It’s raining. It rains a good bit here in the Pacific Northwest. As I sit and listen to the drizzle of the drops on our metal roof, I remember times past. Although I was raised in Mississippi, I married young, and moved to Alabama, to be with my first husband. I remember one night, driving through the Alabama hill country, in the rain, coming back from getting Allan from work. I went into a curve too fast, slid down the hill on the other side of road and ended up facing the opposite direction from the original course! Slippery mud covered the hillside making it too sloppy to drive back up to the road. Enormous rain drops were pouring down, Allan and I walked down to our house, about a mile, got the tractor from under the shed, came back to pull the truck back on the road.
Allan and I met by accident. I was 17 years old, it had been two years since Katherine and I were separated by our folks and we had moved on with our lives for the time. My parent’s were set to go to a gathering with some friends for camping and trail riding on horse back. I was the youth director at our little country church and we were putting on a dinner Friday night as a fundraiser for our pastor to visit the Holy Land. My plans were to stay at home to assist with the fundraiser, attend church and spend time with some friends. My parent’s called me while at the fundraiser, during their trip to the trail ride, their tire had blown and discovered there wasn’t an adequate spare! I was instructed by my father to bring his other truck down and come along for the weekend, since there wouldn’t be a vehicle to drive back. I left my car at the barn, drove dad’s truck down to the trail ride, and stayed for the weekend. Saturday, the trail ride was beautiful. We travelled down winding country roads in Mississippi, next to the Alabama state line. We saw creeks, woods, sunshine, and the day was nice. Back at the campground, fried fish, a campfire, the smell of horse manure and few misquitoes completed the night. The next day was the last day of riding. A shorter ride was planned for Sunday, each of the rider’s were getting themselves and steads ready for the day. Some folks were in wagons pulled by horses, some were outriders, riding in a saddle. Some were watering their pets, some were brushing and preparing to saddle up, a couple of people had their horses ready to go. We heard a vehicle coming, saw an older model dodge, white with red stripes pulling a rusty, almond colored horse trailer, with a license plate saying “Alabama Heart of Dixie”. I didn’t know any of the three men that got out of the truck, but the organizer of the ride and land owner seemed to know them well, as he greeted them with a smile and handshake. Martin introduced us to the gentleman Jack, Allan, and Reed. Jack had curly, silver hair, wore large bifocal glasses and a “Haflinger Association” hat. Allan was blonde, with blue-eyes, spoke soft, slow and courteously. Reed was middle aged, had a wedding ring and a large chew of tobacco. Jack, Martin, my parents and a few other couples that came rode in wagons pulled by teams of two draft horses each. I rode double on my friend Jamie’s horse, to get a better look at Allen. At first break, Martin came to my rest spot, told me I should come meet Allan. Six months later we eloped! We didn’t tell anyone until after it was done. Allan’s family was thrilled, my family was distraught, upset and their only advice was for us to get our marraige annuled immediately. Allan’s family, gave us a house that had been abandoned ten years since his great grandmother passed. We moved in that night, without my parent’s blessing. Allan’s family were preachers and loggers. As was he. We worked hard to make our lives work. I went to nursing school, worked as a nursing assitant and farm hand; Allan logged, did side logging, and preached. I learned to play the piano and accompanied Allan to the churches for the leading of the music services. Once I finished school and got a better paying job as an LPN, Allan joined a pipefitters and plumbing union as an apprentice. Allan and I were hard on one another. Spending a lot of time disagreeing. He wouldn’t ever hit me, but things would get violent. Kicks and dents to my truck, a shovel thrown at my head, dishes broken, furniture smashed, yelling and cussing; mostly fights over finances. Just before our fifth wedding anniversary, Allan decided to join the Army. We wanted to travel, we wanted more income, more stability for the future, more adventure. I can remember the last day we spent together just before I drove him to be sent to basic training. We walked down to the creek in front of our home, had a nice talk, reminesced about good times and had a sweet moment in each other’s arms. Then it was time to see him off. I drove the 43 miles from Fayette to Tuscaloosa to the recruiters office, said bye and went on back home to wait the four months until his graduation. Allan had been gone seven days, I was in Mississippi visiting my family. I decided to call our home phone and check our answering machine messages. That’s when I heard the awful message from Allan’s Captain. She said there had been an incident involving my husband and I should call her immediately. I did return her call but she wasn’t there. All the person on the other end could tell me was that he had been detained in Harris County Jail for going AWOL. On Monday, I was at work at the hospital. I received a phone call from the military base, stepped into the locker room to take the call. What I learned on that call changed my life forever. The Captain explained Allan had stolen a dairy truck, kidpnapped the driver, fled off the military base, alluded the military police, attempted to allude the civilian police, drove down the wrong side of the interstate through four counties of Georgia causing the state to detour traffic and set up barricades to stop the chase. Allan smashed throught the concrete barricades and one of them punctured the fuel tank, leaked the fuel and he wrecked into an embankment. The driver bailed out, shattering his entire left side. Allen ran from the scene of the accident, tried to kill himself with a box blade he’d snagged from the truck and went off into the woods on foot to hide and die. The police dogs were sent to sniff him out, he was found in a pond, covered in blood. Allan, in a desperate attempt to not be found, tried to stab the police dog that discovered him, but it was too late. The officers beat him to detain him and took him to the jail, to await his hearing. I was shocked, I fell out in the floor. Two days later, I made the trip to Georgia to see Allan with my own eyes. Once, on the way, I was terrified. I didn’t understand, I wanted answers. I didn’t know what to expect to find. Once in front of him, he just cried and said “You don’t know what I know, you haven’t seen what I’ve seen; I thought they were going to get you”. I filed the divorce papers after returning from that trip and got a no contest divorce. We spoke a few times after he got out of jail and made it back to Alabama. Allan stopped preaching, stopped working. He lived at our old home for two years. I visited him a couple times, he even asked me to marry him again and I refused. October 27th 2009, he came to see my parents. He had two boquet of flowers, one for me and one for my Mom. He asked my parents for my hand in re-marriage and they told him I’d went on with my life. I had my own apartment, a boyfriend, a good nursing job at a local nursing home, that he should try to move on as well. Two days later, on our old anniversary 10/29, Allan took his own life. His sister heard the shot, while walking her dog first thing in the morning, she found his body.. his bible and a picture of me.
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Authors:James and Katherine are a transgender couple raising two kids. They were southerners when coming to understand themselves as trans. Ultimately it lead to a nearly three year road trip to find home. Now they are re-housed and still focused on outreach in the transgender community! Archives
October 2020
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