THE MASKS OF FLIPSIDE
By Guichard Cadet

The Two Diagonals

     I have been seeing them for nearly eight years. They are always together, whether it is before or after school, or on the days they play hookie. Sometimes one would be waiting for the other, or they would arrive at the same time. They were like Siamese twins joined at the heart, inseparable. I have never spoken to them, but a few years ago one of the two, the white one, said hello. I would have answered but I didn't want to start something I couldn't finish. When I was a young girl, about a decade or so ago, my mother told me to never pay teenage boys any attention even if you're old enough to be their mothers.

     When it first happened eleven months ago, I blamed the men. I'd always thought it was the men's fault. Oh, I'm not saying it's us women that make these bad things happen. Oh no sugar, it's something we can't control. Something we as a whole can't fix. We need to separate ourselves, go into some sort of human hibernation and work on it. Alone.

      That's what I plan to do. Go and recreate whatever it is I'm made of. I just can't live like this anymore. Constantly waking up crying, only to fall asleep again then starting the next day with thoughts of them on my mind. I guess it's good for me. No. I can't say that. It's not good that it happened, but I don't know. I just don't know.

     Bars were never my favorite places. When I turned thirteen, Mom told me not to go to them. I think she offered that advice the same day she warned me about teenage boys. She said, "Carla, you only meet losers there." It's where she said she met dad. So, being a good girl, I didn't go to a bar until I turned twenty-one. I went to a few for a couple of years, but then I realized that bars were not my cup of tea. So I stopped going. But there was this guy that I always saw carrying this guitar. One day I spoke to him, hoping he would one day, soon, ask me out. He was so handsome. Chris wore the tightest pants. Had this big fucked-up afro. But the brother was fine.
Said he was in a band, The Revolvers, and that they sang a type of music they
called "New Day Spirituals" at Big Jim s, a local bar. He said that I should check them out. Their album would be out soon.

      So I went. Once, twice,....I became a fan. A groupie. Stopped hanging around this neighborhood so much. Stopped seeing my Siamese twins. Just stopped life. He never did ask me out. But one of the other band members did. George was the drummer. At first I said no. After he asked a few more times, I agreed. We went out a couple of times, and I started falling for him. But I caught myself. He wasn't my type. You know what I mean.

      There were five of them in the band. The singer was an older woman, Chris' mother. She was nice to me, but I could see that she didn't like me hangin' around George. I wasn't sure if she had a thing for George. They seemed like old friends, even though she was at least ten years older than George.
One day she came up to me after one of the shows and said, "Stop teasing the man, and give him some." Some what? I thought. I laughed to myself and nodded to her to keep her away.

      What I do is my business, plus George is not my type.

     A few months later, the band was leaving the bar for good. They were going to tour the country to spread their name. Chris invited me to their dressing room. I had been there before, so I saw no harm in going with him alone. I'm not sure if it was what he said to me, all I know is that within twenty minutes, he was in there. Man, that brother was fine. He had the kind of smile that'll have the most prissy girl in the world agreeing to sodomy. He had one of those juicy butts. The kind you squeeze in the down stroke, while laying your flatfoot on his heel and licking inside his ears. Yeah, that kind. Child don't you know he knew. He said, "I can't be yours."

      I wanted to say: Then, fuck are you lying here for. But he came.

      For a long time. Then let out this breath. If he would have gotten off, I would have understood and let him go. But he just laid there, his stomach against my womb, his shrinking penis all in the moisture. You know what I mean.

      He just laid there.

      The room was dark so I couldn't see his eyes. But he saw mine, glowing in the dark, feeling the wonder of my knight in shining armor. His body was jet black but looked silver because of the sweat it was enveloped in. He kissed me on the cheek and said, "I've got to jet."

     Last time I saw the brother.

     I could have lived with that, you know. It ain't like I never had dick before. Ain't like I never been fucked. But the next one came in. In the dark I couldn't tell who it was. I asked but he did not answer. I tried to run out the room, but he punched me dead on the chin. I mean dead on it.

      Like he could really see me. That's when I knew I had to get new eyes. Then he hit me in the jaw. Grabbed my hair, threw me on the bed and said, "Bitch, you know what time it is!"

      I didn't. But I know now. Thank god, he wore a condom.

      And you know what was really bad about him. He wanted to be hated. Didn't just want to hurt me. He wanted to scar. To leave his symbol. He was stroking real hard. And had one hand on my mouth, hurting my jaw even more. And when it was time for him to come, he took it out. I couldn't even fathom what he had in my mind. "Open your mouth." He then punched me on the abdomen. "Open your goddam mouth."
That was a tough lesson to swallow.

      By now I was in tears.

      Did Chris know this was going to happen?

      Did he plan this rape? The next one came in. He was real delicate. He was crying. He wiped me. Then went in without a condom. He cried throughout the whole thing. Made me feel sad.

      No, you can't know what I mean.

      The fourth one came in. By now, I wasn't refusing. I didn't want to be hit. Talked to. Cried for. Or anything. I had my legs cocked. And was waiting. He laughed. Flipped me over to my stomach. He broke the line. I had to get revenge. To call the police. And put those fucks in jail so they can rot forever like rats trapped in an isolated sewer. No that would not be enough. I have to get revenge. Real Revenge.

     That night I thought the sun would never shine again. The sun would never need to shine, for the light was on me at one in the morning, lying there bleeding out my ass, with a broken jaw, cum in my mouth and a soul in my womb.

      See why I can't keep my baby.

      Gotta give her a new start. Even if society does mistreat her, put her in some fuckin' home, she can't come with me, 'cause where I'm going, the sun is blood red. The people always bitter. Sitting on the edge, waiting for someone to leave their solitude so they can snatch, pull...claw...You know what I mean.

     The night ended very strangely. An hour later, someone came in during my sleep. I don't remember falling asleep. In fact, I think I cried myself to death. I couldn't quite make out the figure who was approaching me. It lifted me, put me in a car, and drove me to the beach. It was like I was in a dream. Everything was a flash. Like I was a star, and was being photographed by paparazzi during my movie's premiere.
But on that isolated beach, there was no one but me and it. "Carla, you be strong..." I was wrapped up in a towel, as if I were dead. My face was sticky from tears, and my body shattered. The figure handed me a book, The Code. It spoke in a muffled tone, "Don't blame anyone. Not even yourself. Life is like that. You have choices. One, you can abort the baby in forty days, to prove it wasn't. Two, you can claim it as your own by the end of the second trimester, and label the soul yours. Three, you can point at the man who fathered the child at the birth during The Ritual of the Fall. Whatever you do, read the book. Live for the past. In Flipside, you belong. You can be a great."
I didn't understand what the hell was going on. Keep the child? What child? It s like my rape meant nothing to this figure. Like I had to gather myself, and serve as an
accomplice in my own betrayal.

     The figure continued, "Whatever you do, you must understand that you are not confined by space nor time. Tomorrow is forever. One of the four souls of humanity has chosen you as the point of progress. Be my child. Become."

     "Is death the end?" I asked.

      "There is no end. The end is what we're searching for. We need to end this ritual."
Yes, we do. At first I did not understand. But my child, my fellow beings and all others out there, don't blame society. Blame the person who can not touch you without smiling or frowning or something. Blame the one who does not want to know the person. The self; your own self.

      As I swing this swing where my daughter sits, I leave her to the whims of human
nature, may she too be a diagonal for I've been crossed. I've been crossed.