*Fiction — March 8, 2021
On a Day That Tammy Had Not Eaten Enough Yellow
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On a day that Tammy had not eaten enough yellow, we took Tammy shopping for Western wear. This was a mistake, but one that could not have easily been avoided for it is very hard to find yellow in that part of the country. All the yellow that we had brought with us was now stale, due to poor refrigeration on the tour bus.
Inside the Western wear store, Tammy sniffed some belts. Smell this belt, Tammy ordered. We smelled it and liked it. Tammy liked it, too. Sometimes, when Tammy was wearing a belt, Tammy would take it off to sniff it and Tammy’s pants would fall to Tammy’s ankles. The crew loved this but it was our job to make sure it did not happen very often, and certainly not in public.
After we sniffed all the belts, Tammy selected twenty-three belts for purchase, though the selections were not based on smell. More so on appearance. We took the belts to the register, intending to leave them with the cashier and rejoin Tammy in the boot section.
The woman at the register said, Is that Tammy?
We hear that a lot, we said. It’s what we always said, since it neither confirmed nor denied the question.
No way, the woman said. She was a tall woman with grey hanks of hair that she kept tucking behind her ear. Despite her grey hair, she had a youthful face. So it seemed that she had dyed her hair grey. This decision, and her wild eyes, suggested that possibly her mind looked like a nest that had been blown from a tree.
We returned to Tammy’s side only to have Tammy say, Tammy’s hungry. Tammy could go for some purple. Do we have any purple?
We have plenty of purple, Tammy, we said. But it’s really yellow that Tammy needs right about now.
Bluck that noise, Tammy said.
Tammy was not a fan of yellow. But fan or no fan, Tammy needed it. More so than most people, what with Tammy’s blood character, Tammy’s finger strain and colonic bend.
We watched Tammy looking at some bandanas. Tammy waved us over.
Tammy wants a bandana with the flag on it, Tammy said. Only where there’s red, Tammy wants orange. And where there’s white, Tammy wants green. And where there’s blue, Tammy wants black. And where there are stars, Tammy wants polka dots—green ones to go with the stripes.
We looked through all the bandanas. It’s doubtful, Tammy, that they would have such a bandana here, we said. They don’t even have a regular flag bandana, let alone one with the particular color scheme that Tammy just described.
Tammy kept looking through the bandanas, digging through the bins with Tammy’s famous hands, and we looked with Tammy, but we knew all along it was futile. We didn’t like where this was heading. An insistence was on the horizon and insistences meant someone’s will was going to get curb-stomped by Tammy’s will. Their will was going to get their face pummeled by Tammy’s will. Their will’s privates will be punted. This kind of behavior—this weaponizing of will—was typical of Tammy not having enough yellow. We did not point this out because it seemed we had already crossed into dangerous terrain.
Go ask them, Tammy said. Maybe in the back they have the one. Tammy made air quotes when Tammy said “the back”. Tammy enjoyed language that way.
It’s doubtful that they will, Tammy, we said. But we will ask if Tammy wants us to ask. Does Tammy really want us to ask?
Tammy does, Tammy said.
We went back to the register where the cashier was sniffing the twenty-three belts, imitating Tammy. We knew that she would think the request ludicrous but, because we are employees, we had to ask. But maybe, we thought, we could get some yellow in Tammy and diffuse this whole thing before it got ugly.
We asked the woman at the register, Do you know where we might get something yellow to eat?
That’s Tammy, right?
People are always saying that, we said.
That’s because it’s Tammy, right? I heard you all talking about Tammy. You all keep saying Tammy, Tammy, Tammy.
Is there a food store nearby?
If you won’t tell me, I’ll ask her myself, the cashier said. She came around the counter and straightened her blouse.
Please don’t approach, we said. Don’t disturb.
But the cashier ignored us. She marched up to Tammy and said, So, are you Tammy?
Tammy tried to ignore her. Tammy looked at the bandanas, then moved on, looking at some bolo ties that were hanging on a rack that sat on a glass counter.
Excuse me, the woman said. I asked you if you are Tammy.
Tammy blew out a puff of air that caused Tammy’s bangs to flip up.
We went and stood by the woman. In our pocket, we had our Taser ready.
Tammy knew and Tammy didn’t want that. The news outlets would hound Tammy. There had been enough hounding already, after the things Tammy said about the President, who Tammy had twice met, and about Black lives mattering. People in this region weren’t happy with Tammy. They felt betrayed, but this means they were never really listening to Tammy because, as Tammy points out, it was always there, in the songs.
The people of the region themselves did not eat enough yellow. They mostly ate slabs of blood-soaked brown and heaps of beige.
Tammy turned to the woman and said, Yes, Tammy is here. This is Tammy.
This?
Me, Tammy said angrily. Tammy was at that level where connecting the dots for others was an enormous burden. Tammy should only have to provide the dots, at this point, Tammy often said. Artists should only have to provide the dots.
There, you see? we said to the woman. Now, that that’s out of the way, we wonder if you might go check in the back for that bandana we—
No way, the woman said, examining Tammy like a medical specialist. No sir. You’re not really Tammy. If you’re really Tammy, where’s your guitar?
Must Tammy always be with Tammy’s guitar? Tammy asked, smiling. Yet we saw how the corners of Tammy’s mouth twitched and we wanted to run. It was possibly a good time to quit this job, to leave the profession, but what else was there to do with a master’s degree in Celebrity Assistance?
Tammy said, It is not an extension of Tammy’s physical person, the guitar. It is detachable.
