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Back Where I End and You Begin Save as PDF
Chapters (37)
  1. COVER
  2. DEDICATION
  3. ONE
  4. TWO
  5. THREE
  6. FOUR
  7. FIVE
  8. SIX
  9. SEVEN
  10. EIGHT
  11. NINE
  12. TEN
  13. ELEVEN
  14. TWELVE
  15. THIRTEEN
  16. FOURTEEN
  17. FIFTEEN
  18. ONE MONTH LATER
  19. SIXTEEN
  20. SEVENTEEN
  21. EIGHTEEN
  22. NINETEEN
  23. TWENTY
  24. TWENTY-ONE
  25. TWENTY-TWO
  26. SEVEN YEARS AGO
  27. TWENTY-THREE
  28. THE PRESENT
  29. TWENTY-FOUR
  30. TWENTY-FIVE
  31. TWENTY-SIX
  32. TWENTY-SEVEN
  33. TWENTY-EIGHT
  34. TWENTY-NINE
  35. THIRTY
  36. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  37. DISCOVER MORE

I pulled on some plain blue panties that fit comfortably. There was maybe a part of me that thought I had to match Wynonna’s hair and nails. Then I rummaged through Wynonna’s jeans until I found what I thought were the nicest pair. They were the only pair that were solid charcoal, with no fake rips or tears. They were skinny and formfitting, but not thick and stiff—unlike nearly every pair of jeans I had ever owned. The material was flexible and fit like a glove around my ass—an assglove—which sounds horribly invasive, but god, they felt so right!

Next up: the bra.

I settled on a blue one that matched my underwear—not that anyone would know, but I would, and matching seemed important to my mental health right now. There seemed to be a lot of straps involved, however, and it took me a solid thirty seconds to figure out which end was the top. It then took me five whole minutes to realize that the only way to clip it together was around my waist. When I solved that mystery, it slid up smoothly, and sliding my arms into the shoulder straps was easy-peasy.

Picking out a shirt was kind of fun. Wynonna had tons of them, and plenty of cool ones at that. I don’t think I truly appreciated her ’80s obsession until this moment, looking at her shirts. They extended far beyond ’80s bands, although the bands she had were stellar—the Smiths, New Order, Depeche Mode, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Joy Division.

She had an Akira shirt.

She had a FRANKIE SAYS RELAX shirt.

She had a They Live shirt with alien newscasters and a teleprompter that said WATCH TV.

Most of the T-shirts were boxy, however, and fit me weird. I assumed they were probably designed for men. (Fucking sexist corporate agenda, as Holden would say.) So I settled for an off-white Rainbow Brite tank top that was, not gonna lie, totally badass in a way that only Wynonna could pull off, and—because I felt a little weird about my bra straps—a cropped red faux-leather biker jacket. It ended in daring red corners at my rib cage—exposing Rainbow Brite atop her trusty, rainbow-maned steed, Starlite, dashing across an actual fucking rainbow, boo-yah.

I slipped on ankle socks, a pair of checkered Vans, and stepped in front of the mirror.

Overall, everything checked out—maybe even checked out nicely! Except for the hair. The hair was a great blue disaster.

Shit. How did Wynonna do her hair?