Aunt Constance stood by the bathroom door with her hands on her hips. She would've reminded me of my mom, had she also not looked like hell. Her hair was slightly damp, so I knew she'd showered, but there was a vague reek of alcohol about her. My expertise in this area deduced that she'd been out all night.
"Hey, wait a minute," I said, "Where were you last night?" My relief at turning the tables on her was so palpable it would've been funnier if I hadn't just been caught with my shirt up.
"Who gave you authority to ask about my whereabouts?" What the shit, why was she being so pissy? Instinctively I knew that something was up, I turned to Baccha and got the feeling that he thought so too.
"Oookay," I said, stepping past her. "Good to see you dear aunt, what can we do for you?"
"We?" She said, "What are you two, dating?"
I would've turned right around, but I really wanted a cigarette. Something to hide behind, since crawling under the sheets and lying there until next year wasn't an option. I kept my back turned and waited for Baccha to defuse her bomb of a question. But it was so silent that the fucker better have keeled over back there.
I sighed yet again and turned around.
"No, Aunt Constance, we're not dating." I said. Then I gave her a look that said so, so much. It seemed to be the type of non-verbal communication that was native to women, because I'd never used it before in my life as a man. And I'd sure as hell never seen other men using it. If an anthropologist had been in the room, he might've transcribed the look I'd given to mean:
I know that you know something's up with me. I mean, just look at my body, it's smoking! And my face! Oh my god my face. Yes, we shall talk, auntie mine. Just a moment while I eject the dreadlocked man-child, leaving us alone so we may have one of those celebrated heart-to-hearts.
She responded with a kind of twitch and grimace, then turned towards the couch. I thought she was going to sneeze when her face got all scrunched up, then realised that was actually a reaction to seeing the Metal Slug graphics on the old CRT screen. It was as if she was trying to stuff down her own flashbacks of a horrible, simpler time when she was dumb enough to spend whole days at a time hanging with some dumb hot guy in his man cave.
I went up to Baccha and put the cigarette in his mouth (all of these alien behaviours I would've never done before . . . ) and told him softly that he should go. His lips immediately tightened into a thin line, but he nodded and went to the desk for his jacket.
"I'll see you around," he said to me, and to Constance he said "And you too, maybe?"
"Uh huh," she said, staring at the screen.
He shrugged and slipped out the egress window. I wondered when I'd see him next, if I'd have to text him first or maybe he'd pop in and surprise me. Whatever, I had his cigarettes.
"Just so you know, the folks are upstairs," I said to Aunt Constance then.
"We'll be so very quiet." She said as she scooched over and I sat down. I tossed her the pack, and watched her extract a cigarette while taking a really good look at me. "What happened?" she said finally.
I really didn't feel like explaining the whole turn of events again, but I did. And as I expected, it somehow sounded even more sillier and unbelievable. I listened to a bunch of feminisation subliminals and here we are. I didn't even know I was a caterpillar, and that the only life I'd ever known was to be utterly transformed by the pupa of a single drunken night. Say, where do you shop for cute outfits, Aunt Constance?
To her eternal credit, and like Baccha, she also didn't flinch. After taking in every word, she leaned back, eyes still fixed on mine. She knew that I was telling the truth. Was she trying to figure out what she could, should say to me?
"Okay," she began, "this is weird territory, but it's positively pedestrian compared to some of the things that have been going on in this town."
"What do you mean?"
"You haven't heard?"
"About?"
"It's all over the news, kid!"
"We've been busy," I said lamely, and it required all my concentration not to turn and look at the TV. Fucking Baccha.
"Yes, you were up bright and early playing doctor with an old friend."
"I didn't know who else to, look, I needed to talk to somebody–"
"And you lost my number suddenly?"
"You don't have a phone, Aunt Constance."
"Heh, trick question." Just so you know what kind of luddite we're dealing with here, her last phone had been a Motorola Razr, that old flip phone from like 2005.
"I thought it would've been awkward."
She took my hands in hers. "Is it awkward now?"
"Not as bad as I thought it would've been." And in that moment I discovered a whole new level of love for that madwoman. But I wasn't going to tell her and risk having an emotional moment.
Luckily, or not, her expression twisted into one of mischief. "So why that guy?"
"His name's Baccha. We played in a couple of bands together, I thought you would've recognised him."
"Doesn't ring a bell," she said, in a way that I thought seemed a little exaggerated, like you would if you were trying to make someone feel insecure, tease them a little.
"He didn't have the dreads, or the glasses back then. He used to crossdress, and he–" I cut myself off there, pinched my lips together without meaning to. I wasn't sure I wanted to discuss his involvement with magic openly, even with Aunt Constance.
She looked at me quizzically, but clearly decided against pursuing it.
"I just thought he'd have some insight into what I'm going through right now."
"And did he?" A grin on par with Baccha's spread across her face. "Or did I cockblock him just when it was getting good?"
Ugh.
"It wasn't like that, Aunt Constance." Stop it, I screamed at myself internally, knowing that I was blushing again. I could feel the heat rushing my cheeks.
"Whatever it was like," she said, her voice now suddenly serious, "I don't think you should see him again."