[Repugnant Abomination]

Final draft.

Between homes

It always started the same: Stress, anxiety, sweaty palms, stomach pain, increased heart rate, and shortness of breath. It always ended the same too; two fingers down her throat and vomit in the toilet. Today was a good day. Tamara was coming home early from the tattoo parlor, and they were going to spend the afternoon looking at apartments. Amber washed her mouth out in the sink, and glanced at the mirror. A black face with penciled in eyebrows and a wide nose stared at her. She frowned.
The living room smelled of worn leather and rain. Dirty dishes, Patrick’s, littered the stained oak coffee table, in front of the green sofa they bought at a garage sale for 15 dollars. Adorned on the walls were pictures of the ocean she had taken for a photography class she dropped out of 3 weeks in. Rays of light cut through dark Seattle rain clouds and trickled in through dirty windows, illuminating a ‘1500 words you should know’ book, also Pat’s. Tick-tocking filled the room. Amber worked her bottom lip between her teeth, and checked her cell phone for missed calls - none. She walked to the front door and peered through the peephole, then paced in the dim hallway, pinching her palm between meticulously manicured nails. 3:15. Dialing Tamara’s number, she sucked in her slender stomach and prodded it. No answer. In the kitchen a charred pan and half empty pot of day old stew sat on the stove next to the refrigerator with a rainbow ‘CELEBRATE DIVERSITY’ magnet stuck to its grainy surface. She grabbed a diet coke and moved to the living room, sitting down, crossing her legs, and drumming her fingers on the arm of the couch. She picked up pat’s book and opened it to the middle.
Pulchritude (PUL-kri-tood), noun
Beauty. Pulchritude is derived from the Latin word for “beautiful.”
Amber tore the page from the book and crumpled it in her hand, then tossed it across the room. 3:17. She got up and opened the front door, wandering into the hallway and looking around, and then she went back inside.
***
Tamara slipped into the apartment and eased the door shut.
“Amber?” she waited, and then hurried into her room. She went to her dresser and crouched, opening the bottom drawer and hiding a black box from her purse beneath a pile of wrinkled shirts. As she stood she heard the sink running through the wall.
“I’m home!” Tamara called out, going out into the living room.
Amber rushed across the room and wrapped around Tamara, kissing her before she could speak.
“I missed you,” Amber said.
“Are you ready to go?”
Amber paused, “What’s that smell?”
“Let’s go, it’s already 3:30,” Tamara started for the door.
“Let me get my purse.”
***
In Seattle there is every kind of rain. Today fat droplets fell from the backdrop of a gray sky, like the speckles in Tamara’s eyes. They beat on the surface of her 91 Honda, saving her a trip to the carwash.
“So I was like, hey, relax, you can say black, I’m not gonna get pissed,” Tamara steered with her left hand and gestured with her right, “you know? Anyway, I think it’s this next left.”
“What did he say?”
“What do you mean?”
“Before,” Amber said.
“African American,” she rolled her eyes, “like I’ve ever been to Africa. Here it is.”
A group of crows picked at indistinguishable road kill in the middle of the road, then scattered as Tamara parked beside the curb.
“Lovely,” Amber made a face at the death scene, and then reached for Tamara’s hand.
“Not right now,” she put her hands in her pockets.
The apartment complex was painted yellow and chipped in places, worn by rain and time. A narrow cement walkway lead to the entrance, flanked by dry brown grass with scattered toys across it. An elderly woman in a rocking chair peered at them through her window, and made no attempt to hide her curiosity once noticed. A soda machine hummed dully as they passed and a mangy cat with brown spots skittered out from behind it and disappeared into the bushes on the other side.
“23 D, this is it,” Tamara said, twisting the bronze doorknob. The stench of cigarettes and mold lingered in the stuffy room. There was a hole in the wall to the right, and the carpet was brown and splotchy, with bronze lining along the edge to separate it from the cheap tiled entrance.
“No way,” Amber said, standing in the doorway.
“Look, it has a dishwasher.”
“No.”
Tamara grit her teeth, “fine.”
The wind picked up on the drive home, rocking the car along the highway. Amber gripped the edge of her seat and pressed her feet against the floor amidst McDonald’s wrappers and empty water bottles, “slow down, Tamara.”
She pressed harder on the gas. There was silence Tamara’s twitching jaw dared Amber to break.
“Tamara -“
“What?” she cut her off.
“That place was a dump.”
“If you got a job we could afford something nicer.”
