A Transgender Anthology based on
The Beatles' Abbey Road Album
Something in the Way She Moves...
You're asking me will my love grow,
I don't know, I don't know.
Stick around, and it may show,
But I don't know, I don't know.
Herman Hesse Hall lounge, Wilkes College, Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, April 1970
“Hey douche bag, move your feet! You're blocking the fucking Tee Vee!” Gavalla shouted from the back of the lounge. Freddy Benson turned and stuck out his tongue.
“Fuck you, Gavalla, Make me!” A balled up piece of notebook paper flew in a perfect arc, hitting Freddy in the side of the head, which was quickly followed by a looseleaf notebook that barely missed Dave Neeson’s back.
“Hey, watch it!” Dave said calmly while holding up his right hand to display a middle finger before he returned his attention to his crossword puzzle. A second later a ball-point pen flew past Dave’s ear, hitting Al Capidocio in the ear, and the fight was on. In moments objects normally consigned to studious activities were wielded as weapons. And then it happened. The brilliance of the idea seemed to light up the dimly lit lounge as Denny Merchant ran in with a metal wastepaper container filled with water. In minutes others had run to their own rooms and were hurrying to the four bathrooms on the floor to fill their own containers.
Victor Fabunda, the second year student from Sierra Leone, stuck his head out of his doorway, and was met with a spray from a fire extinguisher and his usual ‘What is going on here?’ was silenced with a mouthful of warm stale water. The dry medium extinguishers were off limits; not because of any school dorm regulation, but because they were reserved for when there was a need to trash somebody’s room with the white powder.
“Hey,” Denny exclaimed as he shook the water out of his hair, “be right back,” as if the craziness would stop in his absence.
He bounded down the metal stairs at the back of the dorm and disappeared behind a door leading into the basement. A few moments later he came running back into the lounge with his waste paper container filled with coal for the dorm furnace, and the mayhem ratcheted up several notches. Dave lifted his head slowly; deftly avoiding a pail full of water that instead fell on his art history book, soaking it. He watched with keen interest while it ballooned to twice its size as it absorbed the water. A moment later, Gavalla and Freddy stood at opposite sides of the lounge like drunken cowboys; ready for a shootout, but with even larger water-filled trash containers instead of Colt peacemakers.
“Oh, fuck!” Dave said quietly in resignation as the water was heaved across the room from both sides, drenching him and Petey Mondello, a freshman from South Plainfield, New Jersey. Petey was eighteen years old, which, being from South Plainfield, meant that he was at least five years older than any of the other freshmen in the dorm. Dave was all of seventeen; an early acceptance who found that being studious was a near waste of time in a dormitory filled with recalcitrant misfits that no other dormitory would accept, Nevertheless he tried to fit in. Being that he was one of nearly twenty residents that were soaked to the skin, he fit in after a fashion.
“Oh, fuck no. You didn’t just dump water on my new boots.” Petey said calmly as Freddy and Gavalla looked at each other before running quickly out of the room, pursued slowly and carefully by the predator from South Plainfield.
Dave looked at the art history book, which flipped open to a color plate of Sandro Botticelli’s ‘Birth of Venus.’ He gazed at the picture; the water sluffing off the slick color page, leaving behind a sheen that seemed to bring to life the woman emerging from the huge shell beneath. Dave shook his head and laughed at the irony of the moment before tossing aside his sodden crossword puzzle magazine and heading back down the hallway to his room. He was glad for the moment that he was one of only four residents with a single room. It was good that it enabled him to get some occasional studying done, having no roommate to interfere with his concentration and leaving most of the disturbances outside his room in the hallway.
But more importantly, Dave had time alone to contemplate the meaning of life. And not just life, but his life, or rather…her life, as the single room not only afforded privacy for studying, but for slowly and carefully exploring something that he had been prevented from doing at home in Boonton Manor, New Jersey. Dave was free from the constraints of familial expectation, parental neglect, and patriarchal abuse, and he stepped into a world of new life in college that included art, theater, and the self he had hidden from everyone in his world.
The mayhem was dying down, and a few of the more responsible residents had begun to tidy up and minimize the damage; responsible meaning ‘we don’t want to get shut down, so we better clean up this fucking mess before someone sees this tomorrow morning.’ Dave emerged from the bathroom after a quick shower. He had wrapped a towel around his waist, feeling odd that his presentation was restricted in the all-too communal hallway. He padded down the hall in his bare feet and unlocked his door and stepped inside.
A while later...
Something in the way she moves,
Attracts me like no other lover.
Something in the way she woos me.
I don't want to leave her now,
You know I believe and how.
“I wonder what Miss Jenkins is going to talk about in class tomorrow,” the girl said as she stared in the mirror. Her hair was short and she wore her prize possession; a cream-colored full slip that belonged to her mother. She wouldn’t miss it at all, being that she no longer wore dresses; the girl’s mother had given up any attempt at femininity in an effort to remain anonymously asexual and unappealing to her increasingly abusive husband. The girl looked at her body. She was a bit wide in the torso, a curse of sorts for everyone in the family. Her waist wasn’t all that bad, but still remained decidedly disappointing. Her breasts were small and almost child-like, but still managed to give her a figure that was more flattering than her normal appearance.
“Maybe we’ll have a slide presentation. She did say she had some pictures from her trip to Florence.” The girl answered her own question as she sat down on her bed to pull on some pantyhose. A few minutes later she stood before the mirror once again, her cream blouse and black a-line skirt in proper array, even if they fit poorly, the clothes seemed to comfort her like a warm blanket on a damp cold day. She looked down at her feet, wondering if she could find something other than the plain brown loafers that she had purchased from the local good will.
“I cried for not having pretty shoes until I saw a girl who had no….what was that? Oh yeah…had no vagina.” She said to herself as the tears came; a nightly reminder of how much she missed of herself. She plopped herself back down on her bed and opened the dog-eared book and stared at the name on the cover page. Her namesake…
Christine Jorgensen.
She fell back on the bed, burying her face in the pillow so the boys down the hall wouldn’t hear her sobs as she cried herself to sleep.
Something in the way she knows,
And all I have to do is think of her.
Something in the things she shows me.
I don't want to leave her now.
You know I believe and how.
Parsippany, New Jersey, 1972
“Dave? You seem so down lately…is there anything we can do for you?” Gracie looked over at her sister before returning her attention to the young man who sat at their dining room table. He looked away slightly, shaking his head. Maggie placed her hand on his wrist and laughed.
“I should leave you two alone.” She stood up and grabbed his face, pulling it closely as she kissed the top of his head playfully. She leaned closer and whispered in his ear,
“Would you just go ahead and ask her?”
“What did you just tell him?” Gracie asked. Maggie shook her head and put her finger to her lips to indicate a secret, but then blurted out,
“I told him to go ahead and ask you to marry him, okay? Satisfied? I didn’t expect the Spanish Inquisition, Miss Torquemada!” She laughed again and duplicated the same gesture with her sister, save for the change of sisterly instruction.
“Would you just say yes and spare us all the drama? We’ve had enough of that lately, right?” She used her eyes to direct Gracie’s attention to the empty chair at the table, indicating where their mother usually sat. Fiona McNulty was off to work for the day, leaving the ‘young folk’ alone for the day. Gracie was on summer break and Maggie had just finished her training at the business college and was waiting for a call back after a good interview with an accounting firm in Boonton.
“Would you just shut the fuck up,” Gracie said with a laugh. Maggie rolled her eyes at the language before nodding as she spoke at last.
“Okay, but only if you’ll make up your fucking mind!” Maggie never swore, which made the comment all the more forceful if nearly comical at the same time. She put her hand to her mouth and started giggling before walking into the kitchen.
“I thought she’d never leave,” Gracie said placing her hand on Dave’s wrist again, causing him to wince nervously.
“I heard that!” Maggie laughed before her voice faded away amidst the sound of running water as she filled the tea kettle.
“I….You’ve been part of my life since we were kids…well, since you were a kid…” Dave’s voice quieted as he looked away once again; his face grew red and hot as he recalled their first meeting....
Parsippany, New Jersey, October 1965...
“You play ball?” The tall girl asked as she slammed the ball into her Nellie Fox Second Baseman’s glove. She stared at him much in the same way a pitcher would squint at his catcher, looking for a sign. The boy nodded nervously, holding up his outfielder’s mitt; hardly used and very clean looking. She made no indication of noting his answer, and instead just reared back and threw the ball hard. He snatched at the throw and his palm hurt from the sting of the impact of the ball. Almost anyone had a better arm than him, but the girl threw better than most guys he knew.
“I’m eleven…twelve next month. How old are you? Ten?” His face grew bright red.
“I’m fourteen.” He threw the ball back; the slap of the ball against her palm barely made a sound.
“You throw like a girl!” She laughed. He didn’t.
“Oh, come on…. It’s just a joke.” The girl laughed again. He not only didn’t laugh, but his face, which had begun to cool, grew even redder. She walked up to him and jabbed him in the arm playfully.
“That’s okay. We can’t all be good at baseball.” The boy was nearly fifteen and yet he resembled a much younger…softer…girl, in a way. His features were boyish, but his body was slight and he held himself almost softly as well.
“Wanna come over to my house? I live right over there. You can have lunch with me, okay?” The girl grabbed his hand and pulled him over.
“I like you. You’re cute.” She laughed; this time in a nicer, welcoming manner, which did virtually nothing to make things less awkward. Many times over several years of her welcome served to change that, but did very little to help him learn to trust her friendship until she and her sister confronted him one day....
June, 1969
“My mom will be home soon, Dave.” Maggie sat down at the dining room table and handed Dave a warm wet washcloth.
“You gotta clean your face before she gets home.” Gracie added. She pointed to her own eye lids and shrugged before pointing at his face. He practically sank in the chair, his face a mask of fearful recognition as he realized the girls had ‘found him out.’ Maggie clarified it for him with a guffaw and a slap of her hand on the table.
“Oh brother….you left some eye shadow on. Come on, Dave. We’re not blind! Okay…nearsighted, maybe,” she said, referring to the stylish ‘granny’ glasses she and Gracie both wore. Dave’s face grew red; a habit that was so firmly entrenched, it was almost a wonder when he wasn’t blushing.
“Relax…just clean up so Fiona doesn’t have a cow, okay?” Gracie said, referring to her mother by her first name.
“You don’t have to worry about Patrick,” Maggie said, referring to their father.
