Amanda B. and I met secretly in the hallway halfway between my room and mom’s room. Amanda B. said mom’s on the rag. I told her to get mom off the rag and she said she couldn’t get mom off the rag because mom wasn’t on a rag. She is on the rag, she said. By the rag I think I knew what Amanda B. meant. I said oh and told Amanda B. mom will get off it soon. I asked why mom was always on the rag and Amanda B. said the rag has something to do with being a woman and that you can’t just get off it when you’re ready. I asked Amanda B. why she’s never on the rag. Amanda B. said she had to go but I wouldn’t let her go. I blocked the hallway exit. I asked her again, Amanda B., how come you’re never on the rag? She always acts so calm and collected like a leaf. I thought maybe she’s special. Amanda B. said she’s never on the rag because she used to be a man. I asked Amanda B. if she meant she used to be a Tom Boy and she said no. She said she was a real boy just like me with a penis and two balls. I corrected her and told her I have three balls. She laughed. Maybe you got one of mine, she said. We laughed. I didn’t believe her because she looked more like a woman than any woman I’d met before. What were you called when you were a boy? Steve, she said. They called me Steve.
Here we go again. Mom is sad because Lena Horne is dead. Amanda Bernstein is sad because mom is sad and because Lena Horne is dead. I’m sad because I’m hungry and I’m sad because these broads won’t cook when they’re both sad. I told them not to be sad because they’re not dead and they both looked at me and said they feel dead. That’s why they’re sad. I think they’re sad because they realize they’ll be dead one day like Lena Horne. I think mom and Amanda B. are sad because they won’t win a Tony Award like Lena Horne did for her one woman show. Mom and Amanda B. have a two-lady show way off-Broadway but no one pays them a dime to watch them perform. Because their show is way off-Broadway. Far from the spotlight. Where no one can see them perform in all their glittery sadness. I’m going to McDonald’s for a Happy Meal with my BFF Squinny. We’re gonna figure out which of us will be Steve and which of us will be Lena Horne when we grow up.
Yesterday my BFF Squinny died. I’m not certain if I really want him dead yet, so I might retract my last blog post, or maybe I’ll ignore the fact that Squinny is dead and continue to write as if he were alive. If I do that, people will probably call me a liar, or non-linear, or King Lear or Liar Pants. Mom says I shouldn’t deny reality or lie unless it serves a greater good like the time she lied to get fifty bucks for gas. She didn’t have a car back then. Mom says I shouldn’t lie when inappropriate but lying is always appropriate, especially when it’s done discreetly, like lies between lovers or cats. If Squinny is dead dead, but he is alive in my head, does that mean he is not dead until I reach the age of dementia praecox? I hate socks and the White Socks and anything that ends with cox. I hate baseball even though my new friend loves baseball. I pray because I think she’s insane for watching men playing with a ball and bat with their clothes on. Squinny never wanted to play baseball, but he loved to play dress up and Showgirls & Indians. I bet you want to know why I call Squinny, Squinny. Well, I’m never going to tell. If I did, it would ruin his reputation as a deity.
This morning I woke up inside the body of a man, who was inside the body of another man, like a trucker or barber. I couldn’t really tell. I just felt greasy. Clamy. I prefer to wake up inside the body of Cher, or a kitty cat, or the Captain of a Carnival Cruise Line, like the Princess of the Sea, but it wasn’t my lucky day. I called my BFF Squinny and s/he said that s/he woke up inside the body of another person as well but Squinny was pissed because she woke up inside the body of Tim Tebow and William Levy. I was like no way and s/he was like totally yah way. I asked hir how s/he was inside two bodies at once and Squinny said s/he didn’t know but it was true true. I was like are you sure and Squinny was like I’m so sure. I was stunned. Mortified. I told Squinny she was a true artist.
I asked Squinny if Tim and William have sex with each other and Squinny said don’t be silly. William wouldn’t go for Tim even if Tim were a football star. I had to pee first and then I told Squinny that being inside the body of two men at the same time is like being inside your home and your neighbor’s home at the same time. Squinny said that’s how s/he feels everyday inside hir own body. Squinny said s/he feels like s/he occupies two homes at once, like matter and anti matter, one home in outer space and the other in inner space. Squinny made me think about home and what makes one. I asked Squinny if s/he wanted to go for a walk. I asked Squinny if s/he wanted to play football or play Actors & Actresses, or both. Squinny wasn’t amused, but s/he looked gorgeous on the outside of hir new inner bodies. Even the color of hir eyes reflected the multitudes inside. Finally, I gambled and asked Squinny if s/he wanted to be a boy or a girl when s/he grows up. Steve just smiled a big ass what do you think smile and said yes.
I figured skating would be safe but mom, Amanda Bernstein, and I cried when we watched the Olympics because when we figure skated it didn’t go so well. In fact, Amanda B. broke her toe and she wasn’t even skating. Mom ran her foot over with a skate and she didn’t even do it on purpose even though mom told Amanda B. she did it on purpose. Oh no you didn’t, mom said. Amanda B said stop being so 90s you stupid chicken and mom went all get out and threw her cupcake at Amanda B. Amanda B. loves cupcakes and ate it off the floor. She didn’t literally eat it off the floor. She picked it up first. Mom says this stuff just to piss Amanda B. off. I say stuff just to say stuff like stuff. For example, I just made out with a cupcake and I don’t even like icing. Are cupcakes real cakes? Mini cakes? Or just impossible cakes? I figure skating has more to do with Minkowskian Spacetime than it does with haberdashery or baking. I’m so tired right now. If I were a boy, I’d drink a beer. If I were a girl, I’d drink a beer. Thank god I’m a goat. I’m gonna invent a new friend now. I’ll name him Steve. Maybe I’ll be him one day, a future me. Maybe I am already Steve. Or transitioning. Who is Steve? Is home reality? Is mental health a concept worth identifying? Like home healthcare? This post was about skating, but I don’t care bear. I am the space between identities, like Amanda B. is the space between mom and me.