"Lucky"

by Brandy Dewinter

(c 2000, All rights reserved)

Chapter 2

The sense of purpose was still with me when I woke the next morning.  
Not a lot of purpose, but I felt more like doing something than not.  
Since I had taken care of a lot of the cleaning things the day before, I 
decided to get some groceries as a way to get myself out of the house.  I
hadn't often gone shopping.  That was something Trish really liked to do 
and even when I had gone it had been with her.  So when I got to the 
store there were more of the memory triggers around to remind me of her.  

     I played the pretend game with myself for a while, imagining each 
thing she would do, but it lost interest pretty quickly.  The very act
of envisioning her in the store also pointed out the void where she, well,
wasn't.  However, when I was trying to decide which of the many items to
choose, I found myself trying to remember the things she had done in 
making her choices. 

     That had a strange effect.  Maybe it was the props, the cantaloupe or 
the lettuce or the package of meat, but when I picked something up and 
tried to do what she would have done, I could almost feel a pleasant 
memory being renewed and a sad one being pushed further back in my mind.  
Even things that didn't really work for me, worked for this.  I didn't 
have nearly enough hair to twirl, but lifting my hand near my cheek while 
I mused about a choice just felt, um, comforting somehow.  By the time I 
completed the shopping, I found myself copying several little mannerisms I 
knew she had done.  More weirdness, I suppose, but I really didn't care.  

     I started my pretend game over on the drive home, this time playing the 
part of Trish to an invisible Tim.  Since there wasn't anyone else in the
car with me I even spoke out loud, laughing and giggling in the musical 
cadences that Trish had used so beautifully, then pitching my voice 
artificially low to make an exaggerated response as Tim.
     
     "You really are slipping round the bend," Trish said, her eyes dancing
with teasing amusement.  "Not only talking to yourself, but answering!"

     Tim answered with a wry shrug, "What's wrong with going crazy?  
You've been doing it for years."

     "Good point," she snickered.  "But I was just trying to keep up with
you."

     "Yeah, right," Tim said with a snort.  "Like there was ever anything
worthwhile in our life, where you weren't there first and pulling me 
along."

     "Yeah, right," I said, dropping the game and speaking in a quiet,
natural voice.  

     That sense of touching Trish, somehow, renewing her presence in my
life was like the almost-remembered identity of an actress in a film.  I
knew I knew that person from somewhere, but I couldn't quite remember the
other role that had truly defined her to me.  I felt like some essential 
part of her, something I should remember, was not quite clear in my mind.  
I wouldn't have believed I could ever forget an instant of our life 
together, but that nagging feeling just wouldn't go away.  

     Not that I wanted it to go away.  I didn't want anything related to
Trish to go away, least of all some aspect of my memory of her.  While I
was putting the groceries in the pantry and refrigerator, I wondered if 
there were some way to help focus those memories.  It was obvious that a 
lot of things had broken through my dark mood once I quit lazing around 
and *did* something.  Even more so if I did something like Trish would 
have done, acting out her part.  That sparked an idea.

     I pulled out a set of Trish's exercise clothes and went to burn some
energy on the treadmill.  These clothes, and the forced exercise of the
treadmill, had been one of her favorite distractions when something was
bothering her.  She'd lose herself in the challenge until her mind let
go of whatever stress was troubling her.  It's one of the reasons she 
always stayed so lean, which I'm sure was another reason she liked it.  
The outfit was a bright blue and white and green leotard in a slashing 
abstract pattern that just screamed with the energy that had always 
bubbled out of her.  Plus shiny blue tights that flashed with highlights 
on her rippling legs.  I cranked the treadmill up to the sort of pace
she had liked, and soon found that my month of idleness had taken a
serious toll on my own fitness.  I was sweating and out of breath by the
time the program was really getting started, but I determined to keep at
it.  

     I guess I learned a bit about how the need to focus can make the 
world recede.  Trish had learned that over the time she had committed to 
the exercise, but my own realization came about more abruptly.  Unheard 
over the whirring of the treadmill, Bud Weiserman and his wife Katy had 
let themselves into my house.  They had a key, but more than that they 
had the code to the garage door opener so they just walked in through the 
garage like they owned the place.  That was their long-earned privilege 
with us, more family than friends.  

