by Tej Turner
Ellen looked at them and shook her head. “They are scared. They think it will stop the predators from singling them out...”
“What do you want me to do this time? Play a song that’ll stop them being stupid?”
Ellen laughed. “Of course not, I am more interested in you…” she said, swiftly flashing a hand towards my head and snatching something from my crown.
It was a pair of wolf ears, attached by string.
“What?!” I muttered, putting my hand on my head self-consciously. “I never put them on!”
“Of course you didn’t. This is all metaphorical!” she said, waving her arm across the scene around us, tossing the fake ears to the hills. “Don’t you get that yet?”
A bright ray hit my eyes and I covered them. It was the sun. I tried to peer at it from under the shadow of my palm but it disappeared behind the clouds again.
“I saw the sun!” I yelled triumphantly. “I found it!”
“You’re getting there, but you’ve got a little further to go yet,” Ellen replied as she gently pushed me down so I lay on my back. “The clouds are still clearing.”
“What are you doing?” I asked as she positioned herself between my legs.
“I’m going to help you get better acquainted with your instrument.”
“But I don’t have my flute.”
Ellen laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t need a damn flute. This is metaphorical, how many times do I have to spell it out?” She lifted up one of my legs, and positioned her fingers as if my thighs were the notches of a flute. “Let’s see if this is subtle enough for you.”
She leaned down and placed her lips on the mouthpiece.
The next day Ellen called at my house and when I answered the door I blushed and could barely look her in the eyes. I invited her in and she sat in the living room while I went to make us both a cup of tea.
I returned, sat down next to her, and we were silent for a few moments.
“Why are you nervous?” Ellen asked.
I looked at her and remembered the dream. The memories were exciting and the fact that they were exciting made me nervous. I was caught between elation and shame, liberation and denial.
I didn’t know what to say. I felt my cheeks flush and I turned to the window.
“I think I know, Faye,” Ellen said, looking down at the steaming cup in her hands.
“I’m not ashamed anymore!” I whispered, looking at her. “I know what I am... and I know what I—”
I still couldn’t find the words to say it out loud. I just couldn’t. I looked at her but she was staring at her tea.
I put my hand on her leg.
“But I know—”
“Stop,” Ellen said. She spoke softly but it was still distinctively commanding. I drew my hand away. It was shaking.
“It was Jessica,” she said, finally looking at me. “She’s been—”
“Jessica?” I repeated. “Who’s Jessica?”
“My twin,” Ellen replied. “In the dreams; that’s not me, Faye. It’s Jessica. It’s all her.”
My jaw dropped, and a terrible embarrassment crawled into my stomach. “So you’re not...”
Ellen shook her head.
I looked at her and knew it to be true. The girl in the dream had the same face, the same figure, same hair, but the eyes were different. The way she held herself was different. She was different. She was not Jessica. Tears welled into my eyes. “But,” I said, trembling. “But... I haven’t ever. This is the first time I have...”
I cried and cried and cried. And Ellen held me as I wept into her shoulder.
After the tears were over I felt surprisingly lightheaded. It was like all my life I had been carrying this huge weight around with me which was now gone.
“So you like boys,” I said, as wiped my eyes.
Ellen shook her head. “I don’t like... anything... in that way, anyway.”
I stared at her. “What?”
“I am asexual,” Ellen said, shrugging. “I’m not sexually attracted to men or women.”
“Is that possible?” I asked, in disbelief.
Ellen nodded. “It’s probably more common than you think. I tried having sex when I was younger, with boys, even with a couple of girls Jessica drew to me... but I never really got it, or enjoyed it much. I just kind of did it because it was what people did. It took me a while to realise why.”
I looked up at the ceiling; truly realising just how different Ellen was to Jessica. There was something wild and vivacious about the mysterious girl who visited my dreams, whereas Ellen was notably recondite and collected. I looked at Ellen as if I was seeing her for the first time. Both of the twins were beautiful and enigmatic in their own way but I knew now that it wasn’t even Ellen I had a crush on. It was Jessica.
“So... you’re a lesbian,” Ellen said. Hearing the word spoken out loud felt strange to me and I wasn’t sure I was completely comfortable with it.
I nodded. “I guess I am... but please don’t tell anyone... I’m not ready for that yet.”
Ellen nodded. She didn’t seem to be phased about it at all, which was a surprising relief. “That’s okay. So, what do you want to do before band practice? I have some notes with me. We can—”
I shook my head. “No,” I said. “Can we... go shopping?”
There was something else I was ready to admit to myself now: I had been feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the clothes I was wearing, and it was time for a change. My experience with Ellen that morning was exactly the push I needed to do something about it.
When I told Ellen that I didn’t have much money she recommended we try the charity shops, and I was surprised to find a lot of things there I liked. I scanned the dresses, trousers, skirts and tops hanging up along the isles thinking about what I wanted to wear, rather than what Amy would like. I liked black, but I was tired of wearing it all the time.
I hated to admit it but my mother was right.
