The Closet
By Jasmine Low
This is a short story work in progress. Draft 5: 7 April 2004 / Minor Edits July 2007This short story is narrated by Sham, Chameel's Doppelganger. Sham's world is a world of 'Fours' - a number which signifies bad luck and chaos. So it's no surprise when one day, she stumbles upon a Closet which leads her to a world completely ruled by the number 4. Sham's got more than one Doppelganger though. Meet Matti who fights hard to exist. Chris seems to be the only sane person in Sham's world and is testament that love prevails above all as she helps Sham break free from her chaotic world of real and unreal.
‘You fucking Four, get outta my life!’ yells Chameel, eyes hurdling over my shoulders towards Chris. I stand in between. Chris and Chameel. Inseparable friends. Ex-lovers.
I’ve never felt Chameel so angry before. Nevertheless, all I could focus on was her handsome physique decked in furious purple corduroys, red Diesels and a tight black Bonds tee. Illuminated by the hues of her adornment, her face reflected mine in purple and her eyes stared back black as black. I shifted my stare down on to her red leather soles, trying to grasp a focal point, trying to gain my composure, trying to remain calm. You see, I am the 'Four' in her life. Born on 3 February 1970, numerology would have it that I’m a number 'Four'. As a result, I believe that I am pure bad luck and it’s my karmic penance for returning to this chaotic world. I’m Sham. Welcome to my world of Fours.
‘Just like that? Just get out of your life?’ I ask, looking straight into the mirror at my reflection, at Chameel. My crazy other half. The other me.
‘Yes. Just leave me alone!’ yells Chameel again, veins screaming from the sides of her neck.
‘But you know I can’t. I’m every party of you, dear.’ I breathe slowly and stare at my talking mirror.
Seated at the kitchen table, Chris opens her mouth in slow motion and mutters, ‘Cool down darling. I think your mind’s playing tricks on you again’. I stare at the mirror again, ‘Chris, you’re really the best lover anyone could ever wish for. What would I do without your strength and understanding?’ Chris lifts her head and mutters, ‘It’s alright, baby. We’ve gone through so much the past six years. Each time you introduce me to another you. I’m learning to understand it all. Wanna talk about it? C’mon, tell me, what’s Chameel been up to now...’
Chameel
Chameel is a handsome woman, the type who oozes confidence with every step and the type of woman who turns the heads of both men and women. Chameel came into my life soon after my partner of four years departed. At that time, my mental state was not in good order. I was breaking down. I needed the security so much that I had engineered a partner who would never ever leave me because she was me.
The Closet
Earlier in the evening, Chameel, my alter-ego had crossed over through a door in The Closet to the other world and was at her best friend, Matti’s place for her weekly ‘let’s-catch-up’ dinner session. Halfway through, Matti breaks silence over his tart laksa broth and starts telling Chameel about a dream he had just woken up from.
‘You know how I can see things in my dreams?’ says Matti. Well, I don’t know how to tell you this but I saw Sham undress Chris in your bedroom. I saw them making out. I shut and shut my eyes but kept on seeing them… I’ve seen too much, Chameel,’ he said. Chameel quickly chomps on her protein and exits through The Closet.
Just 4 years ago, I discovered a mysterious door within the panels of my grandmother’s closet. Propelled by curiosity and fate, I pried open the panels and found myself suddenly in a dark and dirty bathroom. That was the first time I met Chameel. We met in the toilet in this other world.
‘Hi! What’s your name?’ Chameel asks, while circling the large bathroom. ‘I’m Sham. Who are you?’ I whispered, afraid and uncertain of my whereabouts. ‘Check out this door, man! I don’t know what’s happened but...’ I try explaining, turning towards the non-existent Closet, now a dirty toilet. Chameel whispers back, ‘Sham! It's me! Your other half! This is my space when I'm not with you. Look, you don’t belong here. You’re not meant to see this other side. Go home. Don’t tell anyone what you’ve just seen. I’ll explain later. Come back in four hours, ok.’ So I creep through the panels of The Closet and head home.
Chameel and I shared everything. Soul mates we were - up until she met Matti - her psychic gay friend who lived in the other dimension. I didn’t like the fact that on every visit, Chameel would spill and thrill Matti with every single event in her life. He knew about every single movement – hers, and mine. He hungered for knowledge about our world. I didn’t like that. Nor did I like him. But I couldn’t stop Chameel from telling me every detail either. I was just as curious.
On each visit, she would describe minute details of her visits to Matti’s favourite clubs where straight-acting mature-aged chubs, burnt-out executives and young upstarts would mingle, one hand clasping a bottled drink wrapped in tissue like latte, the other making gestures that were just oh-so-cute! Matti was not a wanna-be, though, explained Chameel. He just hung out with them. He was straight-acting, after all. So nobody really knew if he was a people-like-them. But what they did know was that Chameel’s diva-like presence created a different aura around Matti. Everyone flocked towards Matti upon entry, first drink coupon in hand.
