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Any World -4- by SammyC
🕑 Added 2023-12-14 18:12:16 +0000 UTCAny World (That I’m Welcome To) – 4
By SammyC
©2023 SammyC
“You’re twins?” George’s mouth was agape.
“Twin sisters, actually,” Regina proudly declared, pushing me forward and gesturing for me to remove the hood from my head. I did what she asked and shook my hair out as Winnie stared at me.
“You told me your twin was adopted when you were—
“Two weeks old. Yeah, well, she’s visiting—”
“I thought you said you never knew who adopted her or where they lived—”
I stepped in as Regina was floundering. “I found Regina and…and my biological mother…on my own.”
“So, you’re a runaway. The police can’t be too far behind. Your adopted parents know who your mother is,” Winnie said ominously.
“Just because your dad is deputy sheriff in this one-horse town—” I stopped myself and tried to pull up my hood again.
“Please don’t tell your dad, Winnie. Gigi isn’t a runaway. It’s kind of complicated. Too complicated to explain but her parents are ok with her visiting us.”
“If you’re lying, it won’t matter. My dad will be ordered to round her up like a stray dog anyway, “Winnie sniffed as she pulled on George’s arm to move along.
“Nice to meet you, Gigi, is it? If you’re going to be in town for a while, you should come to the game next Friday night. We’re going to celebrate afterwards at The IHOP in Fair Lawn. You and Regina are welcome to join us—”
“George! What are you doing?”
“You know Regina and I have been friends forever. She hasn’t been to a game since last Fall—”
“Well, you stopped being my friend, George—”
George lowered his eyes and half-whispered, “Because things kind of changed…”
“Yeah, like a sex change. Come on, George. Time’s a wasting. I saw some really cute boots in Steve Madden’s.”
As Winnie dragged him away, George twisted and turned to shout back at us. “Remember, next Friday. Kickoff at 7!”
Regina and I resumed our march toward Macy’s. Looking back, Regina nudged my ribs, and, with an annoyed sneer, she asked me, “Did you see the way he stared at you, Gigi?”
“Like an animal in the zoo?”
“No, George was eyeing you like a snack, girl. He never looked at me like that, much less invited me to a post-game bacchanal.”
“In my world, me and George were best buds, and he played basketball, not football. He never looked at me like that either.”
“Welcome to a whole new world, sis.”
Clothes shopping turned out to be a bit more complicated than Regina had foreseen. Considering I was a newbie to the gender, I let her guide me in fashion choices. I could tell Regina had immersed herself in the latest cool trends in teenage couture.
“What you’re picking out for me and what I’ve seen of your own wardrobe is completely different, Regina.”
“Mom wants me to dress conservatively and not attract too much attention to myself. She’s afraid of disturbing the natives.”
“Sounds like she’s not too enthusiastic about your transitioning.”
“Mom’s okay. Being an unwed teen mother kind of colors your image of what responsible parenthood is supposed to be. Far be it for her son to be a deviant because she had me at sixteen. Oh, this would look cute on you.” She held a hot pink Belize crop top in front of me.
“It’d look nice on you too.”
“Mom would shoot me if I wore something like this to school.”
“Wear it to the game Friday night. It’ll go well with the team colors.”
She looked at Mom’s credit card in her right hand. “Don’t tell Mom, ok?”
“We’re sisters. We don’t snitch on each other. Right?”
We shared a smile like twin co-conspirators.
It turned out the one thing we didn’t share was identical clothing sizes. Regina was crestfallen when she realized I required items consistently a size or two larger than she. Annoyingly helpful saleswomen would point out that I was broader across the chest (I found my bra fitting almost comical when I saw the envious expression on Regina’s face) and wider in my hips than my twin.
“I’m older by several minutes,” I would say to the bemusement of the sales staff.
After almost three hours of frenetic shopping, Regina and I lugged our four bulging bags of Macy’s finest items of women’s wear (including a cute pair of Chelsea boots from Steve Madden’s) along toward the food court. We planned to treat ourselves to a late lunch of vegetable spring rolls and fried rice from Master Wok. So, we have rather pedestrian taste. What do you expect from two Jersey girls?
In the next to last corridor before the food court, we came upon Miss Julie’s Bridal Shop. Regina stopped to look over the formal dresses in the far window of the store.
