©2025 SammyC

The distressing pain in my abdomen had subsided to an intermittent dull ache as I tried to fall asleep. I was sharing Regina’s queen size bed now. In my universe, mom had switched out my original twin size bed for a queen because Sassy, my Brittany spaniel mix dog refused to sleep anywhere but next to me. More about the absent Sassy later. It’s a little too painful for me to discuss right now. In any event, I gather Regina’s parallel universe followed the same set of circumstances. Speaking of whom, she had just completed her homework assignments and gone off to perform her nightly ablutions. I hope she doesn’t mind that I hung my undies to dry in the shower. After my visit to the bathroom where the “incident” made itself visible to me, i.e., the blood spots on the gusset of my panties, I soaked them in the sink with Woolite for a good half-hour. If the stains don’t come out, I guess I’ll just toss them. I just hope I didn’t sustain some sort of internal injury going through that damned vortex.

My eyes were closed though I was still wide awake when I felt Regina slide into the other side of the bed.

“I’m glad you don’t sleep commando.”

“I knew you were awake. Mom says I snore. I guess it’s the same for you. Maybe you should sleep commando though. Doctors say yeast infections are more likely when moisture is trapped by tight-fitting fabric. I mean, you have a vagina. I’m still waiting on mine…”

“In my universe, I hadn’t even gotten to the hormones stage. Mom hoped I’d grow out of my delusion.”

“Well, you’re living a charmed life. You’ve stumbled into a universe where you don’t need to transition. You’re already a biological female. Sucks to be me, I guess. Maybe I could find one of those vortices.”

“You’ll get there soon. You’re legally a woman now. And your Uncle Richie will help pay for your gender affirming surgery—”

“What? He never told me that.”

“Well…my Uncle Richie (who’s probably being grilled by the authorities not to mention my parents about my sudden disappearance) told me he’s set aside some of his book royalties for my eventual surgery.”

“Yeah, he’s made decent money with that crazy book. But it’s news to me if he’s willing to do that for me.”

“Good night, Regina.”

“I’m amazed you can just fall asleep like this after what Uncle Richie told us tonight. You’re in like Flynn, girl. Of course, the DNA tests will prove you’re my identical twin. The only thing you’ll have to explain is where you’ve been these three months since the helicopter crash and why you’ve got a doozy of a case of amnesia.”

“If they don’t ever find the real Gigi’s body in the depths of that lake—”

“They won’t. I’ve got a feeling you’ve literally taken her place…in this universe. Who knows? Maybe she’s swapped with you. Sort of a one-for-one trade like they do in sports.”

“Speaking of sports. Do you really want to go to that game tomorrow night? The George in this world plays football, which I’ve never had any interest in. My George played basketball and I only tolerated watching the games because he was in them. This George, not so much—”

“No, we have to go! And he personally invited us to the post-game party. That means we’ll sit with George and Billy, his favorite pass catcher, in their favorite booth—”

“And Winnie too, no?”

“Yeah…but she’ll be the…let’s see…the fifth wheel. George doesn’t really like her.”

“They looked pretty lovey-dovey at the mall to me.”

“Since you’re my twin from another universe, didn’t you feel something for George?”

“We were best buds. More like brothers really. I swear I never had any romantic interest in him. I don’t consider myself gay. I’m straight.”

“If you’re still straight, you must like guys now.”

“Gender and sexual orientation are not necessarily identical—”

“Yeah, but we are. And I’ve always been in love with George. As far back as I can remember. Now that I’ve transitioned, I’m not afraid to shout it out loud. I’M IN LOVE WITH GEORGE PARKER!”

There was a loud knock on the door.

“Girls! Go to sleep! Regina, you’ve got school tomorrow. And Gigi, you’re walking Artie to school as well. I have to leave early to open the shop. Fridays are always a super busy day. Good night, ladies.”

I turned to Regina, but she was already fast asleep…and snoring.

I was sitting at the kitchen table, surfing the net on Regina’s old laptop (I knew all the passwords), trying to see what subtle and not so subtle differences there were between this world and my original one. Pretty much, the vast majority of data points I checked were the same. Even in this universe, the New York Jets hadn’t been to a Super Bowl in over 50 years, women have resurrected cargo pants from the early 2000s, and men are wearing fanny pack crossbody bags. Eeeek!

The doorbell rang at around 11AM. It was Uncle Richie.

“I figured you’d be home alone at this time of day.”

“Come in. What’s up?”

