TWINS
Part 1. Punishment
by Marie C.

“No, noooooo, dad! I dowanna. Waaaah ah-ha-haah!”

I blubbered like a three year old as my father manhandled me through the front door. Scrambling to stay inside I grabbed the door frame, the handle, anything, everything I could to put off a fate worse than having to clean up my room! I shrieked even louder when the wind billowed my skirt exposing bare legs and a pink ruffled bottom to the whole street! Not thinking I let go of the door frame and yanked at the hem to cover my indignity. At the same time ribbons flapped into my eyes forcing me to swat at them with my other hand. Big mistake, though.

Taking advantage of my distraction dad lifted me up and over his shoulder like a sack of squawking chickens where I pounded, kicked and howled to no effect, skirt, ribbons and all fluttering merrily in the late morning breeze. I and my girly attire continued our happy display while being conveyed to a black SUV, there to be tumbled unceremoniously into the back seat like a rag doll. From the look on his face dad couldn’t have cared less.

Old Mr. and Mrs. Granger were working in their yard and startled, they watched our trek with mouths wide open. Once in the vehicle I got the dress down over my knees, scrunched down below window level and sobbed into a flimsy hanky mom had stuck in my sleeve. I don’t think they recognized me - at least I hope they didn’t! And the girl who lived down the block, did she see?

For those with a curious bent I was wearing a knee length red checked gingham dress embellished with white rickrack around the collar, puffy short sleeves and a big bow in back. My brownish-red hair was curled and decorated with matching ribbons, one on each side. Completing the garb were shiny black Mary Janes and embroidered frilly, white ankle socks. Dressing like this for a birthday party is o.k. for some dumb girl, but I was a nine year old boy!

Why me?

It started a week ago when my father drove over to collect me. There I was in a pink and white frilly outfit complete with short flaring skirt. Can you think of a more stupid getup? I had been intimidated into a dress-up game by my cousin Marlene and her friend, Leticia, both of whom are crazy about Japanese comic books, manga to the likes of you.

I‘m small for my age and they’re older and bigger. Marlene is real bossy and Leticia is physically strong, a combination deadly to small boys. As a matter of course these creeps inflict the same tortures on any kid hapless enough to come within reach, girl or boy. I was just the latest.

Marlene has a huge collection of clothes, fancy costumes and dolls and her room is a princess boudoir - white lace curtains, four-poster bed, mirrors and vanity with matching ruffles. I’m sure you’ve seen plenty like it on TV.

She doesn’t have any brothers or sisters so Aunt Linda tries to have as many kids around as possible. Mock fashion shows are staged around the clock because that’s what Marlene is into. Mostly Marlene does as Marlene wants and not many kids can stand up to her when she’s in “determined” mode. I know I can’t and mom says Aunt Linda has as hard a time as anybody. Likewise I‘m an only child. My parents stopped having kids when I was born, so I ended up as the closest thing Marlene has to a brother. We’re together more than I want.

We were in Marlene’s room with me half-watching her and Leticia primping in these super feminine frocks leftover from somebody’s costume party. Aunt Linda got several from a school rummage sale and Marlene had the pink and white thing laid out on the bed. Since there was a big pile of unidentified stuff next to it I assumed it wasn’t important. It never occurred to me I could be hijacked into their game so I tuned them out and stood at the window watching two gray squirrels chase each other along the branches of a nearby oak. I didn’t see the girls whispering to each other behind my back.

“Come on, off with the trousers.” When I woke up they already had my jacket on the floor and my shirt unbuttoned. I started to object but they were quick and as I said, determined.

“Here close your eyes.” She wrapped a blindfold over my eyes. “Now stand there while we finish.”

