Two are One - Chapter 1

Chapter One




I am two people.

Most people know me as Melissa…the senior in college, dual majoring in Dance Performance and Elementary Education, attempting to patiently wait out the few remaining months of attending classes and being owned by this fine institution where I chose to spend four and a half years of my life. I am daughter, sister, friend, fiancé. A small town country girl from Wyoming just beginning to truly understand the complexities and abnormalities of living in New Jersey. I attend my classes the same as you would expect from a senior, showing up five minutes late, sitting towards the back, slouching in my seat, not expecting any semblance of wisdom to be imparted to me at this late date.

Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t always so detached. I come from parents who strongly believe in education and all of it’s wonders, both being teachers themselves. Getting good grades in school was an unstated understanding in my house. You just didn’t do otherwise. I arrived on the East Coast a bright-eyed freshman, ready and waiting for anything the world dropped in my path. My excitement and expectations couldn’t be contained. It didn’t matter that I had never been to New Jersey before, or that I didn’t know a single person, have any means of transportation, or any money. I could do anything, be anybody I wanted to be. Isn’t that what my parents had always taught us three kids? So what if I had bought into it a little more than my two younger brothers. I knew that great accomplishments were in store for me from the moment I stepped off the plane.

College life at Stockton was about what you would expect from a small state school. It wasn’t necessarily the type of higher institution one aspired to attend, but for me, it was the best my parents could afford on the East Coast. I lived in the dorms, not because it was top of the line living space, but because it was free. I, however, was blessed with a single room. No roommate, no sharing the minuscule space we were expected to survive in, no weird personality quirks to put up with. As it turned out, having my own room my senior year was the best thing that could have happened to me. Mid-October, everything in my life turned upside down.


* * *


It began as a joke. I had gone shopping with my best friend, because she decided that I needed a new look. To be more specific, I needed to dress more like a “girl.” This is coming from the girl who wears next to nothing when she goes out for the evening. I, however, am a firm believer in comfort. My taste in clothing tends to run towards big and baggy. I wear a size 8, but buy my jeans in a size 10. More often than not, you can find me shopping in the men’s department. When I have to dress suitably to complete my practicum hours at a local elementary school, my favorite uniform is a loose knit sweater paired with a skirt that just brushes the tops of my semi-dressy slip-ons. I opt for muted colors - blacks, grays, dark greens, browns, creams. I don’t even own a red shirt. Up to this point, I had never stepped foot inside one of those trendy teenage stores in the mall. You know what I’m talking about. The kind of store where everything looks like it’s been preshrunk, about three sizes too small. I hate those stores. The lights are too bright, the music is teeny-bopper radio, and the sales girls spend more time on their cell phones than at the register. This is where Lori had finally convinced me to go.

I felt overwhelmed simply stepping through the entrance of that store. Racks and racks of clothes were squeezed together, leaving barely enough room to push through. Everything looked the same…cheap imitations of the latest trends. Colors blended together as I tried to pinpoint Lori amongst the multitude of stretch-knit tops and hipster jeans. I finally found her digging through a pile of brightly colored scoop-necks. Snatching up bright purple one, she held it against me, grinning.

“This is definitely you!” she exclaimed. Whirling around, she began flipping through racks of jeans.

“What size do you wear? A six?”

“Are you kidding? I wear a ten.” I didn’t think there was any way she would believe me, but I was hoping that she wasn’t really paying attention to what I was saying. No such luck.

“Whatever. Here’s an eight. I think the dressing room’s over there,” she said, pointing towards a remote corner of the store. “Go try these on! I want to look for a new skirt for the party tonight.”

Inwardly, I heaved a sigh of self-pity. I knew that I would have to indulge her, or forever hear about how she tried to help me and I wouldn’t even try the stupid clothes on. Well, what was the big deal? They probably wouldn’t fit anyway. And there was no way I was actually going to buy anything, so I might as well make her feel like she had done her good deed of the day. Glancing over in the direction she was gesturing in, I could see an open doorway by the register. Sighing once more, out loud this time just in case she might be able to hear me, I started over to the dressing rooms.