“I’m in the process of getting you into the medical center for those DNA tests early next week and I’ve been referred to a family law attorney who could handle a lot of the legal and clerical issues of your ‘reappearance.’ What we need to do is firm up your story…because you’ll need to explain a lot of highly unlikely events.”

“Such as where I’ve been for three months and why I have no memory of that. Or, for that matter, memory of who my adoptive parents were, where I grew up, what school I attended—”

I went to pour a cup of coffee for Richie after we both settled into seats around the kitchen table.

“A traumatic experience—”

“Like dying in a helicopter crash?”

“Well, you somehow survived that. But that traumatic event wiped your topmost memories as a way for your mind to compartmentalize the terror of what you’ve just gone through. You wandered for weeks, occasionally depending on the charity and kindness of strangers (of course, you don’t remember their names either) who shepherded you along on each successive leg of your journey back to New Jersey. Your internal compass kept pushing you east toward home, the name of which you didn’t even remember. Finally, Nick Tolliver picked you up on the interstate on his commute from work a few miles from Parsons State Park, thinking you were Regina, your long-separated twin.”

“That sounds like something from your book, ‘Strangeness Beyond.’”

“Why not? I’m a non-fiction writer not a novelist. Now, let’s go over your idyllic life with your adoptive parents in Summit. These are bare-bones details but no one’s going to believe that you’ve got total amnesia. They’d lock you up in a research hospital if that’s the case.”

“Maybe I incurred a brain injury when I was thrown out of the helicopter?”

“I’m no phrenologist but I don’t see any bumps on your head, so to speak. You’re outrageously healthy, as far as I can tell.”

“I’ve been bleeding from some odd areas of my body. Not much but…”

Richie gave me an odd look before saying, “No time for bad jokes, Gigi.”

We spent the next hour locking down the fundamental facts of my 17 years on earth (this version of me anyway). It seems Gigi LeClerc had led a very happy, even privileged life. Far better than the lives either Regina or I had led. With an upper middle-class upbringing and attractive looks, Gigi was going somewhere. I wonder if the Gigi in my world had the same luck of the draw.

I felt elated and yet undeniably sad that I had careened into a world in which my prospects in life were so much better than what they were before I swam into oblivion. Here, I was a biological woman, an heiress to a tidy inheritance but my friends and family were essentially strangers to me while, to them, I was an oddly out of place cypher.

I had just walked Artie home from school and agreed to play video games on the Switch with the little bugger when Regina rushed into the house, breathless. Gulping air before she could speak, she waved her arms toward the stairs.

“Quick, we’ve only got two and a half hours to get ready for the game tonight! Chop chop!”

“What’s the rush? It’s a game, not a date.” As if in answer, Regina pulled me along by the arm, pushing me up the stairs before her.

“Gigi! George is picking us up at 6. Normally for a home game, after his last class, he just goes straight to the gym, changes into his uniform and waits to warm up before the kick-off. Today, he’s changing his routine! He’s driving us to the field. We have to look our best.”

I turned back to little forlorn Artie. “You’ll have to play by yourself, Artie. Sorry.”

“Can I come up and watch you guys?”

“It’s just putting on make-up and doing our hair, right?” Regina nodded from the landing above me.

“OK, squirt. But be quiet.” Artie ran up the stairs, giggling. I wonder, sometimes, about him.

Well, it turned out to be much more than that. We showered, dried our hair, teased, combed, and brushed it to a fare-thee-well, then placed colorful hair clips in strategic positions. I blanched at this final touch.

“Don’t these clips make us look like 9-year-olds?” Regina slapped my hands away from my hair.

“All the girls are wearing them in senior class this year. It’s a thing, silly rabbit.”

Chastened, I let her do my nails. At last count, we used 4 different colors. I used 5 on her nails. Artie liked the green polish we put on his nails. Wait till Nick, our stepdad, sees that.

For our toes, which hypothetically no one will see inside our Chelsea boots, we chose Hot Pink by Sally Hansen. It was stunning to the eye. I suggested to Regina that we wear sandals instead of boots. She stopped to consider it while I admired my wiggling toes in their foam separators. Finally, she shook her head.

“We’ll get dirt and stuff on them at the field. We’d look like migrant farm workers. Nothing wrong with that, of course.”

I took the first turn at the vanity and applied the simple make-up I had been doggedly practicing all week. I still felt apprehensive about poking an eye out or brushing too much blush on my cheeks, but it didn’t look too bad at all. Then, I sat on the bed behind Regina and watched her more experienced artistry at work. Artie caught me pantomiming Regina’s movements and giggled. I gently grabbed him by the shoulders and wrestled him to the floor, tickling his sides. We giggled until we hiccupped.