“He already thinks you’re gay, and I bet it doesn’t even matter.” Gracie laughed. The boy wanted to protest, but it really was almost true in a sense. Just not in the way that the girl’s father would have understood. Dave didn’t even understand it himself. Thankfully someone else did.
“Dave? I saw your face the other night when Daddy was changing channels and that story came on Channel Thirteen about sex changes.” Maggie said softly.
There had been a time very early on when Dave had loved both sisters. Gracie was tenacious and bold; Maggie was sensitive and sweet. Apart they were wonderful enough, and he remained confused about his feelings for both of them for several years. But we fall in love with whom we will, and Dave loved Gracie. But he was ashamed and confused and hated himself for whom he was, and feared with good reason that if anyone, much less the girl he loved, knew what he really was, they would hate him.
“Don’t worry,” Gracie said as Maggie nodded. “We’ll never tell, okay?” She kissed him on the cheek. She had wanted to encourage him, and apart from his response, she had; he burst into tears and put his head down on the table. Both girls reached over and each grabbed a hand and squeezed.
“I …don’t want to leave her…” The boy lifted his head, pleading with the girls for understanding.
“But I have to.” He didn’t.
You're asking me will my love grow,
I don't know, I don't know.
Stick around, and it may show,
But I don't know, I don't know.
July, 1973
“You take care of my little girl,” Patrick said, pumping the boy’s hand in a firm handshake. The doubt he had expressed all along seemed to vanish as the inevitability of the moment changed his benign neglectful attitude into one of grudging acceptance. He would never get a chance to have his acceptance tested further since he died suddenly of a stroke just before their third anniversary. Fiona would get a world of opportunities to find out just what she was made of.
Autumn, 1979
“I don’t understand! Are you saying you married a homosexual?” Gracie knew just enough about how things worked to be tempted to say yes to her mother, but only because she was 'gay' as well, in a roundabout way. She shrugged her shoulders and looked at her sister for help. Maggie smiled as her boyfriend rolled his eyes before getting up, but not before saying,
“I’m sorry, but this is where I have to walk away or I’ll say something mean, and I don’t want to be seen as being insensitive and stupid on top of everything else.”
Simon struggled enough with being Jewish and dating a lapsed Catholic with a not-so-lapsed Catholic mother, but he cared for his friend and knew he’d be almost rude in his protests on Dave’s behalf; oddly even more so than if he would have tried to defend himself. But then this was 1979, and it was entirely foolish, cruel, ignorant, and hateful to be anti-Semitic. To try and defend Dave would make him justifiably angry and even more frustrated, however, because he accepted what his friend had confessed, even if Simon was like most people in his day and didn’t understand at all where Dave was coming from.
“Oh, stop, Simon. No one said anything to you. You’re over-reacting just like you always do.” Fiona snapped, feeling put out. Tears came to her eyes.
“Now I’ll never have any grandchildren.” She spoke out of foolish ignorance on behalf of both her daughters. Maggie resisted the temptation to storm off after her boyfriend, but she held her peace for the sake of both her sisters…..yes.
“Mom….I told you I’m pretty sure I’m pregnant. I don’t understand. It hurts that you don’t even want to try to hear what we just told you.” Gracie put her hand to her face to somehow try to keep the tears from flowing.
“Mommy?” Maggie made one last attempt to reach her mother, using an endearment she hadn’t spoken in years.
“Dave has known since he was little that he was different. Going to the doctor helped him figure out just what was going on.”
“If you’re father was alive, this would break his heart.” Fiona protested.
“If Daddy was alive, maybe. But maybe he’d be just as nice as he could.” Gracie remembered that while her father wondered if Dave was gay, he never asked any questions in any manner other than curiosity and kindness. Fiona could almost be forgiven for her attitude, since her own mother was beyond strict and had been critical and cruel to her as she grew up. But she needed to move past her own lack.
“I’m trying, Grace, but it’s not easy. This is such a shock, and it’s not how we raised you!” She practically sobbed, and it actually sounded authentic rather than her usual histrionics.
“Mom….I love him.” Grace looked over at her…partner. She wasn’t a husband any longer, even if nothing external had transpired.
“Mom….this is the same caring, loving, creative, sensitive person you and Daddy placed your trust in….but I don’t love him…I love her.
Fiona made one last attempt at ignorance even as her own humanity was sneaking up from behind.
“But what about the child? He’ll have a freak for a father.” Dave winced but finally spoke.
“No, Mom, he or she won’t… she’ll have two parents that love her very much. And if we can care for them the way you and Patrick did for Gracie and Maggie, even half as good, and whoever they are will be well cared for.” Tears were flowing freely from everyone at the table. What was taking place would quickly include Simon as well, but for the moment, something occurred that changed each of them forever.
“You…think we did well?” Fiona’s face was a mixture of sadness, fear, wonder, and shame. Maggie patted her hand.
“That’s what she said, Mom. Good parents who have a great example. You just have to get past the stupid stuff like we all do.” Maggie blinked back tears, hoping desperately that her usual humor would break through her mother’s resolve.
“I’m sorry if I’m such a disappointment. I think I should just leave.” Dave shook his head before putting it down; his face burned with shame and sadness. He rose to leave but felt a hand reach over to grab his arm. He looked up but instead of seeing his wife’s hand or his sister-in-law’s, it was Fiona’s.
“I don’t want you to go. I’m so sorry. I don’t understand any of this. But I remember the look Grace wore when she told me for the first time that she loved you. You may have changed, but her smile hasn’t. I don’t understand, Dave, but I’ll have to trust that Grace does, okay? Forgive me?” Dave was too choked up to speak and just nodded.
November, 1999
“I’ve got one last class today at eleven before the break. Can I head over to Chelsea’s house after that?” The girl said as she walked into the living room.
“As long as you’re back with your girlfriend for dinner on Sunday. We’ll be over at your Aunt Margaret’s tomorrow for Thanksgiving, but I want to at least have a call from you tomorrow, okay?”
“Sure thing, Mommy, love you!” She walked over and kissed the woman on the cheek before turning to the other woman sitting on the couch.
“Love you, Mom!” The girl kissed her mother on the cheek in the same manner before grabbing her bag off the coffee table.
“Love you both!” She said one last time as she headed toward the door. Both women waved frantically and the girl stopped in her tracks.
The shorter of the two women jumped off the couch and almost bounded to the girl
“Take the Civic, Fiona? Mom has an exhibit tonight and needs the Volvo to transport the paintings, okay?”
“Well, only because you asked,” the girl laughed loudly, sounding a lot like her Aunt Maggie. She kissed Grace on the cheek once more and blew a kiss to Christine before she walked out the door.
"Say hi to everybody and give Maggie and Simon a kiss for me, okay?"
Grace walked back and plopped on the couch and kissed Christine. She laughed and looked toward the door.
"What can I say? She takes after her mothers."
Something in the way she smiles
And all I have to do is think of her
Something in the way she smiles for me
I don't want to leave her now
You know I believe in how
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.
Little darling
Its been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling
It seems like years since it's been here
The office of Margot Lemieux, Psy.D, Shreveport, Louisiana…
“It’s like I don’t deserve to be happy, Margot. It’s not fair.”
“By deserve? Fair…you don’t think it’s fair that things are the way they are?” Chris looked away; a common gesture when her beliefs matched the moment.
“No…it’s like it’s not fair that I want…” The rest of the words stuck in her throat.
“You don’t think it’s fair to want something good for yourself; somehow it’s wrong to imagine anything good coming your way?” Chris nodded with a hesitation, as if even having an opinion was wrong. Margot continued.
“And the reason you don’t feel worthy of good things?” It really wasn’t a stretch; merit and just desserts are two sides of a coin that should never be tossed when deciding self-esteem, but it happens all the time in the game of life.
“No…” Tears came to her eyes. It was an improvement, though. In ten months of counseling, Chris came to the place of expressing emotion without feeling unworthy of the attention it might gather. She shook her head and placed her hand in front of her face.
“Oh…you don’t deserve good things even to the point that it’s wrong to even want them, oui?” The girl nodded her head; once again in hesitation, as if by agreeing with Margot she was committing some sort of error.
“So when your father said it was your fault that your mother went away?” Chris winced and shuddered at the mention of her parents. She shook her head no; not in disagreement, but rather in agreement that it was entirely wrong to have caused her mother’s ‘departure.’
“Tell me about that day again, Chris, merci? “ Margot smiled with a very reserved, almost grin-like expression in welcoming the girl to feel safe.
“I can’t…it…hurts too much.” Margot continued to smile softly, like a loving…parent.
“Okay…let’s just do this, oui? Don’t say a word. I’ll ask you questions, and you can nod yes or no, okay?” Margot put her finger to her lips as if to shush the girl. Chris nodded.
“Let’s see, what did we talk about last week?” Margot didn’t need to ask; in fact, she had a difficult time forgetting what Chris had ‘confessed’ the week before.
“Your mother. Christophe told his Maman about his ‘sister,’ oui? The girl that no one in the family knew?” Chris’ eyes widened in acknowledgement. It wasn’t a revelation since they had talked often in the past several months about her rebirth. Rather, it was a sad recollection of a painful moment among many painful moments in her life.
“She…said, ‘Oh, mon petit. You must never tell your father.’” The girl winced just repeating her mother’s words. What happened next proved to be a sad turning point in the girl’s life. Rene Fontenot had overheard the exchange.
“Papa was so angry. He pulled me by the arm and got down face-to-face.” Chris struggled, and the words came haltingly.
“I thought he was going to hit me. But….” The girl began to sob. Margot spoke softly but clearly.
“He made you watch, didn’t he? When he hit your Maman, non? But it didn’t end there, did it?”
“He…said it was my fault. I was the reason he had to punish my mother.” Chris said haltingly before burying her face in her hands. She cried for a few minutes, trying without success to speak. Margot repeated the gesture of her finger over her lips.
“Shh…shhhh, Cheri. Let’s look at this in the clear, warm spring instead of that cold winter, oui?” The girl seemed puzzled but nodded anyway. Margo reached into a folder and removed a handout that featured cartoonish faces.
“You remember how your mother looked when you told her. We spoke of this last time. Point to the expression.” She held the paper up as Chris wiped her face with her sleeve, missing the box of tissues sitting on the table next to the sofa. Chris scanned the pictures before pointing to one; eyebrows raised with a frown and eyes widened in surprise.