Amber shifted her body towards the window and pressed her forehead against it. The cold felt good. Tree’s whipped by, and she closed her eyes to keep from getting dizzy.
“You’re 25 and out of school, you need to have a job,” Tamara lectured. When Amber opened her eyes she was parallel to a white Lexus in the next lane. Inside was a family – a husband and wife and two little boys in the back with a golden retriever sitting between them – one played with a Star Wars action figure and the other pet the dog. As they merged onto exit 35 Amber strained to keep them in sight, not wanting to let them go.
“Are you listening, Amber?”
“I don’t feel good.”
***
The sound and smell of sizzling meat greeted them in the hallway. They hadn’t spoken, and Pat’s voice was a welcome distraction, “I’m making spaghetti and sausage if you girls are hungry.”
“Thanks Pat, maybe later,” Tamara said, smelling the food over his shoulder.
“I’m not hungry,” Amber said, grabbing a diet coke from the fridge and disappearing into Tamara’s room.
Pat sprinkled garlic powder over the sauce and licked his fingers, “I’m thinking about joining the chess club at school.”
Tamara rolled her eyes, “stick to checkers, Pat.”
Pat kept his eyes down, his blood bubbling like the sauce he stirred.
“I’ll be back later,” she said, heading for the door before he could ask where she was going. He put a lid over the sauce and sat at the kitchen table, picking his book up and studying the chess diagram. ‘Can white save himself by playing King-takes-Rook in this position?’ After careful deliberation Pat concluded yes and turned the page. ‘No. In this case the Queen, which is giving check, also protects the Rook. White is checkmated.’
***
Amber heard the door slam and sighed. The walls around her were white, and covered in posters and pictures: Malcolm X, a Disney Princess collage, photos of Tamara and Amber together, and pictures Amber had taken of different sceneries. The faint smell of sweat and sex lingered around the bed, just large enough to accommodate two bodies. Atop the corner desk the pale glow of a laptop screen pressed against the darkness. She stood in front of the Disney poster and studied Bell and Aurora, Cinderella and Snow White. She grew up wanting to look like them. She was still growing. Moving to the desk, she turned on the laptop. Her desktop background was a close up of Tamara laughing, taken the night they stayed up drinking wine and talking about when they came out. ‘My dad was so shocked I thought he was going to explode,’ Tamara had said with a grin. Amber clicked the internet icon and google searched cupcakes. Her stomach growled as she clicked through pictures, imagining how the multicolored frosting would taste. She pretended to smell them and feel their texture against the roof of her mouth. Light from the screen silhouetted her outline as she sat slumped, and lowered her face to her hands.
***
The night life was in full bloom. Faces she had never seen were everywhere downtown, but always the same. The under 21 crowd, the drunk college kids, the 30 but I’m still cool guys, the 50 year old couples coming back from dinner and ice cream, and the sordid 40 year old men looking to pick up on any girls who had too much to drink. She didn’t fit in with any of them, she thought. She was the gay black girl with short hair, who studied medieval Russian literature, who bounced around foster homes growing up and had a piercing fetish because she thought pain and art were beautiful. A group of girls from her literature theory class passed by, and she veered left to avoid them.
“Dyke,” one of them said, just loud enough to hear, followed by muffled laughter. Tamara glared at them over her shoulder, but they didn’t notice.
She walked several blocks, until stopping in front of a white house with green trimming and a well kept yard. She thought about Amber moping around her and Pat’s apartment, the girlfriend who couldn’t give her what she wanted, and made her feel guilty about it. She thought how her decisions were always compromised by her relationship, always leaving her unsatisfied. About the summer she wanted to buy a motorcycle and travel cross country so she could feel what it was like to be free, a creation of God, between sky and ocean, and how Amber didn’t approve. She lingered on the sidewalk, looking over her shoulder and kicking a small stone. Finally, she walked through the yard, passed the rose bushes and porch swing, and knocked.
Sarah opened the door and smiled “you came.”
“Of course,” Tamara said.
Sarah had flawless white skin, except for a few freckles on her nose. She was tall, and wore tan slacks and a ruby red sweater. Blonder hair was braided intricately and tucked behind her shoulders.
“I’ll put on some tea. Do you like peppermint?”
“Yes, thank you,” Tamara said, hanging her coat on the rack. She followed Sarah through the tidy living room to the kitchen and sat down on the counter. Sarah filled a cherry red kettle with water and set it on the stove. Smiling over her shoulder, she said, “I made some cookies if you’re hungry.”