Chameel enjoyed this façade of cool. She was also extremely protective over him! She would often return with stories on the new friends she had made. Each night, there was a new character. There were the Muscle Marys dressed in a smattering of sweaty leather souvenirs from Oxford Street. Expect only a knowing nod from them if not a squeal of delight. Then there was the Ad Man – the advertising executive who would swagger in with three or four other colleagues, designer jeans casual, smart and good-looking with an air of stale level-31-airconditioning. The matter-of-fact Potato Queens who offered eyeballs on a platter to every single mat salleh. And the quintessential Divas who looked just as good under dim lights as they would under the bright fluorescent whites at the mamak. And there were so many more stereotypes – all of whom only existed only in magazines in our world, but now made real in the presence of Chameel.
We had often had gay male fantasies where she would play Potato Queen and I, the mat salleh. But I grew tired of it after awhile. Especially when she started to make me pretend to be Matti - the strong male who was in touch with his feminine side.
Chris
I met Chris two years ago in a recline, positioned on a dental chair. Chris remained a face behind the mask for a good year before we finally realised our strange connection. I had already known that Chris was one of Chameel’s closest friends but only found out that Chris was also her ex-lover when I started probing while on a serial ‘root-canal’ visit. I immediately felt like kin. There was never any jealousy between us, just an unexplainable bond. Soon after, we began exchanging pleasantries over SMS which led to ‘how-was-your-day’ instant messages via MSN followed by ‘this-is-how-I- really-feel’ emails. But we were not attracted to each other. It was platonic.
Alright, I lie.
I knew the dentist was instantly attracted to me. It was just the way I was locally anaesthetised. Chris applied gentle strokes of LA on my gums and talked me through the entire four-hour ritual of replacing my nerves with gutta. Four weeks later, after many email exchanges, Chris sent me an amazingly accurate analysis on my number. Four. ‘My number! How did you know?’
And so it was further revealed. As a Dentist by day, numerologist by night, Chris was able to read me like an open book. And that was the secret ingredient why this dentist was just so clever in appeasing each patient. Known around town as the painless dentist, Chris would run a numeric report on the patient’s birthdates and figure out their pain thresholds. I was intrigued.
There have been many opportunities for us to ‘get-together’. Despite all the innuendoes, I was completely bent on maintaining monogamous faith in Chameel. And my faith was tested but never broken. One particular evening, Chris and I had coffee at Telawi and headed back home. Chris had been staying with us for the past week while apartment-hunting. So much of Chris reminded me of Chameel. They were so similar in their thoughts, taste in clothing, even manner of speech. They might have even been soul mates. But I was the channel of communication. They were friends but hardly spoke and only got to know what the other was doing via conversations with me. I represented their Closet. I was the channel.
That night, Chris appeared even more like Chameel. It was something said in passing, ‘You fucking four! When will you ever learn?’ Perhaps that was how it happened. I really did not have any intention to cheat on Chameel. It just felt like it was her. But how will I ever be able to explain that to her?
The next day soon after the clock struck four, Chris heaved a load of energy onto me. It all started with a lick behind my neck while kneading dough. We were attempting to make planta prata. I was aroused and with Chameel away so much, I had missed that touch. As much as I was free to see whomever I wanted, I also felt trapped. It felt almost like I was living in a Closet within a Closet. Chameel was constantly comparing me to the others she had been with before. It was torture feeling like I was not good enough for her. I often wondered who built The Closet. Masochist! Why engineer such a chamber? Now my Chameel has found an exit.
Closet Curiousity
As I pry open the doors to The Closet, a peculiar smell permeates the air. Like Marmite. There’s ringing in my ears. Like the shrill of a high decibel hand phone tune. I feel my eyes widen uncontrollably and my hair pulled back in pony tail by a dozen horses. The 4 seconds of transportal time felt like forever. Next thing I knew, I was sitting wide-eyed on the water closet of a dark crimson bathroom. The echo den stank. Sitting in a burgundy dustpan just beneath the wash basin was a white box. My ears take position as I begin to pick up low decibels of laughter outside. I instinctively bend over and pick up the clinical white box, looking so displaced in this filthy bathroom. The light coming through the keyhole was just bright enough for me to read the label on the white box, Pregnancy Test Kit.
I peer through the old-fashioned key hole and find my eyes on a home run towards Chameel’s cleavage. Traipsing six inches above that are her full lips mouthing off what seems to be a light sentence followed by a jerk to her heavy head, thrown back in laughter. At a forty-five degree angle from her sat a handsome Virgo-looking man who was listening intently and followed with a mouthful of words before doing the ‘head-thrown-back’ gesture. They were in glee.