“Ah…fear, non? Yes, that was for her but also for you, Christelle. But didn’t you say she looked different at first?” Chris nodded and pointed to another expression; eyes widened once again and eyebrows raised, but with a broad smile.
“Different! Acceptance? Perhaps even …what did you say last time? Glee?” The girl nodded once again.
“So before she feared for both of you, she did what, Mon cher?” Chris tilted her head a bit at the question. Margot continued.
“She saw something. She recognized something?” Margot smiled as Chris nodded and managed to speak only a few words, but powerful and life-changing.
“She…she knew?” A question that was posed out of fear of being wrong; misinterpreting her mother’s intent would be devastating, but Margot finished her sentence.
“Already, oui, that you were a girl…all along?” The girl nodded, almost reluctant to invest any more energy into a foolish hope that had no basis in reality until Margot reminded Chris of her mother’s last words.
“You said what, Christelle? That your mother called you what? What were those words, Chris?” The girl’s eyes widened in recollection of their exchange. She frowned, as if by acknowledging her mother’s last time with her she would be committing the crime of which her father blamed her. But she nodded and said finally,
“Ma petite fille.” She managed to get those three words out before placing her hand before her face once again in shame.
“And for those three words, your father blamed you for your mother’s departure.” A statement rather than a question; her tone seemed to identify the absolute evil of his father’s anger.
“She….he said she hated me and that’s why she….” The girl sobbed. Neither needed to repeat the accusation; Catherine Fontenot had chosen to end her life after years of abuse. Some might have called it a cowardly act since she left behind a confused and deathly frightened child to the care by a hateful angry man. But she would have died very soon after that anyway; a broken heart cannot sustain the fight against cancer, no matter how good the doctors or brilliant the intervention.
“No, child. Please think about what I am going to say, oui? Remember your mother’s expression? When you told her for the first time. A smile? A happy surprise? Would that be a hateful or a precious acceptance?” She was guiding the girl, of course, but the girl had lived for nearly twenty years in icy shame, and needed a hand to escort her to a place of warmth and clarity.
“She…she loved me…why did she leave…why did she have to go? What did I do wrong?” Perhaps a misguided reaction, but an improvement, since for the first time, her gender didn’t come into play within all the other misplaced accusations.
“Mon Cher, you did nothing wrong. She chose to give up. What did you say last week? That she had no more strength? Did you…a little boy who only wanted to be a girl? What did you do to rob this grown woman of her strength and will? What did that little girl do to hurt her mother?” It was a leading question, but one for which the girl was finally prepared to answer.
“I…didn’t do anything.” She covered her face with her hand; a shameful but firmly engrained response, as if telling the truth was wrong and agreeing with her father’s lies was the right thing to do. Margot pulled the girl’s hand gently away from her face, revealing a look of horrific fear. She cupped the girl’s chin and looked into her eyes, and the girl beheld the most peaceful, accepting look that she had ever seen.
“No more shame, mon petit fille,” Margot repeated Catherine Fontenot’s last words to her daughter; a strong and welcome reinforcement of the truth.
“No more shame.” Margot tapped the girl's knee and she nodded; with little energy save for the tearful smile that began to lighten her countenance.
Little darling
The smiles returning to the faces
Little darling
It seems like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun (du dn du du)
Here comes the sun
And I say
It's alright
Golden Slumbers
Once there was a way,
To get back homeward.
A figure stood over the girl who lay sleeping on the bed. She sang a wordless song that seemed to bless the girl as she slept; not so much sleeping as languishing in a stupor from little food and way too much Jim Beam.
“I’m so sorry, but it’s going to be okay.” The woman knelt down and leaned against the bed, almost prayerful, but with a fear she didn’t wish the girl to know. She looked up and mouthed the words again, this time in silence,
“I’m sorry.”
Ashland, Ohio...1988
“Mommy? Look at what I can do,” Joey waved at his mother. She looked over at the boy, who stood precariously in her best shoes, barely managing to keep upright while teetering on three-inch heels.
“That’s nice, sweetie,” she said before returning her attention to her computer.
1994
“Mommy, you got some time?”
The smallish boy stood in the doorway of the garage. Delia Cardone looked up from behind the wheel of the Audi and smiled as she pulled off her gloves and placed them in her purse.
“Sure, honey. Just give me a moment,“ The boy nodded and took a step down into the garage but stopped as he saw a familiar figure walk into the garage from the front yard.
“Hey, Delia, if you like, I can keep an eye on Joey here so you don’t miss your meeting,” the man said with a smile. The boy shrugged his shoulders as his mother walked up and past him into the kitchen.
“Joey, honey? Can this wait?” She spoke hurriedly as she looked in her purse for the keys to the car. The boy nodded almost lethargically as his mother once again squeezed past him and got into her car, which was parked in the driveway out front. A moment later she had driven off, leaving Joey and his uncle alone.
“Hey...since your mom is going to be gone for a while, maybe we can spend some time together.” His voice was almost sing-song; soothing and inviting, which sent a chill up the boy’s spine as his uncle ushered him into the house.
Sleep, pretty darling,
Do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby.
1995
“Mom…can we talk?”
The boy sat down at the kitchen table. Delia placed two bowls of chili down and returned to the counter to retrieve the cheese and sour cream. The boy smiled in anticipation, looking down at his hands, which were hidden under the table. The clear polish seemed to shine; his best friend Trish had suggested to start small so as to not startle his mother. He pulled his hands out from under the table and was about to speak when his Uncle Dave walked into the kitchen and sat down. The boy quickly placed his hands under the table once again.
1997
“Honey? I’ve got to run out for a while. There’s a twenty on the counter and there’s Coke and some Snapple in the fridge. I should be back in about three hours. I’m sorry, but we can have dinner together tomorrow, okay?”
He didn’t bother to answer, but instead waited until he heard the car start and drive off. Looking in his dresser mirror, he applied the eyeliner before nodding in approval. Not quite an emo girl, but certainly not an emo boy, either.
"Hey Mom...can we talk?" He laughed but the frown on his face grew and tears began to well in his eyes. He opened the drawer on his nightstand and grabbed the flask of gin and put it in his bag before walking out the door.
1998
"Mom...you got time to talk?" Joey leaned on the hallway wall and waited for a responds.
“Baby, Mommy has a headache, and I have to lie down,” Delia called from her bedroom.
Joey listened for the sag of the bedsprings. He walked down the hall slowly and stopped by her bedroom door and listened. Hearing a loud snore, he breathed a sigh of relief. Joey had never really cared for the carpet in the townhouse, but he was glad for the softness as it deadened the sound of his boot heels; no telltale click as he walked up the hall way. He stopped in front of the hall mirror and gave himself a once-over, noting that his hair had grown to a nice length, which complemented his slender graceful neck.
“You’re looking really nice tonight,” he said to himself as he admired the subtle pattern on his tights and the satin underlay that adorned his knitted jacket and skirt.
“Why waste time going out,” the voice spoke softly from behind. He felt his hand being pulled back down the hallway. He would have protested, but the voice was so inviting and he already had been pushed way too much down that path by the fifth of vodka he put away throughout the afternoon. He felt himself whisked away on a magic carpet that was woven by deceit and misplaced guilt, but he offered no resistance as his uncle pulled him into the bedroom and closed the door.
1999
“Mom, I have something I have to tell you.”
The boy sat on the couch, his hands folded in front of him. Better not to shock her, he wore some torn jeans and an oversized black tee. His hair was cut to just above his collar, but erratically and dyed black and magenta. The eyeliner was applied frugally, and was streaked only a little under his lower eyelashes. But somehow his mother barely noticed.
“Sure, Joey…just give me about an hour. I’ve got to run out for a bit, but we can talk when I get back.”
Joey watched as his mother ran quickly out of the house. A moment later he was in the kitchen, reaching under the sink to push the cleaner caddy aside to grab a bottle of Smirnoffs. He stood up and walked down the hallway toward his room, but his uncle stepped out of the bathroom and stood in his path.
“I’ve got some weed we can have to go with that,” he said, pointing to the bottle in Joey’s hand. Joey teetered down the hallway, his balance impeded by the bourbon he had drunk earlier that morning. His uncle put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed.
“Your hair looks nice; I like the colors…makes you look…pretty.” Joey went to pull away, but his uncle grabbed his other shoulder and pushed him along down the hallway and into his room and shut the door.
2001
“Mom, can we talk?”
The girl looked up at the ceiling, mouthing familiar words with a slur; her face was twisted in grief and shame as she lay back, waiting for the man to return from the bathroom. She blinked back some very cold tears and sat up wondering if it was worth it to buy the cheaper gin and have more. Recalling the taste in her mind always helped numb the taste in her mouth after nights like that. She grimaced as the man walked back into the room and nearly fell on the bed beside her; his penis was already out and he clamped his hand on the back of her neck and forced her head downward.
Golden slumbers,
Fill your eyes
Smiles await you when you rise
Sleep pretty darling
Do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby.
Ashland Ohio, 2002
“Delia, can I see you in my office?” Marie’s tone seemed a bit abrupt, but Delia thought it might be the pressure of wrapping up the monthly figures. She walked slowly to Marie’s office; her gait was almost toddering as she steadied herself with her hand against the wall.
“Step inside and close the door, please.” The tone was pleasant enough, but Marie’s expression gave Delia pause to wonder what was wrong. Marie spoke softly at first, but firmly.
“I’ve been getting some complaints, Delia.” She had heard that a few years before. Delia felt she was ready for anything, but Marie’s next words ended that idea.
“We go back ten…no, eleven years, Delia, so what I have to say is very very hard, but I wouldn’t be doing my job and I certainly wouldn’t be your friend unless I did something.” Delia went to speak and Marie held up her hand, quieting her.
“NO…let me finish. I’m not about to drag everyone in here and do an intervention; I won’t embarrass you like that. But you need to get help.” Delia looked at Marie; to say that she was puzzled would be an understatement.
“Marie? What are you talking about? I’ve been seeing a psychiatrist for over a year.”
“Yes, but are you telling him everything? Do you have any accountability? I don’t see a significant change in behavior since our last talk. You have a problem and it’s spilling onto your job. I’m sorry that it’s come to this, but I can’t have you coming to work this way…don’t tell me you’re sober. It takes one to know one, Delia, and I know you’re still drinking. Please understand that I have to do what’s best for the company first, but this is in your best interests as well.”