What took us the longest time was deciding what outfits to wear to this combo sporting event and after-party. Both our wardrobes were more limited than any of the girls in our senior class (I had hopes to attend class soon). Skirts were out. Too cold in the evening without tights. Dresses were definitely out. Who goes to a football game and then IHOP in a dress? Maybe Taylor Swift? Pointedly, Regina remarked an upskirt incident for her wouldn’t be that copacetic. And Regina wanted us to dress alike. After all, we were going to introduce me as her twin sister. Everyone expects twins to dress alike.

Ultimately, we decided on the belize crop tops we had both purchased at the mall. Underneath, we wore chaste white tee shirts. Our legs were sheathed in vintage ‘90s jeans, which ended high enough to show off our new Chelsea boots. Artie applauded as we cat-walked the length of our bedroom.

Mom got home from work at a quarter of six. She looked us over and nodded her approval.

“Two questions. It’s going to get chilly later tonight. Don’t shake your head, Regina. Err on the safe side and bring a sweater or jacket. Do you have something Gigi could wear?”

“She can have my pink hoodie. As for me, I’m living dangerously. I’m living as a girl.” She struck a cute pose.

“Gigi, go find it in the closet upstairs. And pick out a sweater for Danger Girl here while you’re at it.”

As I climbed the stairs, I overheard her second question.

“OK, who put polish on Artie’s nails?”

“He asked for it, mom. I swear.” Mom turned to Artie.

“Artie, is that true?”

“I like it, mom. Look at all the pretty colors.”

“Sit up front with me, Gigi,” George said as he led Regina and I to his Dodge Challenger. I could make out the dark form of Billy Bacigalupo filling up most of the back seat. In Regina’s world, Billy was the team’s star Tight End and George’s favorite target. In my own, Billy had been a bench player on our basketball team. He hardly made an impression on campus. I might have exchanged five words with him in three years. Here, he appeared to be best buddies with George. He smiled and waved to us.

George opened the passenger side door, and I scooted in. Regina, feeling ignored, opened the door behind us and settled into the small space between Billy and the window, a dyspeptic scowl on her face.

“This is Billy Bacigalupo, Gigi. All-state Tight End two years running. I wouldn’t be half the quarterback I am today without Billy making those incredible red zone catches.”

“Nice to meet you. Billy.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Gigi.”

“Not only a great athlete but a gentleman as well,” Regina hooted in the back of my seat.

“You know, the two of you look so much alike—”

“They’re twins, Billy,” noted George drily as we turned onto the main drag of our town, Dowd Avenue.

“That would explain it,” nodded Billy. “So, why aren’t you in school? They opened after Labor Day.”

“It’s a long story from what Regina’s told me. Maybe after we destroy those clowns from Radburn tonight, Gigi can tell us all about it over some classic IHOP steakburgers and fries.”

“Say, where’s Winnie?” I asked.

Regina tapped the head rest of my seat. “Gigi, she’s already there. She’s the captain of the cheerleading squad.”

I keep forgetting my Winnie is a little different from this world’s Winnie.

“Once you’re in school, Gigi, you should try out for cheer. Man, the way you look, you’re a cinch to make the squad—”

“So, Billy, should I try out too?”

“Oh, Regina, that’s silly. You might not be able to do those splits. Know what I mean?”

“Be nice, Billy. Regina’s…uh…very pretty too. I mean, Gigi and her are identical twins.” George had slipped the car into one of the teachers’ parking spaces. “She never comes to the games.” As we all climbed out of the car, Billy mumbled under his breath, “Identical? I don’t think so.” We split up when George and Billy went into the school building, headed for the gym, while Regina and I ambled toward the field.

New Jersey state regulations limit capacity at outdoor scholastic sporting events at 500. Even so, Rossington High’s football team games have some of the highest attendance in North Jersey. Normally, we’re at near capacity. At $3-$5 a ticket, it’s cheaper than buying a hotdog at the refreshment stand. Some wiseacres would say there’s little else to do on a Friday night in North Jersey.

Regina and I settled into our seats on the benches right behind the Rossington High sideline. Most of the spectators around us were friends and family of the players, with a smattering of students and interested townspeople. We did get some odd looks and a few serious stares. They must have thought they were seeing double. Which, of course, they were! I tried to ignore them, but Regina took pleasure in returning their questioning glares with a smile and a wave of her hand.

“I know all these people, Regina. Back home, they never gave me a second look. I doubt they even knew my last name,” I muttered.

