Battle Scars (Rough Draft)

This is a slightly experimental piece I am working on. You're not going crazy and it's not a typo; I do say F* you to the English gender pronouns in this piece, and I did do this for a specific reason. Please give feed back and let me know what you think. Also, excuse typos and grammar mistakes as this is a rough draft. I am considering leaving it as a short story but also considering making it a short novel. Let me know what you think!


Peace and Love,

CM

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Battle Scars

by Cristina Marrero

Jen had been walking for hours. Her feet raw and spirit broken, she stumbled towards a nearby brick wall, and slowly began to lower her battered body down to the cool concrete of the sidewalk. Music blasted from every corner of downtown Manchester, but Jen could not register a single note. Every sound had become static to her ears; all she was left with were the silent echoes of a forgotten life. With her body now still, this lost girl’s mind became vulnerable to the profound despair she had come to own. Jennifer Mc Fearson’s tears had now become all she knew.

No words could be spoken because no words could be found. The monologues which usually ran through her head had become silenced and replaced only by raw, broken swarms of emotion. Jen sat in despondent defeat as the herds of downtown night travelers passed by enjoying their idol frivolity.

She was nothing more than an unpleasant shadow to those who passed her. One after another, they glanced her way but then quickly changed their focus to avoid feeling a guilty obligation. Those who dared to stare brushed her off with the unfortunate mindset to often shared by an isolated society…"it’s not my business" or "It’s not my responsibility." Yes, many saw this fractured adolescent, but none ever answered their consciences’ call to act…that is, until a one night traveler appeared from outside the crowded club.

Jeff was a popular local drag king, and she often performed at gay establishments in the Chicago area, but tonight he decided to stay home. He owned this particular night club and had a small apartment above his business. Fantastica was a well-loved institution and its name was quite fitting. As corny as it sounds, gay reviews often said, "You can’t go to Fantastica and not have a fantastic time!" The club was packed, and the music was hot, but Jeff was just not feeling the passion tonight.

The notable drag king staggered out of his club, waving and smiling at patrons while walking down the two steps leading to the entrance of the merry establishment. As the door shut, he began to look out into the distance. A soft sigh of relief escaped his lips as he buried her hands into his jean pockets. After a moment, she began to feel around her vest until he found what she was looking for.

Jeff pulled out a fresh pack of cigarettes along with her Zippo lighter. Then he began beating the fresh pack into the palm of his hand. He was about to unwrap the plastic, when out of the nearby distance, he heard a soft guttural gasp. It was the sound made when no more tears were left to cry, but the swell of pain spawning the waterfall still remained. Jeff turned around to see where the noise was emanating from and was met by the sight of a young adolescent girl...

She was a pitiful little thing. A shattered whimpering fragment of a kid, curled into a cocoon of herself. Her clothes were wrinkled and her shirt slightly torn at the collar. The sleeve stained with blood and jeans ripped to expose her somewhat freshly skinned knees. She didn’t look homeless, but she did look helpless.

Jeff looked around, then motioned to the disheveled girl, "Hey kid. Um, you okay?"

No response was heard. Only sniffles of a false composure, then a collapse back into painful memories. Jeff walked to the small, misplaced girl and lowered himself down to her eye level. He looked around to see if there was anyone around who might claim the lost child. No one insight; just more potential patrons and drunken pedestrians.

Jeff was not quite sure what she should do, but he did know he could not just let this kid stay on the side of the street. Jeff reached out to rest his hand on her back, but pulled away with hesitancy. "Hey, um, kid…you alright?"

Jen tried to gain some form of poise. She lifted her head from her self-made cocoon and was greeted by the sight of a man—no, a woman—or a man? He…or maybe she was wearing a modern fedora hat, pinstriped vest, classy white shirt and looked like something out of the 1930s. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of this presence kneeling beside her. All Jen could do was stare with a profoundly confused look filled with uncertain curiosity.

"Holy Shit…" One look at the girls face and Jeff instantly knew that this kid was not alright.

She couldn’t have been more than 17 or 18 years old. Her face held a sadness he had seen before, and her blue eyes held an agony that could pierce through the coldest of hearts. She was bruised and her cheek scraped by what one could only assume was another’s fist; the girl’s lip split and swollen, with a black eye on the right of her face. Tear stains ran down from her eyes to her neck and a dried trickle of blood was still apparent from where her nose once bled.

Indignation filled Jeff at the sight of the beaten girl. In as calm, yet serious of a voice as he could manage, Jeff asked, "Who did this to you?"

Jen just stared, perplexed by his appearance. She could not manage the words to explain, nor could she really admit to herself what had occurred those hours before her collapsing by the loud club.

"Kid… who did this to you?" Jeff asked once more.

Jen began to mumble a staggered, "I…I…" But found no strength or words to complete a statement.