I was handed a cracked plastic card bearing the number two, and directed inside by the salesgirl. Automatically heading towards the last room in the row, I had passed two others before I realized the rooms were completely open.

“Lori, there aren’t any doors in here!”

“Of course not! They cut down on shoplifting that way,” she yelled back. “Make sure you come out and show me how everything looks!”

Wonderful. I chose a room, and hung the clothes on a hook in the wall. I sighed again and looked around. No mirror. What kind of dressing room doesn’t have mirrors inside the room? I wouldn’t even be able to see how ridiculous I looked before complying with Lori’s demand. Figuring I might as well get this over with, I squeezed as close to the dingy gray wall as I could without actually letting it touch my bare skin, and struggled into the clothes Lori had handed me.

Something was definitely wrong. Either the clothes were too small, or I had an abnormally shaped body. They pulled and stretched in strange places. Tugging at them, I tried to arrange myself more comfortably. This was not working. Swearing under my breath, I looked down at my body. From my vantage point, they didn’t look at all like I thought they should. I peeked around the open doorway. I could see the register and part of the store. Lori was nowhere in sight. Since there was no way that I was going to venture out to look for her wearing these clothes, I stepped back into my dressing room. I could always just tell her they didn’t fit. She wouldn’t want to see clothes that didn’t fit. Feeling good about saving myself from public humiliation, I picked up my shirt off the small ledge in the corner of the room.

“Meliss, are you coming out here so I can see, or what?”

Shit. I peeked around the doorway again. Lori was standing out by the register, hugging an armful of clothes.

“They don’t fit!” I called out to her.

“Let me see anyway,” she answered, shrugging.

There wasn’t any way I was going to be able to avoid going out there. Keeping my eyes on the floor, I slowly walked out to where she was waiting impatiently for me. There were several more people in the store than had been before I went in to get changed. I felt like a bug under a microscope. Glancing up, I was sure everyone was watching me make a fool out of myself, thinking to themselves that someone should have taught me how to dress long before now. Surprisingly, no one was looking my way. I looked at Lori. She appeared to be extremely excited. Great. That couldn’t be a good sign.

“You look fantastic!” she exclaimed. “Why do you keep trying to pull those jeans up? You’re making them look funny.”

“They don’t fit right,” I patiently explained to her. I figured once she got over being so excited at seeing me in new clothes, she would realize that simple fact. “Look at them. My underwear is showing.”

“They’re supposed to fit that way, silly. They’re low-riders.” She walked over to me, and tugged them back down. “You just have to go without underwear.”

What was she, crazy?


* * *


Slamming the door to my truck, I wedged the bag containing the beginnings of my new wardrobe on the floor at Lori’s feet. I seriously needed to learn to stand up for myself a little more often. What was I thinking? Besides the fact that I don’t have any money to begin with (this transaction had maxed out my credit card), I didn’t even like the clothes she had somehow talked me into buying. They weren’t me. I believe that the clothes a person wears should say something about them, and I didn’t want to be classified in the same ranks as the girls you always see wearing the low-slung jeans and baby tees, strutting around and showing off their belly button rings. Frustrated, I slammed my truck into gear. I was so lost in my own thoughts that it took me a minute to realize Lori was talking to me.

“You just have to get used to wearing clothes that actually fit you. You have a great body! You’re in shape from dancing every day, and you’re really pretty on top of everything else. You should be wearing clothes that get guys to notice you!” she argued.

“Why would I need guys to notice me? I’m engaged!” I glanced over at her, exasperated. “I’m getting married in less than a year. I’m not out looking for that random hook-up.”

“I’m not saying you’re looking to get it on! But there’s nothing wrong with having a little fun now and then.” She grinned. “Besides, I know you. You love flirting with the guys!”

She had me there. I did like to flirt. And she was right - what was the harm in having a little fun now and then? My fiancé, Jeff, lived up in Trenton, and I only saw him on the weekends. A girl could get lonely during the week, and need some self-esteem boosting to keep her spirits up. I liked knowing that other guys thought I was sexy. Who didn’t?

I made an illegal U-turn, just missing an oncoming car, and began the trek back through the trees to school.

“You drive like a maniac sometimes, you know that?” She glanced around. “Hey, does your truck always make that noise?”

