Riding Home 2

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CHAPTER 2
I keep coming back to the music and the dancing simply because they are so life-affirming.

It was Chantelle I was watching, as our two couples made up a square set with Steph’n’Geoff, Kirsty and Eric. She still had that skittishness, and it was clear that the idea of a dance involving progressing from couple to couple would terrify her, but here, in what was almost a family setting, she came alive.

I had a truly awful thought as I watched her face in its own dance of emotion and delight, that I could understand how she had been so sought after as a child by the likes of Harton and Petherick. She was going to be truly beautiful when she matured; the promise was there already, but what captivated me was the new life in her eyes.

With Ginny and Kate, she was forever touching. My mad friend was always tactile, I knew that well, and watching the three of them together was uplifting. It wasn’t like Steph and her husband, who seemed to touch as a default state, it was measured and precise. The girl would approach one of her foster mothers, and there would be a hug, initiated from either or both, and it looked natural. There was no air of duty, or obligation; Shan would walk across, and an arm would fall on her shoulders, or she would squeeze a waist. With Darren it was different, and taking hands with him was still clearly a big thing, an exciting thing, and I wondered how it was, how human resilience shone through, that after all that had been done to her by adult men she remained a young teenaged girl in the throes of a crush on a boy.

She shied like a young horse at strange men, but Bill, in particular, seemed to be developing an easy relationship with her, as was Den, and I could only assume that if Den was someone she had seen broken, and as vulnerable as she had been herself, Bill was the father. Despite all of the Woodruff’s odd family set-up, Bill, Jan and Kelly remained a perfectly normal family unit. Kelly danced attendance on Shan (literally, when she was happy) just like a big sister, and Mark’s presence showed how life as a girl could be, perhaps should be. There were arguments, there was laughter, there was simple affection. But with Den…

Shan had watched as her tormenter’s head blew apart in a junk-filled caravan, a place where she had been repeatedly raped. There was little left in this world that could shock her, it seemed. Then, she was presented with Kirsty. There was a woman utterly devoted to her unborn child, and to its father, and there was this big, strong man, everything that had ever tormented and betrayed her, lying broken in a hospital bed.

The dancing came to an end at last, and we found our original partners and the bags and instruments, and after more professional performances we ended up, as usual, in the beer tent, where Jimmy had been all evening, and it showed slightly. Stewie was with him, though, and as Jimmy grinned at our arrival I suddenly realised how old he looked. As Shan and Darren came on, Jimmy was seemingly easing out. He caught my look.

“How, it’s givin’ up the tabs that myeks us feel me years, lass, but Ah’ll still play yeez lot off the floor and drink this bugger under the tyebble!”

That was the last thing I understood from him, as the arrival of Mark and Dennis turned the dialect meter to ‘eleven’ and, anyway, it was time for music. I tried to stay out of my zone for a while, watching the others as they played or listened, or, as is usual with Ginny, performed some odd solo jive in a corner of the tent. We had so many musicians now that we could set the pattern of the evening, so I tried to let others in on the act, but we still ended up with people clustered around our group rather than with their own friends. Again, I was watching Shan. She stayed close by Kate as Ginny twitched and span, but her eyes were switching from Darren to Kirsty, as the former played and the latter grinned, and it was then that I realised her hunger.

That was the thing I had missed, as I had tried to work out her trust of one wounded man. She wasn’t just in love with her first boy, she was in love with everything that had surrounded him, family, friends, parenthood, and I realised that she was in exactly the same boat I had been in at her age.

I had known it was all wrong, I had known I was all wrong from such an early age, but I was surrounded by people who lived the life I should have had just as I was made to dwell in a body I had never wanted. The thing that had eaten away at me in my teens was the realisation that if I had been allowed to I could have changed, stepped into that life I dreamt of, but I wasn’t, I couldn’t, and yet it went on all around me as if deliberately taunting. Girls laughed, and went out, and grew up, and gave birth…

Shan was so like me, I realised. A whole world went on around her that she could never join, and here she was thrust into the middle of what passed for normality with us odd folk. She was me, late to the feast.

I walked her to the ladies’ as the evening aged, and decided to take a chance.

“How’s it going with Darren, Shan?”

You can’t see blushes in the dark, and despite what bad authors suggest, you can’t feel them either, but the way her head dropped told me all I needed to know.

“So that’ll be a ‘good’, aye?”

She was till silent. I stopped walking and put a hand to her shoulder.

“Shan…nobody here will ever hurt you, or let you be hurt again, aye? You know that, don’t you?”

“Mmmm yeah…”

“But you don’t believe it?”

Her head came up, and I could feel her eyes on me in the semi-darkness.

“Annie…I do believe, yeah, ‘s just, I mean…”

“Aye, love?”

Her voice was very small, a frightened child trying to say something important but terrified the answer might be the wrong one.

“Iss me, innit? I mean, look at all your friends, there good people, yeah? An’ me, an’ Daz…”

There was that catch in the breath that comes with the first tear. I held her to me, and she soaked my top, but I caught that word, that nasty little thought that came from her mouth, and I wanted to kill.

“Dirty…”

Just like me. Filthy pervert, crossdressing queer, girly boy, nancy, sissy, grow up and be a man. Jessica seized for burning, and all around the real girls, the ones Chapel God must love, indulged, encouraged, living my life while I had what my Dad beat into me.

Then there was Shan. “Dirty”. Filthy little whore, who could ever want to lead her into the life she saw Kelly live with her parents?

“Shan…you think we’re playing with you?”

She dug her fingers into my back. “I just want…be normal, lahk, but am all shit now…”

“Shan, listen to me, aye? None of us plays with people. We’ve had our own shit, all of us, why would we do that to someone else?”

I put a finger to her lips before she could interrupt.

