I hadn't considered what reaction I would receive from Baccha, not until I was in the middle of telling him everything. I was sure more than five minutes had passed, and I scanned his face as I went on and on still. Baccha hadn't moved, had barely blinked. What was he thinking as he connected what I was saying and how I looked?
I was starting to get really nervous. I mean, he wasn't going to judge me, right? He of all people. But this was different, it went beyond crossdressing. I already felt like a pariah.
"And that's about everything, up to now . . ." I finished, my throat dry from the frantic spilling. I grabbed at the glass of water Vinny had generously supplied us with after our, I don't know, fifth or sixth jug of Stella.
Our table was now silent, amidst the furious clinking of glass and roaring revelry. Overhead blared "Jesus Just Left Chicago" by ZZTop. Good Song. You should look it up.
Baccha leaned forward and said, "Buddy, you're gonna be alright."
"Really?"
"Why not?" He said. "Anyway, I always had a feeling you were . . ." the blank was filled in by a knowing expression and tilt of his hand.
"What? Like, how so?" I really didn't get it. Memories of myself during our time together centred around a post-adolescent beard that was patchy all over, and lots of flannel shirts. My look hadn't screamed femininity. And ditto for the way I acted. Everyone said I had a low voice, and I'd emphasised it whenever I could. I thought I was the man.
"I mean, come on dude, the whole thing about rock music, where the guys were suddenly the prettiest in the room. All dressed up, in my case quite literally, commanding all the attention. Long hair and all."
He paused, as if deliberating whether to tell me this next part. "And there were, other incidents, that kinda clued me in . . ."
"Tell me."
"Do you remember Chichi?" he asked as he lit his Winston.
"The Japanese chick?" I said.
"Yeah," he said, with a swift roll of his eyes. He knew I wouldn't have forgotten her. Not after what had happened. Baccha had brought her along for a couple jam sessions, a gig or two. We would all have drinks right here, at the Scorpion. From there, we went out a couple of times, me and her.
I thought things were going great. Then one fine morning she called me and told me she'd gone over to hang out with Baccha, and they'd slept together.
She said she was sorry, I told her it was fine and hung up. Baccha encouraged me to go after her anyway, told me that she really did like me. It was still hard to imagine him saying that without his tongue in his cheek, because he never apologised for going behind my back. Sure, they were friends before I entered the picture, but . . . I'd always wondered if she'd told him that we were going out before hopping in his bed, because I hadn't.
"She told me about you two, the night that we, you know. She said something was off about you." he said these words slowly, like you would if you were trying to pacify a potentially violent lunatic.
I sighed and looked at my empty glass. So. At least I could get some closure from that whole episode. Well, fuck Chichi anyway. She wasn't important. What had bothered me was that things were never quite the same between me and Baccha after that episode. The betrayal loomed over our interactions, at least more from me than him. I couldn't help feeling that it eroded our friendship, and caused us to drift in opposite directions.
"This is a lot to process," I said.
"At your own pace," was all he said.
I nodded and gave him a half-smile. "I gotta pee. I'll get the next round."
Just as I remembered, there were two bathrooms, but the doors had no signs. On the lintel above the left door was etched Boobiz, while the equally poetic Kocks adorned the door on the right. Just one of the many ways this place outclassed the competition.
The water ran cold over my hands, and felt refreshing as I washed my face. I could feel myself sobering up with each splash, but I wasn't born yesterday. I knew this was just one of those false lulls. As soon as I stepped outside I'd be all wobbly and confessing all kinds of weird emotional baggage to anyone who'd listen.
Everything went black.
A woman screamed. Oh wait, that was me.
Everything came back on.
See, I told you. Outclassing the competition.
I hadn't heard any commotion outside, nothing particularly startling that is, so I figured that the blackout had been limited to the bathroom.