“That dress in Royal Blue or Hunter Green would be perfect to wear to the Homecoming Dance. If someone would ask me…” She fell silent, still ogling the mannequins.
“I know, Regina. I really liked George in my world too.”
“Let’s eat fast and take the bus home. You have a whole runway show to prepare for when we get back.”
After dinner, I played supermodel in a makeshift fashion show, displaying the clothes we had threatened Mom’s credit limit to accumulate. The family arranged themselves in seats along a “runway” Regina had constructed by lining the living room carpet with a dozen portable puck lights, six on a side. She doused the lights and played “Babylon” by Lady Gaga on blast from her phone.
Using the remote, she switched on the puck lights, and I walked out in my first outfit. It was a light gray button-down ribbed midi dress. I spoiled my entrance by stumbling in my new chunky heel black Chelsea boots. Catching myself before I fell flat on my face, I tried to remember all the catwalk tips Regina had read to me off the internet.
1. Choose a point in the distance to focus on as you stride.
2. Keep your gaze forward, with your head up and a slight downward tilt to your chin.
3. Create an elegant line by pulling your shoulders slightly back and down.
4. Place one foot in front of the other, almost like you’re walking along a thin, invisible line.
5. When you reach the end of the catwalk, gently plant your feet and sway your hips from side to side once, shifting your weight from one leg to the other, pivoting with ease.
6. Rinse and repeat.
From that point onward, the show came off smashingly well, I must say. Artie oohed and ahhed and clapped his hands enthusiastically. Nick sat entranced. Mom snapped shot after shot with her phone, uttering single words like “lovely,” “beautiful,” and “gorgeous.” We went through the entire contents of all the bags we had brought back home, excluding the underwear, of course.
Finally, I took a bow and curtsied to my captive audience in my hot pink belize crop top (with a white t-shirt underneath for modesty’s sake) and vintage ‘90s relaxed straight jeans.
“Oh my God, Nick, we have a supermodel daughter! Gigi, you catwalked like a professional.” Mom embraced me as Nick and Artie tried to join in a group hug. Standing to one side, applauding, was Regina. Slowly, her broad smile turned into a dazed look of disappointment. I could sense she felt ignored, even displaced in the family circle. I reached out my hand, beckoning her to join the huddle but she turned away after switching off the puck lights, leaving us momentarily in darkness.
Because of Bergen County’s notorious Blue Laws, shopping for all items except food is forbidden on Sundays. So, Nick took Artie, Regina, and me to the Short Hills Mall in Morris County, an hour’s drive from Rossington, to pick up a phone, duplicate house keys, and a NJ Transit Tap and Ride Bus Pass for me. Mom had to work on Sunday. She took the other car to Livingston early in the morning.
Regina was in a better mood and cajoled Nick into taking us to the AMC Mountainside 10 Multiplex, 15 minutes from the mall, to see the new Trent Foster concert film, “A Man for All Reasons.” Trent is Regina’s favorite pop star. In my world, I could take him or leave him. I’ve heard better.
We were a half-hour early for the next showing, so I volunteered to collect the hot dogs and sodas at the concession stand while everyone else secured a table for us. Nick gave me four twenties that I put into the new purse I had just bought that morning, and I joined the line for victuals. I jumped when a finger gently jabbed me on the shoulder from behind. I quickly turned around and almost smashed my nose against George Parker’s rock-hard chest.
“Gigi! Funny—”
“Meeting you here? Hi, George. I didn’t take you for a Trent Foster fan.”
“Oh, no. I wouldn’t pay good money to see that dude sing. I’m a teenager but not a teenage girl, like all his fans. I’m waiting for the 2PM showing of the Magnus, Robot Fighter movie.”
“The one where he faces off against Predator? Yeah, I’d like to see that myself. We’re seeing the Trent Foster movie because…y’know, Regina…”
“I saw you and the fam walk in. Regina used to like seeing superhero movies. But, well, I guess…”
“So, are you alone? Maybe I could pass on the Trent Foster experience and sit with you?” I smiled coquettishly.
“Uh, no.” He pointed to a table where Winnie was sitting, engrossed in checking texts on her phone. “Say, I hope you’re coming to the game on Friday. Seriously, you’d be my guest at the post-game meal. I can squeeze six into my Challenger.”
“Sure. I’m coming with Regina.”
“Oh, yeah, she can come too. Hey, you’re next.”
