See Yourself Be Yourself

[54] Supports

But she couldn’t simply go back to work after something like that.

Sure, she put on her hospitality face and moved with purpose, looking for people who needed help or had shown up early for their appointments. That was just her body. Her mind kept retracing every slope and milky shimmer of the hallway’s white curves, like bleached, desiccated whale bones. And the door was all ashen, smoky scars, the mark left on some inhuman giant that had lingered too close to a flame.

It didn’t smell like anything. The only aromas in that space were the ones she carried with her, traces of borrowed perfume and roll-on deodorant slipping into icy, plain sweat.

The vault with that bizarre eye machine felt so dry and cold, as if a hand against the far wall might pass straight through into the pressureless void of space, where the blood in your body would swell and the water in it would try to boil. It had been real. It had to be. Like so many other things.

The shattered crystal. The lights on the walls. The melting clerk. The vanished little girl. The horrific boss.

What would she see if she sat in that chair and looked through the Aperture? No. No, no, no.

Lillis had said it would be bad. Very bad. And it was a tool. A tool for looking outside. Outside of everything. A finder chart that didn’t stay within the confines of a map. That was how she tried to think about it. Through it, she could see whatever lay beyond.

She wasn’t supposed to see that. Only God was supposed to. Right? Even thinking about it felt like the worst kind of forbidden knowledge.

She had work to do, along with eyes to dry and a nose to blow when no one was looking. She just had to get through a few more hours.

“Thank you for coming today! We really appreciate your patronage. You can scan this to see the full contract for your records. If you want to make a follow-up appointment, please see one of the ladies in the back, where you can complete your payment for today.”

“I’ve just been here for a short time, but everyone here is so nice. It’s a pleasure to serve you. I hope you had a great time at our boutique!”

“It’s good to see you here today. How can I assist you with your experience at the boutique? I’m your experience assistant, Misty. It’s great to meet you.”

“I’m afraid that option is currently not available under that plan. We have several alternatives I can show you. I’m sorry that we couldn’t meet your needs today. If you take this receipt to the back, I’m sure someone can assist you in resolving your issue.”

She hadn’t said exactly that in exactly that way. But the echo in her head scrunched all those words together into a paper ball that deserved to be drop-kicked into the nearest waste bin.

A steady pain throbbed under Misty’s right eye. Something like an eyelash, or worse, had been stuck under her lid for over an hour, and despite controlled blinking and a little dab of water, the bastard refused to leave her alone.

No Valerie stopping by. Barely even a whisper of Lillis’s brown ponytail between stretches of her own work. Just Misty, anonymous coworkers who didn’t meet her eyes, and her own thoughts.

She heard two girls she worked with off to the side, gossiping and giggling about the “smelly nerds” looking for fantasy-leaning worlds to use as references for their tabletop games.

Misty had been near them. She did have to admit that they had a certain pungent quality, but their beards were well-groomed, and they seemed quite polite. Maybe a little terrified to be here. She had noticed one of them stealing long glances at her.

Would the group enjoy something more like a campaign? Dina’s pals would’ve fit right in with Misty’s coworkers, making fun of a trans guy and a non-binary person for playing D&D at the library.

She could report them, but what was the fucking point? Just do the fucking job and look forward to Valerie and the others.

She lingered with Diana, a sharply dressed older woman who just wanted to see her husband again. He had died eight years ago of a heart attack. Misty felt swallowed by the woman’s frustration. She didn’t want a close-enough version of her husband. It had to be him. None of them felt right. Some were worse, grotesquely warped versions of how he should’ve been.

She didn’t roll her eyes at Mitchell and his theories about fairies creating flying saucers with the help of dinosaur hybrids from Atlantis. Weirder stuff surrounded her. He wanted to prove that if he could find a world where that conspiracy was public, he could use it as evidence to track it in this one. His enthusiasm almost felt infectious. He reminded her of Valerie that night before Raleigh’s place. And he smelled very nice, not that she was trying to sniff all the customers.

Lydian was a kinder sort of headache, one she wished she could’ve talked to more. She found herself wanting to befriend them, to bring them into the group. Something of a boy and something of a girl. They wanted to find a version of themselves that looked the way they were trying to feel. Like trying on little scraps of possibility. Valerie and Lydian probably would’ve been like Vivi and Valerie, drawn to each other but too terrified to get any closer, like magnets that felt each other but repelled from being too similar.

And Brian really thought he could take the place of one of his other selves who’d won the lottery, but finding a version of himself that lucky took his entire session. Never mind the fact that these were just windows and not doors. His body would’ve been screwed up by the incompatible handedness and composition of other universes even if he could get past Boutique security. Those guys didn’t come out much, and Misty never saw exactly where they came from, but she didn’t want to tangle with them.

Even so, she made it to lunch break. Lillis flopped down on a side couch with both thumbs pressed into her forehead. Misty scrutinized the offerings. Never any pizza. Perhaps the worst crime of all.