"Ok, it’s ok…let’s start with something simpler: What’s your name?" She lowered her head away from his gaze. "I’m not going to hurt you, kid. What’s your name?"

Jen stared at the pavement, "I have no name."

Taken back, "Everyone has a name, kid. Mine’s Jeff. Now what’s yours?"

"It doesn’t matter…"

Jeff knew he would not be able to get much more out of her in this condition. Whatever had passed, she was still caught in its memory. "Come on. Let’s get ya cleaned up. I live right above this club…can’ya walk up with me?"

Her eyes met Jeff’s with caution, but her fear was tamed just enough by the kindness with which he looked at her. His gaze made her feel safe enough to be able to accept his invitation.

Softly, almost whisper like, "Could I get a glass of water?"

Jeff smiled, causing her mustache to curl at the corner of his mouth. "You can have as many glasses as you like, kiddo."

With that Jeff help the nameless girl up from where she sat. Jen clung to his arm, resting her weight against his body.

She had a slight limp and could not make it up the steps by herself.

"That’s it; just like that… take it one step at a time."

As Jeff was about to open the door, Jen paused for a moment. Still looking at the ground, the girl spoke in a mouse like voice, "It’s Jen…by the way. My name is Jen."

Jeff smiled gently then raised her chin to meet his eyes, "That’s a beautiful name. Now, Jen, let’s get you cleaned up."

***

The young girl sat at a table in the middle of a small apartment. The living room and kitchen were pretty much one. The couch in the living room was older and slightly tattered, much like most of the rest of the surrounding furniture. It wasn’t a rat hole, but it wasn’t the Ritz either.

Jeff made her way to the fridge after he had sat Jennifer down. She opened a cabinet, pulling out a small glass, then opened the fridge to pull out a jug filled with ice cold water. He poured her a glass, then pull out an ice tray from her freezer.

Jen watched Jeff’s actions with curiosity, but it was not so much what he was doing that entranced her as it was his demeanor. He was neither masculine nor feminine despite the facial hair on his face. "What are you?" She thought.

The drag king walked over to the table with the glass of water. Jen shifted her gaze quickly away from the unknown phenomenon before her.

"Here you are." Jeff set a glass of water down in front of the girl, and smiled compassionately before wondering back towards the fridge.

"Thanks…" She replied.

Jeff opened a drawer to pull out a zip lock bag and filled it with ice. "So, if you don’t mind my askin’…what happened to you?"

Jen remained silent for a moment then finally replied, "I…fell down a flight of stairs."

From the same drawer Jeff pulled two dish cloths then reached for a small plastic container sitting by his sink. Walking back towards Jen, Jeff wrapped the ice pack in one of the dish cloths then handed it to her.

"Here. Put this on your eye." She hesitated. "Go on." Jen took the pack and did as instructed.

Not buying it, "Stairs, huh?"

"Yes."

Jeff walked back to the water jug and filled the small container with cold water. "Well, those stairs must’a had one hell of a right hook."

He pulled a chair up in front of the girl then dampened the second dish towel. When he shifted towards Jen with the moist cloth, she flinched back.

"You’re a jumpy one aren’t ya?" Jeff said with a chuckle. "Look, I’m just tryin’ to help you out."

"I fell down a flight of stairs. That’s it." Silence fell for a moment. Desperately wanting to change the subject, "What is this place?"

"This place? It’s a gay night club."

"A gay night club?"

"Not just any gay night club. The gay night club… Fantastica!" he proclaimed dramatically, but received no response.

Just a silent void you could park a semi-truck in. Jeff sighed then leaned back in his chair.

Out of the silence, "I’m not gay."

Taken back by the random proclamation, "I never said you were."

"I just don’t want you to get any wrong ideas…"

"Listen, kid…your life, is your life. I’m not passin’ judgment."

" But I’m not a queer—no offence."

She let out a small sinker then tossed the rag onto the table, "Yeah, kid…whatever. Just use this to clean your lip. You don’t want it getting infected."

Jen was quiet for a moment then finally found the courage to ask, "What are you?"

Jeff smiled and leaned forward in his chair. With a whisper she replied, "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

Standing up and walking behind a makeshift curtain, Jeff repeated his answer, "I am, ‘yes.’"

"That makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense, actually." Jeff started to switch from his drag attire behind his dressing curtain. "I am plurality."

He slung his vest over the rod supporting the home made contraption, soon his shirt would follow and to Jen’s confusion, two ace bandages.

"I am yes, because I am both and I am neither. I’m proud of my sex—being a woman that is, but I do not fit into a nice little gender box." She walked out from behind the curtain still in his trousers wearing a white beater over her bra.

With her chest unbound, Jeff reminded Jen of one of those mythical creatures they used to talk about in school...only it wasn’t half man and half beast, but half man, and half chick. The most puzzling part was that she was not frightened by this…thing in front of her. She was just utterly perplexed.

