion. I needed something though, so, if she had a problem with it, then I'd just deal with it later. I had plenty of problems with sliding up her underwear. I spent a lot more time in this old house several years ago and the original water heater took ages to get going in the morning. Because the spray blasted in a wide swath, it was a fight between maneuvering to the right gap while biting my will forward to face the discomfort or just leap in and breathe. Putting that underwear on felt just like those will-driven pirouettes.

I employed both swift movement and determination as the strange clothing slid over and found spaces and edges I never had before. Even tiny, fuzzy socks required hopping around before I gathered the nerve to hunt through the bras. To my luck, Lacy had left one, though with plenty of lace, done all the way up. I did my best to consider it like some work brace or harness at a rock climbing park but needing to press and shift two intimate, pillowy masses made fumbling and getting tangled up even worse.

Only when I felt defeated and shifted it around with languid turns and tugs did I appear to have it on close enough. Though tempted to adjust it further, I left it with a slight pinch, hoping the top would cover the problems.

Seeing myself dressed like Lacy didn't feel right, but it would have to suffice. A peek through her door into the hallway revealed no one lingering. I collected the towels, along with my clothes, and dropped them in the hamper. Creeping downstairs, I did my best not to throw off Lacy's weight distribution, especially with fuzzy socks on carpeted steps.

Grandma found me first and I was at a loss for what words to even start a conversation. She asked if I was hungry from my walk, since she had the warm, deli-fresh chicken I'd brought in. I managed to shake Lacy's head despite the curly anchors all around her. They were starting to dry but I only expected them to shift into a wild bushel. She returned to the question of John but, despite the crazy truth I could give her, I meekly managed, "I'm not sure..." A subtle but inescapable shift in scale came with how I looked eye-to-eye at my grandmother instead of standing a modest but definite amount of inches taller.

Rubbing her cheek, grandma mulled, "Should I ring his phone? Or did he have it with him? I checked outside and his truck is still here."

My keys and wallet were still in my truck. And my cell was back at my place, sleeping and slowly charging. Using a nearby wall for support, I could lean and see grandpa's legs stretched out on the footstool as he watched some game show on the living room television. Trying out my cousin's words, I responded, "I'll find him. After I take care of things."

She reminded me of all three, unsure if the bathroom was finished. In the attic, it was a bit of an ordeal to find the right thing to stand on to get to the bulb. Additionally, the raw grip in my fingers was no longer there. Just hopping and stretching around as Lacy felt like being right next to something jagged which might goose me if I moved the wrong way.

A rugged cloth, leftover from refurbishing work my grandfather liked to do on old victrolas and appliances, sufficed for giving me enough tension to unscrew the bulb. The new one wasn't as much of a challenge because Lacy's smaller fingers were easily able to slip inside the permanent fixture.

Navigating downstairs, the trash was a much bigger job, as I had to make more trips than usual and position the can instead of just cleanly flinging it inside. At least all the groceries had been brought in. A rustling breeze curled through the yellow and orange leaves still left on the trees, along with batting Lacy's curls at my eyes like the new plaything of an energetic cat.

By the time I returned to the kitchen, grandma had a bowl out to serve the candy I'd bought and had placed the chicken on a plate with a few sides. The lights around the front would be next but several fears gripped me. One was that the original, real Lacy would soon be opening the door to discover she now had a twin. Another was that Lacy wasn't coming back and this was me now. However, that didn't explain my stuff still hanging around, if reality had burped itself into a different configuration.

"Do you have your costume ready, sweetie?" Grandma gingerly shifted around the contents of the candy bowl as though her slight but leathery hands were a slow mixer.

Other than noticing the seasonal colors of the top and skirt, I had no idea what Lacy's costume could be, let alone where I might find it in the mysterious depths of her closet. Several years ago, I'd briefly seen her dressed up as an elf with a bow. It was inspired by a superfluous character in a fantasy epic. I remembered her debating the choice in her online posts. I advised her that, so long as she enjoyed it, then who cared about anything else?

Another year, she wore a professional wrestler outfit with a blow-up six-pack she just managed to fit into. Sweatpants had to replace muscle ones because of the snow that year but, again, she had fun and it was grandpa's favorite. Last year was the cloaked goblin with a realistic mask she'd bought at the right time on clearance. Every shot she took to post was with that thing on her face, warts, yellow-and-black sneer, and goofy, plastic bloodshot eyes with a volcanic eruption of her hair from the mottled crest. If I had to randomly guess what costume she'd chosen, it could only be something fundamentally 'her'.

