Marietta.

Marietta with the bright blue eyes. Marietta with the golden hair. Marietta with her aura, glowing faintly, pulsating, humming, enveloping her in soft, white light. Marietta.

This was the name (the woman) that consumed me day in, day out. Marietta. We'd make the perfect couple, her and I. Marietta. The girl of my dreams. Marietta. The name I was carving into my right forearm with an old boxcutter. Marietta.



It was Saturday morning when I found the letter, hours before our big Halloween costume party. Like a sore thumb it stuck out among all the other white, dull, envelopes crowding my mailbox; pastel purple, smelling of lilacs, my name and address written in curley cue letters, covered in gold glitter. For once in my life I received something other than bills, credit card applications, or death threats. Not only that but the Wal*Mart lingerie catalog arrived too which meant I'd have something to look at when no one was around. You could say I was pretty excited.
After running back inside the house, clutching both letter and lingerie catalog to my chest, I slammed the bedroom door, leaned against it, shut my eyes, and breathed a heavy sigh, exhaling both gratitude and jubilance. Like a child on Christmas morning I tore into that envelope sending shards of glitter, confetti, and rose petals in all directions. My pounding heart all but suffocated me, thumping and babumping so hard in my throat it's a wonder I didn't pass out. With eyes hungrier than Anna Nicole Smith I anxiously gobbled up every word, every sentence, every paragraph in that letter until, finally, I found myself lying back on my bed grinning ear to ear, tears streaming down my cheeks.
In short, the letter revealed that a secret admirer had been watching me for some time and that it was no longer possible she keep quiet her undying love; that her loins burned with the same rage and intensity as a California forestfire which only I could put out. Most importantly the letter said that her true identity would be shown to me if, and only if, I went to the costume party dressed as a woman. At midnight the secret admirer would arrive, walk directly up to me (in costume of course), and plant the most stunning of kisses upon my lips.
Now, truth be told, deciding on whether or not I'd show up to the party in a dress was rather tough; how could I be sure this secret admirer would live up to my expectations? What if she ended up having only one boob? I shuddered in cold sweat.
Then I remembered when I was very young and my family took a trip to Las Vegas. Father kicked off the vacation with a five night drinking binge, during which he lost most (if not all) our life savings. Before we knew it we were drowning in debt, and it wasn't long before the repo men showed up. And then there was the day Father went away for a long time. I remembered us sitting in the dining room, eating breakfast, and him explaining this wonderful dream he'd had about a super computer when at the door came a knock. Then another. And another. He had barely made it out his seat when we heard the door smash in, followed by seven burly men asking for their money. Father stood, gritting his teeth, and rolling up the sleeves of his bathrobe muttered, "I got your money right here." Mother screamed. As did I, "Dad! No!" I shrieked. And then he said something I'll never forget. After sizing the men up, he turned to me and said, "Son. This here is an important life lesson. And that lesson is sometimes you gotta take a gamble . . ."
Emerging from my revery I thought how, lying there covered in sweat, tears, and confetti, I wasn't that much different from Father. I mean, yeah, I had no idea who sent that letter but if I didn't take a gamble, if I didn't go out and find the sexiest dress there was, what did I stand to win? NOTHING! From there another astounding thought emerged.
What if Marietta wrote the letter? This wasn't much of a stretch, as I'd been laying it on pretty thick lately, trying to let her know how much she meant to me. The phone calls with the heavy breathing, the dead kittens in her mailbox, the "YOU BELONG TO ME" love notes I'd stick on her front door, and those all night vigils I'd spend making sure no one tried breaking into her house must've finally clicked. Marietta was coming around. I realized even after this epiphany I was still taking a gamble, however that gamble no longer seemed so risky.
Keep in mind all this took place before noon; I had the whole day to scan thrift shops and consignment stores for anything I might need. Fifteen minutes later I was out the door and on my way to becoming a man . . . even if it meant dressing like a woman.