“What noise?” I asked, innocently.

“The whiney, dying noise.”

Unfortunately, my truck had been making that noise for some time now. My loving fiancé had suggested just junking it, and buying something new, but I love my truck. It’s a ‘91 Izuzu Pickup, the really tiny kind. It’s unforgettable, red with a black hood and Wyoming plates. I like to think it has a lot of character. It gets me from point A to point B, and that’s the important thing. I had bought it for $3000 two years ago, from a guy Jeff’s uncle used to work with. I had never seen $3000 in cash before, but that day I handed it over like it was nothing. I needed a vehicle. Bad. I needed it to get to my education practicums, to get up to see Jeff in Trenton on the weekends, and for the emergency runs to Wawa at 1:30 in the morning for coffee and cigarettes. But the past couple of weeks, it had begun making funny noises. A grinding, stuttering sound when I accelerated, and it was a bitch trying to shift gears. I had to floor the gas pedal to get it to move at all. Not the safest way to merge onto the highway. I had been taking it seriously, in the ‘If I ignore it, it will get better on it’s own’ kind of way. Sadly, it wasn’t getting any better. As if sensing my attempts to not notice the problem, it was steadily adding other small noises on top of the initial whine.

“You better take this thing in and get it looked at!” Lori said. “Are you sure we’re going to make it back to school?”

“Yes, we’re going to make it back just fine! And anyway, I can’t take it in. I don’t have any money to get it fixed,” I complained.

“Well, you can’t keep driving it like this. It sounds like it’s going to fall apart any second!” She was holding onto the seat, like my truck really was just going to crumble into pieces underneath of her. “Maybe you should at least call, and see if they can give you an idea of what the problem is and what it would cost to fix it. It can’t hurt.”

She was right. It couldn’t hurt. But unless they offered to fix it for $23.67 or less, (the extent of my checking account at the moment), I really didn’t see what good it would do. From what I knew, these places only accepted cash, (wouldn’t it be nice to go back to the barter system? I have tons of stuff I could trade!) and I was having a hard time coming up with any at the moment.

Mentally, I shook myself. There had to be some way of coming up with the money! I was young, and smart. I should be able to get a job of some kind, right? It was just a matter of finding one that fit into my schedule. How hard could it really be? And how much could it possible cost to get my truck fixed? Feeling much better, I cranked the music up so that the grinding sounds were less noticeable, and turned onto College Drive.


* * *


“$600!! How can it possibly cost $600? Where am I going to get that kind of money?!”

I flopped back on my bed and buried my head under a pillow. I had taken my truck to the shop that afternoon for an estimate. They thought it was the clutch, and that the whole thing was going to have to be replaced. They also said that it wouldn’t be much longer before my truck was going to shifting at all, and I should get it fixed as soon as possible. Easy for them to say.

Lori was sitting on my floor, flipping through a new dance magazine. She looked up at me with a worried smile.

“Can’t you call your parents and ask them for the money?” she asked.

“You don’t understand. Money is a big thing with my dad,” I explained. “For God’s sake, the man writes down every dollar he spends! He has an amazing ability to budget money. He thinks I have plenty of extra cash saved in my checking account.”

Lori grinned. “What makes him think that? Doesn’t he know you? You’re awful with money!”

“I know! I told him I did so that he would leave me alone. Besides, he thinks I have a credit card for emergency use only. He would just tell me to charge it.” I hugged the pillow to me. “What am I going to do? I can’t tell him I don’t have any money, and I my credit card‘s maxed out!”

Lori giggled. “We’ll just have to find a way you can make some money. We can do that!” Standing up, she banged on the wall. “Bell! Do you have any beer?” She looked over at me. “This calls for a major planning session, complete with your two best friends and something to help us think!”

Bell lived in the room next to mine. We had the two singles right at the end of the hallway, which was nice because no one had any reason to be down by our rooms unless they were coming to see one of us. Lori was stuck with a double at the other end of the floor, so she spent most of her time camped out on either my bed or Bell’s. Bell was a senior, just like me, and we shared many of the same views on our last year at school - half-ass your classes, spend as much time as possible with your friends, and try to wait it out.

My door opened a crack, and a curly red head poked around.