With wobbling uncertainty, I responded, "Not yet. J-Jo....John said he was going to help me. I should go find him." Just speaking my own name like it was supposed to be someone else's set off a blaring alarm inside my thoughts, like a forbidden word had been spoken in front of my family. Even when I got it out, everything about it felt wrong. I am John!

If grandma suspected a lie, it didn't show in her gentle nod and easy smile. Before I could stumble into any other troublesome questions, I returned to the side driveway and my truck. Stepping into the cab was a vaulting, bouncing journey with Lacy's flowing skirt threatening to catch on everything. Inside, to my relief, I retrieved my wallet and key fob.

I could drive around looking for her, but I had no idea where to look. At least my insurance would've covered her driving, but it was a moot point, since I didn't have her license. Moving in the seat felt awkward as I had to keep adjusting the excessive, pumpkin-toned swells. Even pushing the seat up didn't help.

The mere fact I could somehow walk, not tumble on my face, and haul out the trash when every part of me had changed felt like an accomplishment. But a truck was just too much. Resigned, I slowly dismounted from the cab with my wallet and keys stuffed into the only thing resembling a pocket in this skirt. Searching on foot would be the only choice.

The wind, which had another bout of cat-like teasing, had at least settled to the timid brush of a kitten. In college, I had let my hair go but it never had the vivid color or volume of Lacy's locks. Only a blazing beam of direct sunlight could show the wooden, brown texture of my hair from an evenly divided field of darkness.

Lacy had always bordered on shock neon from birth. When I was a dumb little kid and visited my aunt, I made a game of trying to touch her curls, like she was a rare toy or a basket of colorful candy. Often, I got in trouble for making her cry.

Now, I could touch that hair all I wanted, but what I truly wanted was to bat it away as far as possible as I walked and curls crept their way in front. A rubber band or some sort of tie was sure to do wonders, but I was already on my way.

The old house with its brick, long porch and deep-lime color was set back a good distance from the road. My last visit was to finish trimming the grass. I still had a hint of an earthy, sharp aroma I hadn't noticed before, but Lacy clearly had a better sense of smell.

I did my best not to dwell on the fact I was her and taking my first steps around where everyone could see me. Well, where some random neighbors putting stuff away and the occasional car could see me. The shoes I'd grabbed from her room were, naturally, a decent fit but stiff with not having been worn lately.

When the process of walking didn't bubble up into my conscious mind, I could tolerate the mechanical process like wearing stilts or snowshoes, only making me smaller rather than taller. Legs with a trim, lean, hairless texture grazed unfamiliar thighs. Hips settled into a nagging, rocking routine, like the old warning of making a bad face you can't get rid of, which my grandfather teased me with, but instead walking weirdly and being stuck that way.

On innate, boyish principle, I wasn't happy with a skirt, even though it flapped, swiveled, and fluttered more like a table cloth than something girlish. Its brilliant, orange tone didn't help though.

Despite how I felt, I had to remind myself that I didn't look out of place. Just a young woman going for a walk. No clumsy, eye-raising disguise. Lacy's bra still didn't feel like it was on right and this body reminded me of that every few steps, especially when I stopped to attempt a fix. I'd accidentally worn pants a size too big for me, especially when I dressed up for special occasions, and suffered careful prancing and shifting to keep them from diving to the ground.

This was like swaddling and tussling with a hyperactive monkey just under that top. At the same time, the throbbing psychological outline of myself, thrown into such a body, made me feel things I didn't want to feel towards the body of a close relative. It had to be brain stuff reacting to body stuff and...I didn't want to feed it.

Peering through elms, oaks, and the wall-like spire trees that dropped heavy, bitter green fruit all around, I made the assumption that Lacy had gone right instead of left at the road. Left was a snarl of twisting paths that just circled back on itself. Right was the local market and several parks beyond that. I'd entered from that direction though, and I likely would've at least glimpsed Lacy on her trek. Ultimately, it was flipping a coin.

Stepping as swiftly as I dared across the sidewalk, the market was just a little over a block away. Peeking inside made my heart race as I fumbled for what sort of words I could say to the clerk which didn't sound useless or bewildering. Straight up inquiring if I'd just been in the store was the worst, while all other ideas felt nearly as bad.  If it was the guy who owned the place before then he would be chewing my ear off with thoughts and musings and ideas for what to buy and rhetorical questions while getting some stuff ready ahead of time. But this guy didn't know my cousin much at all and I could soon tell he hadn't seen Lacy recently.