“What am I, Shan? Darren must have told you, aye? He’s known me a long time”

“You’re a woman, now, innit? Iss right for you”

“Really? According to the law, I’m a man in a dress. According to most people in the country, I always will be, aye?”

“Not most people, Annie, ain’t that bad, they just the ones with the biggest mouths, innit?”

“Shan, that’s not how it feels. I am very lucky in my world, but outside these friends I would have all sorts of shit. What that means is that I make my world important to me, and try and ignore the rest. Anyone here treat you like shit, tell you you are dirty?”

“No…”

“Listen to me, Shan. Women who get raped aren’t guilty of anything except being women, aye? There are people who think being a woman is some sort of crime, and when you are that stupid, you can’t be educated.”

“Rape…”

“Yes, love, rape. Why, were you doing it for fun? At twelve?”

“Nine…”

Oh fucking hell. I took her to me again.

“Never, never again, love. Listen to me, really listen. You think we are playing games, that you are this month’s toy? You really think that of Kelly?”

“She thought was trying nick her boyfriend…”

“And were you?”

“Got a boyfriend of my own, innit?”

Oh yes. “And a family, Shan, and friends. Please, love…my friends, your friends, our friends, aye?”

“But…”

“No. You are not. You are a girl who needs a leak and a face wash, and a new smile. Look, here’s a deal, we can make it our secret, aye?”

“Yeah?”

“My new life started here, a year ago. You think I did the right thing?”

“Course…you ain’t no fella, yeah?”

“Then how about we start your new life today? You can be Chantelle with the two mums and the really strange friends, aye? Deal? And in return, when I have to go into hospital, you can keep Eric from chatting up other women, aye?”

“But he wouldn’t…”

“Not if he knew he had you on his case, girl. So, deal?”

This time I could actually feel the grin against my breast.

“Deal”

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Comments

Nearly Every Author Here...

...has a good feel for her characters. But yours -- and your ability to convey it -- borders on spectacular. Thanks for everything.

Eric

Ridng Home 2

Love how Chantalle is growing.

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine
    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

Thanks Steph,

ALISON

'you are the Queen of reality,and no puns thank you.Just brilliant!

ALISON

now and then

kristina l s's picture

reading your stuff is like rolling about naked on a loose rough gravel driveway. Uncomfortable. Then you have the whole mad mob and in particular Annie and Shan holding each other up and all's right with the world and self flagellation is daft and letting others just wrong. It's not a wall but a shield of friendship and love. I'll stop here before I get all self conscious about being pompous and wordy. Nice chapter.

Kris

Now how hard would it have been...

Andrea Lena's picture

...to take a chapter and talk about the different beers on tap or how the sound system was giving too much feedback, or even maybe who drove what car in the parking lot? But instead, you rip my heart out with the girl's shame and guilt and sadness over something with which she had no control. And of course I was brave and stuck it out to the end and lost it with this:

This time I could actually feel the grin against my breast.

Too real and too wonderful....nope...never too wonderful. Thank you!


Dio vi benedica tutti
Con grande amore e di affetto
Andrea Lena

  

To be alive is to be vulnerable. Madeleine L'Engle
Love, Andrea Lena

too real, too wonderful indeed

got my morning cry out of the way, in any case.

Dorothycolleen

DogSig.png

Yes; once again.

During the first few paragraphs I felt the lock starting to close in my chest, the lump growing heavy as the anger gave it weight.

I wanted to stop reading as I usually do if stuff gets too ... well just too! Then I start pacing back and forth around the table first cursing silently then wishing there was, 'something I could do!'

But there isn't, there never is and if there was, I'm not equipped to deal with it.

Once again, I left this chapter several times and then came back to it. It makes me feel weak but with each return I get through that little bit more and it makes me feel stronger. When, that is if, I reach the end I feel that much complete but the juice is finite and the hole (at least to me,) seems bottomless.

God help Chantelle, she's got a long hard journey and those friends will have their work cut out.

Dammit! I'm crying again!!!

I'm goin out on my bike.

Write again later!

Growing old disgracefully.

bev_1.jpg

Redemption

I will promise one thing with this story, and it is one of the reasons I have split the tale. There will be no close-up examination of abuse of any kind. The elephant is in the room, but we are talking about how to live around it rather than the specific length of its tusks or what it had for breakfast.

The next chapter has a conversation in it discussing identification as victim rather than person, human being. Victim blaming, now---there's a filthy, nauseating can of worms to open.

The Dreadful Power Of The Perverted

joannebarbarella's picture

Those who take a young life and twist it into a shape that it never, ever, should be; who sit in a corner and gloat, with a sick filthy grin on their faces, delighting in the damage that they have wrought; the pleasure it gives them when their victims feel hopeless guilt and shame, blame themselves for having been somehow the source...the cause... of the evil.

The people who, even when caught, hide behind a cloak of surprised and injured respectability, protesting their innocence, and tug at their spiffy striped ties or straighten their cassocks and are given a light tap on the hand by their peers, and with a nod and a wink return to revisit their crimes upon another poor kid, leaving a trail of broken souls behind them.

Shan could easily have been one of those kids, but she is one of the lucky ones.

To say this story is a pleasure to read is to misdescribe my feelings. Watching "Schindler's List" or "The Killing Fields" wasn't exactly pleasurable but was certainly a worthwhile experience.

Powerful, powerful, powerful, powerful.....er, did I say "POWERFUL"?

Joanne

Nobody makes me cry like you do

For all the pain in that word, "Dirty".

For all the love and acceptance and the beginnings of joy.

I'm so glad you're continuing this, so uplifted by the new title.

Thank-you

Maeryn Lamonte, the girl inside

Maeryn Lamonte, the girl inside