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Belle Road
A Transgender Anthology based on
The Beatles' Abbey Road Album

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Part Three: Here Comes the Sun!

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Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
and I say it's all right
 

Tall Pines Trailer Park, Shreveport, Louisiana

Jackie knocked on the screen door; it rattled annoyingly but still got Chris’ attention. The girl jumped up from the couch and rushed to the door, hoping that the love of her life had calmed down. He hadn’t!

Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here

“I left my I-Pad here.” He said it dispassionately, as if he had left it accidentally at Starbucks. She sighed and went to open the door, still hoping against hope that things had changed.

“No…just go get it; it’s probably on the kitchen table. I’m not coming in!” His tone wasn’t angry, but the redness of his cheeks were all the witness Chris still needed to convince her she had been wrong about the love of her life. She turned to walk away but he opened the screen door just a bit, leaving her to once again put too much faith in her faith. He called to her as if the screen would have hindered her hearing, but his words once again dashed her hopes.

“I went to the bank and closed the account,” he said coldly. Never a joint account, which was foolish under any circumstance, the finality of his decision almost hurt more than what she felt the night before….

“I have to talk to you, Jackie, okay?” Chris was very subdued; even more than usual for her typical quiet and shy self. She patted the cushion on the couch next to her. Jackie walked over and sat down. Things had been serious for only a few months. He had moved in almost suddenly at her invitation, but it really felt like it was the real thing for both of them. At least that’s what Chris thought.

“I know we still have a lot to learn about how we fit together, and I’m so glad that you….well, you know.” She shrugged her shoulders as her face grew red from embarrassment and perhaps other, even more troubling emotions rose to just beneath her fragile surface.

“Yeah, I know,” Jackie said, channeling his inner Han Solo. Christelle Fontenot, on the other hand, was no Princess Leia; she wasn’t nearly as feisty, and had virtually none of the confidence of the woman she idolized, even if she was about the same size. He smiled weakly.

“Well, I….we need to be honest with each other, and I know you have been with me…” her voice trailed off. Jackie looked at her askance. Nothing she could possibly say would be shocking or scandalous. She was practically afraid of her own shadow, and as far as he knew, she wasn’t a pod person or a Russian Spy. He put his hand in hers.

“I know you’ll tell me whatever needs telling. I can wait if this is too hard.” He wondered if she had some skeleton in her closet; some ethnicity she hadn’t divulged. She was surprised at his uncharacteristic patience. She frowned and stood up suddenly, walking to the kitchen table. She sat down and began to play with a cup of half-finished coffee that had grown cold, moving her finger on the lip.

“Come on, Chrissy…it can’t be all that bad. What are you trying to say? It’s not as if you’re a Dago or somethin’ worse.” He laughed at the very bad quip. She looked at him and her eyes squinted in shock. He was opinionated, she knew, but he had to be much kinder than what he had just showed. Maybe he was being ironic or, even worse, sarcastic. He had a very snide streak in him that she had tried to overlook, but it was getting harder. She had hoped that her influence might soften him a bit; more for everyone else’ sake than her own.

“No…Belgian and French, I’m afraid to disappoint you.”

“Well good.” He actually seemed relieved.

“So what is it? I already told you about my past.” He hadn’t been completely honest with her. As a barely pretty if awkward young lady, she was too appealing to pass up. Sure there was something odd and distant about her, but she was a girl and she was reasonably attractive and of course she was loose enough. Not the kind of girl to bring home to his mother, but one with whom he could have some fun. He could always move back in with his cousin in town if things got too restrictive.

“I have a secret.” She had promised herself that she’d be strong, and for the whole day, she was. But with her boyfriend cum future husband sitting there practically ready to pounce on any fault or flaw, she began to shake. Her voice, which was never easy to hear, grew softer as the words began to spill out, almost automatically. If she had wanted to change her mind, the time had passed as he shook his head and folded his arms.

“I….My name is Christelle Fontenot.” She shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly and pursed her lips. He continued to stare at her as if to say, “So?”

“My mother had me….you know….Papa never stayed and she raised me until she passed when I was fourteen.”

“You already told me this.” As if speaking of grief and abandonment was a crime, Jackie seemed to grow impatient.

“I know….I….It’s just that we haven’t talked much about what happened after Mama died. What….” She looked down before repeating herself.

“What happened…what I….did.”