Trekking further, I hoped to find Lacy in the park, but I was surprised by her cutting onto the sidewalk from behind a few trees. We both froze, my heart racing, and her silvery eyes as wide and wild as I'd ever seen them as she leaned back on her heels.

She nearly tumbled over but caught her balance with an awkward wiggle, her arms out like shields. After the half-coughed tangles of startled, incomprehensible sounds escaped her throat, she blurted out, "SKINWASHER!"

I did my best to present the least threatening and most confused face possible, but that mental puppetry of muscles was used to my regular features, so heaven knows how it appeared. Digging into her cotton sweats, Lacy pulled out her cellphone, the weird, round cotton candy nipple attachment she gripped it by pointing right at me. Hands visibly shaking, she glared and demanded, "What are you?" With a hasty series of steps back, she flicked her fingers over the screen, her eyes returning to me every few moments.

I showed my bare, empty hands and managed, "John." Immediately, her face tightened into a scowl. "What did you do to him? Where is he?!"

Some people by the restrooms had paused to stare at us and an adult urged a child off the swings. Otherwise, it didn't seem that anyone else had noticed us. Urgently, I attempted, "Lacy. I'm John. I know how it looks. But it's me."

Before I could say anything more, a brilliant flash left me with a mottled after-image. Then, she aimed the brightest light right in my eyes. When I tried to block it with a hand, she kept moving it, so I had no respite.

"Don't you DARE mess with John or anyone else. I will melt you, foul demon thing!"

Before she could do anything which might get us both in trouble, I hunted through my memories for just the right thing to say. Fighting through the mind-muddling light, I answered, "The average tent can't jump."

I had another one about fly fishing ready to go, but that was enough. Like a marionette at rest, Lacy's arms drooped to her side as she managed, "...What? Did you eat his memory too?!"

Come on! I dug out the other bad jokes, but they just translated into a shaky glare of horror as she backed away. Feeling utterly defeated, I just about plopped to the pavement. But I resisted the urge. With how clean and bright my cousin's orange skirt was, I couldn't bear to rub it across the ground just because my words weren't enough to convince her.

Instead, I awkwardly half-crouched with my head down and tiredness starting to hollow out my hopes like a greedy worm. At some point, I could tell Lacy finally stopped retreating, her legs swiveling as she responded to a sound off to the side.

She yelled out, "Sorry! Everything's fine!"

Slowly, she started to creep towards me, positing, "...John?"

With a deep breath I hoped didn't startle her, I responded quietly, "Yeah..."

I waited, resisting whatever feelings and fears inside me to do something else. Now was the time to wait.

Lacy approached me as one might a feral dog, sliding her steps, until something settled her and she seemed to decide that whatever she feared might happen would have already happened, if this was a trick.

"John....why are you...what...what's going on? Are grandma and grandpa alright?"

Before anything else, I reassured her that our grandparents were fine.

However, with the face I was wearing, telling her anything seemed to be a frail, futile effort. At least she'd stopped blinding me. But the worst was not yet over, as she stalked up to me with all the determination it looked like she could muster and gave me a hard, breath-stealing poke right in the chest. And by chest, I mean an unfamiliar, new soft part of it at just the wrong place. The way I was wearing her bra actually put more pressure on the spot.

I didn't pass out or scream but the throbbing pain was enough for me to briefly see stars. Retreating to the nearby tree, I draped a protective forearm over the chest I shared with her, though it only highlighted the lingering discomfort and tenderness. As I recovered, I glimpsed a sympathetic frown on her face.

Simply, she asked, "John? Is that you?"

Holding the edge of the tree as something I could hide behind if necessary, I answered as normally as possible, "Yeah. It's me. Ow."

Her face twisting around and relaxing in a series of flowing emotions, like a river cutting and recutting its own path, Lacy responded, "Sorry. Wow. I'm so sorry. What? Why do you look like me?"

Steadying my pose as much as this borrowed body could manage, I told her, "I dunno. I ate something and took a shower and a nap and now...here I am."

Cautiously, she got closer to me again and frowned at each part she inspected before inquiring, "Ate?"