“You should have lunch with Val,” Lillis said, her voice more nasal than usual.

With that single spark of inspiration and permission, Misty wanted to bolt her ass out the door, her chest violently clearing the way in front of her like a pair of soft flails with no regard for friendly fire.

But she crouched beside the couch and asked Lillis, "You okay? You sound a little sick."

Lillis coughed into her hands. “Nothing new. Always a little sick. Every day carves another little slice off me. But I am resilient. I have to be. I’m good here. Go have lunch with your girlfriend, please.”

Misty made sure Lillis had her lunch on the couch before she left. After that, she was off, scuttling down the hall and slipping out one of the side doors into the mall area. Valerie’s workspace was a fair walk away at the other end of the branch off the concourse.

Someone else stood at the entrance, a brown-haired girl with a little pancake pin in her hair and an outfit that made Misty think more of an animated show than a survey group or whatever this place was supposed to be for. A bulky shark plush with exaggerated fabric teeth sat on the nearby table as though filling in for an off-duty guard. The girl blinked and blanked when Misty asked for Valerie, but mentioned there were other workers to the left down the hallway.

It took a little searching past generic white doorways that smelled faintly of cucumbers and chlorine before she spotted Valerie in her professional outfit, looking a little ruffled on one side, her hair scattered across her forehead. Valerie’s eyes traced low over what might have been carpet years ago, but had since been redesigned and reassigned so many times that all that remained was the ghostly impression of the lives it had lived.

Spitting a lock of hair out of her mouth, Valerie looked up, her eyes widening with light when she spotted Misty. She closed the distance before Misty could get a full wave in and squeezed her tight.

“I had so many ideas for things to draw, but there was so much work, and I think I lost like three of them in the insurance-paperwork shuffle. Insurance turtle. I don’t know. I’m so glad you’re here. I just finished, my tummy was being unhappy, and I’m mad at the government. For something it probably deserves. Are you here so we can go eat?”

Misty gave her a little kiss on the cheek, and Valerie leaned into it. “Yes. Where would you like to eat?”

They were so close that Misty could practically feel Valerie’s teeth grind at the question, as if she were releasing a shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature. Misty brushed Valerie’s shoulder gently through the stiff, professional layers of her clothes.

“Are you okay?”

“It’s silly.”

“Silly? What’s silly? What’s wrong?”

Valerie brushed her hair away from her face a few times, but it kept slipping back to the same anchor points. “I just feel like too much… it’s silly. I feel like too much girl today.”

Misty let her hand trace Valerie’s shoulder without clinging. She drew breath to ask another question, then held it back.

“It’s the voice. The impression. Everyone expects something from me. I don’t know what to give them. I just want to put my head down with my arms around it. I’m so tired. But I just started. I feel like a bellyacher. I’ve barely worked at all and I feel exhausted. I am a girl. I am fine showing that side of me. But it’s so exhausting. I need to be the brightest version of that mask every single moment. I can’t do that. I’m not that.” Valerie slumped with a sniffle, and Misty gathered her in.

Into Misty’s shoulder, Valerie whispered, “And it’s your special night out with the other girls. I will be there. That’s what I’m preserving all my energy for.”

Misty kissed the side of her cheek. "Then we need to go get you more food energy so you're good to go for both."

Valerie straightened. “I remember this noodle shop. Nothing amazing, but they were cheap, and they gave me a nice lunch once.” Misty knew the place and had no qualms.

On the walk over, Valerie brought up a guy who had worked there before, someone who had evoked her ideal boy form in several fun, uncanny ways. She found herself hoping he was on shift.

Instead, the only person working the modestly busy shop was a young woman with thick glasses, curly black hair, and a smile she turned in as many directions as possible.

At first, Valerie just shrugged and laughed to herself. Then she squinted and folded her arms. Misty wanted to ask what was up, but they ordered first and took their meals to a spot off to the side of the food court that wasn’t too crowded. After grabbing drinks and stirring her noodles, Valerie said, “That’s the same guy. Daniel. I think his name was. Now, Danielle.”

A few possibilities occurred to Misty, from siblings to someone in transition, but none of them eased the way Valerie’s eyebrows drew together. Valerie blew on her noodles.

“Kittens and card games,” Misty said, without framing the words any further. Valerie looked up, and Misty explained. The local shelter had a free kitten adoption day coming up in early April.

“And I’d love to return to that board game cafe, or anywhere else with cards, with you being as boyish, or at least as not-girly, as you feel most comfortable.”

Valerie toyed with her noodles, curling them into a spiral as she smiled. “I am fine as a girl. It’s accurate. It’s me. People don’t have to go out of their way to make special considerations for me being weird. But I get this stupid little grin when someone occasionally calls me ‘he’ out of the blue, and my heart melts when they use ‘they’ because… I don’t know. It’s just nice.”