“You’re firing me?” Delia went to stand up but lost her balance and fell back into the chair. Marie looked at her shook her head, more for the moment, but also to answer Delia’s question.
“No…I talked it over with Jeff and Nancy, and they agree with me about you getting some help. You’ll be on a paid leave….medical….and we’ve looked into some treatment facilities. Your choice. You can contact them, or we’ll contact them. Either way, you’re suspended until further notice, subject to completion of the program. I know this might not fly with some people, but we’re willing to take the risk. Either you accept the offer and get help, or you’ll be terminated with two month’s severance. We have to have you here and sober, Delia, and it’s not working. Your choice…by the end of the day."
The Watershed Outpatient Clinic, Akron, Ohio, five months later...
“Do you have time to talk?” The woman seemed more subdued than usual, her head bowed almost in resignation. Chelsea leaned closer while the rest of the group headed toward the kitchen for coffee.
“Sure, Delia. We can catch up.”
“I want to…” She put her hand to her face as tears spilled off her chin.
“What we talked about? Making restitution… Your son?”
“I…I’m so ashamed. He wouldn’t have been hurt if I had been a better mother.”
“That may be true, but what can we do now?” Chelsea looked toward the door as if an answer would walk through.
“I…I can try to make it up to him.” Delia didn’t sound convincing; not because of any denial on her part. She just felt that no matter what she did, nothing would make up for the neglect of her only child.
“There’s one thing you can do, Delia. You mentioned it yesterday.” Chelsea half-smiled. It was hard enough for Delia to accept her responsibility for neglecting her son, but she did. It would be even harder to reach out to her child, knowing what changes she’d learned about Joey.
“What if he…what if…” She gasped.
“I know it’s hard, but you want to reach out to Joey, it’s something you have to face.” Chelsea shrugged her shoulders slightly and half-smiled.
“He’s my boy. Damn it, he’s my boy.”
“That’s not you talking…not after all this time, Delia.” The words might have been harsh coming from anyone else, but from Chelsea they were welcoming and freeing.
“I…it’s so hard to see him as a girl, you know,” Delia wiped tears from her face with her sleeve and held her hands out wide, almost pleading for another reality.
“But she came to visit you at first. Who did you see then?” Chelsea made point to say ‘who’ rather than ‘what.’
“Joey…who else would I see?”
“Same child? Same mother, right?” Delia nodded and wiped her face again.
“Yes?” She answered with hesitation, but her eyes began to widen.
“Same neglect? Same abused child, right?” Harsh words, but necessary for Delia to face the truth.
“I know…you don’t have to remind me. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t hate myself for what happened to her.” The words were no sooner out of her mouth when she realized what she had said.
“And that’s another thing, right? What happened to her? Was it an event? Did it just ‘take place?”
“Okay…my brother abused her.” That word ‘her’ again flowed freely and she continued.
“What did she say the last time you talked?”
“She…she forgave…me. She forgave me, Chelsea. Why would she do that?”
“Why do you think?”
“Because….” It was as if something had broken inside of Delia and she put her hand to her face as she realized the truth of what she would say next.
“Because she loves me?!” Almost a statement, the key to Delia’s recovery came not from what she could accomplish to prove she was trustworthy; that would come in time as she rebuilt relationships, and not just with Joey. And it would not come from atoning for her sins; some might say they would be taken care of by a higher power. Delia’s recovery came from knowing that in spite of all she had done and all she had failed to do for Joey, she was still forgiven. Chelsea’s nod sealed the deal, and Delia began to sob.
“Because she loves you.”
The Cardone home, soon thereafter...
Marie Boudreau walked with Delia up the walk to the front door.
“I’m very proud of you, Delia. You did great, and you know we’re all behind you at the office.
“One day at a time, Marie.” I talk to my sponsor and I go to as many meetings as I can. And once a week with the evening outpatient group as well.” Delia breathed a sigh of relief.
“Let me know if you need a ride to the meeting tomorrow, okay?” She hugged her best friend and walked back to her car; waving before she drove off. Delia smiled and went to open the door and found it ajar. She walked inside.
“Joey? Honey…are you home?” She walked down the hall and noticed the hall light on even though it was just after eleven in the morning.
"Joey...what are you doing home, honey...you're supposed to be at Kate's!"
Joey’s bedroom door was wide open, and Delia walked in. She saw Joey lying face up on the bed. She made no sound.
“Oh dear god, please!” She ran to the bed and breathed a sigh of anxious relief as she saw Joey’s chest raise and lower slowly, accompanied by a moan.
She sang a wordless song that seemed to bless the girl as she slept; not so much sleeping as languishing in a stupor from little food and way too much Jim Beam.
“I’m so sorry, but it’s going to be okay.” The woman knelt down and leaned against the bed, almost prayerful, but with a fear she didn’t wish the girl to know. She looked up and mouthed the words again, this time in silence,
“I’m sorry.”
Joey blinked and turned to the side, facing her mother. Delia touched the girl’s cheek with her hand and spoke softly.
“I’m so sorry, honey." Delia bowed her head and began singing a song from her own past, kissing the girl on the cheek and anointing her with her tears.
"Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry...and...I will sing a lullaby"
“Mom? Mommy? The girl turned away and covered her eyes with her arm and began to sob. Her body heaved with convulsions and coughing. Delia leaned closer and placed her head on the girl’s chest and cried along with her daughter.
“I promise you….it will be okay…” She said between sobs. The girl lowered her arm and placed it over Delia’s back, embracing her.
“Mommy…..Mommy….” The girl repeated over and over.
St. Matthew's Episcopal Church, Ashland, Ohio...several months later...
The small crowd of people made their way to the chairs. A tall, very slender middle-aged man stood and walked to the front.
“Hi…I’m Marty, and I’m an alcoholic.” A few quiet claps were followed by the group responding,
“Hi, Marty.” He smiled and spoke for a few moments before inviting anyone to speak. A woman stood and looked around and shook only slightly, gaining a newfound confidence before speaking.
“Hi…I’m Delia, and I’m an alcoholic.” She smiled at the group response before she felt her left hand being squeezed slightly as the girl next to her stood.
“He…hello….my…my name is Joey….” She felt her mother squeeze back and she finished.
“I’m…I’m an alcoholic.”
Golden slumbers,
Fill your eyes
Smiles await you when you rise
Sleep pretty darling
Do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby.
Once there was a way
To get back homeward
Once there was a way
To get back home
Sleep, pretty darling
Do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby.
Because the sky is blue, it makes me cry
Because the sky is blue...aaaaaaahhhh
New Life Fellowship, East Syracuse, New York, 2008
Evan Thomassino stood on the church platform, fiddling nervously with the bass in his hands; not any old bass, but a vintage ’78 fretless Antigua that his father had played in a rock band. Fretless; an irony that wasn't lost on the boy. He brushed his longish hair out of his eyes; the length owing to being too sick until recently for anyone in his family to care.
“Say hey, Evan,” Tony said from behind the piano. He stood up and walked over to the boy and hugged him.
“Hey, Pastor Tony,” the boy smiled patted the man on the back. Tony Renatto was barely out of his early twenties himself, only a recent graduate of Bible school but already a member of the church staff as the Worship Leader and as an associate to his father Dale, the senior pastor.
“No need to add that pastor tag, Ev…we’re all members of God’s family here.” He patted Evan on the back and looked him up and down.
“That's one mean bass. You’ll be playing with the regular team any time now, if you keep this up.
“I’m practicing every day…I even managed that chord progression you gave me for ‘Our Lord is a Great God,’ that you guys played last Sunday." The boy appeared confident enough, but underneath the surface he was all nerves and worry. Tony seemed to pick up on that.
“Relax. It’ll be fine. Maybe you can hang around after practice on Thursday and we can go over some songs. We’re going to feature the teen band sometime in the next couple of months, but Jason is going on a short term trip to Belize in June, and Kenny isn’t available the last week, so maybe you can jump in?” The boy shrugged his shoulders and while his face didn’t redden much, his cheeks remained hot from embarrassment. He sighed as Tony patted him on the back once again before walking away.
Because the world is round it turns me on
Because the world is round...aaaaaahhhhhh
The following morning, the Thomassino home...
“Honey, did you remember to take your meds?” Marlene called to her son from the kitchen evoking a deep sigh.
“Yes, Mom.”
“’Cause you remember what the doctor said about building up, honey. You’ve hardly gained any weight.”
“I know, Mom.” The boy’s voice was almost droned in a lament.
“And yes, I took my vitamins, too,” he said in almost a sing-song.
“Well, okay, honey. You know how much weight you lost, and I’m just worried, okay?”
“I know, Mom. I’m okay, really!”
Evan said it almost as much for his own benefit as for his mother’s. She was many things to him; nurse, mother, father in a way, friend, protector. And while she may have doted over him a bit, as a single parent with a fragile son, she had reason to throw in a few extra hugs and maybe a kiss on the forehead to check his temp from time to time. He looked in the mirror and sighed heavily; the image looked weak; embarrassingly weak, which would have been bad enough but for the confusion that reigned in his heart.
Music Practice at the church...
“Hey, Evan…you still want to go over some songs?” Tony asked as he closed the piano lid. The boy half-nodded nervously before backing up against the drum set on stage; knocking the high-hat over. He was a tiny bit pleased but filled mostly with fear and not just a little bit of shame. Tony smiled and stepped past him to pick up the cymbal, brushing against the boy. Evan shivered.
“We can go out for coffee?” Tony smiled again and the boy nodded. Every dream and every nightmare he had ever lived through might have come together in that moment as he walked down the steps of the stage, following his hero, his mentor, and sadly for him…the unattainable first crush he ever had. But Tony’s wife rescued the boy by getting her husband’s attention with a loud, “Tony, hon,” and a wave.
“Oh…jeez… we have a family dinner I forgot about. We’ll have to make it another time…you understand, right?”
“Oh, yeah sure, Pastor Tony. Okay. Maybe next week.” The boy wasn’t even finished sighing and already was standing alone at the foot of the stage stairs.
Saturday at home...
“Evan? I’ve got to go out for a bit, okay? Dotty Trejillo asked me to check in on her mother while she’s out of town.” Checking in on the old woman meant helping with the housework and preparing a meal; both of which would take several hours.
“Okay, Mom,” the boy called from his bedroom, and was answered by the sound of the front door closing. He sighed deeply; an afternoon alone promised to be filled with both pleasure and pain....