Straightening those loaner clothes, I rewound my thoughts and tried to fix what flaming hair was sneaking over my vision, "So, I was at the Walmart for the groceries grandma asked me to get and I saw this umm weird lady looking at the...bananas real close and when I looked at them, some had this light, waxy tint of purple. I thought it was some contest, but I bought one in a bunch and took the groceries over. Grandma said you were out walking, so I decided to finish the shower and some other chores. But I ate that weird banana, and it didn't agree with my stomach. I felt weird in the bathroom after cleaning things and especially after washing up and napping on your bed. When I woke up...well..."

I fanned her hands across the body the banana had given me and finished, "I was like this. Confused, I went looking for you, because I have no idea what's going on."

With all that said, there was nothing left to do but wait and hope that she didn't try to poke me anywhere else. Her boob on my chest still hurt but more as a muscle strain in search of a thorough massage. The eruption in the restroom at least seemed to be finished, without even a hint of ominous bubbling and shifting in these copied guts. Still, the memory of my time in bed invited thoughts of just a few more minutes wrapped up, to put several layers between me and this reality.

Awaiting Lacy's response, I braced myself as she set her hand to her mouth and adjusted her sweats. Just before I felt encouraged from the lingering silence to say something else, she finally replied, "Oh, John. I'm so sorry. Again. Geez. I was listening to some scary podcasts the other day. And like one was skin...uhh...skinwalkers, yeah. Heh. Things pretending to be human, but they smell like rotten flesh and sound like a cat trying to talk like a person and so on. Seeing you like this, of course I freaked out. I didn't hurt you, did I?" Her gaze was on where she'd poked me.

Just adjusting the top without getting near the soft parts directly, I quickly attempted to assure her I was fine, even with the lingering ache. Again, Lacy reiterated a sincere apology and, before I could dismiss it, clarified, "I'm sorry you have to be saddled with my face and everything else." Her arms wrapped around her stomach.

Letting go of my protective tree, I approached her slowly and set my hand on her back. I wished it was my own hand, which I'd used so many times when she needed encouragement, but it was the best I could offer. Drawing a long, deep breath, Lacy resolved, "It really is you in there."

Continuing to comfort her, while disregarding the unnatural pulling and shifting with my arm muscles, I listened as she explained, "I kinda knew when you protected that skirt. A...cryptic?...or whatever definitely wouldn't do that. And your eyes still kinda feel the same, even though it's like a mirror that won't behave. But boy, John, you sure got the short end of it."

Here, I had to protest. Sure, I would've preferred my own body or any male one to the rabbit hole of wavering uncertainty from being in Lacy's, but she was prettier than she gave herself credit. I answered, "I'd rather be myself and being...so different takes a lot of adjustment. But you're not so bad."

For a long moment, Lacy looked like she wanted to counter my compliment. Instead, she sighed and remarked, "So, what do we do about this? My mom had some crazy years, but no way we can just say she had twins, especially to grandma and grandpa."

My mind sifted through a few different fibs and confabulations that might do the trick, but our grandparents had always been understanding, especially when we both needed time away from our respective parents. It was a big ask but the hard part of finding someone to back me up was over at least.

"I told them I'm John, so with you there, they can trust I'm telling the truth."

Clasping her hands, Lacy gave a nervous chuckle as she admitted, "Yeah, well. I uhh...heh. I kinda sometimes pretend to be you to them. Not recently! Recently...was me wondering if I could dress up as you but with a fake beard. Heh. Sorry again."

She elaborated that it had been an idle game and one our grandparents indulged. Of course, they'd asked her why she had these bouts of tomboyishness. She stumbled over her words when trying to explain, especially on the spot, but said she enjoyed the "adventurousness". Then she would swiftly try to turn the topic to something easier and completely unrelated. Each time, I sensed grandma and grandpa could intuit something was troubling her but didn't pursue it. I could've said more in what I'd witnessed as well.

"Shame I didn't save the banana for you." Granted, I would be in a different pickle with an extra self who didn't fit either. Lacy curiously inquired, "So, do you need another one to change back?"

No clue. My coping hadn't gotten to processing the possibility of permanence.

In fact, the leg-trembling notion that this might be me from now on brought about such a wave of panic and helplessness that I eyed the nearby restrooms in case my efforts to steady this body left me tightening the wrong muscles and loosening the right ones.

Expressing uncertainty to my cousin made her turn away my innate efforts to comfort her, in favor of a careful and supportive hug around those matching shoulders. She'd hugged me before, but it previously meant her subtle but unmistakable aromas and presence wafted over mine. Here, it was a doubling of the saturation. And she didn't need to stretch up, as I felt like an absent party to Lacy's self-embrace.