     I guess we had been lucky, Trish and I when we played our little 
games, not to have them come in on us in some other awkward moment, but 
they were usually careful either to call first or to come during the 
afternoon.  Come to think of it, this was the afternoon.  Only . . .

     "Wow, Tim," Bud said with a snicker.  "Great legs!"  

     Katy slapped his arm, hard enough to make the point that she was
serious, but that didn't stop me from blushing madly and jumping off
the treadmill en route to my bedroom.

     "Tim," Katy called, "wait.  It's okay.  Please, don't run away."

     I was already in my bedroom when she called, but before I got my
door shut, she was standing in the doorway.  "Really, Tim," she repeated,
"it's okay."  

     I heard Bud shut down the treadmill and turned to see Katy standing
there with a look of hurt in her eyes, a look that said she was hurt 
because I was hurt.  Go figure, they intrude on me and I'm hurting her! 
But it was true.  I guess there's some sort of obligation on my part to 
trust them, if I let them come in unannounced.  

     Bud came walking up to stand beside her, doing an admirable job
of keeping his eyes on my face and not on my outfit.  They were a 
strangely well-matched couple.  In some ways, they were the opposites
that had attracted each other.  Bud was the dignified lawyer, usually
wearing a neat, three-piece suit.  Even when he relaxed, he was likely
to be wearing khakis instead of blue jeans, and leather loafers instead
of sneakers.  Katy, on the other hand, was the stereotypical farm girl.  
She could look spectacular when she dressed up, with long dark-red hair 
and bright blue eyes.  Whenever I saw her I was also rather, um, 
inescapably reminded that she had never had reason to complain about her 
own figure, neither in the places she wanted fat, nor the places she 
didn't.  But her choice of clothes was almost always jeans, usually tight 
enough I couldn't believe they were comfortable.  With her western style 
boots and hair in a habitual ponytail, she looked like she had parked her 
horse, not a car, outside.  Yet the two of them gave each other what they 
needed.  She left her hair long for the simple reason that Bud liked it 
that way, a symbol to both of them of her total commitment to him.  And 
he provided her the sense of stability that kept her red-haired intensity 
under control, along with a wry sense of humor that never failed to make 
her laugh.  I had actually introduced them to each other.  Bud had been my 
roommate, and Katy had roomed with Trish.  

     "Tell me about it," she said quietly.

     "I just, well, I don't know.  I guess I felt closer to Trish, if 
I wore her clothes when I worked out.  It all started when I was out of
clean clothes and had to leave right away to go get my hair cut, so I 
just wore a pair of her underwear, and well, after I got back from 
grocery shopping today, wearing her clothes to exercise in just felt, um, 
oh, I don't know . . ."  

     "You've been wearing her underwear?" Bud asked.

     "Shut up, Bud," Katy snapped.  "It's just clothes."

     "Well, yeah, but . . " he said.

     "Shut UP! Bud," she ordered, sending him a look that made even me
quail.

     Katy took my arm and guided me back out into the family room.  
Patting my shoulder, she had me sit on the couch while she sat at the
other end.  But she looked at her husband instead of me.

     "Dammit, Bud, think about it!  Tim has been more dead than alive
for a month.  He finds a way to start mending the hole in his heart
and you told me yourself how much better he sounded when he called 
last night.  That's the reason we came to visit today, for God's sake!  
So what if his way is to be a bit closer to Trish?  If it works, then 
I'm all for it!"

     "But, I mean, it's a bit, uh, . . . "  Bud said, running down at 
another glower from Katy.

     I interrupted their argument, "Um, well, you're right, Bud, it is,
uh, strange.  I guess.  I, uh, we never told you guys, but sometimes
Trish and I would play little games, and I had worn her clothes a couple
of times before.  Anyway, I wouldn't have thought to do it if I hadn't
been out of underwear, and, well, you know."

     "You'd worn her clothes before?" Bud repeated.

