Chapter 3
1696 Words
Chapter 3Carl eyed Roberto from the archway leading from the hall into the living room. Roberto was curled up on their blue velvet sofa, one of its throw pillows under his head. He faced the back of the couch and didn’t stir, not even when Carl cleared his throat.
At last, hands shaking, Carl moved slowly into the living room and perched on the edge of one of the accent chairs across from the couch.
What can I say? How do I explain this?
No words came. He didn’t know if a hug or even his hand on Roberto’s shoulder would do anything to take away the shock and sting of what he’d seen. Besides, he wasn’t sure, right now, if his touch would even be welcome and the thought made him queasy with anxiety.
Who would have thought I’d be afraid to touch my own husband?
In their many, many years of living together and many years of being legally married, Carl was pretty sure he’d never given Roberto the slightest clue about his private fantasy time. It had gone on for most of his life, from when he’d first been aware that he was ‘different,’ but he’d always been so careful to hide it.
And now…
Roberto had seen him in all his finery. It wasn’t so much the wig, the makeup, and the clothes that mattered. It was that Roberto had seen a side of him Carl was pretty sure Roberto hadn’t any idea existed. And revelations such as this one, he feared, weren’t easily swept or explained away. Revelations like this one were a line in the sand, delineating before and after.
So what can I say?
Discoveries like Roberto had just made were life-changing. Carl wondered if Roberto would want to continue to be with him, to love him. Their many years together wouldn’t matter. Roberto could reasonably claim he felt betrayed, that the foundation of their union was a lie. He could say he didn’t even know Carl. Never had.
The saddest thing was that Carl felt he had no comebacks for these objections, other than the fact that Roberto did know him, his essence, his true self. He’d been next to him throughout all their joys and heartaches.
He simply didn’t know this side of Carl.
Carl fought with the notion that he should just get up and walk away. But he couldn’t. Still, staring at Roberto’s unmoving back hurt him to his core, made him feel invisible. Unwanted.
“Honey?”
Roberto didn’t stir. He said nothing.
Carl revised his thoughts. Not knowing this side of him was a big deal. It wasn’t like he’d suddenly discovered Carl preferred leather over fabric when it came to winter coats. This side was a deep and irrefutable part of his core. Properly, Carl knew, it wasn’t even a side…
“We should talk,” Carl said.
Roberto wasn’t asleep. One doesn’t just catch one’s husband dressed up like Jessica Chastain and then decide to take a nap. “Please.”
Roberto sighed. In one fluid motion he stirred, rolled over, and sat up. “What? You’re gonna say something like, ‘this isn’t what it looks like,’ right?”
The idea had crossed Carl’s mind. He’d even thought of saying he was going to appear in an amateur drag show at one of the bars on Halsted in Boystown. The fact they seldom went to any bars on the strip these days would make the notion, and its utterance, an immediate candidate for fake news.
This wasn’t drag—this was something that went far deeper than clothing or makeup. When he dressed up and turned in front of a mirror, admiring, he felt as though he could breathe. There was a certain ease that came over him, a feeling of the world being, well, right. Despite this fantasy time being only a tiny fraction of his waking hours, Carl knew the woman in the mirror was the real person, one longing to break free and be authentic.
“I’m not going to say that to you,” Carl began. An odd calmness coursed through him. He’d feared this moment for years, but now it was here, most of what he felt could be categorized as relief. It was out in the open. Where things would go from here—disaster or joy—rested on his own shoulders.
“What are you gonna say, then?” Roberto turned over and sat up.
Carl noticed for the first time how wan Roberto looked. How weak.
“Well, before I get to that, I need to ask: are you okay?”
Roberto coughed. He pressed a hand to his forehead. “No. No, I’m not okay. I came home from work because I’m getting sick. Whether it’s food poisoning or something longer-lasting, time will tell. But I’m also feeling like I woke up in a dream, a dream where the person I’ve loved for almost the entirety of my adult life turns out to be someone I don’t know.”