‘Yeah and when she grows up, she’ll be a gorgeous androgynous!’ says my Chameel. ‘No, Cham! When he grows up, he’ll be a beautiful gay male.’ Matti quickly adds before doing the ‘head-thrown-back’ gesture. Matti….. So that’s him.‘Cham, I love you. I can’t explain what’s been happening with me, but I truly believe we have a special connection. You’re every man I could ever hope for, every woman I admire. Will you stay this time? I’d like you to. We could raise our child together. I can’t stand the thought of you leaving again.’
I should have known better. That pervert! Plans hidden up his sleeve all the way down to his groin! What a ploy to take my Chameel away from me.
‘Matti. I feel for you but....’ says Chameel stepping back with her laughter creases disappearing with each move. Chameel faces me, unknowing, and quivers into a tearful soliloquy. I feel faint and close my eyes.
I open my eyes again to see Chameel’s tongue wag, ‘Why? Why? What have I done? Despite all that has happened, I can’t be with this man whom I love as a brother. I’m sorry, Sham. I gave in. It has been over 15 years since I’d been with a man. I was curious again. Now, I am with child. His child. That’s what happened, my sweet. Remember that night when we had that massive argument? I was shattered and started to doubt you with your hurtful words. I went to Matti and he came into me'.
Chameel turns around, back facing me, busts facing Matti and bursts with sudden upheaval. ‘I can’t leave Sham, Matti. She’s my soul mate. As much as she’s hurt me and cheated on me, I know that she didn’t mean to. I believe her. I believe we have an unbreakable bond.
But…I have an idea’ Chameel adds, as she normally would because she was, after all an encyclopaedia of quick fix ideas for any occasion.
‘Why don’t you come live with us?' Chameel says nonchalantly. 'I will tell Sham that I’m pregnant and bear the consequences. If she leaves, we will live together in my world. If she accepts my folly, I’ll talk to her about asking you to move in with us. We will then raise our child together.’
Matti looked tired. Nodding, he says, ‘Alright, then. Talk to her if you must. Then come and tell me what has been decided.’
Matti swivels around from his chair and walks towards me. Oh no! He’s coming towards the bathroom! Quick! I need to get out of here.
I crawl out of The Closet back into Chameel’s familiar scents, back inside Chameel’s room. Here I am, anticipating the return of my sweetness. Four minutes removed from my being yet keenly in anticipation to tell her, ‘Yes! I’m fine with Matti living with us. We’ll work things out. Nothing will ever change us. I love you too much.’
Matti’s arrival
It is Thursday, the 4th of April. Matti is due to arrive today. I can see him in my mind's eye. Him, standing beside his giant brown trunk, all of his life's belongings crammed into a 40 kilogramme case. Chameel is flustered. She has prepared breakfast - the usual kaya bread spread and thick Ipoh coffee. I watch her as she spreads my bread. Her innocence. Her denial. Her warm heart laced with traces of selfish desire. I feel the burn.
On my return trip the other day, I discovered a tattered sticker label plastered on the insides of the cupboard. Just like the rules and regulations of a billiard game, it read that when a person visits the other world on invitation, they will impose their energies and being into the body of the invitee. They would experience consciousness in four-minute intermittent intervals. I wonder if Chameel had read the terms and conditions.
I question Chameel about the rules and regulations of The Closet as we awaited Matti’s arrival. She denied ever seeing it and told me off for being negative. She reminded me that we had only watched ‘Being John Malkovich’ not long ago. I suddenly felt transported to a scene in the movie where puppeteer husband, Craig and his wife Lotte enter via a trap door into John Malkovich’s portal to experience carnal pleasures with Maxine, the person John was dating – the same person they had both fallen in love with. In no way was that movie now amusing. This is my life! That was a movie!
‘You fucking four, get outta my life!’ yelled Chameel, eyes hurdling over my shoulders towards Chris. I stand in between. Chris and Matti. Inseparable friends. Ex-lovers. ‘Chameel?’ Matti quizzes, head swinging downwards towards his furious purple corduroys, Red Diesels and tight black Bonds tee. ‘You, you look different’, Matti exclaims, eyes hurdling over towards Chris.
‘So I’m Chameel now is it? But last night I was Matti, your gay boyfriend. That was fun! When can we go clubbing again, Sham?’ asks the cool and calm Chris, perched on the kitchen counter. She calmly takes her seat then angles her head, prompting me to share today’s stories.
‘So what’s for lunch, darling?’
Ends.
Copyright 7 March 2004. Unreleased version (c) Jasmine Low. Send comments and feedback to girl_gungho@yahoo.com