“Can I take your order, miss?” The girl at the counter repeated her question before I turned around. I was still smiling goofily at George.
It was unusually hot for a Tuesday afternoon in the second week of September in the Northeast as I stood outside Mildred Pierce Elementary School, waiting to pick up Artie as students were let out at 3PM. I was wearing a red striped t-shirt, my new denim mini-skirt, and a pair of beige and pink trainers. Oh, and I was wearing makeup. First time out in public! You see, for teaching me how to apply makeup properly, Regina’s payment in kind was for me to take over escorting Artie home from school. At least temporarily until I had something otherwise constructive to do with my days.
When Regina brought Artie home from school Monday afternoon, the three of us immediately turned around and walked the ten blocks to the strip mall.
“I promised mom I’d teach you how to put on makeup. Artie! Don’t let go of my hand! So, we’re going to get you what I started with. One of those all-in-one makeup kits that’s perfect for teens—”
“Why can’t I just borrow your makeup. After all, we’re sisters—”
“No! Never share makeup! Even with your twin sister from a parallel universe. Germs, viruses, all that bad stuff…”
“Can I have some ice cream, Regina?” Artie pulled on her arm to command her attention.
“Okay, okay. Soft serve or scoop?”
“I vote for soft serve.” Artie low-fived me with his free hand.
Once back home, we sat down at Regina’s vanity, and she went through makeup essentials step-by-step. It was rather daunting to look at all the instruments of torture in the all-in-one kit Regina had picked up at CVS for the low, low price of a mere $20 U.S. Lip gloss, lipstick, eye shadow, primer, brow gel, blush, mascara, and every kind and size of brush. I practiced for over two hours. Artie lay on the floor playing a game on my new phone. Finally, mom came home from work and discovered the whole sick crew in Regina’s bedroom.
“Look, mommy, Gigi’s got makeup on.” He let out a squeal of surprise. “She looks just like you do now, mommy.”
“You look beautiful, Gigi. Regina’s done a good job of teaching. I’m going to go change and then start dinner. I’d love to have both my girls help.”
“Regina, is that you? You look very nice today. New outfit?”
It was Mrs. Landon. I’d had her in second grade. Since our middle and high schools were catty-corner from our primary school, we would still occasionally cross paths. In this universe, she knew Reggie had transitioned to Regina. She stepped away from the front of the building and slowly approached.
“I’m not Regina. I’m…uh…Gigi, her twin sister.”
“My goodness. I didn’t know she had a twin.”
“I was adopted as a baby. I just found out about my biological mom and sister.”
“Are your adoptive parents here with you?” she asked, a note of concern in her voice.
“Gigi! What are you doing here?” Artie bounded out of the building, followed by several classmates and a young woman in her twenties who presumably was their teacher. “It’s my other sister, Gigi, Miss Rowan. See you tomorrow!”
“I’m here to walk you home, Artie. Regina and I switched jobs. Ha ha. Come on, let’s go.”
“I guess Regina’s not gonna take me to hockey practice on Saturday either. She doesn’t want to do anything with me anymore. Do you think she doesn’t like me now that she’s a girl?”
I thought about the Artie in my world. Just before mom decided to move to New York and take Artie with her, I’d accompany Artie to his weekly tee ball games. Bunch of 6- and 7-year-old boys and girls hitting softened baseballs off a tee on top of a tube adjusted for each player’s height. Most of the time batted balls never got out of the infield. It was boring to watch, but I got a kick out of seeing Artie running around the bases, laughing and pumping his tiny arms like a miniature Olympic sprinter.
“I’ll take you, squirt. I’ve got nothing better to do on weekends. Or any other day for that matter.”
Artie hugged my leg, making it difficult for me to walk.
“Are you going to stay with us forever, Gigi? You’re the best sister I’ve ever had.”
On Thursday night, Uncle Richie came over for dinner. Afterwards, he wanted to tell us what his research into my situation revealed. Mom put Artie to bed and rejoined us in the living room, prompting Richie to begin.
“My…uh…source in the courthouse got me the names of the couple that adopted Regina’s twin sister 17 years ago. She was reluctant to divulge it because it’s really illegal to reveal that information. The law is on the books to protect the child, you see, from biological parents who reverse field and seek to regain custody. Could be a huge mess for all concerned, especially the child who’s caught in the middle—”
“Richie,” mom interrupted with exasperation, “we know all that. What did you find out?”