Then sing a Tammy song, if you’re really Tammy. Tammy’s voice isn’t detachable, now is it?
Tammy is paid to sing, Tammy said. A bluck ton. Do you have that kind of money?
Tammy’s smile stretched like a bow being pulled back, quivering with the tension.
Geez. What a snobby thing to say, the woman said. Tammy would never say such a thing, now would she?
Ha. Tammy would say that kind of thing, Tammy said. Tammy just did.
Not the Tammy I know, the woman said. She’s supposed to be like an angel.
Like, we pointed out. As if to suggest, read the fine print, lady.
Tammy looked at us and we looked at Tammy who then looked back at the woman.
If you know Tammy, Tammy said, then you would not ask Tammy if Tammy is Tammy.
I don’t know her in person, but I know her nature. She’s kind. You always see pictures of her at hospitals with deformed kids or messed up soldiers. Guys with faces like bacon and it never bothers her. She cares about people. It’s on all the websites. She’s practically famous for it, plus her songs. You should be ashamed of yourself walking around like you’re Tammy. Hoping that people think you’re Tammy. It’s pathetic. If I were Tammy I would hate people like you. The imposters.
You are not Tammy, Tammy said. Tammy is Tammy. You are someone else, some other thing.
The woman’s eyes narrowed.
We held our breath. Tammy could do something terrible at any minute. If Tammy had some yellow in Tammy’s system, Tammy might just walk away. But not with the yellow lacking. Walking away at this point was very doubtful.
Okay, Tammy said. Tammy’s leaving.
Tammy turned and started for the door. This shocked us. But we were relieved at this development. Still, we knew, remain alert. Tammy could turn suddenly, could violently reverse. The walking away could be a ploy.
Yet she continued to walk away. Almost to the door. It seemed legit.
Unfortunately, the cashier would not let things lie as they had so gracefully fallen. She charged after Tammy and grabbed Tammy’s world-famous arm. If you’re Tammy, the woman said, you can’t treat people like this.
Tammy just did, Tammy said.
Okay, if you’re Tammy, show me some identification.
Tammy tore Tammy’s arm away. Tammy walked two steps toward the door then turned. Tammy raised Tammy’s middle finger.
This is Tammy’s identification, Tammy said. Ain’t no whorls like these whorls. Get a good look!
Then Tammy lunged at the woman and jabbed her in the eye with Tammy’s middle finger. The woman screamed and fell to the ground. She was rolling on the ground, wailing, holding her hand over her eye.
Tammy! we yelled. Tammy, get in the bus. Get in the bus, Tammy!
But Tammy didn’t get in the bus. Give Tammy the Taser, Tammy ordered.
We put our hand over it. No, Tammy, we said. Go, Tammy. Go!
Tammy gritted Tammy’s teeth and Tammy’s jaw muscles throbbed. Then Tammy said Tammy was going to drive Tammy’s tour bus through the store. Tammy will run this shitty store down, Tammy screamed.
The tantrum, you see, was from the dietary imbalance mentioned previously.
Tammy screamed again then Tammy ran.
It could also be said that Tammy had gone from being a child to being an adult too quickly, that things people normally learn when they pass through those years at a reasonable pace were glossed over or missed completely due to the acceleration. Speed tends to cause things to blur. There’s even the term motion blur. A lot of the lessons people normally see in focus, given their more natural pace, appeared in motion blur to Tammy. On the other hand, and also in Tammy’s defense, there was even more to cope with than the usual hazards of life, given that Tammy was world famous and understood to be truly gifted, not just gifted at being world famous, like so many of the newer crop. So Tammy was uniquely disadvantaged given the expectations and the absence of coping skills. Add to this the deficit of yellow and you end up with situations like this in Western wear stores, among other settings.
We helped the cashier sit up. You’ll be okay, we told her. I can’t open my eye, the cashier sobbed.
You can.
I can’t!
Slowly, we said. Open it slowly. We led her to the little bathroom in the back of store. We told her to lean over the sink and wash out her eye.
When she was done, we helped her sit down on the toilet and told her to press a wet wad of tissue against her eye. We took out our checkbook and wrote her a check for five thousand dollars. We took her card and we said we would send a thousand dollars every month for two years if she forgot all about everything that had just happened.
How can I forget, she said, if every month I’ll get a check for a thousand dollars and it will remind me of what happened?
But what a nice reminder, right? we said.
I think I’ll call the police, she said.
We gave her another check for a thousand dollars, just to smooth out the wonky logic of our request, which we agreed was ironic in, perhaps, a troubling way.
On the bus, we could hear Tammy sobbing through the door to Tammy’s private room. Tammy, we said. Tammy, open the door.
Tammy’s not here, Tammy screamed. Tammy’s dead!
This was bad.
We turned to find the entire crew and the drivers crowded around, watching. What the hell are you all looking at? we screamed. Let’s get the hell out of here and for God’s sake! Can someone get some yellow? Like, NOW!
Later, two hundred miles down the road, Tammy was better. She was able to laugh the whole thing off and play with the male model we brought for her—a naked man that slithered around the bus wearing nothing but a crotch sock. In a college town by a river, we had found a specialty grocery store with lots of yellow. At first we thought it was a mirage, it was so unlikely in how it perfectly fit our needs. Surely, we thought, it’s an illusion conjured by the collective urgency of our desires. But it was indeed real, and we were able to buy some sharp cheddar cheese and, of all things, a ripe papaya.
Originally published in No Tokens Issue No. 9. View full issue & more.