Shopping with Ellen was a strange experience. I was used to Amy advising me on what to wear and my mother trying to tell me what to not wear. I bought purple dresses, red netted-vests, denim skirts and purple tights. When I got home later I combined them with my old clothes in new and exciting ways. I discovered a new passion for trying out different outfits in front of the mirror and feeling waves of elation when I found combinations that worked. I was experimenting, and enjoying it.
When we arrived at band practice later I received a couple of surprised looks. Jack pretended not to notice but he did give me a second glance, whereas Patrick looked me up and down with one of his eyebrows raised.
“What’s with the change?” he asked.
“None of your business,” I replied, coolly, as I opened the carrier case for my flute.
His face softened. “Well, for what it’s worth, you do look a lot better.”
“That’s brilliant,” I replied, dryly. “I have always craved your approval.”
“I don’t know what the hell you two are talking about,” Amelia cut in from behind her drum set. “But can you flirt later?”
“I thought I was being nice...” Patrick muttered, shaking his head. “What are we playing tonight then, Ellen?”
I know it must seem like we all hated each other but, despite Amelia’s cut-off attitude and the occasional verbal battle between Patrick and me, as soon as we picked up our instruments and starting playing it all went away and a profound chemistry surfaced through our music. I had only been in the band for a couple of weeks but it felt like a lot longer and we were becoming stronger with every session.
At the end of practice that day, Amelia dropped her drumsticks and left the room without saying a word, while the rest of us lingered for a while. Patrick and Ellen chatted while Jack sat in the corner with his guitar, experimenting with different riffs and tunes. I decided to leaf through the catalogue of notes they had compiled of their songs for me.
“How come we never play these ones?” I asked, holding up som
e of the later pages. I had spent the last few days practicing them in my room and I was quite intrigued by them. Most of the songs I had played with them so far were an amalgamation of folk and progressive rock with an ethereal-wave edge, but these particular ones seemed like they would sound much more haunting and solemn than the rest of their stuff.
Ellen and Patrick hesitated for a moment and looked at each other.
“We...” Patrick began, and then hesitated. I could tell from his expression that he wasn’t even quite sure of the answer himself. “Don’t play those often.”
“Why?” I asked.
“I don’t usually have the vocal range for them,” Ellen explained. “I guess they are special songs... they can only be played at the right time and place... it’s hard to explain...”
“You should learn them though,” Patrick said. “We usually only play them live. It’s all up to Ellen really,” he said, turning to her. “When the time is right you’ll need to know them... especially with that gig coming up.”
“What gig?” I asked.
“We are thinking about playing in the battle of the bands next week,” Ellen said.
“Next week?” I blurted. “Isn’t that a bit soon? I’ve only just joined!”
“I think you’re almost ready,” Ellen said, turning to Patrick for confirmation.
“You’re a natural,” he admitted grudgingly. “I was surprised when you said you haven’t been in a band before. You took to playing music with us very fast.”
I shrugged. “My mother and I go around festivals in the summer selling strawberries. Sometimes in the evenings her friends join us around the fire and we play music together... I guess I’m just used to playing as a group.”
Patrick’s eyes widened. “You do that every summer? Your mum sounds cool.”
Ellen grinned. “You’re full of surprises, Faye.”
I smiled. I wasn’t used to having friends who thought my mother was cool. Amy used to say it was ‘lame’ that I was taken away each summer, and I was always trying to talk my mum into letting me stay behind so I could spend the holiday with my friends. One thing I have never admitted to her, though, was that I always have a great time and am glad she made me go by the end of August.
“So are you cool with playing next week?” Patrick asked.
“Where is it?”
“Here, at Janus,” Ellen replied. “At the main bar on Friday.”
I usually spent the weekends with Amy and Harriet, so I knew I would have to come up with an excuse, again – I still had not told them about joining the band, or anything, really. Truth was: I had been avoiding them as much as possible, but I knew that time was running out and they would figure out something was up soon.
“I’ll do it.”
When I got home from school on the day of the battle of the bands Amy rang me. I don’t really like lying and I am not very good at it so I withheld some of the truth. This is how the conversation went:
Amy: Hey Pixy, how’s you?”
(“Pixy” is the name she started calling me when she noticed the change in the way I dress. I don’t really get why everyone is making such a big deal about it anymore; most of the clothes I am wearing are the same, I am just applying them in different ways with my new ones. Amy tried to bully me out of it until some of the kids in school said that I actually looked quite good. Now she just calls me “Pixy” and pretends it doesn’t bother her.)
Me: “I’m fine.” Apart from being fucking nervous about my first live performance tonight.
Amy: “That’s good. I didn’t see you at lunch break? Where were you today?”
Me: “I was—” Hiding from you. “—in the library.”
Amy: “Oh you little geek you.” (Fake laugh) “We’re going out tonight. Want to come with us?”
Me: “I’m not sure if I can...”
Amy: “Oh, come on Faye, you’re turning into a real bore recently. We’re going to Janus! There’s a battle of the bands on!”
Me: I know. My secret band I haven’t told you about are playing. “Okay, yeah. That’s cool. I think I’ll be there.”