“Hello, darlings! What‘s the plan for the evening?”

Bell was a theater major, and every conversation with her was an experience.

“Melissa needs $600. We thought beer would help us find a solution easier!” Lori grabbed a bottle and twisted it open before handing it to me, then helped herself to one. She flipped the caps into the trash, and snagged a pillow off my bed. I scooted over to make room for Bell, and took a long drink. Cold beer always made things seem better, easier to deal with. Lori was right. I’d be able to figure this out. We just needed to come up with some ideas. How hard could it really be?

“So, what could I do? I need something at night. I don’t have any time during the day, between classes and practicums.”

Bell glanced at me. “Don’t you have night classes, though?”

“Oh. Yeah, but I’m done by 8. And one night by 10.” I shook my head. “That’s not going to work. I’d have to have a job where I didn’t even go to work until 9:00! I’ll be working half the night!”

Lori giggled. “You should get a job where you can work out of your room. Be a telemarketer, or something.”

“Are you insane? Everyone hates those people!” I lounged back against the wall. “I know! I could have a website. Something where you don’t have to see your face. Like foot fetishes or something! People pay tons of money for shit like that!”

“I don’t know,” Lori leaned over and examined my feet. “Your feet are kind of ugly.”

“Jerk!” I grabbed another beer, and flicked the cap at her. “I happen to have lovely feet!”

“You’re a dancer. There’s no way in hell you can think your feet are lovely. Look at them! They’re covered with calluses and they’re beat to shit!” She waved her feet in the air. “Mine look the same way.”

“You could cover them in pudding or something. Squish your toes all around. Then you couldn’t see how ugly they are. That’s the kind of thing that turns those people on anyway,” Bell suggested.

“How would you know? Watch a lot of those movies, huh?” I laughed. “You told me you were watching an ‘artistic film’ last night!”

Bell‘s face started to match her hair. Our walls were thin as paper, and you could hear the tiniest thing through them. Bell had had a late night visitor the night before and we had been teasing her about it all day. But hey, what are friends for? Besides, it had been a while since she had gotten laid.

“Why don’t you dance?”

“What?” I wasn’t sure I had heard Bell correctly. “Dance where?”

“Atlantic City. We’re only a couple of minutes from there. And you’d make plenty doing that. Trust me, it’s the easiest money you’ll ever make,” Bell said matter-of-factly.

“What?” Lori asked. We sounded like a couple of idiots, but this was coming out of the middle of nowhere for us.

“You’ve danced before?” I was having trouble getting this through my mind, but Bell had my complete attention now. “When? Where? Did you have to get naked?”

“You were naked??” Lori was staring at Bell like she had never seen her before.

Bell leaned back, enjoying our amazement. She loved creating a stir, no matter what it was about.

“I did it during the summer before I came here. And yes, I got naked. What do you think strippers do?” She asked, nonchalantly.

“Wow.” I tried picturing it in my head. Could I really do that? Strip down in front of a roomful of guys I had never seen before? I mean, I know that money is great, and I could definitely dance as well as any of the girls in those clubs, but…dance naked? Lori turned and stared at me. “Are you actually considering doing this?”

“Well, yeah, maybe. I don’t know. It’s just an idea, right? But, maybe.” Honestly, I wasn’t even sure what I was thinking. The thought of actually doing it was scary, but kind of exciting at the same time. Thinking about it, it was beginning to seem possible. I had several outfits that had been bought with a boyfriend or two in mind that I could probably wear, and I knew Jeff wouldn’t care. He’s wonderfully open about those types of things. Besides, he would understand that it’s just a job.

“What do you have to do to get a job dancing at a club?” I kept my eyes down, rolling my empty beer bottle back and forth in my hands. Lori was looking back and forth at the two of us with her mouth hanging open.

“You just go. Pop into places and see if they’re looking for dancers. Some places you probably have to audition first, but that’s no big deal,” Bell said. She leaned over and smacked Lori on the shoulder. “Close your mouth. You look like a fish.”

I reached over and grabbed another beer. Twisting open the cap, I took a couple of deep swallows before glancing up at Bell.

“Will you go with me?”


TO BE CONTINUED...