by Page Turner
“Don’t you feel like the other woman?”
“Well, I suppose I technically am,” Karen would say. “Penny one’s woman to Viv. I’m another. Viv’s one woman to Penny. I’m the other. I’m the other woman. But the trouble isn’t that I’m the other woman, it’s what that role typically means: Deception, betrayal, lies. There’s none of that in our relationship. It’s all above board. We’re all honest. We tell each other the truth.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It’s not so bad,” Karen said, before adding, “I’m not here to break up anyone’s relationship, so don’t you worry.” She suspected that was the cause of most suspicion, people’s worry that monogamy could easily be vanquished by a solitary example of something else that was working just fine.
People weren’t exactly eager to admit it, but it did seem that a lot of them implicitly viewed monogamy as particularly fragile, and a lot of people did seem to nurse a private worry that the only thing keeping monogamy going was a lack of competing alternative relationship styles – ones that were considered to be viable or healthy in any event.
As a result, they were prone to viewing a non-monogamous setup with suspicion, not only more conflicted than they might have otherwise been but also largely unaware of those conflicts.
Because of this, Viv, Penny, and Karen found they were all warned repeatedly that monogamy was a safer, more reasonable bet.
As much as everyone had tried to warn each of them about the perils of having two serious long-term lovers, they really hadn’t experienced much in the way of drama, especially after they got together and decided formally they wanted to move Karen in, to make a serious go of it.
Karen had been worried about the innate power imbalance of joining a home that had been shared by two other people for many years – and to which she was added on as more of an extension or afterthought – but that had gone rather smoothly. She fit in well.
The most gut-wrenching dilemma Karen encountered in her early weeks at their little house on Bell Avenue was whether she should be throwing away the tissues on the left nightstand.
The nightstand in question was directly adjacent to Viv’s third of the sprawling emperor size bed they shared. It was covered with small wadded up tissues.
Viv’s sinuses seemed to flare up rather easily, something she attributed to the medicines she took to prevent the headaches and seizures that had plagued her since she was a little girl. She’d often wake up in the middle of the night to blow her nose.
This was difficult for Karen to get used to, even sleeping on the far right of the bed, with Penny in between them as a buffer. Karen had a hard time adapting to how restless that Viv could be as a sleeper. How loudly she blew her nose.
But with time, Karen mastered sleeping through these late-night vigils. And the only evidence of them was the used tissues sitting on the nightstand.
Her first instinct was to clean them up. After all, they weren’t hygienic, and frankly it was kind of gross how Viv just let them sit there.
But would doing so cause Viv to resent her? Perhaps the close placement of these tissues, used or not, were important for convenience’s sake. Viv might need something within close reach to blow her nose. Maybe she should use fresh tissues every time, but maybe that wasn’t so easy in the middle of the night (when getting up and going to get new tissues could disturb Penny and Karen).
But if that were the case, why didn’t Viv simply keep a box of fresh tissues on her nightstand with a small trashcan within her throwing radius?
Was she being eco-friendly? Trying to save money?
Karen batted this line of thinking back and forth, afraid to speak up and ask Viv, which was absurd, really, with how many more delicate things they’d been forced to be frank about in the course of moving in together.
This issue, however, sat right at the nexus of Worth Bringing Up versus Not Worth Bringing Up. It never quite seemed to meet the threshold of being a topic of conversation. But it still wouldn’t leave Karen’s mind entirely.
One day Karen screwed up her courage and threw away the dirty tissues on Viv’s nightstand.
Viv didn’t seem to notice and didn’t say anything. But the next morning, new tissues appeared.
Karen threw those away as well. Viv still didn’t say anything.
The next morning, new dirty tissues appeared.
Karen then didn’t pick up the nightstand for three days. Viv didn’t say anything.
At that point, Karen realized then that Viv didn’t seem to notice or care about the tissues on the nightstand nearly as much as Karen had worried she might care. It seemed the best course of action was to ignore the tissues entirely.
This was an attitude that would serve her well as the months and eventually years unfolded with the three of them living as a triad. Face the demons if they approach, but don’t go demon hunting.
Do the work needed to keep the relationships healthy and strong, but don’t invent more work just for the sake of work.
And Karen would also learn that it was often easier just to speak up and ask about something than to perform little experiments and try to test her partners.
But that last lesson would take time.
Still, Penny and Viv had to admit that Karen had come a long way from when they met her.
Now that was an awkward question they got asked a lot: How did you all meet?
When it was just Penny and Viv, it had been a much more comfortable question. An easier answer.
“In college,” they’d say, in unison.
Viv would smile, remembering the spooky girl dressed head to toe in pink, sitting on a park bench, seemingly talking to herself.
Viv had been warned about Penny, by people she trusted.
“That girl’s fucking psycho.”
“What a weirdo.”
“No one’s that crazy,” one friend had said to Viv. “I think that poor girl’s faking it for attention.”
Maybe so. Maybe not. Viv wasn’t big on reputation as a guiding force. She’d heard plenty of smack talked about Penny Dreadful. I mean, her name was enough of a red flag all by itself, wasn’t it?