Misty pressed gently on Valerie’s shoulder to underline her plea. “Screw just being fine. You are one of the nicest people. You’ve shown me so many kindnesses without asking anything in return. You didn’t make assumptions about me. You’re one of the few people to even use my old name, just to make sure I’m comfortable. You deserve a hell of a lot more than to just be fine. You deserve to be happy, to be accepted, to be loved. It’s not selfish to want that. It’s just taking care of yourself, so you still have that same care to give.”

The words she half-whispered to Valerie were the same ones she knew she should be screaming at herself, driving them deep into her mind and heart with all the force of a hammer. But it was so much easier to speak that truth to someone else than it was to hold it close, especially when the fear echo of her mother glared behind every effort to steady those better thoughts.

Valerie lifted a little broth to her lips, then dabbed her mouth. She tried to speak, but tangled sounds without words were all she could get out. Quietly, steam blushing her face, she started to cry. Misty pulled her against her chest.

After a breath, she finally managed, “I’m scared. I know… all that. But I can’t stop being scared. I have nightmares. Nightmares that feel so real. In them, your face turns cruel and you say terrible things, like how you’re glad to be unburdened by me. Or I reach for you and you scatter to golden ashes. Prentiss turns into a harsh bureaucrat. Elisa, a cruel joker. Raleigh, a bloodthirsty, cackling killer. And you… I’m just scared. So scared. I don’t know what to do.”

Misty squeezed Valerie tight in her arms, not caring how the table jabbed into her side, how the chair back dug at her, or what kind of awkward wrinkling smoosh it made of her uniform and Valerie’s suit.

“I know, I know, I know,” Valerie breathed against Misty’s arm. “I know where that fear comes from. Some nights with my aunt were totally normal, tolerable, pleasant. And some nights she would be so cruel. She’d say she was looking out for me in almost the same breath she told me I deserved to die. I had to be prepared for every smile to be followed by pain.” Valerie gave a rough grunt, her arm wrapping around the side of her stomach, as though those words had brought an echo from the memory.

Misty knew she could’ve squeezed tighter, but at the same time she worried about what message that might’ve sent when Valerie’s aunt squeezed her throat as punishment. So she relaxed her arms and gently rubbed her shoulder instead.

"We don't have a long break. Sorry I started talking about this."

Swiftly, Misty nodded, relaxed her arms, and let Valerie move enough that she could get to her noodles. But as a compromise, she nudged their chairs together so they were still practically joined at the hip.

“You don’t have to say sorry to me. I love you. And I’m right here. I’m not going away, and you are never a burden. It’s gonna be okay.”

A pleasant but automatic smile crossed her face before she gingerly sipped a little broth so she didn’t make a sound. Misty responded by slurping hers noisily and looking over at Valerie as if to say, Come on. It’s okay.

Valerie caught on, her nails crawling at the edge of the table as she gulped a few times and used a few breaths to puff on her soup. Drawing her fingers into a fist, she slurped the broth with a messy, wobbly noise, the noodles trembling in her mouth like a loose, bleached guitar string.

Softly, with more tears than steam on her face, Valerie sobbed and went on slurping through her soup. She checked on Misty and darted her eyes around the food court. Each time, no one looked their way, and Misty wore the same loving smile.

They finished their noodle soup together, barely avoiding dribbles on their outfits but thoroughly decorating their mouths, which just meant they used napkins to tidy each other up.

Relaxing with their empty bowls, Misty laid her hands in her lap, looked ahead, and said simply, “Fuck my mom and all her bullshit. Fuck Brenda Mara Hollins. I don’t wanna give her another moment of my time or thought.”

Valerie looked over, prepared a few breaths, and held one in long enough that it felt like she was about to dive underwater.

“Fuck her. Fuck my Aunt Janice. I’m gonna… gonna… I will have Mom make a separate family chat without her. I don’t wanna hear her bullshit about my choices and my life. I’m done. No more lessons in pain, like Lillis said.” Valerie slumped toward Misty, and Misty’s hip and shoulder were there to meet her.

Valerie leaned into her without apology, her weight resting but not burdening. Misty delighted in her quiet scent and gentle presence. Together they felt like one of those old wooden puzzle bridges, neither collapsing, both made stronger by the other’s weight.

They returned their bowls to a dirty-plates receptacle on top of the nearest waste bin. Despite what Misty said, her gurgling gut knew that she would have to talk to her mother again, even though she didn’t want to. She promised.

There would be scolding. There would be sermonizing. Grand diatribes about this or that, or about what it meant that she had wound up like this. Her mother would stomp in, hammer some blunt little brick of advice into the road Misty had already paved for herself, and act like she had done her a service, all while cracking the bricks around it.

This was her life. Her mother could talk, her mother could scream, her mother could rattle off whatever she wanted. She didn’t control everything. The same went for Valerie and her nasty aunt. Thank goodness…