The girl stood with her arms folded around herself, almost in comfort to quell the anxiety she felt. She wore a black macrame' vest over a purple and green striped mini dress and black tights. She wore flats, owing to a problem with balance after a recent illness. She swayed back and forth, almost like she was trying out her 'coquette' persona. The handsome man in front of her smiled and his eyes sparkled.
“Hi, Pastor Tony,” the girl said shyly as she lowered her head. “I’m sorry to hear about your wife. She must have been something special to marry you.” The girl was even more nervous than usual, and began to shake a bit.
“Why, that’s very comforting; such a nice thing to say,” the girl turned her head to her right slightly and continued.
“I just wish I wasn’t so alone. It’s been so hard and I’m so lonely.” The girl faced in the other direction.
“I wish I could help you.” She stepped closer to the man she imagined standing before her; her eyes closed and her hands outstretched. She felt strong arms surround her waist and she tilted her head back in a welcoming pose; lifting her right leg slightly as she felt phantom lips caress her cheek.
“I’m so glad I found you, Tina.” She said it softly, not bothering to mimic his voice. She spoke only a bit louder.
“I’ve loved you ever since we met, Pastor Tony. I believe God brought us together.” It was an almost spiritual moment that quickly went south as the boy lay back on his bed and imagined the strong arms holding him and the soft manly lips kissing his own as he felt the man of God enter him.
The boy knelt by his bed, clad in his own armless undershirt and a pair of Syracuse sweat pants. He clasped his hands together and put his head down on the bed.
“Dear Jesus. I don’t want to be this way. I hate myself.” No more confession needed to be said; he began to sob and his shoulders shook from weeping; a nightly affair that was kept secret only because his mother was on her third cochlear implant and couldn’t hear his crying if both their doors were closed; especially when he covered his face with his pillow.
Love is old love is new
Music practice the following week...
“Hey, Evan? Would you like to sing a duet with me?” He turned to face Caryn Davis, the keyboard player from the teen worship team. Caryn was a very sweet girl, and she seemed to go out of her way to encourage Evan. He shrugged his shoulders; a practice that occurred with more frequency from his feeling unworthy rather than what everyone seemed to accept as being indifferent. Caryn still persisted, trying very hard to break through the boy’s insecurity.
“I’ll even let you do the melody if you like?” She smiled but he shook his head. Musically, he had as good an ear as anyone in church; teen or adult. And even though he was in remission, the illness had literally taken its toll on his development, and he was just as likely to hit a perfect A above middle C as crack from the late change in his voice. He shook his head and she would have given up but for the resolve she felt.
“Okay, how about you play your flute and I’ll do my oboe and we can play an instrumental piece?” The boy’s nod wasn’t enthusiastic but still managed to convey that he actually felt good about her proposal. Caryn nearly jumped in front of him, hugging the boy. Funny how life works? A few moments later Tony waved to get his attention. Caryn squeezed his hand and waved gingerly before walking away; his eyes following her departure even as his heart ached over the conflict and confusion he felt.
“Let’s go ahead and go over those songs after practice. I don’t have anything I have to get back to tonight, and we can take an hour or so.” Tony smiled at the boy. Something in him wanted to back out of it; he would recall later that he could never even say with certainty that it wasn’t someone rather than something that seemed to speak to him. Either way, he pushed aside any misgivings to spend time with his hero.
Eyes shut tightly and fists clenched as the girl felt him enter her; she could feel the tears roll past her eyelids and down the side of her face. She bit her tongue; more in order to staunch the bile rising in her throat, but still needing to be as quiet as possible. She had asked for it, after all, and his strong arms enfolded her; more to keep her from moving than any expression of affection.
“I know you’ll do fine on Sunday,” Tony said as he removed a folder of music from his briefcase and placed it in the boy’s hands. He patted the boy on the back before stepping into the hallway from his office. The boy sat on the large green vinyl couch; almost motionless but for the quiver in his chin. Tony paused before saying finally,
“You going to be okay?” The voice seemed almost paternal and filled with concern but for the nervous look on his own face. Evan looked up and smiled awkwardly and nodded without a sound.
“Good. You’re a great kid! Don’t you forget it! You want a ride home?”
A while later...
“How was music practice, honey?” Marlene looked up from a novel she was reading and smiled.
“Oh…great,” he said with little emotion. He turned to walk away before stopping at the hallway arch. He turned and faced her and smiled.
“Guess what? Pastor Tony says I’ll be playing bass this Sunday. Pretty cool, huh?” He smiled weakly before turning once again and walking slowly to his room.
The girl lay on her bed, facing the ceiling. She wore a long cotton lined soft green satin nightgown and still had her bunny slippers on her feet; the whole night seemed to be placed firmly and heavily on her chest.
“Dear God….I am so sorry….Please….I know it’s my fault. Please forgive me.”
On almost any other night, her prayers might have been accompanied by a germ of faith; mustard seed in fact, and while insufficient to move mountains, it nevertheless usually served to at least remove almost all of her guilt. She faced the ceiling and tried to distract herself by singing softly, but soon her sweet voice instead gave way to an almost inaudible sob. The weeping that lasts a nighttime would someday very soon be replaced with a joy in the morning, but on that night she was helpless but for the love of the woman who gave her life.
“Evan, honey?” Marlene knocked on the door; the sobbing was loud enough that she heard. No words came from the other side of the door, but the sobbing continued. She pushed the door open and walked with fear to her son’s bedside. The strong light of a nearly full moon illuminated the room, revealing the boy’s tear stained face. His eyes were red and his cheeks had turned hot and crimson. Marlene fell to her knees and put her hand on Evan’s forehead, brushing aside some hair and kissing him. She pulled back.
“Evan…what’s wrong? I’ve never seen you this way…even…” She gasped through the end of the sentence, mouthing silently,
“When your Daddy died.” The boy turned over and away from her. Only then did she realize that her son wore one of her old nightgowns. But instead of surprise she felt sadness for her only child. She reached over and touched his cheek, causing him to face her once again.
“Mommy…I….It….my fault…I’m ….I’m so sorry.” He began to sob once again.
“Honey…why are you sorry?” Marlene leaned closer, getting down almost eye to eye. The boy choked back a sob and repeated,
“I…my fault,” He looked away and spoke haltingly,
“Pastor Tony…he…I.” He looked up at the ceiling as tears cascaded down his cheeks once again. The look of shame mixed with horror practically shouted at Marlene; her eyes widened in angry recognition and she swore for only the third time in her life; this time with as much righteousness as profanity.
“Dear god in heaven, son of a bitch!”
Because the wind is high it blows my mind
Because the wind is high...aaaaaaaahhhh
Because the sky is blue, it makes me cry
Because the sky is blue...aaaaaaahhhh
Syracuse, New York, 2021...
“Dr. Davis? Teddy called and wanted to know if he can make it for four on Friday,” Nancy said from the office doorway.
“Sure, Nan… if he wants to come in sooner, that would be fine as well. I can come in at lunch time if that works, too.” Giana smiled and Nan nodded. Teddy was growing stronger every day; a testimony to both his determination and the grace of a real God who brought the boy to a place of healing after being hurt by someone who pretended to care.
“His mother has struggled so much since they were…” Nancy put her head down. Giana knew all too well what the boy and his parents and sister had gone thru, having felt the same pain of rejection in her own past. Healing was still ongoing with Giana and all of the clients she had helped over the years….
East Syracuse...2008...
“I’m sorry, Marlene, but they won’t budge!” Ken Spataro shook his head and practically snorted.
“This isn’t right. How can they do this to him?” Marlene looked past Ken down the hallway to Evan’s room.
“What did they say? How can they just explain this away? Tony is a minister, for god’s sake?”
“Marlene…”
“Tell me!” Ken said nothing and she continued.
“Damn it, Ken, tell me!”
“It’s his word against Tony’s, and with Tony being Junior? “ He tried to look away quickly but she caught the expression on his face.
“Oh, God, Ken, what else?”
“They say Evan is just trying to take the focus off of his….” At that point Ken bit his lip and shook his head. Marlene waited for a moment before shaking her head, realizing that Ken was almost as angry as her.
“I’m sorry, Marlene. He’s got the board behind him and Evan is considered to be in sin because of his status.” Ken reached for words; no one in church understood, and only a handful of people including Ken were willing to try.
“They know he’s seeing a psychologist? That wasn’t supposed to….I told that to Pastor Tony in confidence! This isn’t right.” Angry tears streamed down her face. She felt helpless and alone, even with Ken’s support; a wounded lioness just out of reach to save her cub. Ken frowned, leading her to shake her head, this time only slightly; sadly with little disbelief. Ken spoke again.
“He’s not permitted to return to Youth Group until he repents.” It was too much, and Marlene threw her coffee mug, breaking it against the sink. She put her head down on the table and began to sob. Ken went to pat her on the back but withdrew, feeling both ill-equipped and awkward.
“I’m sorry, Marlene, but there’s more.” He winced, fearing how much his next words would affect the already distraught woman. But he whispered a quick, silent prayer.
“It seems that someone…the board knows about Evan’s other issue.” He hated to put it that way; Ken had known the boy for a long time, and it wasn’t an issue as far as he was concerned; even if he didn’t understand it all. And now everything was coming to light in a very bad way that reflected poorly on everyone but one; and he had the backing of the board.
“They're saying... Caryn Davis has been helping Evan.” Marlene looked up. She knew Jeannie and Cal and Caryn, and they were a very kind and generous family.
"Caryn and Celia Stankowitz have been asked not to return to the Youth group and Caryn has been removed from the Youth Worship team as well.”
“It…it’s all my fault.” Ken turned and found himself face to face with a familiar face if surrounded in a way by an unfamiliar guise. Marlene looked up and saw Evan standing in the kitchen doorway. He wore a plain pair of jeans and a tee shirt; typical garb for a teenage boy. But the tee shirt was a bright magenta and pushed out by a girl’s chest. Marlene put her hand to her mouth and gasped.
“See…even you hate me. I hate myself….I hate myself.” The boy ran down the hall and into his bedroom, slamming the door. Ken turned to follow but Marlene waved him off.
“Give him some time, okay?” Ken nodded and sat down at the kitchen table.
“Maybe we just need to pray?” He looked down the hall and back at Marlene. There was nothing but concern in his expression, and something in his eyes spoke a peace to Marlene. She put her head down slightly, reaching out to grab his hand.
“Dear Lord…Please take care of Evan…we can’t but we know you can.”