Girl either had parents who wanted to torture her, or she was a show business type who was attention hungry. About to start an all-girl punk band or something.
Penny Dreadful. What kind of name was that?
But Viv had seen her that one day, in the purple half-light of twilight. Penny’s hair was almost glowing, and something about the lambent light brought out the lines of her face in a way that was really striking, as though she weren’t a flesh and blood person but had been sketched by a comic artist.
In that moment, with the lights whispering over Penny’s face, Viv felt a warmth in her chest that took her by surprise. Viv decided to discreetly listen to Penny’s “conversation.”
“You don’t have to worry, you know,” Penny said, to what appeared to be no one, as she sat beneath a tree. “I’ll be here for you. I won’t give up on you.”
Penny paused. She leaned forward as though she were listening intently to someone.
But all Viv could hear were the rustling of the leaves as a gust of wind swept through them.
Penny nodded her head. “Well, those other people weren’t me. It doesn’t matter what you say. What your doubts try to tell you. I’ll be the exception to the rule. You can count on me. Even if you don’t realize it yet, you can count on me.”
Another pause.
And then Penny said, “No, it’s not. It’s not weak to need other people. I pity the person who told you that. They must have a deep emptiness inside themselves to feel like all they have to offer the world is being as little of a burden as possible. It must be lonely to view other people that way. As boon or burden. Nothing in between. That’s not how it works, Kip. Not really. It’s a give and a take. Always. It’s jus
t more comfortable for people to round up or round down. Try to artificially split everyone into two groups: Villain or saint.”
Viv listened as Penny continued. “Ever heard the myth of Procrustes, Kip?” A beat.
“Well, that’s okay. It’s not one of the greatest hits. Not like Icarus and his wax wings. Medusa and her gaze of stone. Procrustes isn’t one of the biggies. But it’s a good one, I promise.”
Penny paused. Then continued.
“Sure. Procrustes was one of Poseidon’s sons, a blacksmith. He lived along the Sacred Way, a road from Athens to Eleusis that cultists traveled to make their pilgrimage. Procrustes would invite each one who passed by his home to spend the night there in his bed. The only problem was that the bed never fit anyone exactly. Instead of leaving well enough alone, Procrustes would amputate the travelers’ legs if they were too tall for the bed. If they were too short, he would beat their legs with his smith’s hammer to stretch them.”
Penny waited.
“Yes, I know it’s grisly. But don’t miss the point.”
A beat.
“The point is that forcing things to fit a paradigm usually takes violence, whether physical or psychic, and nearly always ends in unpleasantness. So you’d do well not to try to force me into the same box as those who hurt you.”
Viv stepped forward. “Who’s Kip?”
Penny started. “I… uh… how long have you been listening?”
“Does it matter?” Viv replied.
Penny started to gather her things.
“You don’t have to go,” Viv said.
“Don’t I?” Penny said.
“No,” Viv said. She spoke the word with as soft edges as she could, letting it fade away slowly like a puff of exhaled smoke.
Penny sighed.
“You’re so suspicious,” Viv said. “So guarded. Maybe you should try taking your own advice.”
“How so?”
“Maybe you could trust someone for once,” Viv said.
Penny stared at her. As she met Viv’s silver eyes, she felt as though Viv were looking through her. That Viv could see Penny’s past as clearly as she could the tree that loomed above them or the sky. There was something intense about those eyes. And the way they looked at her.
Penny also noted something else peculiar about Viv’s eyes: They were silver the first time she looked at her, but they didn’t stay silver. Each time she looked into Viv’s eyes, they seemed to change color.
“What color are your eyes?” Penny asked.
“What color do you think they are?” Viv said.
“I don’t know,” Penny admitted. “It seems like they change color every time I look at them. How are you doing that? Are they changing with your mood?”
“Not my mood,” Viv said. “Probably yours. They look different based on what their observer is thinking or feeling… or at least that’s how it seems to me on my end.”
“What color are your eyes when you look in the mirror?” Penny asked.
“Green,” Viv replied.
Strange, Penny thought. Green was the only color that Viv’s eyes didn’t seem to be to Penny. She watched as they flashed into molten metal. Then Viv’s eyes were cerulean blue. Finally, they were muddy and flecked with gold.
“Have you ever seen things that other people didn’t?” Penny ventured watching Viv’s eyes shift through more shades.
“All the time,” Viv replied.
Without realizing what she was even doing, Viv brushed a stray hair away from Penny’s face and touched her cheek. An energy began to hum between them, like two simultaneous tones playing. They both felt it, nearly heard it. A dyad sounding. A resonance. Harmonious or dissonant? It was too intense at first for either of them to know which. Only that they had the potential to greatly impact one another.
Startled at the touch, Penny froze in place but didn’t pull away. “You do?”
“Mm…” Viv said. “It gets exhausting. I can never really explain it to other people. What I see. They always think I’m crazy.”
Penny sighed. “Me, too.”