     I blushed, and ducked my head, nodding a little.

     "That's interesting," he said noncommittally, the lawyer tone now in 
his voice.

     "Yes, it is," Katy said firmly.  This time, the look she gave Bud had
something more than simple anger in it.  There was a message there that 
registered even through my embarrassment.  

     "Doggone it, Bud, you've known Tim just about forever.  He hasn't 
grown horns and a tail just because he's wearing some comfortable and
stylish exercise wear.  If it weren't for a lot of foolish prejudices, 
I think this sort of thing would be popular with men.  It's certainly 
comfortable, isn't it?" she said, turning to me with her final question.

     "Uh, yeah, well, sure, I guess so."

     "I may have to get some for Bud," she said with a grin.  "I think
he'd look just darling in a nice, tight thong leotard and shiny tights."

     Now it was his turn to blush and mine to grin.  A memory popped up
of a time when I had told Trish that seeing her all sweaty, in such 
body-conscious clothes, made me hot.  She had stretched, slowly and 
sleekly, making her legs look about a foot longer than usual.  I used that
memory to adjust my position on the couch, remembering the look in her
eyes.  

     "Dear Lord!" Bud said, looking at me.  "This is spooky!"

     "Huh? What?" I said.

     "For just a second there, you looked, I mean, you reminded me so
much of Trish, somehow, that I couldn't believe it."  

     "Hardly," I said.

     "Actually, Tim, you did move very sensually, for a moment.  But I 
think it was the expression on your face.  That sort of grin, sort of 
smirk, sort of pout thing was something I have seen Trish do a hundred
times."

     "Really?" I said softly.  "I guess you're right."  

     "So this really helps you?" Bud asked.  "To pull up memories of 
Trish and act them out?"

     "Well, yeah, I guess so," I said.  "I know that when I can imagine
Trish is still with me, I feel better.  A lot better."

     "She's not, you know," Bud said softly.  "Still with you, I mean."

     "Really?" Katy interrupted.  "If he can keep the memories sharp and
close to his heart, then isn't she still with him, in a way?"

     "Oh, that's not what I mean and you know it," Bud said dismissively.

     But Katy wouldn't be denied, "No, I'm serious.  Tim needs to find a 
way to work through the bad memories.  They're recent, but they're not the
most important things to remember about Trish.  If his way of finding the
right balance is to play-act through better memories from their time 
together, that might be a really good approach."  

     "Just what did you do?" Bud asked.  

     Before I could answer, Katy said, "Bud, you go find a way to amuse
yourself for a while.  I'm going to talk about this with Tim alone."

     "Hey, I'm his friend and I'm dealing with it," Bud protested.

     "No, you're not.  Certainly not if you think 'it' is something 
that needs to be dealt with.  I think it's a great approach, not a
thing that needs to be 'dealt with.'  So just go home for a while, or
go visit a hardware store.  I'll let you know when I need a ride home
or make some other arrangements."  

     It was funny.  In all the time I'd known them I'd always thought of 
Katy as sort of meek and submissive.  Oh, she'd laughed and teased and 
sometimes argued, and her temper did justice to the red in her hair, but 
I'd never seen her just order Bud to do anything.  And I'd for sure never
seen him just do it.  But he stood up and walked back to the garage door.

     "Tim," she said, once Bud was out of the way, "can you do something 
for me?"

     I looked at her, wondering what she wanted.  

     "Can you pretend to be Trish for a while, or, um, did you say that
the two of you played dress up games sometimes?  Can you show me what
you did?"

     I blushed again, and ducked my head, embarrassed beyond words.  

     Katy slid closer to me on the couch and pulled me into her arms.  
"Really, Tim, I think this is a very creative approach to a very terrible
problem.  I, um, well, I was thinking that if we have a good, uh, 'girl 
talk' I might really be able to understand.  Can you do that for me?"

     "I don't know," I said.  "This is all so weird, and kinda sick."

     "Sick?  Why would you say that?" Katy asked.  

     "Well, I mean, look at me.  I'm dressed in girl's clothes.  And 
you're asking me to pretend to be my dead wife."