Walking towards the mirror on the wall, "Our society tends to be singular. When an adult asks a kid, ‘what do you want to do when you grow up?’ And the kid replies, ‘I want to be a basketball star and a lawyer.’ A parent quickly corrects the child’s plural thinking and says, ‘Ah, but son, you have to choose one.’"

Jeff stopped for a moment to take of his spirit gum placed goatee, wiggled his nose and upper lip, then continued.

"It’s not the kid who’s wrong… it’s the parent. This world has become dominated by people who only have the ability to do or be one thing. They lack versatility and dominate the societal power structures; therefore, common thought claims singularity to be the more assertive trait."

Jeff, now transformed mostly back to Alice came walking back to the table flipped her chair around and sat down.

Jen stared at him…her…it. "Isn’t it though? That’s just how things are…least that’s what my parents told me."

Alice picked up the rag he had tossed on the table earlier, dipped it in water then inched closer to Jens face. Gently, he would start to wipe the blood from her lip. Jen winced at the initial sting then welcomed the coolness of the cloth. "What if they are wrong? And I assure you they are. What if all these classification and dividing lines are just a sad attempt to keep the class system alive in some shape or manner?" Jeff dipped the rag in water once more, as Jen looked intently at nature’s exception to the gender rulebook. The mythical creature before her dabbed the cool rag on her bruised eye.

"Truth is kid, masculine and feminine are just labels to place on certain personal preferences packed in boxes called gender. Some people fit perfectly into those societal FedEx boxes, and that is great for them, but others don’t. The concept of gender is just another sad attempt by humanity to feel in control of an existence they can never fully control." Jeff got up to her sink then moistened the rag now tinted with blood.

Jennifer placed the bag of ice back onto her eye. A pain in Jen’s ribs brought her out of the conversation and back to the reality of her condition. The drag king turned around at the wincing noise. "Here I am going on about gender theory

while you’re hurting. What’s making you wince?"

Jen held her side, she spoke softly, "My ribs…it hurts every time I breathe in."

"Not to state the obvious, but that’s generally not good." Jeff walked over to the side of Jen’s chair.

"Doesn’t feel good either."

Jeff crouched down then reached to lift the girl’s shirt slightly up, but Jen stopped him, "What are you doing?"

"Trust me, kid." She stared at him still unsure. "Have I done anything for you not to trust me yet? I need to know if you need to go to a hospital. You don’t have to take it off, I just need to see your ribs." She lifted her shirt to reveal bruising and slight swelling. Jeff had seen plenty of broken bones in her day; most on himself. It wasn’t pretty, but the damage was not enough to suggest broken bones, just a pretty good beating. "You want the good news or bad news first?" He asked.

"Good." She whispered.

"Good news is: You were lucky. Doesn’t look broken just beaten up pretty good."

"What’s the bad news?"

"It’s gonna hurt like hell for about a month. You can put your shirt back down." Jen lowered her shirt; she was slightly embarrassed by the brief reveal and could feel her cheeks going pink.

Jeff walked over to the sink to ring out the blood tinted wash cloth he had been using earlier.

Nervously, "What did you mean when you said gender was a concept?"

"Well, think about it…natural disasters could take us out in a second, and no matter how hard we try, we don’t have a Superman to stop a hurricane coming our way. It’s only natural for us to develop some kinda method to make us feel like we have control over our physical fait. Humanity tends to have a kinda OCD condition when it comes to life on earth, so they have to categorize everything. What they can’t categorize neatly becomes an abomination, but not because it’s wrong, but because it confuses their standard notions of thought. See, Society creates a false sense of taught order, but humans don’t do well with one-size fits all notions. We’re all different in some form or fashion. Ordering us by gender looks good on paper and for those doin’ the paper work, but just like communism is a good theory it doesn’t exactly pan out in practical application. And it’s perfectly ok that definite gender doesn’t always pan out. Even God is genderless, at least before people screwed up the translations."

Coming back down to sit with the young girl, Jeff moistened the rag with ice watter and placed it in Jen’s hand. Jen fixed her eyes on the cloth to avoid looking into Jeff’s eyes, "But to answer your original question: What am I?... Well kid, I’m Alice and I’m Jeff, but most of all, I am me, and that is something no gender label will ever be able to define."

Jen lowered her head as she fidgeted with her glass of water.

"You ok? I’m sorry to lay that all out on ya, but you asked." Alice smirked trying to lighten the situation.

Silence took over the room until Jen spoke, "I didn’t fall down stairs."

Alice shifted her mood in this all too familiar discussion, "Ya don’t say? What really happened, kiddo?"

Painstakingly she explained, "My dad…he…he knocked me around, then kicked me out."

"Come on kid, let it go. Why’d he go and do somethin’ like that?"

Jen finally found the words she’d been searching for. In one sentence, Jennifer McFearson found freedom, "I’m gay."