“You know,” Viv said. “Everyone warned me you were crazy. They told me to stay away. That you’d be nothing but trouble.”
Penny nodded sadly. She’d heard people say that about her plenty of times when they thought she couldn’t hear them (and a few times brazenly when they knew she could).
“But I’m starting to think,” Viv said. “That you’re the most sane person I’ve ever met. I’m starting to think they’re the crazy ones.”
Penny smiled and took Viv’s hand in hers. And in that moment, they both felt and heard the two tones sounding together once again, this time more clearly: They weren’t the same notes but not entirely different. The interval between them was just right. A perfectly harmonious dyad.
Their relationship was easy. Whenever Viv crashed at her barebones student apartment, Penny would wake up early the morning after to pack Viv sandwiches cut into the shape of different animals in a bagged lunch. This was because Viv found it difficult to eat when she spent time with Penny, especially in the beginning. There was something about Penny that was so radiant. It was a little distracting.
Eating seemed like such a waste of time. Viv would much rather spend hours in deep conversation or wrapped up in the sheets, kissing every square inch of her girlfriend. There was nothing quite as beautiful in this world, or the next, as Penny’s naked form. It reminded Viv of the sumptuous lines of the women in Renaissance paintings, especially at moments when Penny was unguarded, unaware that Viv was watching her. When she didn’t have time to whip herself into one of her stock camera-ready vanity poses.
Viv loved those times the most, the moments when Penny wouldn’t have been considered by people who didn’t know her as photogenic. And Viv found herself snapping those images more than any other in her eidetic memory for safekeeping.
She treasured her mental images in which Penny looked imperfect. Natural. Unaware that anyone was looking at her.
In the first few years they were together, Viv and Penny rarely fought. Whenever they did fight, it was inevitably quite civil and quickly resolved.
And it was Viv who convinced Penny to finally get tested for psychic powers. To take a comprehensive perceptive battery (CPB). Because while Penny hadn’t come up as positive on the routine testing she and everyone else had been subjected to in public school, it was a well-known fact that the routine testing only picked up 80% of cases.
The remaining 20% of cases currently able to be confirmed required a much more thorough process to unearth.
The standard battery was required for all high school sophomores (and administered ad hoc based on teacher recommendation at any time during the school experience). Typically, so long as you stayed out of prison and didn’t request to be given one, you didn’t ever have to take the CPB.
But Viv had a sneaking suspicion that what Penny dismissed as “just the way she’d always been” and had slipped by on routine examination would come up on the longer test immediately.
“Look at it this way, Penny. You’re either psychic or not. Wouldn’t you rather know the truth either way?”
Penny frowned. “I’m not so sure. I don’t know if I’m ready to be part of the… system.”
Viv shrugged. “It’s not so bad. They’re paying for my school. And I’ll have a job when I graduate.”
Penny sighed. The State had provided for her until she became 18. But she’d been on her own the last few years. Her good grades had earned her a scholarship for tuition, but she wasn’t sure how she’d ever pay off the debt she’d amassed for living expenses. The job market wasn’t looking so great either. True, tueys were underpaid – and sometimes it looked like slave labor from her vantage point – but bringing home something had to be better than what she’d seen her peers struggle with.
The economy was bleak and getting bleaker every day. Like everyone else she’d grown up with, she’d been told that education was what would save her life. That she only had to pick something, study hard, and that she would forge a successful way forward. She was told repeatedly that talent and hard work were rewarded.
But life had taught her different lessons. And she’d come to realize that an awful lot of successful people had arbitrary connections that weren’t factored into this overly rosy equation of Talent Plus Hard Work Equals Success.
Nepotism made the world go round. Bad news for an orphan.
“Alright,” Penny said. “I’ll take the test.”
It was a testing morning that dragged into afternoon. Then afternoon lingered so long twilight began to descend. The test took Penny twelve hours, all told.
Phase 1 was your standard Ganzfeld experiment. Or at least Penny thought it was standard since this was her first time doing one. The test was at the very least consistent with what she’d been told to expect by Viv. The examiner escorted Penny to a comfy chair, where she was instructed to sit down.
Penny was given a pair of headphones that fit snugly around her ears and played continuous static at a volume that made it so she could hear nothing else. She also donned a pair of goggles that blocked out all light.
For the next half hour, Penny sat as the examiner, a normal, presumably focused on a series of images and “sent” them telepathically to Penny. As this happened, Penny was instructed to speak aloud what, if anything, she was receiving. What she was experiencing as far as thoughts, feelings, emotions.
“I’m really glad I went to the bathroom before this test,” Penny said aloud. She knew it wasn’t the right answer, but it was the first thing that popped into her mind. The static on her sensory deprivation headphones sounded very much like a roaring river, and even now she could feel her bladder twitch if she thought for too long about water.
She cleared her throat. “I’m thinking of water,” she said. “A waterfall.”
“I’m trying not to think about water because it’s a bad idea. They show you in those movies, don’t they? What happens if you think about water too long. Or try not to think about water. Don’t think of an elephant. Don’t think of having to pee. And certainly not a waterfall.”
