Davita Minton
Trans Tales
This Particular Instance
She supposed she couldn't have been more than fourteen years of age, but not much less than thirteen. Possibly twelve, but certainly no younger than that. There had been instances, however, that pre-dated this particular instance yet, very few. And in her estimation these were much less significant. And of course, there had also been many, many more instances in the decades since. Concerning the question of origins, however, this particular instance stood out, starkly, beyond all the rest.
It had been an absolutely miserable trip from Pacific Mo. to Louisville Ky. riding in the back of a pick-up truck in the summer of 197?. The trip had begun with auspicious implications. She was looking forward to the few days away from the crampt, boring and uncomfortable living conditions at her uncles small mobile home. She loved her uncle. He was a good man. He treated her like a son. More so than her real father ever had. He even took her to work with him sometimes and bought her lunch of rare and exotic fast-food. She thoroughly enjoyed riding around the city of St. Louis and its environs in the giant 'Davey Tree Company' truck with the frighteningly monstrous chipper/shredder attached to the back. She also enjoyed the protective little-brother-like attention of the young men that made up her uncles tree-trimming crew. But on most days during the period of time when she and her older brother and their mother lived with her uncle, her brother and herself were restricted; by fiat, to the confines of the small trailer home. The arrangements were temporary. And it was feared that two adolescent boys roaming the trailer park might draw the ire of the resident landlord. Thus, the refreshing breezes produced by the moderate speed limit that they progressed at early on in the trip, navigating the secondary roads, augored an invigorating reprieve. It didn't take long, however, upon reaching speeds of 75 or 80 mph, on the Interstate Highway, before she and her brother began to seek shelter amongst the various boxes and bags they were sharing the truckbed with, from the stinging gale-force winds. By the time they reached Louisville, hours later, both she and her brother had completely buried themselves under the cargo. They were sore and tired and dazed and suffering from wind/sun burn. Much of the rest of the trip was unremarkable. She remembered little else, in fact, except the instance that so haunted her thoughts now.
She could not remember what had come first. Had the memory of this particular instance appeared randomly and thus inspired the search for origins? Or had the search for origins uncovered the memory?
''Why am I this way? Is it organic? Or have I made myself this way through years of self-indulgence?'' These were the questions; especially the latter two, that more and more often dogged her tormented mind. She was ambivalent about it. The questions and answers and doubt of the answers seemed to her like an unending, unbreakable cycle. There was evidence of organic origins, but there was also evidence of pathology. And then there was this particular instance. The nexus of the cycle. The alpha and the omega. If she were considering the litany of her self-defined, self-labeled self-indulgent behaviors that she perceived as pathological; that had morphed over the years to what she considered were absurd proportions, this particular instance; or the memory thereof, always silenced such reveries. Or, if she were considering the alternative organic explanation, it was usually this particular instance; or the memory thereof, that provoked such reveries.
Alone this time, she was in the truckbed again. The cargo had been unloaded and it was after dark. Her aunt 'Boots' was behind the wheel, and her mother was in the passenger seat. She was seated at the front of the truckbed near the cab of the truck. After so many years, nearly forty, give or take, she could not remember where this side trip had originated or why or how long they had been on the road but at some point she decided to crouch down to avoid the blinding glare of headlights in her eyes. Soon after, in a carefree effort to entertain herself she began to move the tips of her fingers up into the light. It was like they were coming out of water. Then, one time she put up a peace sign. Immediately she was reminded of something she used to do when she was younger, and bored; like when trapped in a car on long trips. She used to imagine her fingers were legs, and she would walk them around and pose them. She tried it again then and there, walking the fingers of her right hand along the imaginary boundary line of light and dark. But she thought it looked stupid with her hand and also illuminated so she stopped. The wheels were in motion though and a flood of related memories cascaded past her minds eye. Legs, legs and more legs. Images of womens legs from magazine covers and movie posters. Without a thought as to why images of womens legs had always captured her attention. One image in particular stood out in her mind now. It was the image of a pair of womens legs from the movie poster heralding the Movie M*A*S*H. It must have been her inspiration. The image was of a pair of womens legs, seen from behind, with high heels on the feet, with the legs tantalizingly spread apart and incongruously protruding from beneath a hand displaying a peace sign. Then, completely out of the blue, as she recalled, without a thought as to why or what may come she looked down at her own legs as if for the first time.
It was summer. She was wearing short pants. In those days everyday off the shelf were considerably shorter than contemporary young mens and boys short pants. She imagined, also, that given that she was seated at the time the shorts probably appeared even shorter. But again, without a thought or a care, as she observed her legs she began to pose them after the fashion of her memories of images from magazine covers and movie posters. As she recalled she was immediately enthralled and pleased with what she saw in the semi-darkness. Always with her toes pointed in an exagerated fashion, she observed her legs appovingly in ever conceivable position, beyond even, what she recalled from popular culture. Then, by complete coincidence, as she was raising her lower right leg to un-cross her legs the toes of her right foot breached the plane seperating light from darkness and her toes were momentarily illuminated. Without hesitation, without a thought, she immediately extended her leg again until her toes were once again illuminated.
At first, her only intention was to wiggle her toes in the light, but very quickly she realized that the dazzling light above her could afford far greater potential for perception of her newfound endowments. Slowly at first she extended her right leg up until her entire foot; toes pointed skward, was bathed in light. Then, it was her lower leg, to just below the knee. Then the left foot and leg. Then both legs. Then she lay flat and supported her lower body with her hands and arms and extended both of legs into the light to well above her knees. She was overjoyed. And as a natural expression of her joy she began to kick her feet up and down in an alternating fashion. But then, suddenly and unexpectedly there came a rapid thumping on the truck cab window.
