So... even with all our modern medicine... we can't make a silk purse from a sow's ear.
A slightly dark and not particularly cheery tale. But it needs telling... or at least I need to tell it.
Contains somewhat graphic scenes of a suicide. If that is likely to upset or disturb you. Do Not Read This.

This is a work of adult fiction.
No resemblance to reality should be inferred or expected. Sort of.
Copyright KLS 2007.

1.

It was my first meeting with the group... and probably my last. A half dozen would be girls and a psychologist slash moderator. A little room at the drop in refuge centre where meetings were held once a week. I had, after much soul searching, made a phone call to Lifeline and after a bit of umming and ahhing had finally admitted the reason for the call. And here I was, a stranger amongst relative strangers. Though I guessed a few were regulars. At least I had dressed the part. Somewhat clumsily and easily read I was sure. Nervous as hell, but determined.

Then in walked a guy. Maybe 30, so, about 8 years on me I guessed. Tall, slim and very buttoned down business looking. And fully male. He was certainly nervous but just sat and nodded around the table as Kath introduced herself and brought things to order, starting with a quick run through about times and reasons and motives. As soon as everyone had introduced themselves, first names only, there was a momentary silence, until Rosie a small 'girl' with a very butch manner and almost pugnacious air.

"Why are you here?" Staring straight at Phil and glaring distrust.

"You don't have to answer that." Kath responded quietly.

"No... that's ok. I, ah don't mind. You probably all know one another and I'm new and dressed... like this. I look like a typical business man. But what I feel is... ah..." Phil's voice faded as he swallowed and tried to organise his thoughts.

Kath placed a hand and his arm and gestured, enough, with a wave of the other. Everyone took turns then to talk about whatever. I did my bit and told an abbreviated story of why I was there. I caught Phil staring at me, 'another newbie'. I supposed he latched onto that as someone else who was not part of the group. The various tales were by turns, sad, pathetic, angry and hopeless. As things broke up and everyone filed out in silence I vowed that would be the first and last. The almost palpable despair and negativity left me confused, a little afraid and alone, again.

As I turned to head toward my car, arms tightly crossed in front and generally somewhat 'clenched', I noticed Phil heading my way.

"Excuse me. Ah, Kris was it? I don't know about you... but, well I need a drink after that and I think you're as bummed as I am." He must have seen the indecision and my desire to leave.

"Please, I just need to talk to someone for a little while and you seem like you're alone as well and..." his voice faded again as it had inside. I could see the sorrow and certainty of rejection in his eyes. I tried to relax a little and took a breath.

"Sure Phil. The Rex is just round the corner. I guess I could use a drink too and that was... just a little too much pessimism for one evening. Not quite what I was looking for, or you for that matter I think. I could go a quick one."

"Yeah. You got that right. You, ah... thanks, you seem like you're somewhat together and at least making a go of it. So... I, um just need to talk if you don't mind."

And so we did. Three hours later with a somewhat one-sided swapping of stories we parted. I perhaps injudiciously chanced my hand and drove, almost certainly over the limit. But I made it home unscathed with thoughts of a life story rolling around my head. Not too different from my own, if separated by several years and different experience.

That turned out to be a false start, for me anyway. It was five years before I met Phil again.

I was playing in a band and had just finished a set in the Inner City Hotel that was that night's employer. As I sat with a tall mineral water a timid voice came from behind.
"Kris? Is that you?"

Sighing, I turned to see... Phil... or a drag Phil anyway. There never had been a big jump from boy... to girl, Kristina. Never super girly...but...

Phil on the other hand...

"Hi... Um, I go by Sara now...Um... so... You?"

"Well as you can see it's turn-about. I'm in guy mode this time..." I shrugged apologetically and flashed a crooked smile.

"Well... not to break with tradition too much. Could we ah... get together when you're done. You know catch up..."

I sighed mentally. Damn, I really didn't need this. I had enough trouble keeping myself together.

"Sure... ah, Sara. Got another set in about 20 and then about one and a half till it's all sorted. Meet you in the front bar a bit after 1, ok?"

She smiled and nodded. We spent the next 15 minutes silently sipping and day... night-dreaming. As various passers by made a casual observation. Two, slightly strange looking people. One was a muso with the band. The other... well... there was no doubt what the other was.

It was a little over two hours before I joined Ph.., Sara in the front bar.

We got caught up, with me doing most of the talking this time. The why of not still being Kristina but instead... that took a while. For her part it was all shrugs and vague, '...yes I'm much happier' or ' I'm more peaceful. More centred now'. The lie of it written in the shadowed expression and constantly flicking eyes, as they measured the expressions and appraisal of all that passed.

We parted after a couple of hours, fortunately of coffee this time, with phone numbers and a slightly one-sided desire to keep in touch.

2.

And we did. As I gradually made my way back to Kristina, 'she' seemed to need more contact and I was unable or unwilling to turn away. We traded phone calls every few weeks over the next year or so, probably 4 to 1 from her to me. I moved once, she moved 12 times. I changed jobs 3 times, she had 3 jobs, briefly and was unemployed the rest.

We met up and talked, well, mostly she talked and I sort of listened. It was almost a chore. A sad and lonely tale I did not want to know about. But I did listen and try, if half heartedly to offer comfort or advice or just an ear, maybe a shoulder on occasion. Embarrassed? No I wasn't embarrassed, just not wanting the negative, the stigma, to rub off.

Sara was a tranny. A guy in a dress, probably always would be. Yes it was discussed and worked at. But it was and always would be with more than the most cursory appraisal obvious that Sara was a ' fiction '.

And by association, people looked a little closer at me and found me wanting as well. If we were together that's what I was as well. Even if I mostly blended in ok, in her company I was, other, as was she. And that... was not comfortable.