Earl, Groff, and I gathered at my house waiting for Raenisha to pick us up. I had my dress on, along with the makeup and fancy fixins like dangly earrings, stockings, and high heels. Earl, determined not to let his recent disfigurement get the best of him, was dressed as a shop teacher while Groff stood there in a Metallica shirt and jeans. The shirt bearing the cover of Kill 'em All, underneath which the word JEWS had been spray painted. I asked him what exactly he was supposed to be and Groff replied, "Mel Gibson." Wondering further I asked, "But isn't that a waste of money? Aren't you annoyed you ruined that shirt?" He assured me it wasn't a waste of money, that the shirt looked that way when his brother leant it to him.
Shortly after, Raenisha pulled up in her pickup truck; Earl rode in the cab, Groff and I in back. A nerve wracking ride considering how scared I was my wig might blow off but it wasn't a long one, and soon enough we had arrived at the costume party. I had a few hours to go until midnight so I spent them drinking casually, you know, double-fisting brews, doing kegstands, jello shots, stuff like that.
And then, as if I'd time traveled, it was midnight! Earlier on I spotted Marietta in a sort of Victorian costume, complete with curly hair and masquerade mask. Now as I stood in the corner, I waited for her to approach and lay that kiss on me. Standing there in that dress, a bit nervous about the approaching AM, the thought occurred that I was like Cinderella; except in my story this Cinderella would end up getting laid. It was 12:15 when I saw a Victorian woman wearing a masquerade mask approach. I'm not going to lie, all that casual drinking added up and I was smashed. Some people like to refer to alcohol as 'liquid courage' but for me, at that moment, it was anything but. I knew she was approaching, yet I was unable to look in her direction, my eyes were glued on the ground.
A gloved hand reached out, grasped my elbow, and swung me into a soft, warm, body wrapped in a silken dress. With closed eyes I said, "I'll always love you baby" and we kissed.

Pure magic.


It lasted forever that kiss. My heart raced as our tongues danced the dance of love. Our hands groped and caressed the other's back; sliding mine southward I grasped her rock hard buttock. Then I heard a laugh; a familiar laugh at that. Breaking our embrace I opened my eyes and searched for the source of that joyous sound. (How did I know that laugh?)
And that's when I saw, across the room, Marietta wearing the same costume as this woman who I now held in my arms. She was laughing. Well then, I asked myself, who did I just kiss?
Palms slick with sweat I turned my attention on the stranger in my arms.
The woman I held, the woman I kissed, the woman I confessed my love to . . . was Rosco The Local Dragqueen!
I must have lost consciousness because next thing I knew, it was morning and there on the sofa bed lying beside me, was Rosco. An awkward moment to say the least, but after we cuddled a while and I got to know the REAL Rosco things weren't so bad. No I didn't admit to mistaking him for Marietta. My logic being that it would only embarrass us both, I decided some things were best left unsaid. So what did I do?
Well, I've never been one to pass up breakfast in bed nor have I been one to deny another's hospitality. After all, what would be the point in blowing this whole ordeal out of proportion? More embarrassment, more heartbreak. Neither of us needed that; I figured hey, Rosco had some fun and, for that matter, so did I. Besides, I took a gamble assuming Marietta was my secret admirer and this was where it got me. So what did I do? I rolled with the punches.
Things hadn't turned out at all like I'd hoped they would but after a day of baked goods, romantic comedies, and Michael Bolton CD's I was in no mood to be bogged down by disappointment. Not only that, but I was no longer a virgin!
Rosco wasn't such a bad dude. If things got too out of hand I could throw him the line chicks always fed me and say, "I don't want to spoil what we've got here. Let's just be friends.", and we'd go our seperate ways.
Sure I made a mistake and, yeah I now had to deal with a minor setback but, I wasn't about to be deterred from my eventual goal. She may not have been mine at that moment but, looking down at my right forearm, I understood why Rosco kept calling me the wrong name and, more importantly, that there was still a prize to be won. And that prize was Marietta.