     "Well, actually I'm asking you to hold her memory so close to your
heart that you can remember every gesture she would make, remember the
way she talked, and the way she smiled, and everything about her.  What's
so bad about that?"

     "Um, nothing, I guess."

     "And to show me that you remember, and so that I can remember too, 
why not demonstrate what she would do instead of just talking about it?"

     "Um, I don't know," I said softly.

     "Well, in that case, it can hardly be 'sick' if we can't even give a
reason for it to be wrong at all."

     Something about her words was wrong.  I mean, I knew this was 
strange, but I couldn't quite figure out how to argue with her.  Maybe I 
didn't want to argue with her.  I could see that a part of what I wanted 
was self-justification, but she sure made it easy.

     Something in my posture, or in the relaxation she could feel as she
held me, must have told Katy of my decision even before I recognized it
in my own mind because she said, "So, show me what you used to do."

     I sat there for a long while, but my mind and my eyes kept 
returning to the VCR and the tape Trish and I had made one time.  The
last time we had played the girlfriends game, Trish had set up the 
camcorder.  We had sipped our tea and then Trish had given me a "girl" 
lesson, with demonstrations on how to walk and things like keeping my
legs together if I was wearing a skirt.  Before the grinding gears in
my mind made a conscious decision, Katy picked up on my thoughts.  

     "You have a tape, don't you?" she said.

     I nodded, trying to remain uncommitted.  

     "Well get it out!" she ordered, though her tone was more teasing
than authoritative.  Before I could do it myself, or tell her no, she 
was standing up and looking through the tapes on the shelf by the VCR.  

     I sure couldn't let her just start checking them all out.  Some of
our tapes were from games other than "girlfriends".  So I got up myself
and got the right tape.  

     Trish had always played that game with taste and elegance, making me 
into the kind of lady that might actually have interested her.  If she 
were interested in ladies.  The outfit I wore on the tape was a skirt and 
sweater set in a dark red that she had told me worked as well with my 
neutral sort of brown hair and eyes as it did with her own darker hues.  
It didn't, of course.  She was just spectacular no matter what she wore, 
but she had convinced me that with her help I had achieved at least an 
average sort of attractiveness.  In a static image only, of course.

     "Wow, you look really good," Katy said, then sat up a little, trying
to hear the tape.  "What was that?  What did she call you?"

     "Oh, uh, Tammy," I stammered.

     "Ooh!  That's so perfect!" Katy said, smiling appreciatively.  

     On the tape, we drank our tea.  The Tammy in the image slouched, 
yet seemed stiffer than Trish.  Or, maybe heavier was the right word.  
That Tammy seemed to need the chair for support, not only of her bottom, 
but of her shoulders and arms.  Trish, on the other hand, perched lightly 
and with exquisite balance on the seat, yet was able to move her arms and 
toss her head and swing her shoulders as she reached for the teapot as 
though none of her limbs weighed more than the dainty sugar cubes she 
dropped so precisely into her cup.  Copying Trish on the tape, I had 
found I had to hold my head up and my shoulders back in order to keep that 
balance.  My waist got more of a workout than I had expected as I rocked 
from one hip to the other to counter the motion of my arms.  

     "I never realized this was such hard work," I told her on the tape.  

     "It's not work, darling, it's just being alive!" Trish replied, 
bright enthusiasm shining from her eyes.

     The image flickered and went to a scene where Trish was trying to 
teach me to move like a woman, or at least to move demurely.  The skirt 
she had given me was narrow enough and short enough that if I just sat 
down, it rode up a long, long ways.  And if I didn't keep my knees glued
together, well, it was pretty obvious.  I felt my knees draw tight again 
as I watched the Tammy on the screen blush at Trish's gentle laughter.  
Watching the two women in the video, or at least the two people wearing 
skirts, I saw that even when that Tammy didn't flash anything, she still 
moved with a graceless stiffness that made the contrast with Trish seem 
ludicrous.  I watched again the motions Trish was making, seeming to stand 
casually while watching me, that is, the Tammy on the tape walk by.  Even 
in standing Trish was always moving softly, a touch at her hair, a slow 
caress of her skirt to smooth a nonexistent wrinkle, something to keep her 
so vibrantly alive.  When she moved to catch up with Tammy, her hips and 
shoulders and tilting head played a symphony of complex harmonies, always 
seeming to slip through some invisible path of least resistance rather 
than forcing a straight line.  

