Cracks

Me But Not Me By the Sea

"I'm Tamsen."

Of course she sounded like an otherworldly princess, with a name you'd give your unicorn.

I was oddly embarrassed about my own name, thinking it sounded like the classiest preteen in the trailer park, but offered it anyway.

"Gemini," I whispered, awkwardly sticking my hand out, then quickly pulling it back after realizing she was still across the room. Like I said, classy.

The quiet was getting weird. I hadn't moved from my criss-cross applesauce position on the unrealistically soft carpet, so a serious and determined Tamsen flung back her covers, guided her feet into slippers and padded up close to me. She glided down in front of me like a feather. "Whoa," she whispered, and I sat dead still as she silently inspected me, mesmerized, gently feeling my face and combing my hair with fairy wing fingers, even though I don't usually let people touch me. Although my brain only had 11 years on it, and I was not loved, I possessed some facility with science and was precocious enough to know that something crazy special and electromagnetically weird was going on. We were identical in every obvious way, yet we were not from the same place.

The air was crackling in this unfamiliar world as she sat looking for shared freckles and scars and softness. She'd find the scars, but would have to look very hard for any soft edges. Inspection should have felt weirder than it did. This all should have felt weirder than it did, but as soon as Tamsen grabbed my hand I felt an immediate warmth and peace within my mind and heart, as if all the bad wiring within my brain was repaired; synapses finally started firing in the right direction and the leering, sweaty ghosts were served notice. She had the power to pass information to me like wordless little brain notes, sealed with an unlikely bond. I felt things as they could and should be. My head was being made right. We laughed until we cried and it all felt so completely normal that I'd fallen through a hole in the universe and found another me. I reached out and hugged her, an untested new gesture. She hugged back harder. An alternate version of myself in an unfamiliar world was the first true friend I'd ever known.

Even now I still remember the terrifying delight at seeing her face up close. Sometimes when you're handed change at the corner store you find a coin mixed in that is all scraggly on one side and completely unblemished on the other, as if only one side ever had the duty of payment. Tamsen was the shimmering side of our same coin. From the moment we met I knew she wasn't just another me, but a me from a dream I rarely dared to dream; a me who was loved and cared for and fed. Her hair, clean and shiny, swung over her shoulder in a sleek braid with no flyaway bits, even mid-sleep. She beamed a smile we couldn't possibly share. She contained years of possibility in this one small moment, and erased all that had gone before. She was perfect. And talkative, it turned out. She asked a million questions, talking so fast I could barely keep up. My own questions threatened to tumble out in a hysterical mess. She wanted to compare every note that hadn't yet been taken. Her rapid fire queries were interspersed with moments of silent awe and squeals of disbelief. We spent time in front of the hallway mirror, sticking out our tongues, scrunching our noses and measuring the depth of our dimples with pinkies that undoubtedly shared the same fingerprint.

Tamsen asked if I could stay the night, but I wasn't sure if the idea of M finding an empty closet was a good thing. I hadn't yet explained the entire story. I was desperate to stay, to never leave her or the seaside or this planet or wherever I was ever again. In compromise I told her I could stay just a while longer, and we went downstairs for a snack. I was starving, as usual. Food was usually a scarce resource for me. Being left without it for days at a time had become commonplace, with me rationing a stashed packet of Skittles, or stick of butter in the fridge. It was hard living and I was a wiry little thing, smaller than most in my class (when I made it to class). I used to tell myself maybe M rarely noticed me between explosions in temper because I was so small. She must have forgotten I was there, and that's why she left me for so long. That's why there was no food, and why I had to hide under the bed sometimes on rent day when the landlord let himself in to have a look around. I'd lay quiet as a mouse and watch his dirty work boots travel around the small space and thank the stars that I was so small. Too big might have meant big trouble.

We settled on popsicles, which seemed a fine early morning snack to me. I had no idea what time it was, or how time even worked here or anywhere anymore. I locked eyes with her and asked if she knew what was happening, really, and she shook her head, looking genuinely perplexed. I knew Tamsen was telling the truth just as surely as if I'd answered myself. I did consider that maybe I had just died. Pushed the wrong buttons with M for the last time and this was the space between. "Am I dead?" I asked. She giggled and whispered no. I didn't think that was a funny question, but things were obviously a bit more clear to her. I was starting to get sleepy. "Am I on earth," I asked. No laughter this time. Just confusion and the sound of her breathing. My breathing. I didn't know if I cared about the particulars. I wanted to just enjoy these moments without loud people and louder fists. If I were in fact alive I'd face those things soon enough.

We talked quietly as we licked and freezed our brains and she told me about this small slice of her world, a bustling little village not far from town, where she and her father lived in this charmingly modern cottage with ceilings stretching toward heaven and walls of glass looking out over the swirling sea, where they farmed some and raised horses. Her father, Sidon, was a fisherman in some seasons and sheriff in all of them. I tried to imagine what he was like. A man of the law and of the sea, who tamed horses and loved a little girl like me. A man who did right. I imagined what it might be like to have a father who learned how to braid hair like that. Fishermen do have an advantage working with rope and knots, I suppose. As if mere pondering were a summons, we heard a noise at the top of the stairs and a deep, hacking cough. She failed to mention how early he greeted the day. I panicked, threw my popsicle toward the sink and dove behind a chair. I usually have hiding spots picked out in every room I enter, so I was prepared for this eventuality. But I was still terrified. Peeking out I could see Tamsen standing there, popsicle dripping down her hand, mouth slack, as her father entered the kitchen full of bluster and excitement. He didn't seem to notice her fugue state.

"Tamsen, Tamsen! My sweet tiny dove of electric magic, I had the most dazzling dream! I was out in the deep and a trio of delicious mermaids called to me, 'Sidon, Sidon, come live with us in a palace made of fool's gold and silvery shells,'" he said. His voice was both commanding and fantastic, with a smooth finish that felt like I imagined bourbon tasted. Big and booming by every measure, he was so caught up in his own gesticulating and tale telling that he still didn't seem to notice Tamsen's shock as he spoke of his temptation to live forever with his three watery brides, all with different shades of gossamer hair. He tore a hunk of bread from a loaf in a handwoven basket, grabbed some cheese, started brewing some coffee and sat down to start his breakfast. It was from this vantage that I realized my poor choice in hiding spot, as it was no longer possible to remain unseen. And saw me he did. Fear gripped me. He carefully sat down his bread and his cheese. He stared. Hard. He looked at Tamsen. And then he did the oddest thing. He started to cry.

"Daddy," Tamsen cried. "Oh, Daddy, you're not going mad. I can explain." And even though she couldn't explain, not even a little bit, she ran to his side and clutched him tightly, helping to dry his eyes and quiet his upset. This sort of familial scene was all so unfamiliar to me, and for the first time I felt uncomfortable.

He finally got hold of himself, as he swiveled his head between both of us until I thought it might pop off. Finally he beckoned me toward him, and I slowly approached the table. He pointed to a seat, and I sat, preparing for a smack that did not come. His eyes and face softened and his breath hitched as he spoke.

"How are things going in your universe?"