“You went to live with your aunt and after high school you went to college… “ He was impatient; again seeming to be annoyed with her need to talk about her own life. They usually talked about his life; his plans for a transfer to Tech to play football and his hope for a career in the pros…maybe even with the Saints. Her life was just a way of fleshing his out; a decoration of sorts if not as attractive as the arm candy of some other guys in town, but she’d already proved she was at least available.

“But you don’t know the whole story. When I left college for a year. Why I left.” She put her head down. She hadn’t started crying, but tears had already begun to well up in her eyes. She turned her head; more out of shame and fear for what she was about to finally say than to hide her tears.

“You told me…you had surgery and it took a long time to recover.” His expression changed to express his own fear; he was right, but for all the wrong reasons. Either way, it was going to hurt to hear, but not nearly as much as it was going to hurt for Chris to say. She spoke as her voice quivered and her tears began to fall.

“I…I can’t have children, Jackie…I am so so sorry.” She wasn’t finished, as if that wouldn’t be enough to feel needlessly ashamed. She went to continue but he cut her off.

“I knew it! Son of a fucking bitch, I knew it. You bitch!” It wasn’t as if Jackie had ever wanted to have children, least of all with a toss-off like Chris, but it was his moment to be hurt, from his perspective and he went on.

“You should have told me. This is so fucked up.” What possessed the girl to finish her thought even she would be unable to recall later, but she waved her hands at him.

“There’s more?” He rolled his eyes in disgust before putting his arms out to plead for to continue; as if he needed more ammunition to destroy her. She bit her tongue briefly as he cursed over and under his breath for a few moments. He stopped and she interrupted the short silence.

“Jackie….I know I should have told you…I was so afraid and I love you so much.”

“Really, Chrissy? What the fuck! You should have told me.” He began to pace, slowly at first. She should have stopped right there; even with foolish hope it should have been clear that it was over, but she wanted at least to do the right thing. Being completely honest was the way to go, right?

“My name is Christelle…Christelle Anoux Fontenot,” she spoke in a monotone as she stood up, stepping behind the chair.

“Yeah…I got that. What the fuck…what could be worse than not having kids?” His progeny would arise from a union with a good girl, so it really wasn’t all that bad, but he was so used to being the injured party. She almost thought he had begun to cry. He convinced her otherwise as he suddenly walked up and grabbed her by her arms. She relented; foolishly some might expect, but what choice did she have when he deserved the truth?

“Jackie!” She shouted his name and he stopped squeezing her arms long enough for her to finish.

“My name is Christelle Fontenot… but I was born as Christophe Emmanuel Fontenot. I was born a boy.” She said it with as much unneeded humility and shame as she could muster. Jackie’s eyes grew large and his face seemed to grow almost a dark crimson as he shouted.

“You lying…you….” He stammered and then grew silent, shaking his head for several seconds. A few moments passed before he smiled; almost wickedly delighted that she had been honest with him. She took it completely wrong and dared to mention his name one last time.

“Jackie? What are you thinking?” He pulled back his arm as if to strike her with the back of his hand. She winced and he relented; only a bit as he grabbed her arms and pushed her down hard. Her head banged against the edge of the kitchen table before she fell to the floor, weeping even as a haze overtook her. She looked up through the now-broken screen door as his pickup peeled out, sending gravel all over her Civic. She remembered something later about being glad he hadn’t hit her…for once….

It was as if nothing had taken place the night before, but it still was almost other-worldly as Jackie stood unrepentant in her doorway. She handed him the I-pad and he turned to go. She spoke.

“Jah….” She paused in the middle of speaking his name, even wincing at the recollection of the previous day’s pain.

“What about the account?” She turned sideways, almost like a fencer waiting to parry a blow, but he remained calm. He pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket and smirked before dropping it on the stoop in front of her. He turned his back to her and walked to his pickup without a word. She watched silently as he pulled out of the gravel driveway; this time slower and almost with more purpose. Thankfully there was no breeze, and the money still lay at her feet in a rude pile. She stooped to pick it up and a pain shot up her back; a souvenir from the night before.

She sank down on the doorstep and looked up once and whispered a faint plea for help before collapsing through the open doorway to the floor behind her in a torrent of tears….

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes.

Next: I Feel the Ice Is Slowly Melting!

Here Comes the Sun
Words and Music by
George Harrison
as performed by
Sheryl Crow
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W3h6FgFthC8&feature=fvsr