But for whatever reason she wanted, needed the 'friendship' so we kept in touch. Talked and kept up with each others progress. Mostly public phone to my home line, then after a few years, mobile to mobile. Which on occasion had me questioning the rationale of being 'available' anywhere, anytime.

Sara rang me on my Thirtieth, to wish me a happy birthday. We talked for a while and I sensed a... distance that had not been there before. We arranged to meet up a few days later. A date she missed.
Two weeks later she rang again, seeming more... away, than before. We met up that night and caught up to date. She was gruffer and withdrawn. Talking was more one sided... I had to carry it. Most unusual.

We bounced calls back and forth over the next few months. Each one seeming harder and more talk than listen.

She came into the bar I was working in just before closing one night. Took one look at my face and left as I glared my lack of appreciation at her attempted greeting. I needed this job and I did not need everyone 'looking' at me. She had been up and bubbly, something I hadn't seen for a while. But one glance had blown that away. It was two weeks of messages and grunted one syllable responses before we spoke again. Guilt? Oh hell yes. But I had to live too. This was not easy for anyone, ever.

The year dribbled by and became another and stumbled along, month by month, as we re-established a pattern of call and talk. Thirty-one came and went, as did Christmas and New Years. Sara had a job and a new garden apartment. I began a semi regular visit for coffee and chat. Once or twice stayed the night as talk turned to drink turned to mutual stupor. But much as we might silently bitch and moan about aloneness and the universe's petty minded cruelty, there was always someone worse off. A lot worse, as we one night traded drunken sob stories of rejection and self-absorbed angst. She 'won', but it burned out pretty quickly as we drunkenly admitted that no matter how bad, half the world would swap places in a heartbeat.

Things changed a short while later. Calls were cut short. An air of jollity put forth as the state of play. After a few weeks of nothing I dropped round at dinnertime after an early shift. Sara greeted me blearily and made no pretence at cheer. The place was a mess. So for the next few hours, once I'd bought milk, we drank coffee and tidied. I didn't ask and she didn't tell.

There were a few late night messages left on the machine. She knew my hours, I think better than I did. If the phone rang at 2am I knew who it was and lay in bed in the dark listening and every now and again offering a word of sympathy or agreement. It began to grate.

I had moved recently. Further out, away. New jobs and all was rosy and bright. At least that was the theory. I called occasionally. Hers were sporadic and seemed in retrospect, brittle.

I got home late one night, actually it was very early, from an after work get-together. A few drinks followed by dinner at a city Chinese.

The message light was blinking.

...clunk...sshhhhhsshh..." hello Kris", ' oh, shit I am not in the mood...', " ...by the time you get this it won't matter..."

A feeling... red and blue flashers in the rear-view, Job interview nerves, a room of, 'normal' people, 'looking' at... you. And then whatever was left of my balls got kicked into my throat by someone that knew how to kick.

I stood there for... I don't really know how long. Maybe twenty minutes. Picked up my bag and keys and drove the forty minutes it took at 5 in the morning.

3.

Yes, I knew where the key was, but I didn't, couldn't, just make a call. I suppose it was like one of those scenes from a crappy horror movie. You just know if you go in there something BAD is going to happen. The place was spotless. Cleaner than I'd ever seen it. Probably cleaner than it had ever been. Silent and empty. Well sort of empty. The bathroom light was on and I pushed it open slowly and stepped in. It mostly glistened.

She'd bitched about that old rubber plug many times, but never replaced it. She'd adopted soaking and the water always slowly drained away. 'Forced her to get out', she joked.

Everything just below the lip of the tub was stained with a pinkish smear. Sara lay head back and eyes closed, whiter than any white man, or woman, could ever be. The nylon nightgown that had been meant to preserve... had ridden up as she had slid down slightly, exposing the puckered, semi smooth wound at the junction. The smeared knife sat to the side on the tile lip between tub and wall, as did a bunched up, formerly white face cloth. Now stained a watery pink, with a greasy crimson trickle trailing down into that pink smear.

I walked out and sat on the doorstep, leaning against the door jam. Did I cry? I think so. It was nearly an hour before I made a call to emergency.

"Emergency...which service do you require?... Ambulance, please, but it's not an emergency, just..." I gave address and such. At least I presume I did. Some time later a girl in ambulance gear and wearing blue latex gloves gently shook my shoulder as her partner stood a metre or so back and watched silently. I told them what and where.

Funny thing about bathrooms, sound echoes and carries. They walked past me and... I heard a deep muttered, 'oh fuck' followed by a softer, 'what could make anyone do that to themselves?' a soft cough, '...well I hope you can never answer that question.' They came back a moment or two later and stood waiting silently. A few minutes? A couple of cops came and then later, all sorts of others and vague interrogations. They seemed pleased I had a tape machine, not a digital.

A few days later a cop came by and collected the tape for the coroner. I was told when and where the funeral was to be. He thought I wanted to go. Did I?

I paced about as all five people went in, then snuck in and sat at the back. A brief non-denominational, gender non-specific service. I walked away as the box slipped through that curtain.

A few days later I went out and bought a dog.

Epilogue.

"... it won't matter. Sorry... but... Everyone gets born with a chance, but that's all it is, a chance. I couldn't make mine work. Nobody's fault, so don't go blaming yourself. If it's anyone's it's mine. Or the universe or whatever. Rectify a fault... at least my knickers 'll fit for once. Guess ya can't make a silk purse from a sow's ear. See ya in another life maybe. Stay strong."... tick, tick, tick... beeeep... clunk.

It was maybe a week later as I sat on the grass with a fluffy little black puppy. Tears... closely followed by sobs as I sat and bawled in loss and self pity. Puppy didn't have a clue, just climbed on my knee and licked the salty trickle.

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