I don’t know why I didn’t object as I felt shoes and socks come off one by one and finally my trousers. I lifted my arms and feet when told to, felt things being pulled up and over and something tight being wrapped around my waist. Finally the blindfold came off and I blinked my eyes. I was seated facing a blank wall unable to see anything except pink and white cloth in my lap. And my legs were cold. Something long and hairy went over my head, a light colored wig it turned out, then something pinned on top. Quickly and efficiently the girls daubed me with lipstick, lightly brushed my lashes and then both did my fingernails in pink.

I was dumbfounded when they got me in front of the mirror. There was this frou frou little girl staring back with mouth hanging wide open - frilly peasant blouse, wide pink skirt with suspenders over a starched petticoat, blond wig and black ankle strap flats with lacy socks.

Not missing a beat they pulled me down the stairs, across the hall and into the living room. My aunt looked doubtful as I walked by skirt and petticoat swaying but with other things on her mind I’m sure she was glad we had something on that wasn’t lethal. Nor did she ask what I thought in spite of my expression, after all the girls did this sort of thing every day. I admit I was in some kind of fog that day, like I was swimming in bright, warm water. Come to think of it that’s how I felt whenever I was there.

“You do look sweet,” Linda said planting a light kiss on my nose as she looked me up and down while my two companions stood there on each side gripping my arms.

In the backyard Linda had readied a picnic of fruit juice and cookies. The girls fluttered around in their get-ups bringing out dishes and plastic spoons. “Here, put these out, one for each of us,” came the order. I took some cups from a stack and set them around the table while Marlene’s camera flashed. Fortunately there weren’t any houses near, so no one else saw me. Small comfort.

“Knees together,” they chortled as I sat across from them. They were looking at me under the table, the little snots. “Those bloomers look so cute with the little ribbons!” Then they climbed back up in a fit of giggles. I pressed my legs together as best I could, pulled at the way-too-short skirt and turned my red face toward the squirrels now above us who were chittering angrily at a large raven.

In the middle of a cookie reach Leticia stared long and hard at me like I had just beamed down from the Enterprise. Then she squinted at Marlene. “He sure looks like you. You know, you’re almost twins.” I stuck out my tongue not wanting to hear that I looked like my cousin. Then Marlene pressed the camera timer and dragged her chum over to my side of the table and it flashed at three smiling head-to-head cuties.

My cousin and I do look alike. We have the same reddish brown hair, impish faces with upturned noses, light freckles and hazel eyes. That’s where the resemblance ends. She’s two years older and about two inches taller with long hair - and a girl! Leticia has long straight black hair and olive skin and her parents are Spanish or Mexican or something. They live about a mile away on a ranch near the Point Reyes-Petaluma Road. She says her brothers tease her all the time because she’s a girl. I think she takes it out on other boys when she gets the chance, boys like me.

My Aunt Linda Sullivan is dad’s younger sister by three years. Dad, who goes by the name Ted Bishop, feels responsible for her and always plays big brother when she’s in a tight spot. She tells him not to fret, but lately he’s been coming over almost every week.

A year and a half ago Uncle Derek walked out unexpectedly. Arriving home from a shopping run Linda found a piece of paper on the kitchen table stating simply “Goodbye. This old dump is just too weird.” As the story goes he took off with a nineteen year old waitress named Debbie. Derek’s real estate office was next to the girl’s job and according to the restaurant she quit around the same time. Nobody knows where they went.

So there was Aunt Linda stuck with raising a young girl on next to nothing. She takes in sewing and works part time tutoring kids in the area, mostly Marlene’s pals. She has a grade school teaching credential but there aren’t any local jobs what with the budget cuts. To get a good position she would have to commute more than a hundred miles each way every day. However she does have a small income from a trust and dad helps her out from time to time.

She’s an attractive woman in her early thirties, about five four with a nice figure, an adult version of Marlene. She keeps her dark hair curled in a practical page boy and wears casual clothes like jeans, boots and heavy jackets. Rough clothes are necessary where they live which is very rural. Inside the house she wears loose trousers, smocks and brunch coats. When she meets customers she gets spruced up in a blouse, skirt and sensible heels. If she lost ten pounds she would be a knockout, at least that’s what mom says.

