“1919.” She catches the alarm in my eyes. “Long time ago, yeah?”
“Yeah.” It was the year before I met Shams. It was the year Liam left us for Yale. There were people being attacked all over America because of their skin color and I had no idea. I read the papers,didn’t I? Were these atrocities unreported? Or did I skip over it because it didn’t immediately concern me? I think of Edna, of her fight for people’s rights. I’ve fought for nothing. Not even for love. I feel suddenly sick.
She seems to notice the ache inside me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m Maud,” she says.
“I’m... Oliver?” I say it hesitantly. It’s been so long since I’ve used my real name. But now, with Mother gone, Liam gone, Brendan gone, Edna gone, who’s left to suspect it’s really me?
“You sound unsure about that.” She laughs.
“No, no, I’m sure. I’m Oliver. I’ve tried to be other people, but that’s who I am.” I feel my chest rise with pride.
She nods. “We all try to be someone else before we learn to be ourselves. Well, at least all us queers.”
“I’ll take the book.” She walks me to the counter and rings me up. I hand her the pounds I got at the airport currency exchange when I landed with a fake passport. I’ve gotten very good at obtaining false documents. “How long’s this shop been here? It’s so cool.”
She puts the book in a bag and hands it to me. “A few years, I think. I just started here a few months ago. There was another bookshop here before. Unity. First Black bookshop in Brixton.”
“It closed?”
She lowers her gaze. “Blew up because of a racist firebomb in the letterbox.”
“Oh.” I don’t want to leave without saying something more. “It wasn’t the firebomb that was racist, was it? It was the asshole who put it there.”
She nods. “Indeed.” She offers me a smile as she looks up atme again. She flinches in shock. “Your eyes,” she exclaims with a gasp.
“I know, sorry. It’s a genetic thing. My mother was convinced our family is part feline.” This is the lie I’ve told people who ask for decades.A family trait. Part feline.I’ve repeated those words so many times that they’ve lost all meaning.
“I think I might be living with someone you’re related to, then,” she declares.
“Sorry?”
“My brother Bram has the exact same thing. His eyes glow when you look at them too long.”
“Your brother?” I echo. And then, in a hush, “Bram?”
She nods. “We live just down the street on Chaucer. I’ve only been there two weeks, but it’s home. When you know, you know. You know?” She sees another customer come in. “See you around.”
She approaches the new customer, who says, “Hello, Sister, could I leave some flyers in the shop for an upcoming rally?”
Maud takes the flyers. “Of course, Brother. These sus laws have got to go.”
I wander down Chaucer Street, searching for the house he lives in. Bram. Leave it to him to choose a name that stands out. That makes him sound like the almost-vampire he is. He always was dramatic. I peek into every window until finally I find him. On the second floor of a run-down house. He’s crying. No, bawling. He holds his head in his hands. I did this to him.
He weeps until a woman enters. Holds him. I imagine she’s asking him what’s wrong. He buries his head in her bosom. Cries into her sweater. She consoles him. Runs a gentle hand through his strange new hair. I wonder if she knows why he’s so upset. He couldn’t possibly have told her about me, could he? Unless,perhaps, he made her immortal too. With his last page from the manuscript.
When the tears have dried, the woman rushes out and comes back with a bag of old clothes and fabrics. She and Bram—it’ll take some getting used to calling him by this name—throw on new clothes. Wrap fabrics around each other. Bram puts on a baggy suit. A cowboy hat. A leather vest.
Someone else enters. A man in his thirties. He’s unbearably handsome. He wears a tight white T-shirt and short denim shorts. They laugh now. Uproariously. Happily.
Soon, Maud comes in too. She jumps on the bed and offers them a thumbs-up or thumbs-down as they all change clothes. How I wish I could hear what they’re saying. Maud referred to Bram as her brother. Are they some kind of family? Then again, she also referred to the customer after me as Brother. Perhaps it’s just how she sees people. As part of her extended family. When you really think about it, we are all family, aren’t we? All descendants of the same mysterious path to existence. I despise how my loneliness has turned my thoughts toward philosophical spirals.
I want to stop spiraling. To stop somewhere. To have a life. One life. Not one hundred lives.
They all head downstairs from the bedroom to the kitchen, where Bram and Maud set an eight-person table in the living area. More people arrive. Three women. One man. One of the women arrives cradling three large casseroles. They eat together. I scurry toward the house. Hide just under the open window near them, next to a sign advertising some sort of queer helpline. I quickly memorize the number. I’m close enough now to hear some of what they say, even if I don’t always know who’s saying it.
“The party is Tuesday night. It’s Sunday and you lot are already planning your outfits.” That’s Maud. I recognize her voice.
“Bite your tongue, child. I didn’t start planning our outfits today. I started on Wednesday morning.”