A while later...
Marlene stood outside her son’s bedroom and rapped lightly on the door.
“Honey? Can I come in?” She stood in silence for a few moments before she heard a click followed by,
“Okay.” The voice was weak and seemed to fade even more. She opened the door and found Evan standing in the middle of the room. He was bare to the waist and wore an old pair of Syracuse warm-up pants; barefooted. What little makeup he had worn only a half-hour before was replaced by a freshly scrubbed face, which was puffy and red from crying as well. His hair was wet and slicked back.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I…” He was almost sick from crying and the words stuck in his mouth. She rushed to him and pulled him close.
“No, honey…no…no.” Marlene held him with her hand on his neck as she kissed his cheek. He shook a bit in her arms and sobbed.
“It’s my fault…I’m sick….I should be dead.” He had no strength left in him and he fell like a stone to the floor, weeping. Marlene dropped to her knees and held him as he wept; her own tears falling like a torrent; beginning to wash away misplaced guilt and shame and the confusion that can only come from being falsely accused.
And Ken stood in the doorway, praying silently with a resolve that could only arise from a righteous anger.
A few weeks later at the office of New Life Fellowship
Because the wind is high it blows my mind
Because the wind is high...aaaaaaaahhhh
“There’s no way you can get away with this,” Ken practically shook his fist; not a very ‘Christian’ thing to display towards his pastor. But then Anthony Renatto had ceased to be his pastor when he chose to protect his son at the expense of truth. Ken looked at Pastor Renatto and realized the man truly believed his son; more was the pity that he was so deluded.
“You’re wrong, damn it, Tony, but you’re holding all the cards. You really need to think about putting this church under some sort of accountability, or this whole thing is going blow up in your face.”
“I’m really sorry you feel this way, but I understand. You seem to be spending an awful lot of time over at the Thomassino home, Ken. Do you honestly think you can be objective about the boy when you’re carrying on with his mother?” It took all Ken could do to keep from punching his spiritual mentor in the face at that point, but he managed it; just barely, but he managed it.
“You know something, Tony. I’m going to try to give this whole thing to God, but it’s going to take a long time. Here,” Ken thrust an envelope into the man’s hands.
“Just in case you haven’t figured it out yet, it’s my resignation from the board. Think about it, Tony. You’re doing the wrong thing for your son in protecting him. This will end up hurting more than just him, and it’s a shame because his wife doesn’t deserve this and Evan and whoever else he’s fucked doesn’t deserve it either.” Tony went to speak but Ken held up his hand.
“Before you say anything, keep in mind that what your son did to the boy is way worse than anything I could say to describe it. You’re wrong, Tony!” With that he walked out of the office.
A little while later...
“Marlene?” Ken said thru the screen door. A moment later Marlene walked into the kitchen. She had a folder in her hand, and while she wasn’t smiling, neither was she frowning.
“Before you start, yes, I heard, and I’m so sorry.” Marlene shook her head.
“It seems Evan isn’t the only one who had a confidence….” She stopped in mid-sentence, the word sticking in her throat.
“I’m only sorry that it came to it, but I can’t stay there; not when your son is being treated like a criminal instead of the victim.” He paused, noticing the look on her face. She held up the folder.
“Evan and I have seen another psychologist that was recommended by his doctor.” She half-smiled, as if something might be good about her decision, but had yet to come to any fruition. I wanted to talk to you, since you’ve been such a good friend and support for us both. She turned away and Ken tilted his head in question.
“If you have trouble with this I’m sorry, but I did want to tell you about what’s going on.” Ken wondered what would cause her to question him like that.
“Here,” she said, pulling out a booklet and handing it to him.
“This will explain it better than I ever could.” She sat down at the kitchen table and he joined her, sitting across the table from her. He looked at the booklet.
“Helping Your Transgender Teen: A Guide for Parents *,” Ken read from the cover.
“You’ve been such a support, I feel I owe you this much, at least.” She turned away, but he reached out and touched her hand.
“You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, Marlene. You’ve done the best with your child in the worst of circumstances.” She sighed; waiting for the ‘but’ that would never come; no patronizing ‘there, there, it’s not your fault.’ Instead he patted her hand.
“Whatever Evan is going through, I’m sure he’s got the right help and the best support.” He smiled at her and she sighed, but he finished.
“And the best mother a kid could ever have. You’re going to be okay.”
“I know…it’s just that it’s been so hard on….”
“You can’t call your child ‘him’ anymore, can you?” Ken looked down the hallway toward Evan’s room. Marlene shook her head and tears came to her eyes. The love that should have been extended by the shepherd came from another; almost like a sheepdog who sees to the flock when the master is gone.
“I’m with you, Marlene. Me and a few others who know and are more than disappointed. I’m not planning on doing something stupid like try to start another church; I don’t have the background or the temperament, and I like owning my camera shop. But looking into another church makes sense. The board isn’t going to do anything about Tony, and I’m hoping that his father does. I don’t want to drag the whole church through the mud, but I’ll say something if it comes to it so that no one else is hurt. But you have my entire support for whatever you do; church and here at home. I’m your man.”
A month later...
“Mom….” The girl stood in the doorway of the living room. She was dressed modestly in navy tights and a navy maxi skirt under a long black cardigan over a teal top. Her feet were shod with plain navy tennies but for the pink laces. And she wore a very tentative half-smile of relief.
“Oh, honey, it’s okay.” Marlene stood up and hugged her daughter.
“I know you didn’t want anyone to be hurt, but it was his choice…their choice. I know you don’t feel good about Tony at all; especially with his wife and baby, but he wouldn’t listen. I’m just glad something came of it before anyone else was hurt.
“Mommy?” The girl spoke the name she hadn’t used in years; more out of expectation than real choice. Finally, at last in her own home and feeling for the first time in her own skin, in a way, the name suited the moment; both for the affection as well as the need for security. Her eyes began to fill with tears.
“I know, honey. I know. One day at a time, and I’m here with you. Dr. Carter said you’re doing great already; she’s really proud of you, and so am I. So let me do what I know best, okay?” She pulled the girl in for another hug and kissed her cheek.
“I love you, baby, never forget that. And God loves you, too, no matter what anyone says, okay?”
The girl nodded and smiled broadly for the first time in her short life as her mother held her close and safe.
Love is all, love is you...
Syracuse, New York...2021...
“Dr. Davis? I’ve got two calls for you. Your wife is on line two, but she just wants you to know she’ll meet you at Erawan at seven?”
Giana nodded and blew out a breath; happy that things were falling into place. Nancy pointed to the blinking light on the phone.
“Your dad...says your cell phone went to voice mail?” Nancy smiled as Giana picked up the phone.
“Hi…dad? Yeah…sure. You’ll get Mom to the restaurant by seven-thirty? Great. And dad? I love you.”
Giana looked down at her desk; maybe a bit more cluttered than she normally would like, but the several piles of handouts and booklets would be in the hands of needy kids and parents soon enough. And while she still had things she had to deal with, just as much as her clients, she also knew that being further down the road allowed her to look back and take stock of her life through the lens of her calling.
Yes, she had been hurt as a child, but she was strong and secure and knew who she was; her experience served her well in helping her clients sort through their own doubts and pain.
“Dr. Davis? Caryn is on line one again…” Nancy laughed at the normal ‘tag’ routine the couple played, since they both were busy helping others.
“Hi, Caryn? Oh…okay. That’s great. As a matter of fact, that’s terrific! Okay honey…see you at home. Love you too, bye.”
“Nancy? Can you come here for a moment?” Giana looked up to see her secretary already standing in her doorway.
“Caryn finished with her pastor’s meeting early.”
“I’m way ahead of you. Since Teddy is coming in on Friday instead, your afternoon is free.”
Nancy laughed softly, feeling like a cruise director instead of a secretary at times, but it was all good. Giana leaned back in her chair and sighed and smiled to herself as Nancy walked out. She looked at her desk once again, almost glad at the clutter. Her gaze fell upon the photo facing her; a very nice picture of two brides holding hands under a tall trellis interwoven with roses. And she picked up the name plaque by her stapler; she was never one for prestige, but the plaque had been a gift from her mother and she displayed it proudly.
It was made of wood with a brass overlay that read, “Dr. Giana Thomassino Spataro-Davis”
It might be only Monday, but Giana knew it was going to be a beautiful week.
Love is old, love is new
Love is all, love is you
Oh, Darling!
Oh! Darling, please believe me
I'll never do you no harm
Believe me when I tell you
I'll never do you no harm
Tallahassee, Florida, 1999
The video had hit the part where the static came on the screen, leaving a loud annoying hiss to fill the apartment. The girl turned and faced the young man sitting on the other end of the couch; he almost cowered in embarrassment.
“So that’s it, right?” She got up and ejected the video and placed it in the slipcase. Her friend continued to cower. She shook her head and laughed softly; the irony wasn’t lost on either of them. ‘Different for Girls,’ she noted as she handed him the video. He placed it on the couch beside him, almost embarrassed.
“You really think she’ll go for that?” The young woman looked at her roommate and former lover. The boy looked back and smiled. She was amazed at how things had turned out. She would do anything for Cal…anything, and whatever he needed would almost be at his disposal, since no finer friend could be had anywhere, unless it was the girl who took her place in his heart. She wanted to be jealous; she had tried so very hard to be angry, but her love for the boy took the place of any animosity she could ever muster, if that was even possible. It was hard to be mean toward someone when neither she nor her rival had a mean bone in their bodies.
“I guess we’ll find out.” He shook his head and gazed out the window. Things weren’t going so well with his new girlfriend; mostly because she was new and he was tentative and almost non-committal, even though she had thrown herself into the relationship. But a huge part of why things hadn’t seemed to click rested squarely on his narrow sylph-like shoulders. He couldn’t commit to her because he had trouble committing to himself….
Oh! Darling, if you leave me
I'll never make it alone
Believe me when I beg you
Don't ever leave me alone
A few days before, at Cal’s apartment…
“You’ve been sitting there quiet for nearly ten minutes, Cal! What’s going on?” Lori held her coffee mug in both hands, peering at Cal over the rim. The boy…the young man put his head down and looked off to the side.
“Come on…we’ve known each other like since…forever. I didn’t plan on a relationship, but what better way to go than to be with a bestest friend ever.” It felt odd for both of them, since they were more like brother and sister; even odder than that, if only Cal could actually open up to her. In all the years they’d known each other, he hadn’t once shared his most intimate self with her; it hadn’t come up for one thing, but even if it had, and even though he trusted her with his life? He was too afraid.