“Well, it was the same for me until I started transitioning. That’s when I got to be notorious. Believe you me, they know my full three names: Regina (née Reginald) Monica Tolliver. You’d think I was the only trans kid in school history—”

“I know. There was Alice Shorter who was previously Ollie Shorter three years ago. And Jack Butler who was previously Leticia Butler two years before that.”

“How did you know--. Oh, yeah, I keep forgetting. Hey, look! They’re about to kick off!”

Competing cheer squads tried to stoke the fervor of the fans of the respective schools just before kickoff. Winnie led the cheering in front of our benches. She looked sleek and sporty-sexy in her cheerleader outfit. In my world, I don’t think she knew three words in our school song (nor did I). But, here, she was belting it out in a clear, strong contralto voice. She blew kisses to George as Rossington took the field after Radburn’s kick soared out of the end zone.

The game itself was a rout. Three minutes before halftime, Rossington was already leading 28 to 3. And darkness fell, bringing with it a bracing chill. I was already wearing Regina’s pink hoodie, but I laughed when Regina asked me for the sweater I was carrying for her in my cat’s whiskers black shoulder bag (and that she insisted she didn’t need). Yawning, I decided it would be a good time to beat the half-time rush and get a hotdog at the refreshment stand.

“Want something to eat or drink? I’m going for a hotdog myself. I’m kinda hungry.”

“We’re going to IHOP after the game. You can have double servings then. I wouldn’t touch one of those hotdogs anyway.”

“I’ll share a Pepsi with you.”

“I’ve got gum. I’m good.”

“I’ll be back.”

There was a short line at the refreshment stand. The piquant smell of hotdogs sizzling on a roller grill wafted back to my nostrils. I guess that’s one difference between Regina and me. I’ve always enjoyed a hotdog…with relish! Or just mustard. A dainty finger tapped me on my shoulder, and I turned around to see Mrs. Barrington, one of the school’s health education teachers. I would have had to take her class in Healthy Relationships as a senior back home.

“Regina! My my, you look so cute in that outfit. And the pink hoodie tops it off—”

“Mrs. Barrington! I’m…not—”

“No need to apologize, dear. I’m the one who should say sorry for pushing you to pair up with George Parker in class. I try to match up student’s orientations and, frankly, I was at a loss to find a match for you. I mean, you’re not gay, are you?”

“Well, no. I’m—”

“I assumed since you’re presenting as a girl now, you’d be ok with being paired up with a boy. After all, it’s not like you’re being matched romantically. It’s just easier to explore all the different relationship issues we’ll be covering in class if students work together in pairs. And you and George used to be such close friends. That is, before…ahem…before…”

“Mrs. Barrington, I’m not Regina.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going back to being Reggie!” There was a distinct tinge of panic in her tone. “Oh, that’ll be a disaster. I’ll have to change all the pairings—”

“I’m Gigi, Regina’s twin sister. I was adopted when I was a baby and…well, my adoptive parents were killed in a helicopter crash in Arizona. I’m staying with my biological mother now, Mrs. Tolliver.”

“Oh, dear me, that’s tragic. Losing your parents like that. But I never knew Regina had a twin sister who was given up for adoption.” She squeezed my hand sympathetically. “Surely you’ll be attending our school with your sister?”

“Hopefully soon. There’s a lot of official paperwork that has to be sorted out, you know.”

When the whistle blew to end the game, Rossington High celebrated its decisive drubbing of Radburn High to the score of 49 to 10. George Parker had thrown for 4 touchdowns and rushed for 2 as well. Billy Bacigalupo caught 3 of George’s TD passes. As the team trotted off the field, Winnie leaped into George’s arms and kissed his face repeatedly, leaving most of her lip gloss behind.

Regina huffed as we got up from our seats and joined the slow procession exiting the stands.

“Bitch has no shame. I think God hands out vaginas to the wrong people—”

“Jealous much?”

“You don’t fool me, Gigi. You like George just as much as I do.”

Suddenly, I felt a stabbing pain in my abdomen, similar to what I had experienced the night before, and almost stooped over in place.

“You ok?”

“Yeah, it must be the hotdog—”

“I warned you. Do you need to go to the ladies’ room?”

“It’ll pass. I’m ok.”

“Hey, Gigi, Regina!”

George was shouting to us from the field, his helmet in his right hand, hair wet and dirty, a small, bleeding cut on his forehead. He looked a sodden mess, but my heart skipped a beat and the lump in my throat stifled a sigh. Regina was right. I couldn’t deny it.

“We’re gonna go shower and change. Give us 15 minutes. We’ll meet you in the parking lot.”