When she’s hitting on all fours Linda’s a levelheaded, motherly type who keeps house and business in good order. After Derek walked out mom says Linda stayed in bed a lot and rambled on about this and that to no one in particular. Light bulbs and broken windows didn’t get changed or fixed. Dirty dishes piled up. That’s when dad started coming over. She got better after he dragged her to the doctor and got her on nerve pills. Mom thinks Marlene’s pushiness comes from having to fend for herself during the time Linda came unglued.

Mother and daughter live in a rambling two story Victorian farm house about fifteen miles from our house which is at a distance in San Rafael, California, in the middle of Marin County. Though it’s not that far it seems like a long drive over the Sir Francis Drake Highway because of the narrow road which is always jammed with traffic. Their house is perched on a low hill above the tiny settlement of Nicasio, four and a half crooked miles from Drake Highway (It’s on the map).

Years ago Linda and dad inherited the building and ten surrounding acres from a distant uncle. When her divorce was final dad deeded her his share, so she and Marlene now have nothing to pay except taxes and upkeep in a part of the world where tiny apartments go for thousands a month!

But they’ll have to let out a few rooms to make ends meet, Linda says, so she’s put notices in the classified section. Why anyone would want to live in the boondocks is a mystery to me because it;s so boring, but mom says people are desperate to find any space that won’t bankrupt them. She expects Linda will get lots of calls once the word gets out. It’ll be good to have people around, dad says.

My dad is an infantry captain, lean, muscular and square jawed, a recruiting poster model and fitness freak who gets annoyed that his son is so undersized. In his world boys have to be involved in manly activities - little league, camping, watching football games, fishing. You’ve seen this list before. I enjoy these things too, but my size keeps me out of the roughest games, and that disappoints him no end. I try sports and sometimes I do pretty well, but apparently not well enough. When he’s home our house is run like his battalion and I get treated to long sessions of calisthenics and jogging. Fortunately he doesn’t mind my Game Boy especially when I’m into those battle videos. Mostly our communication is one-way, him to me.

He’s been on a desk job for a couple of years working as liaison to the Air Force, whatever that is and hates it. Maybe that’s why he’s so fidgety with me when he’s in the house. Months ago he put in for active duty and in a few weeks he’s up for deployment to somewhere secret. I don’t like the idea of him going away as impossible as he is.

Grace, my mom, is quiet, pale and outwardly mousy though sometimes she’ll stand up to dad’s macho outbursts. She hasn’t been well and has to rest lying down most of the day. Visiting nurses come to the house and she goes to a clinic in San Francisco once a month for special treatment. The doctors say she’ll be better by the time dad gets back. Nobody ever told me what’s wrong.

As Marlene’s three “girl” soiree got under way Linda fretted about dad finding me dressed up. “Be sure and change in fifteen minutes,” she said. The girls said not to worry, they would let me know in plenty of time. I should have worried.

An hour into the “party” dad came around back after he couldn’t get anyone to answer the front door. He stood for a time watching us with a big smile, him all decked out in starched fatigues, Ray-Ban sunglasses, buzz cut brown hair and floppy fatigue hat. I didn’t see him until he was nearly on top of us. I turned away as quick as I could praying for a hole to open in the ground.

“Where’s Kirk ?” he asked (I’m Kirk). The rats looked up and grinned. Finally Marlene snickered. “He’s right there, Uncle Ted.”

At first dad looked at them in disbelief like they were putting him on. He turned away glancing into the trees as though I might be trooping back all dusty from a hike or tree climb. When he looked down a second time and saw that the pink and white confection was his only son his jaw dropped a mile. Then his face turned dark and hard, complete with narrow eyes like Clint Eastwood.

Linda bustled through the back door wiping her hands on a towel and expecting the worst. “They were just playing dress up, Ted. Marlene and her friends do it all the time.” She pretended to be nonchalant. “I’m sorry. I meant to have him ready but the time slipped by.”