“You still carrying a torch for Patti?” Lori was understandably worried about catching her best friend on the rebound; she never really felt that Cal and Patti were suited for each other, but was never able to put a finger on why. Cal shook his head. He still had some feeling for Patti, but more for what could have been. And while Cal never withheld anything from Lori, no matter what was going on, there and then, though, he was deathly afraid of opening up.
“No, Lor….no…I….” He stumbled over the words, and his uncomfortable expression sent exactly the wrong message to her.
“Listen, Cal. I’ve got to get to work, hon. If you want this to go forward, you’re going to have to be honest with me. I’ll be home by ten tonight, and I want to talk. If you can’t talk to me, this isn’t going to go any further. I love you…maybe…” She paused at the last word. She shrugged her shoulders and smiled.
“Okay, maybe more than maybe. I’m sorry, but I’ve gotta run. See you when I get back.” She kissed him on the forehead; almost like a mother taking a child’s temperature, she was gauging his response. He flinched; not from her kiss so much as from his worry about how he could tell her. He smiled lamely as she ran out of the house.
“Byeeeee!”
“Bye,” he said weakly as she drove off....
Lori returned that evening, and between her own fatigue and the lateness of the hour, they didn't talk that night, or any other for several days.
The following week, at Cal’s apartment…
“Okay, Bubalah… somethin’s gotta give, and it ain’t gonna be her.” Patti stepped back and checked her ‘creation,’
“You know what I mean. Best friends forever, Cal, but if you can’t trust her, it’s not going to go any further, and maybe even …. Well, best friends trust each other, okay.” She touched his cheek and he flinched. Was Lori blind, Patti wondered? How could her rival not see. Cal hoped she had questions he could answer. He struggled with 'opening up' spontaneously, or even with prompting; talking directly to anyone, even her, was almost impossible for a boy who had a secret that threatened to tear him apart. And he wasn't even sure that he could answer any questions Lori might have.
Patti stepped closer and began combing Cal’s hair.
"You know, I'd be happy to talk to her, but I don't think it would go over too good, you know?" She stepped back once again and laughed.
"Keep it up, and you won't have to tell her a thing, Cal." She shook her head as she noted the twin-like images the two had developed over the past several weeks. If Lori had known that Patti was still 'seeing' Cal she'd be furious, but really, if the three sat down and actually communicated, there might be at least two of the three of them that would actually be happy with how things were 'developing.'
The office of Gisele Martinetti, Psychologist...several days later…
“Did you tell her?” Dr. Martinetti was direct, but it was for Cal’s own good. She wouldn’t tell him what to do, but her questions seemed to parallel the question he had hoped Lori would ask.
“No…we sorta ran out of time.” He put his head down. She wasn’t ashamed of him even if he felt ashamed. She waited until he lifted his head and smiled at him; giving him a measure of acceptance even as she nudged him gently toward the destination for which he had set out nearly a year before.
“You’ll be telling her in a way no matter how you feel, since you’ve got to start living outwardly soon. Any more delay, and you might find yourself on the inside looking out.” She had coined the expression as a way of describing his years of denying that part of himself that wanted…no…needed vitally to be expressed.
“I know she’s important to you, but there’s a girl who is so much more important…you know what I mean?” Cal shook his head; his face was a mask of confusion and pain. It was no longer about Lori alone, but had to include the other ‘girl’ in his life, who wasn’t Patti Frazetta, either. Otherwise, no relationship would work, since in trying to be something he wasn’t, he denied being fully available for Lori or anyone else as well.
“You can’t be something for someone else if you can’t be yourself; you’d be giving them something false and even inadequate.” The odd thing is that he actually felt inauthentic and false when he adopted his other persona, even though it was more who he was than anything he had projected over the course of a lifetime. Caleigh had hidden long enough; whether Lori could accept that remained to be seen. Either way, Caleigh Ann DiBiaso needed to live.
When you told me you didn't need me anymore
Well you know I nearly broke down and cried
When you told me you didn't need me anymore
Well you know I nearly broke down and died
Oh! Darling, please believe me
I'll never do you no harm
Believe me when I tell you
I'll never do you no harm
Cal's apartment...
“Calleigh and Lori sitting in a tree….” Patti teased. No one would have blamed her if she held back her support; it would have been easy enough since she already had Cal’s ear, in a way. But she cared too much to sabotage his efforts to rescue his relationship with Lori. And of course, Lori was probably the best friend Patti had other than the young man whose hair she was teasing along with her silly song.
“I wish you wouldn’t use the name….” Cal sighed and his voice trailed off.
“Why not? I think Lori is an absolutely wonderful name.” She stood back and chewed on the rattail of the comb as she assessed her work.
“Calleigh, damn it,,,oh gosh, I’m sorry….but you know what I meant. I haven’t told her yet.” He put his head down in embarrassed shame, his face growing red.
“If you don’t hurry up the girls will be telling her for you,” Patti laughed as her eyes looked at Cal’s chest. Whatever he was taking was working just fine, and he could no more hide what and who he was becoming than he could hide his love away, as the old song went. She stepped closer and wrapped him up in a bear-like hug, her face next to is, but with as sisterly a kiss as she could manage.
“You have to tell her. Both of you deserve that much. And you can’t really turn back the clock.”
“What…what can I say to her? What if she doesn’t love me anymore?”
“You know she’ll always love you, but it’s really what she decides to love and how, right?” Cal nodded slowly; almost reluctant in his agreement. But that’s really what it was coming to, since it was no longer his agreement, but ‘hers.’ Cal had packed those bags a long time ago, but it was only just recently that Calleigh finally arrived at the station. Patti handed her best friend the mirror once again.
“Okay, we’ve done dress rehearsal, kiddo. Now it’s time for opening night,” she teased again as she leaned forward and unbuttoned the top of Calleigh’s newly acquired black silk blouse, revealing a matching onyx on a silver chain along with the newly welcomed ‘girls.’
“You’re going to be shouting ‘change’ even if you don’t say a word; never mind the boot cut jeans and the black ankle length boots to die for. Now’s the time to think about what to say, because like it or not, Lori’s going to meet Calleigh Ann for the first time.” Patti kissed her on the cheek again; it was sister to sister, wasn’t it?
“She’s going to be here in about an hour; she called while you were….” Patti began to chortle as she anticipated her own punch line.
“Changing.” She blurted it out with a snort and Calleigh’s already red complexion darkened to a near magenta.
“I…I’m not ready for this….I’ll call her….maybe tomorrow.” Calleigh fumbled with her purse…even that was a daunting thought, since she’d never really had a purse before even if the bag she normally carried already filled that function. As she grabbed her cell phone, they heard a creaking from the hallway as a the front door opened.
“Did I say in an hour? I meant now.” Patti giggled. She hurried down the hall to greet Lori, who was walking slowly.
“Am I too soon?” Lori stopped just short of entering the kitchen. She went to peek around the corner but thought better of it.
“Oh, geez, no, dear. You’re just in time.” Patti said. She grabbed Lori by the hands and squeezed before pulling her into a tight hug.
“She’s ready as she’ll ever be.” The word ‘she’s’ seemed to echo throughout the apartment and Calleigh shuddered in fear.
“She doesn’t know that I know?” Lori looked at Patti almost askance.
“I figured you needed to tell her that yourself, Lor….okay?”
She smiled, and Lori tilted her head, gazing at Patti’s eyes, noting the tears. It was only then that both girls realized just how much they loved the best friend they shared that sat nervously in the kitchen. And it was only then that they realized just how much they cared about each other; an endearing if odd quality that both anticipated would have disappeared when one moved up from 1A to top spot all by herself. If they could have shared Calleigh they would have, but it wasn’t something that either they or Calleigh could handle.
And of course, both of them held onto the belief that God does indeed open a window when he closes a door. Patti didn’t know when that window was going to open, but she grasped onto that tenaciously as she let Calleigh slip from her heart even as she let go of Lori’s hands. She kissed her second-to-only her best friend and whispered,
“She’s in love with you, honey. I hope you know that?” Patti smiled and walked into the kitchen, leaving Lori alone in the hallway. She grabbed Calleigh once again and kissed her, this time on the lips in a more amorous if fleeting manner.
“I love you more than life itself, but someone loves you more than me, Cal. I want you to know that if I can’t have you, I know that you’ll be in the best hands possible. Goodbye, Cal.” She walked quickly out of the kitchen and grabbed Lori’s right hand as she passed by; squeezing it briefly and letting it go as she walked slowly down the hall. She stopped at the doorway and waved gingerly.
“God bless!” She mouthed silently and then she was gone.
“Cal?” Lori waited; almost as if she was expecting permission to be granted. Calleigh called out softly,
“Yes?” Lori peeked around the corner and saw her best friend sitting there; the person she’d know since all three of them were little kids. And as strange as it seemed, even though the girl sitting in the kitchen chair was brand new in a way, it was as if she’d known the girl instead of the boy all along. The boy who had been a girl all along in the places where it counted the most…the head and the heart…had emerged; almost like the kinds of flowers that actually grow prettier even after starting out wonderful.
“Don’t….please don’t…” The girl in the chair had always been sensitive, even as a boy growing up, and she cried.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.” Lori smiled to herself before touching Calleigh’s cheek softly.
“At leastways, not just yet.”
Lori and Cal were married the following spring; just seven days before Calleigh Ann DiBiaso drew her first breath in recovery after her surgery. It was a beautiful ceremony; made all the sweeter by the presence of Patti Frazetta, who stood up for her best friend and twin sister Lori.
When you told me you didn't need me anymore
Well you know I nearly broke down and cried
When you told me you didn't need me anymore
Well you know I nearly broke down and died
Her majesty's a pretty nice girl
and she doesn't have a lot to say
Her majesty's a pretty nice girl
and she changes from day to day
Edison, New Jersey, 2009...
Cheryl moved into the living room with a plastic microwave tray filled with some lean-ish chicken cuisine balanced on top of a mug of cocoa in one hand. Her other hand held the cable remote she forgot to leave on the couch when the microwave beeped. Sidling between the couch and the coffee table, she sat down and placed everything before her, barely spilling the cocoa.