As I walked back to our table with the jug I saw that some of the fairy lights strewn across the corners were flickering. Then looking at the blades of the ceiling fans, I felt more than a manageable bit of vertigo creep in. I had to stop at one of the empty tables to steady myself, and I could see Baccha stirring in his seat to face me. I looked over and flashed him a peace sign, and he slackened back into the wicker chair, an idiotic blissed-out expression taking over his face.
"You don't find all of this even a little bit unhinged?" I asked, when I'd made it back to my seat.
"Sure it is. It's bonkers. But it's not my first exposure to Weird Shit, you know?" He leaned forward, with both his elbows on the table, hands clasped. "In the last apartment I rented, there was this dude in the building across the street? Always smoking at the balcony. In the afternoon, he was a young man, our age. But in the evenings he was an old geezer."
Normally, I would be trying to poke holes in this story. Had anyone else witnessed this curious daily ageing, etc etc. But I let it slide.
"What's happening to you," Baccha went on, "it's all brought on by your mind. The Creator did all this by mind." Out with the hand again, gesturing at our scenic view.
"The Invisible Scorpion?"
"No, dollface. The universe. Reality is mental. It's our one link to the divine."
I sighed. "Don't call me dollface, man."
"Anyway, look, listen. I don't think I woke up with a surprise sex change in progress because I wanted to become some kind of sorcerer."
"Sorceress," he corrected, and I wanted to punch that idiot grin off his face. But he had more to say:
"No, but seriously. How well do any of us know what our true desires really are? The moves we make that we couldn't have anticipated, those are the ones that often count, that set us on the path to our destinies."
"You can't see it yet, because you're too close to the whole thing." he said finally.
I fumbled for my lighter, lit a cigarette. "So you think that my fate is tied in with this somehow?" I said, exhaling. "I'm meant to be a woman, or I want to be deep down. Is that it?"
"Not necessarily that. But maybe you're framing this wrong. Maybe this isn't a crisis, but an interesting turn of events that could lead to you finding some balance and peace. Did you know that shamans often don the clothing of the opposite sex before rituals?"
"I'm not a shaman, Baccha. I'm a fuckup who listened to a bunch of subliminals, without even knowing what was really in those clips. Who knows what they could've put in there."
He shrugged, as if I hadn't been listening to what he'd said about reality being mental, meaning that it was what I made of it, and had nothing to do whatsoever with whatever anybody uploaded unto Youtube.
"In Tantra," he said, "you visualised your deity mentally, with such intensity and with the aim of invoking them into your subtle body. Many men worshipping goddesses do that. The way I see it, your situation isn't all that different, only that you've somehow effected changes in your physical appearance first. And the goddess you invoked, was your own inner woman. Jung's concept of the anima?"
"I don't know about all that. And I'm not downplaying what you're saying, I appreciate having you to talk to about all of this. But tell me, with what you know about magick and weird shit, do you think this can be reversed? Like, if I never heard a subliminal again, would I be normal again?
"Perhaps." He said, leaning back in his chair. "But, do you want to?"
"What are you trying to say?"
"And for that matter, what is normal?"
Before I could reply, our attention was diverted by wild hollering from the crew of jackasses next door. We turned in time to see one of them running straight for the forest. A moment later, he was gone, swallowed up amidst cries from his brethren to stop fucking about, that it was dangerous in there.
"Godspeed," Baccha said with a salute.
"Baccha," I exhaled, my voice sickly sweet. Shit, I was drunk enough that I could admit I liked how it sounded. If a girl had ever bothered to adopt this tone with me, I'd have been all over her. Or, knowing my past M.O., dear reader, I would've done nothing and then bitch about it forever.
He smiled, as if he'd peered into my head. He reached out his hand and placed it over mine. "Go home and watch The Vampire Diaries."
"Motherfucker," I said, realising how much I sounded like Princess Peach, "this is serious."
"I'm being so serious. Get a pint of the best ice-cream you can afford while you're at it. Put your feet up, get cosy for maybe the first time in your life."
"Oh, fuck it." I said, "I give up, I'm too drunk for this."
"I know. Your hands are trembling. Come on, I'll put you in a cab."