“Sure.”
She removed a tray from the oven and held it up for Tamara, who took one and ate it in one bite, “Mmm, this is delicious,” she said, covering her mouth as she spoke.
“Thank you. Apparently culinary school wasn’t a waste of money after all. All I did was add a cup of sugar and –“
“Amber and I looked at apartments today,” she said, cutting her off.
Sarah paused, and then set the tray down. Leaning her hip against the refrigerator and folding her arms, she said, “Did you find anything? I hear there are some nice places on the east end of the city.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
Tamara slid down from the counter and tried to hug her, but she turned away, putting her hand to her forehead, “I can’t do this anymore, Tamara. I’m almost 30 and I need some stability in my life.”
“You’re only 27, but yeah, I know.”
“You need to decide, it’s either her or me.”
The kettle began to whistle. Sarah took it off the burner and poured two cups, handing one to Tamara. She moved to the kitchen table and sat down, cupping the Mickey Mouse mug between her hands. Steam swirled up, and she closed her eyes and breathed deeply the aroma of peppermint. Sarah followed and sat across from her, her light blue eyes trying to read Tamara’s face.
“I love you,” she reached across the table and took her hand, “what are you thinking?”
Tamara felt the warmth from the room envelope her, like Thanksgiving, when friends and family get together for one day, casting aside any bad feelings, because in the end what’s important is to love, and be loved. She opened her eyes and squeezed Saraha’s hand.
***
Amber came out into the living room to find Pat on the couch in his pajamas, watching TV. She walked passed him and stopped in front of the bookshelf, looking it over before squatting and rummaging around a pile of papers on the floor. She blew her bangs out of her eyes and stood, looking around, hands on hips. She checked the coffee table, then the kitchen table, sighing louder each time. Empty movie cases hung off the side of the cabinet in the living room, and a stack of DVD’s 4 inches high was on the floor beside it. She checked there too.
“Ugh!” she glanced at Pat and then coughed and cleared her throat several times. Finally she stomped to the front of the couch and kicked his shin.
“Hey!”
“Ow!” Pat leveled his gaze on her, rubbing his shin, “what?”
“Have you seen my digital camera?”
“Yeah, like I’m some kind of impotent, all knowing God or something. No I don’t know where your camera is.”
Amber’s lips twitched, and she folded her arms over her chest and tilted her head to the side, “Yeah, you’re definitely impotent, Pat, unless you meant omnipotent,” she said, “better keep studying your book.” Pat’s cheeks flushed and he lowered his eyes. Amber frowned, wishing she hadn’t said anything. She turned, when Pat said, “Where do you think Tamara is?” Amber faced him, pinching her palm between her nails, and glanced at the clock.
“I don’t know,” she lowered to sit beside him.
“How are you two doing?”
Amber shrugged.
“Are you happy with the relationship?” he asked.
“Sometimes,” Amber sighed, “But I need her. Besides, it’s a good match.”
“You know,” Pat began, “When I was in high school I was the captain of the football team, the stereotypical jock. I did everything I thought I was supposed to do. Senior year I asked the homecoming queen to be my date – she accepted, of course, it was more a formality than anything else, something high school royalty, if you can stomach that idea, did,” he adjusted his body to face her, and continued. “She was a bitch and I was miserable the whole time, like I knew I’d be. I almost left the dance to get drunk with my buddies, that’s when I saw Anita. She was a girl in our school who was in a wheelchair. Everyone politely ignored her, because she made us uncomfortable. I decided to do something unexpected – I asked her to dance, and it was the most fun I ever had at a dance. I had no idea how funny she was.”
Amber squinted, “Ok, so what?”
“The point is,” he continued, “is that I took that homecoming queen, Jennifer, to prom because I thought it was the natural choice. After I danced that night with Anita I decided to never make that mistake again.”
“Is that why you want to join the chess team?” she asked.
Pat shrugged, “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”
Amber watched him disappear into his room and then stood to continue her search. She went through Tamara’s closet, and then her drawers. She found a small black box with a note under it. It read ‘Be mine’. She opened it and a heart shaped locket twinkled in her eyes. Putting it on, she walked to the Disney poster and looked at her reflection. She touched it with her fingertips, and then laughed, realizing it was like the one gracing Bell’s neck.
“We need to talk,” Tamara’s said from the doorway, nose red from the cold walk home.
Amber turned to face her, smiling, when she noticed Tamara staring at the locket with confusion and alarm.