     Thankfully, the tape stopped about the time she caught up with me.  
What followed was not something that I wanted anyone else to see, for all 
that I remembered it even more vividly than the scenes I had just 
witnessed.   

     "Do it again," Katy said breathlessly, wide-eyed.

     "What, run the tape?" I asked.

     "No, I mean get dressed like that," she said.  I want to see it in
person."

     "No way," I said.  "Look, this has gone far enough.  This is stupid."

     "No it's not," Katy insisted.  "Look, I'll help."  

     "I'm all sweaty, and I stink," I reminded her.  "I'm not about to 
ruin some of Trish's clothes by putting them on when I'm like this."  

     Katy deflated with a hiss like a settling tire.  "You're probably 
right.  Besides, I'm probably not the right person to help you.  I've 
never been into all the feminine frills very much.  I've learned to 
do some things that work on me, for Bud, but I'm not sure I know how to
get you looking as good as the girl in that tape."

     Her enthusiasm re-inflated as quickly as it had gone down.  "You 
need expert help, and I know just the expert."      

     "Who?" I asked.  This was getting out of control, fast.  

     "Trish and I both used the same hairdresser, a girl named Lonna 
Roberts.  She's really good at this sort of thing, and I know she and
Trish were friends and I'm sure . . ."

     I interrupted her with a laugh, the first real humor I'd felt since
forever.  She stopped in mid sentence and looked quizzically at me.

     "I know Lonna.  She cuts my hair, too," I said to explain.  I had
been all set to refuse, but of all the people in the world, I had 
already more or less spilled this secret to Lonna when I asked her to
cut my hair differently.  Still, this was pretty weird.  It was one
thing for a man and woman to play fun little games in private.  It was 
just a game, and very temporary.  And above all, private.  Bringing
in half the population of our town was a different thing entirely.

     I shook my head and said, "No, this has gone far enough.  I can
deal with the loss of Trish without pretending to be her."

     "Like you've dealt with it for the last month?" Katy said quietly.

     I looked sharply at her, hurt by the all-too-accurate shot.  Instead
of triumph at the effectiveness of her barbed comment, I saw only 
sympathy in Katy's eyes, though.  

     "Really, Tim, I think you need to try something different.  If this
works, if this has helped at all, then you ought to follow up on it.  
Don't go back into your shell."

     I opened my mouth to deny her charge but the truth of it was too
strong.  Instead, I just sagged a bit and said, "I'll think about it."

     That made it Katy's turn to open her mouth, then close it when 
whatever words she intended seemed inappropriate.  There was something
in her eyes that said my answer wasn't good enough, but she didn't 
say anything.  She just nodded, and started to look around for her
purse.  

     "Can I borrow one of your cars?" she asked.  

     "I don't guess I'll need more than one at a time," I said, reminded
of yet another uncompleted task connected with the loss of Trish.  "Take
the truck, if you don't mind."

     She nodded again, then followed me to the garage where I pulled the
right keys off the hook.  

     "You need to do more than just think about it," she said, finally 
unable to hold it in any longer.

     "Look, Katy, I know you mean well, but this is, um, it's just that
I need to, well, I mean this was a private thing."

     "I know," she said.  "But there's nothing wrong with it.  And even 
the first little things you've done have made such a difference.  I've
been so worried about you."

     "I know, and thank you," I said.  "I really will think about it."

     She nodded once more and got in the truck.  It wasn't until the 
garage door started up that I realized I was standing in the front of 
the garage wearing bright blue tights and a flashy leotard.  I scurried
back through the inner door and waved from behind it as Katy pulled out
of the garage.  She smiled back, but there was definitely a look of
resolution on her face that I wish I hadn't seen there.