“NO, Felix!” She shooed her black cat off the table, mostly to keep him from burning his tongue on the spill, but also because he likely would find the rubbery meal more appetizing than she did, and she could ill-afford missing a meal even if it was barely edible. She sighed and pulled a fork from her shirt pocket, plunging it into the hot, steamy yellowish goo. Blowing on the first bite, she tasted it and decided on her impression.
“Well, Cheryl, the chicken taste comes through with a struggle, hardly discernible above the mealy potatoes and undercooked carrots. Your presentation leaves a lot to be desired. I’m sorry, Cheryl, but you’ve been Chopped!” She laughed before shoving the tray away; shaking her head. Felix moved quickly to the food and began lapping it up.
“Judge Felix seems to disagree, Cheryl, but then he’s never been very astute when it comes to food review.” She put her hand under his chin and felt the purr thru his fur.
“Sorry, Buddy, but that’s all….” She caught herself from falling into an easily held habit and said almost emphatically,
“That’s all MOMMA has for you. I’ll stop by Shop-Rite on the way home from work. She paused and a grin spread over her face. Running to the kitchen, she opened the tall pantry-like cabinet next to the fridge and sighed in relief.
“Three cans of Bumblebee…and it’s albacore. You’re set for tomorrow, and I promise to get you your food.” She looked back to see the cat stepping across onto the couch. He stretched upward and started sharpening his claws on the thick fabric. She went to say something but he quickly fell back and circled around her reading glasses twice before curling up in a tight ball.
“Why…” She paused as if some urgent message was invading her psyche, asking herself the same question she had asked herself every night since her surgery. Shaking her head at the lack of response, she walked over to the fridge and pulled out the bottle of Cabernet that had been chilling for the past half-hour. She opened the cabinet by the sink and mulled over the choices. Shaking her head at the small wine goblet, she instead grabbed a large clear plastic tumbler decorated with flowers and poured….no…decanted the wine, she thought, into the container.
She walked into the living room and pulled her reading glasses out from under the sleeping cat and replaced them on her face and picked up the binder from the end table. Noting that the room had darkened in the mean time due to sundown, she leaned over once again and turned the three-way to high, flooding the room with light.
“Let’s see, now where was I?” She leafed through the notebook, passing tabs: Contacts; Websites; Essays and Blogs, finally settling on Fiction.
She opened to a story by one of her favorite authors. She read down the page and spotted the line. Picking up the hi-lighter, she marked the sentence in dark green translucence,
“And we love you too, just try remembering that next time you feel stupid….” She read the words aloud. They still hadn’t ‘sunk in,; despite the tapping exercise and rehearsing the idea of being loved….’deeply and completely’ as her therapist would say. She derived a huge amount of strength from the words ‘and we love you,’ even if she often forgot the ‘you’ part of it. The cat had roused and looked up at her, a loud purr erupting from under her chin.
“And I love you….try remembering that you don’t understand English but get my tone, okay?” She scratched behind his ears and pursed her lips, approximating his purr with a ‘thbhbphhhhh,” which got him purring even louder. She put down the binder and went to reach for the small notepad next to the lamp. The light bounced off the opaque green glass body of the lamp, revealing her reflection. She put her hand to her cheek as if checking her image. The makeover she had gotten had done little to increase her self-confidence, but the insistent kneading of claws on her knee and the loud affection that came from the cat’s purr caused her to blink and then squint at the woman looking back at her.
I wanna tell her that I love her a lot but I gotta have a belly full of wine…
She looked at the tumbler sitting on the coffee table and shook her head.
“And we love you, too, just try remembering that next time you feel stupid.”*
She said the words like a mantra and frowned. She hadn’t even eaten a meal for the past twenty-four hours and yet had just finished a bottle of wine in less than an hour. One woman’s poison? She stood up, sending the cat scurrying over the back of the couch. He began sharpening his claws again and she smiled. Grabbing the tumbler, she walked into the kitchen and poured the entire contents down the sink before grabbing her cell phone. She waited only three rings before hearing a voice in greeting on the other end. Breathing out a sigh, she spoke; almost at herself as much as her friend on the line.
“Gina? I just poured Cabernet down the sink. I need to talk with someone; you got time?”
Her majesty’s a pretty nice girl and some day I’m gonna make her mine, oh yeah. Some day I’m gonna make her mine….
*from Too Little, Too Late by Cyclist
Something in the way she moves
Attracts me like no other lover
Something in the way she woos me
Somewhere in her smile she knows
That I don't need no other lover
Something in her style that shows me
Had it been that long? Six years sober. Cheryl held no stock in being precise; each day was a victory unto itself, and the time was more a way to gauge how tenuous a year’s sobriety could be in the midst of a lifetime of temptation. Still, she found herself looking back with relief on old habits that, while not dead, were not quite alive either.
“Do you know how much I love you?”
She looked in the mirror, mouthing the words. And even though she’d come to love herself in a way that was self-accepting, it was her girlfriend’s simple care and regard that lifted her; not the ocean of her creator, perhaps, but the boat that floated on top of that vast and unending love. She recalled the evening before…
“Do you know how much I love you?”
Gina sat on the bed brushing her hair. She looked up to see Cheryl standing in the middle of the room, naked as they say as a jay bird. It had taken a while for her to reveal herself to her lover; the feelings of inadequacy seemed to hold on to her heart like ghosts in a rundown Victorian mansion. The brooms had been employed to sweep the place clean, but the ghosts felt entitled to stay. Gina’s love helped more than anything to clean away that pain. They’d be the first to admit that neither was what you’d consider gorgeous, but both were pretty in their own way even if neither started out that way and one had not even started out as a woman.
“As a matter of fact?” Gina patted the bed and Cheryl moved cautiously over and sat down. She still felt inadequate to the task of loving her girlfriend despite Gina’s encouragement to the contrary. They kissed and Gina’s hand went to caress Cheryl’s breasts. She pulled away. She wanted a drink. No. At one time she might need a drink, but she didn’t need one and she certainly didn’t want one. But she did want the strength and the solace that the drink once promised but never fulfilled. Gina couldn’t even do that, though she was a part of that strength and solace that Cheryl had gained.
“Hey…none of that!” Gina touched her cheek softly, brushing away a tear.
“You’re too good to me!” She protested. It was never true; even if Gina had been a blessing, nothing was too good for Cheryl because nothing truly good for us can be too good, and we often don’t merit or deserve the good we receive. Cheryl was still learning that after all these years. Finally past feeling unworthy of love and deserving of scorn and ridicule. She wasn’t….so many things that she felt she should have been. She wasn’t smart enough. Her father had told her that long ago, and it took so much even now to realize that her father was dead wrong.
She deserved all the bad she had ever received; wasn’t that what her mother told her? Gina’s encouragement piggy-backed on the words that her therapist had practically drilled into her. No one deserves to be hurt. No one deserves to be neglected. Life’s blessings that came to her helped her rehearse what she had learned about herself; her value went so far beyond anything she could do wrong or right.
And she didn’t deserve to be loved. That was true in a sense. As a child, her emotional tank was never filled; a disappointment to her parents and grandparents because she wasn’t the boy they thought they had sired to redeem the line; she wasn’t an heir at all, other than their dysfunction. But she didn’t deserve Gina’s love. Which made Gina’s love all the greater a gift to her; something of much more value because it was given without thought of merit or degree of performance. Cheryl’s only task in gaining Gina’s love was that she merely had to be herself.
And in that she settled….rested in fact on her lover’s shoulder. No fighting when Gina’s hand grabbed her chin. No resistance when Gina’s lips brushed softly at the corner of her eye as they attended to her ever-comforting tears; soft and grateful reminders of how much she felt loved. No pulling away when hands began to explore her bareness and bless her body.
“Do you know how much I love you?” It really had only been in recent months that Cheryl could nod in agreement with Gina’s careful assessment of Cheryl’s meaning in her life. Even if tentative, she nevertheless was at a place of realizing just how much she mattered. And she realized it was only by being herself that she really found some meaning. For the first time in her life finding that she didn’t need to fulfill someone’s dream. For the first time that she could remember she wasn’t a disappointment no matter what she did or didn’t do. And yet at the same time she found that she indeed fulfilled Gina’s dreams in a way by merely loving back.
It almost seemed too easy; too simple to be real. But it was exactly in its simplicity; the only restrictions and demands on Cheryl came from those ghosts who slowly were vacating her life; finally replaced by understanding that she was as lovely as Gina said she was. Beauty truly being in the eye of the beholder. As the song goes, there was just something in the way she moved; something that attracted her to Gina like no other.
Gina said it once again; not quite a tease but playfully romantic nonetheless. She cupped Cheryl’s right breast and held it softly, considering her lover’s beauty. She had no cleavage to speak of, but she still looked almost ravishing to Gina, who had moved her lips to between Cheryl’s breasts. A start went through her; energy playing through her like a finely tuned instrument. She opened her mouth and released a sob that turned into a soft laugh as Gina nibbled softly.
“MMMMmmmm.” Gina sighed. Her hands moved; each touch electric for hand and body both as she returned her attention to Cheryl’s lips.
“Mmmmmmm…me too….” Cheryl said with another laugh as she fell into her lover. Cherishing and treasuring and drinking in each other moment to moment until they found themselves in each other. An acceptable intoxication, both would explain. Soft and rough and hard and fast and slow and savory and until they lay back to front; their soft sobs a sweet theme that both described and fulfilled their love.
Something in the way she knows
And all i have to do is think of her
Something in the things she shows me
I don't want to leave her now
You know I believe and how
Finale'
Something
words and music by
George Harrison
as performed by
The Beatles
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I9hM7HN4ehY&feature=related
Here Comes the Sun
Words and Music by
George Harrison
as performed by
Sheryl Crow
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W3h6FgFthC8&feature=fvsr
Golden Slumbers
Words and Music by
John Lennon and
Paul McCartney
as performed by
Nungan
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D9ljjPa9w_U
Because
words and music by
John Lennon and Paul McCartney
as performed by
Evan Rachel Wood, Jim Sturgess,
Joe Anderson, Dana Fuchs, T.V. Carpio
for the soundtrack of
Across the Universe
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LMniylSi0nI
Oh, Darling!
Words and music by
Paul McCartney
(credited also to
John Lennon
As performed by
Florence and the Machine
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OwgWbG84iXo
Her Majesty
Words and music by
Paul McCartney
As performed by
Julia Nunes
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fgHoY_IOp_s
Something
words and music by
George Harrison
by DaneDane11
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0mESEdBI744&feature=related