Amy: (Another squeally, fake-sounding laugh) “Awesome, Faye. And Steve is coming too.” (Suggestive tone)
Me: “That’s good... I like Steve.” But not in that way. Did I forget to mention that I am a lesbian now?
Amy: “Harriet stole some gin from her parents. Shall we come over and drink it?”
Me: “No, sorry I can’t.” I think my mother hates you, so I don’t want you here. “Shall I just meet you at Janus? You two live on the other side of town anyway.”
Amy: (Another fake sounding laugh) “Okay Faye. Have it your way. We’ll be there by seven.”
Me: “See you there.” I’m arriving at 6:30, so I can stash my flute somewhere and have a meeting with the band before the gig starts.
I put down the phone, feeling quite guilty. Not just because I was not being truthful to Amy, but also because, by extension, I was lying to myself. I had come so far in breaking out of my shell and discovering who I really was, but there was something about Amy which still had a hold on me. It was probably because I had known her for so long and she had always been there to guide me.
I knew she was going to find out by the end of the night but I just didn’t have the guts to tell her yet.
When the pre-gig meeting with the band was over I excused myself from their company and ventured downstairs to the main bar to meet Amy and Harriet. Janus was busier than I had ever seen it that night and most of the tables and chairs had been pushed to the back of the hall. Several groups of youngsters dressed from head to toe in black were waiting avidly by the stage as the first band – a group of teenage boys – readied their instruments and equipment for their set.
Our band was last up to play but that didn’t do much to help my nerves. The thought that in just a couple of hours I would be up on that stage felt surreal.
I was interrupted from my thoughts when I heard a familiar duo of girly laughter and I turned around to see Amy and Harriet walking towards the main bar, drunk and giggling.
“There you are!” Amy cried out, grabbing me. “You stranger, you! Josh and the boys are saving us a table!”
We bought some drinks and joined the boys. Amy and Harriet went straight to Josh and Pauls’ laps like a pair of kittens. With the implication that we were the third pair in a triple date, there was a bit of awkwardness as I sat myself down next to Steve. Luckily, we were saved by the first band beginning their set.
I watched the spectacle with thinly-veiled horror. They were called ‘Deathyard Dolls’, and they maxed out distortion effects on their amps to hide the fact they couldn’t play very well. The vocalist screamed into a microphone while strumming a riff that consisted of three chords on his guitar; the whole effect was a sub-quality attempt at imitating bands currently successful in their genre.
“These guys are awesome!” Amy exclaimed as she raised her drink to the ceiling and shook her hair. Harriet soon followed suit.
I looked at Steve and I could tell by the expression on his face that he was, also, far from impressed. Neither of us bothered to say anything though; I have realised recently that trying to discuss the finer qualities of music with Amy is like trying to hack down a brick wall with a stick.
The next few bands were not much better; two were marginal improvements on the first, but only because the musicians seemed a bit more experienced. The most depressing thing about it all was that the massive hoard of wannabes gathered around the stage waving their black hair and pale arms around were enthralled by them. It seemed that all a band needed to do to be liked by this crowd was make as much noise as possible. Some of the bands these people were trying to rip-off were quite talented, but these amateurs had neither the talent to pull it off, nor anything original to add to the genre.
The fifth band was interesting. They consisted of two guitarists, a bassist, a keyboard player, drummer, and two vocalists. Their songs shifted subtly between s
oft tunes and winding, heavier riffs, and the addition of a keyboard added texture to their sound.
“These guys suck!” Amy proclaimed between gulps of whatever it was she was drinking – I am not even sure she knew by this point.
“Yeah,” Josh agreed.
“I think they’re the best so far,” I said.
Amy glared at me for daring to question her judgement. “It’s just boring.”
“The guitarist is really good.”
Steve surprised me by backing me up and nodding his head. “I agree with Faye. They’ve composed their music really well. Most of the other bands were just pointless noise.”
“Whatever!” Amy retorted. She pointed at the throng of people by the front of the stage who were notably less animated then they were for the rest of the bands. “I think the crowd speaks for itself!”
The sixth set were a punk band. The boys were dressed in torn jeans and white wife-beater t-shirts. They yelled out “Fuck authority!” at the end of their last song, and received a marginal applause. I found the whole thing extremely cliché.
While they were packing away their equipment I saw Ellen and the others making their way towards the stage, and realised I was up next.
“I need to go now,” I announced, as assembling nerves crept into my stomach.
“Where are you going?” Amy asked.
“I’m playing next,” I said as I got up from my chair. “In a band.”
“You’re in a band?” Steve turned to me in surprise.
“A band?” Harriet asked. “But we’re in a band.”
I ignored her. “I joined this one a couple of weeks ago... I’ve got to go.”
Amy’s mouth gaped open. She was notably angry and shocked, but rendered speechless by surprise, so I left the table before that shifted.
“Good luck Faye!” Steve called as I walked away. I swiftly crossed the hall and negotiated my way towards the stage. When I got there Jack was just testing the equipment and Ellen was clipping her microphone to the stand.