In a perfectly natural and guilt-free manner she immediately sat up and turned to see what it was that her mother wanted. To her great surprise and dismay she discovered her mother; who had a look of annoyance tinged with mild disgust in her features, shaking her head left and right in a short rapid style in two quick bursts as she simultaneously mouthed the words; ''Stop that. Stop that.''
''What? What?'' She said aloud, truly not knowing what it was her mother was referring to.
''Your legs. Your legs.'' Her mother mouthed; placing special emphasis on the word 'legs' as she pointed down. ''Sit still. Sit still.'' Her mother quickly added as she also twice spun her downward pointing index finger around. At the end of each semi-cicular spin of her finger her mother sharply jabbed her finger downward.
Nonplused she obediently turned around and leaned back against the truckbed wall. But once again the brutally bright headlights were burning her eyes. In a huff she rapidly propelled her head and shoulders down out of the light. But the manner in which she performed this manuvre; pushing down forcefully with her feet while simultaneously lifting her posterior and folding her legs as if squatting, placed her legs in full and close-up view. She began to look at them again, searching for the qualities from the movie posters that she had only just realised she too possessed. But they looked better extended. And even better than that illuminated. As she recalled now, nearly forty years after the fact, there had not been even a hint of mischevous or rebellious intention in her motivation and desire to resume her regretably interrupted activities.
What she was about to do was for her mother, not for herself. Somehow; for reasons beyond her comprehension, her mother completely mis-understood what was happening. It was dark. They could not communicate directly. It had been a long day and a long trip. They were all tired. She did not appear to be drunk, but her mother had had a few beers. Whatever the case may have been, with the sole purpose of sparing her mother any further agravation she carefully slid her body as far to the left; or passenger side of the bed, as she possibly could. And then, with the innocence of a spotless mind she abandoned herself to her former pursuits.
The episode of a few moments hence had come as a complete surprise. The poses she had struck had been modeled after specific memories of discrete images. Once that discrete image had been duplicated or imitated to the best of her abilities and to as close a likeness as she could achieve she had rapidly proceeded to the next random image that materialised in her mind. This time, however, she lingered in each pose, taking time to study and fully apreciate her new-found attributes.
In the last few years, since the insidious inception of the questions that so haunted her now, she had relived, reviewed and re-examined this particular instance countless times. And although she was certain the event had occurred; pretty much as she remembered, she was not so certain of the feelings she attributed to the adolescent 'her' concerning the second phase of the event. She distinctly remembered the feelings of joy and fascination and pride the youthful her had felt during the initial spontaneous phase. And the dismay and utter surprise at her mothers demonstrative admonishment which, in effect, she perceived, served to calsify the memories of those first indiginous and genuine feelings. But had she really thought, back then, so long ago, hardly more than a child, as she defied her mother and performed again, that her feet were refined and fair, and that her toes delicate? And that in there entirety her feet; in the position of extreme plantar flexion, with there gracefully concave arches and near perfectly round heels, juxtaposed against her elegantly slender lower legs, were exquisitely effeminate? Or, with her legs in the air and bent at the knees that her alluringly full and supple and shapely calves were beautiful in the sublime? ''No. I could not have used such terms at that age.'' She thought. ''But perhaps the centiment or emotion was there. From the beginning. And the concepts and words came later. With maturity. Or perhaps some or all of it is apochraphal.''
Suddenly the truck made a sharp and unexpected turn to the right and came to a jarring halt. At first she was rapidly propelled onto her right side as her legs were slammed down against the bed of the truck. Then, very quickly, she was violently hurled forward headfirst against the truckbed wall. Upon righting herself but before she reacquired her bearings she received yet another blow to the head. This time, from behind. Administered by her mother. Instinctively she whirled around and discovered her mother, standing stock still, staring at her, with her features redolent of mortification and anger.
''Whats wrong with that boy, Jane? I never seen such...'' Her uncle Jerry began, in a question addressed to her mother.
''Never you mind Jerry. Jez leave it be. Come on in the house.'' Her aunt said, interupting her uncle. Then her mother finally spoke. ''Get yourself in that tent and go to bed. And stay there! Get!'' And as was her wont, she promptly and unquestioningly obeyed. Only recently had it occurred to her that her uncle, who had pulled into the driveway immediatly after they had, which indicated he had been behind them on the road and thus witnessed her behavior, might have been a source of angst for her mother. She had probably known it was he on the road behind them. It mattered little now, however. Her mother was dead and her aunt and uncle were who knows where; dead themselves most likely. She hadn't seen or heard from them in many years. She also remembered nothing else from that trip. Not even getting into her sleeping bag that nite. Or how she felt. Or how she felt the next morning. Nothing.
The question of whether she had ever thought of this episode again, prior to its bubbling to the surface of recent, amidst her search for origins, nagged at her occasionally. She honestly could not remember ever having it come to her recollection before. The behavior, on the other hand, encapsulated by and originating within this episode certainly did recurr, but not immediately. There was a lag time of at least one year, maybe two. ''Why?'' She wondered. As soon as she began to masturbate, however, she also re-discovered her feminine attributes. Yet more questions that seemingly had no answers.
THE END
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