“Marcel and Delphine LeClerc. French citizens who met and married while working for L’Oreal at their U.S. headquarters in Berkeley Heights, here in New Jersey. They named the baby girl Genevieve. But everyone called her Gigi—”
Mom’s breath caught in her throat, and she placed a hand over her mouth.
Nick declared, “That’s our Gigi! Perfect match, honey.”
Regina and I froze in surprise. Was Richie making this up?
“The family lived in nearby Summit and Marcel rose in the ranks to Deputy Controller for the company. They enjoyed traveling and, every summer, the LeClercs would take a month’s vacation, as is French custom, you know. This year, they decided to road trip through Nevada and Arizona. In mid-June, they arrived in Arizona, specifically Grand Canyon National Park. They took the popular helicopter tour of the Grand Canyon. Unfortunately, their helicopter experienced some sort of mechanical failure and crashed into Jacob Lake—”
Again, mom’s breath caught in her throat. Regina and I reflexively reached for each other and squeezed our hands together, perched on the edge of the sofa.
“There were no survivors. But they never recovered Gigi’s body. Everyone else on that flight but her. Still, under New Jersey law, there can be no declaration of death until five years have elapsed in the case of a missing person.”
Nick took mom in his arms and looked straight at me. “Of course, she’s not dead. She’s alive and well, sitting right here, in this house, with us. Welcome home, Gigi.”
“I’m so sorry you lost your adoptive parents, honey. But you’re safe now and truly loved and treasured. I can’t make up for the 17 years we’ve missed out on, but we can be your new old family—”
“And then there’s the question of how she survived the crash and where she’s been the last three months. How in the world did she find her way to you guys? This looks to be some humdinger of a PTSD case, alright. Almost a complete wiping of her memories in and around this incredibly traumatic event.”
There was silence while everyone contemplated that mystery. Mom crossed the room, sat down on the sofa, and put her arms around me. Nick got up and paced the room.
“Richie, can you hook us up with a lawyer who can establish Gig’s identity and get the court to return custody of her to Sara?” asked Nick.
“Establishing her identity is a relatively simple matter. A DNA test will prove that she’s Regina’s fraternal twin. They ought to share at least 50% of their genes. The real problem is that, by statute, the relatives of her adoptive parents are first in line to gain custody in the event of their demise.
“I’m no lawyer but a good argument could be made that it’s in the best interests of the child…our Gigi…to remain in the only country she’s ever known. The LeClercs’ relatives, on both sides, reside exclusively in Europe. And, finally, it might turn out to be a moot question anyway. Gigi turns 18 in March and becomes fully adult. By the time any legal challenges are resolved, the issue will no longer exist.”
“Let’s get her DNA tested first, Richie,” mom urged.
“I have a contact at the university hospital who could set that up for Gigi—”
“I know. This might cost you an uncomfortable date with a less than desirable companion.”
“You know me too well, sis. It’s late. Gotta get home. I’ve got a bunch of tests to grade. I’ll let you know when Gigi can go in for that DNA test.”
Uncle Richie leaned down and held my hand. Turning to shield himself from mom’s view, he winked his eye. “Everything will work itself out, Gigi. Trust me.”
Nick saw him to the door.
“Honey,” mom said, probing my eyes, “do you remember anything about the crash and after? Anything at all?”
I shook my head. Not only was I at a loss for words, but I also suddenly felt a throbbing pain in my stomach. Not like any stomach ache I’d ever had before. It seemed to be lower down in my abdomen. Afraid I might have an accident, I jumped up from the sofa and excused myself. I ran up the stairs to the second-floor bathroom, holding my stomach with my left hand.
As soon as I entered the bathroom, I quickly lowered my jeans and panties and plopped down on the toilet seat. I expected a rapid expulsion, but nothing happened. That’s when I noticed it. In the gusset of my panties, there were little pinpoint red spots that looked suspiciously like blood. I was bleeding!
What’s going on?
The End of Part Four
Comments
Sammy C
Although many psychologists and anthropologists doubt the existence of menstrual synchrony, a popular belief is that women who live together or spend a lot of time together begin menstruating at the same time every month. This may be the clinical proof that clinches it 8^D
Melanie Brown
Now what do I do? I was going to have Amanda from my story have her first period. Gayle is having her period. Is Lonnie or Joni next?
