Twice Two

Andy stood in front of his mother, unable to move or make a single extra gesture. His heart was pounding wildly, and he felt his face burn with shame. She looked at him with disgust, her gaze moving from his face to the red shoes, to the red wig, and back to his eyes. She wasn’t supposed to come home — not for another three hours. In that time Andy had planned to see how well the new wig matched all of Plane’s outfits. Plane had never had red hair before. Blonde, chestnut, dark — yes. All of those had come as hand‑me‑downs from girls who’d started performing long ago; the wigs had already lost their decent look and were ready for the trash. The red wig was the first thing Andy had ever bought for Plane — his first gift. ‘What is this?’ Yelena finally broke the silence.  Andy finally looked her in the eyes.  ‘It’s me, Mom.’  Yelena’s gaze dropped back to Plane’s shoes. Her face went blank, as if she were looking at a complete stranger. She really didn’t know her. She saw Plane for the first time. It felt like an eternity before she raised her eyes again and addressed her son, ‘Take it off right now, and don’t you dare ever let me see you like this again.’ Yelena gave her son one last contemptuous look and left his room. Andy looked sadly at Plane in the mirror and pulled off the wig. Now a young man stared back at him, whose greatest fear had just come true. It was bound to happen someday. Andy had long imagined how it would happen — he knew it would. But can you really ever be ready for it? He sat down on the bed, took off the shoes, and carefully set them on the floor beside him. They weren’t new — Neon Calypso had given them to Plane a few months earlier, before her first performance. They were already a few years old, so they didn’t look their best anymore. The shoes and the wig went back to their rightful place in the closet. Andy knew his mother wouldn’t rummage through it, but he still put Plane’s things where you couldn’t spot them at first glance. There weren’t many of them, and most had been gifts from acquaintances. Andy had to explain himself to his mother. In truth, he didn’t owe her anything, but in his family it was customary that parents had to know everything about their child, that the child had to live with the parents almost until the end of their life, had to get a higher education, and had to fulfill the parents’ dream. Andy went downstairs and saw his mother, lost deep in thought, staring absently out the window. It was hard to understand what exactly she was feeling at that moment, and Andy didn’t know how to start the conversation. ‘Mom,’ he began in English. ‘In this house we speak only Russian,’ Yelena interrupted coldly without taking her eyes off the window. ‘Fine,’ Andy replied in Russian. ‘You’re probably in shock from what you saw. I get how you feel right now…’ ‘You don’t,’ Yelena cut him off and finally turned to face him. ‘You can’t know what a mother feels when she sees her son with a wig on his head and in heels. And you never will.’ ‘I think you don’t understand everything either. You can’t know what I feel and what I do. You don’t get it because you never listen to me.’ Andy had finally said it. For so many years they’d pretended to be a normal family, and even when his father moved out to Miami, they still kept up the act that everything was fine, that that’s how it had to be. It was in their mentality. That’s how they’d been raised. They never really managed to fit into American society. But Andy wasn’t like them. Though he’d grown up among Russian immigrants from birth, he studied at an American school with Americans and kids from other countries. At first school was nothing but problems. The kids laughed at his strange habits, his odd clothes, his weird food. He seemed like an outcast. As he slowly started becoming ‘one of them’ among his peers, his family began to see the growing difference between him and themselves. He spoke English much better than they did, he found it easier to make friends outside the Russian community, and his manners were very different from the ones his parents expected to see. He wasn’t like them. ‘I always tried — and I still try — to hear you and understand you.’ Yelena’s face grew troubled. ‘Andy… Andrey. Is this my fault?’ ‘Your fault for what?’ In the silence between them Andy slowly prepared himself for the inevitable, long‑awaited conversation. Yelena took a deep breath, as if forcing herself to ask what she needed to. ‘Andryusha, what did I do to make you become like this?’ Andryusha… He hadn’t heard anyone call him that in a long time — not from her, not from anyone. He’d long since stopped talking to Russian‑speaking acquaintances because their hard‑edged parents had raised in them hatred and contempt for people like Andy, and it was hard for them to hide their feelings even when they tried to be polite. ‘Like what?’ Andy tried to hold back the tears gathering in his eyes as he heard the shame and bitterness in his mother’s voice. ‘Are you a homosexualist?’ she asked almost syllable by syllable, secretly hoping Andy would cut her off with a laugh and say, ‘Mom, what nonsense are you talking about? How could you even think that about me?’ But Andy didn’t interrupt her, didn’t laugh, didn’t try to convince her otherwise. He only frowned slightly at the question and replied, ‘If I’m not mistaken, people don’t really use that word anymore, but basically, yes. Mom, I’m gay.’ Yelena closed her eyes and went still. Of course she knew the answer — she always had — but only now was she ready to admit it. She’d always seen that her son was different from his peers but couldn’t understand why. He’d loved to dance since childhood. When Andy’s grandmother noticed, she decided he should develop his talent and do what he loved, so she made sure her grandson was enrolled in ballroom dancing. The family wasn’t against it; they were proud when he, an eight‑year‑old, performed at competitions, twirling his little partner across the floor. His grandmother always supported Andy. Once she told him, ‘Andryusha, don’t let others control you or try to make you into someone you’re not.’ Those words left an indelible mark on Andy, and years later — after she was gone, after he’d endured the mockery and bullying of kids in the neighborhood and at school, after he’d found other members of the queer community, after he’d put on a wig for the first time and Plane stepped onto the stage — he knew there had been and would be people ready to support him. But Mom… Mom wasn’t ready. She shut her eyes to what was happening. She’d heard the clack of heels on the stairs late at night when Plane was running late for a show and had no time to change at the club. She’d seen what Andy’s friends looked like and how he interacted with them. She saw that Andy never talked about girls with his father. She tried too hard to seem like everyone else, to appear in others’ eyes as the perfect mother, a scholar with a big career, a loving wife who, unfortunately, hadn’t managed to save her marriage. ‘Is this because of your father’s and my divorce?’ Yelena raised her tear‑filled eyes to Andy. ‘You think your problems affected my sexuality? Mom, you’re scientists. You should know I am who I am, and nothing you did or didn’t do could’ve changed that.’ Yelena stepped away from the window and sat at the table. She clasped her hands, trying to stifle a sob. She couldn’t. She quickly let go and brushed a tear away with her finger. Andy didn’t want to see her cry, but they had to finish this conversation so it would never happen again. He came closer to the table and looked gently at his mother. ‘Why were you wearing a wig? Do you want to look like a woman?’ The interrogation continued. Yelena was determined to hear answers to every question, hoping that, answering at least one of them, Andy would falter and realize he was wrong. This one, at least. Yes, Andy always had a certain intonation in his voice, his movements carried a distinct plasticity and grace, but Yelena couldn’t help being proud of his ballroom achievements, and she chalked those traits up to his dancing. And she had never seen her son wear anything like women’s clothing or try to grow his hair out. He didn’t try to look like a woman in everyday life. ‘Mom, this might be hard to explain in words, but it’s my job. I don’t see myself as a woman, and I don’t want to be one. You didn’t see me — you saw Plane.’ Yelena squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, as if trying to put her thoughts in order. Her son’s words confused her even more. ‘Andrey, what job? What are you talking about? You need to focus on your studies now so you can build a successful career later.’ The same words again. Andy heard this every time the topic of studies came up. He didn’t like university, he didn’t want to study business administration, he didn’t even understand what that really was. But his parents had decided that ‘that’s how it should be.’ Long before his birth they’d been scientists, hoping their son would follow in their footsteps and preserve their legacy. ‘I don’t need that kind of career!’ Andy couldn’t hold back his outrage. ‘I don’t want to do business! Don’t you get it’s not mine?’ ‘And what is yours?’ Yelena shot back. ‘You always say what you don’t want to do. So what do you want to do with your life? How will you make a living?’ ‘Mom, I’m an artist! I have to perform — my place is on stage! I need Plane!’ ‘I don’t understand what you’re talking about,’ Yelena said in despair. ‘You want to make a living performing in shady clubs? That’s not a real job! What could you possibly achieve?’ Her last question made Andy press his lips together and look her straight in the eyes. ‘I’ll become famous, and thousands of people will value me. I’ll be a role model for them, and no one will stop me.’ ‘Enough! I’m tired of listening to this nonsense!’ Yelena snapped, raising her voice — something she rarely did, because appearances always mattered to her. ‘You’ll finish college, you’ll get a degree just like me and your father. After that we’ll decide what you’ll do.’ ‘Aren’t you tired of deciding everything for me? In case you didn’t know, I’m twenty‑one already!’ ‘As long as you live with me,’ Yelena repeated the familiar phrase, ‘you follow my rules. And now I want you to leave me alone. I’m exhausted — you’ve put too much on me today.’ Here we go again. Andy could only speak when his mother allowed it. That’s how it was supposed to be. That’s how things were meant to work in the family. The father was supposed to keep his only son on the right path, and if he suddenly did something unexpected, to put him in his place. And if he ever brought home dolls from school — gifts from his female classmates — and started to play with them, the father had to tear them out of his hands, make him feel ashamed, buy him new toy cars, and frame it all as a favor. But when Andy looked at Plane in the mirror, he felt he wasn’t that cowed boy held at home in suffocating arms, but a free woman who could do whatever she pleased. Plane could do anything. Plane could make people love her, she could make them hate her, she could allow herself a lot. She was sharp‑tongued — she could toss a biting joke at a friend. She was uninhibited; it was nothing for her to walk up to the audience, shake her ass, or let them tuck tips into her bodysuit. Plane didn’t see herself as a beauty queen; she wasn’t afraid to look silly or unaesthetic — that wasn’t what mattered most to her. Vulgar, brazen, and insanely sexy, with big breasts and wide hips — Plane was the complete opposite of Andy, who was shy about his smile, his voice, his gait, and who was afraid someone might hurt his feelings. In his third year Andy dropped out of college. Formally he took an academic leave for a year, but he didn’t think he’d return after what lay ahead. Plane had auditioned for ‘Drag Race’.