It was on the tip of Carl’s tongue to counter, to argue Roberto’s assessment of him and their relationship. He wanted to say he was still the same person, the same Carl—but that wasn’t exactly true, was it? He couldn’t disagree with Roberto—these were his husband’s feelings and Carl shouldn’t, couldn’t, minimize them by attempting denial as a tactic.
So, he was honest.
He looked down at the gleaming hardwood floor as he spoke. “This, what you saw, isn’t new. I made a false start at this as a little boy, when I would put on my mom’s high heels and dresses and wear her makeup and perfume.” He shrugged. “She caught me and, although it wasn’t her intention, shamed me so badly that I abandoned dressing up for many years. I dreamed of it, though. Dreamed of myself as a girl. I’d wake up and look down at myself, feeling a deep sense of betrayal—from my own body. I know that’s not easy to understand, but I’m trying to give you my truth here.”
Carl swallowed hard. In for a penny, in for a pound…He plunged onward.
“It wasn’t until I was in college that I allowed myself to, um, cross dress again.” The term sounded alien to him. There was nothing “cross” about putting on the clothes that represented him most authentically. “I’ve been doing it ever since.”
“In all the time we’ve been together?” Roberto asked.
Carl nodded. “Yes. I’m so sorry if you feel deceived, but I wonder if you can put yourself in my place.”
“I can’t.” Roberto shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “This isn’t who I married. This isn’t who I fell in love with.”
What do I say to that?
“I’m not going to argue, sweetheart, or try and minimize how you feel. I just want you to know that this has nothing to do with us and everything to do with me.”
Roberto stood. He moved to one of the long, nearly floor-to-ceiling windows and stared out. A few snowflakes had just begun coming down.
Carl longed to go up to his husband, wrap his arms around him, and stare together at the snow. Maybe he could whisper in his ear that it was a perfect day to cuddle under a blanket on the couch, watch old episodes of The Golden Girls, and drink cocoa. Maybe they could pretend this moment never happened.
That idea sickened him. Its time had passed.
Now that his secret had been exposed to the light, he didn’t know if he could bear to put it back in the dark. That shadowy space where what he’d hidden had once lived? It was too small now—it no longer fit.
Before he could say anything further, though, the landline phone on the secretary desk in the corner of the room rang. Its chirp was jarring, shrill. No one, save for telemarketers and robots, called that number. They kept it only because it was connected to the intercom downstairs.
Roberto didn’t move from his spot. It was as though the gently falling snow had hypnotized him.
When Carl snatched up the phone to silence it, he saw from the Caller ID it was his younger sister Kay calling.
He was eleven years older than Kay and loved her like a daughter. But she remained in the small Ohio town they’d grown up in, a housewife and mother with four daughters, and they’d drifted, rarely speaking, save for birthdays and holidays. He’d always loved her, but their lives differed so greatly, they might as well have been on different planets, rather than a few hundred miles apart.
He pressed the button to answer. “Sis?”
“Carl.” Kay’s voice sounded weak and breathless. There was silence and then another sound, like a hiccup. But Carl quickly realized she was sobbing.
“Is everything okay?”
At last, Roberto turned from the window and stared at him, head c****d.
“No,” Kay said. It was obvious it was a struggle for her to get even the simplest of one-syllable words out. There was silence again as she wept. And then she said, “It’s Mom. She’s passed.”
His mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer in the summer. But they’d had the usual reassurances—it was caught early. They performed a double mastectomy and she’d undergone chemo and radiation. The treatment seemed to wipe out the cancer—full remission.
She’d died? Wait.
He couldn’t have heard his sister right.
But he knew he had. He simply didn’t want to accept it.
Carl dropped the phone to the floor. It cracked. His knees buckled and he sunk down. Roberto rushed to him and, finally, enfolded him in an embrace.
“Carl? Carl? Are you there?” Kay’s voice, tiny, broadcast itself from the dropped phone.
What can I say?
To Roberto?
To anyone?
- Writer