Her attempt to finesse matters didn’t faze dad. He stood there hands on hips like a drill sergeant. “Get out of those clothes and find your own, now! On the double!” He jerked me up and threw me toward the house, skirt and wig flying.

“Ted, he’s just a little boy!” Linda grabbed her brother’s arm while I ran to the bathroom, tore off Marlene’s outfit, washed my face, sort of, and started changing. I heard him come to the back door and shout “Into the car when you’re done!” like I was destined for a quick trip to Gitmo. He and my aunt continued talking in loud voices though I couldn’t make out what they were saying. When he got to the car we took off with screaming tires, churning out clouds of dust as we hit the pavement. He never said a word even after we ran two red lights. Once home I was ordered to “God damn well clean yourself up and go to your room!”

Later mom came in, washed me properly and removed the nail polish. She said Linda called to explain everything and remind us that Marlene’s birthday party was next weekend. “Your father gets worked up about things like this. I’ll talk to him.” She looked very tired. No TV that night

The following Monday dad drove to Travis Air Force Base to check in with communications. He would definitely deploy out of the states in two weeks. The rest of the day he spent at mom’s hospital where doctors confirmed she was on the mend. Then he came back for me.

“Grace, he can damn well get it out of his system! And what’s that about him doing it before? Jesus H. Christ!” Dad was doing the talking and table pounding, loud enough for me to hear through the door against which my ear was pressed. Mom was protesting fitfully.

“Ted, you’re overdoing it. Kids dress up all the time.(cough) And yes, he did. But I didn’t tell you because you’re so damn blockheaded about things like this. Besides you know how pushy Marlene is with all the kids. Now instead of forgetting today he’ll remember it forever. What will that accomplish?”

“A lesson he’ll never forget.” Dad pontificated. “My father made me put on a dress once and had me parade up and down the block after he caught me with Linda’s clothes. It worked then. It’ll work for Kirk.” Mom’s doubtful response was muffled when she started coughing real hard. Dad started for the bathroom and I took off.

What was dad talking about? I didn’t understand. And, well yeah, I did dress up a couple of times before. What about it?

The next morning mom and dad came to my room. I would go to Marlene’s party togged up as a girl with all the trimmings. That was my punishment for being caught by dad! I ran outside and hid in the garage for the rest of the day, horrified and totally pissed at my own parents.

Mom called Linda who said the idea was absurd. “It was just a game,” Linda protested and she had completely forgotten about the time when they were kids. “God, men and their egos!” she muttered.

An hour later Marlene called to say (with a snicker) there would be a “neat bunch of girls” coming Saturday to stay overnight. All of them would go to church together on Sunday and then to the party after. She wanted Kirk to come Saturday and be part of the group. I said no. Dad said it was a damn good idea.

The gingham dress hung in my closet all week, seeming to gloat every time I reached for my shirt and pants - and Saturday came too soon. On the other hand I couldn’t help taking it down once, well maybe two times, only to look at it out of curiosity. You know what I mean. I held it up in front of me at the mirror, then wondering how it might feel I slipped it over my head and twirled back and forth. At the bottom of my closet was another box with soft nylon underwear that I ran my hands over. It smelled nice. In another box there was a pair of bright, shiny Mary Janes which I stared at for a long time.

Saturday morning mom stuck me in a smelly bath and I was told to scrub. After wrapping my hair in curlers she put me under her dryer smiling the whole time like maybe she was having fun. Yeesh! When she took the underwear out of the box it was all wrinkled and she stared at me for a moment like she wanted to say something, but I turned my head away blushing. Returning to the task at hand she assured me the curls would wash out later

I started sulking for real as she pulled the freshly starched dress over my head and buttoned me in back. Dad nodded with stony-faced approval while she wrapped the red satin sash around my waist and tied it in back with a big bow.

I was ready for my fate until I got cold feet. You know what happened next.