Chapter 2 (complete-ish)

Kris sat on the edge of her bed, and with a practiced hand wound the brush through the slight tangles of her waist-length chocolate brown hair. At a height of five-feet and five inches Kris was, by all definitions, a petite woman, with a dancers physique carefully honed by years of indifference and junk food. By all rights there was no reason she should be as lithe as she was, considering how many extra calories she consumed compared to how much physical activity she performed, which happened to amount to very little. Along with her slight frame, Kris had incredibly fair skin, which meant that while tanning was a chore, she could freckle like there was no tomorrow. For the bulk of the year she sported a smattering of freckles on her slight nose and high cheekbones, but come summertime she became a freckled hurricane, developing them wherever the sun kissed her skin. While she never considered herself to be a classic beauty, her deep brown eyes, full lips and tiny ears combined with everything else to form, in her opinion, something quite adorable.

As long as she remained sitting where she was, Kris had a spectacular view of the sun rising over the city. If she were stand up though, the spectacular view would change from a pristine sunset to any number of visages. She had one neighbor, whose window was down and to the left from her own, that worked in the local sex trade. At least Kris assumed she worked in the sex trade, based solely on the large number of people that seemed to frequent the opposing apartment. Kris was not one to judge another human being, but it was hard not to notice what was happening over there, because the woman, whom Kris had dubbed Screamy: the little known eighth dwarf, had a habit of leaving both her window and curtains open. Not only was she able to hear Screamy exuberantly applying her trade, she had, on more than one occasion, accidentally caught sight of transactions in progress.

Kris also had another kind of neighbor, whom she had affectionately named the Homeless Pooper or Pooper for short who always seemed to be dropping trou and using the roof of the neighboring apartments as his personal bathroom whenever Kris approached the window. She wasn't really sure how he kept getting on the roof, or if he even lived in the building, but he always seemed to be there. Kris had learned to keep the window closed and the blinds shut, except during sunrises, when she was fairly certain that Screamy and Pooper were both asleep. However, she didn't take any chances and remained seated during the sunrise, keeping her line of sight free from the joys of the city.

With the sun now hanging brightly in the morning sky, Kris got off the edge of her bed and closed the window and shut her blinds, taking great care not to make any eye contact with windows or the alley below.

   
 
Kris was the daughter of a travelling evangelist, which meant that most of her life was spent on the road travelling from small town to small town, just her and her father travelling in a beaten up and broken down Winnebago.

Reg, Kris' father, at one time was a strong, muscular man with a bright smile, bright blue eyes and a chiseled chin. If it had not been for the call of God to go out and do ministry, the possibility of working as a male model could have been a reality. Kris never knew any of this. As far as she knew her father had always been overly skinny, with a mouth that was foreign to smiling, eyes that could judge your sin with one steel blue glance and a jaw that was more jowly rather than chiseled. It was a transformation that happened almost overnight, on the day of Kris' birth.

Kris' mother died giving birth to her, and all she had was an old wedding picture of her parents to remind her that she ever had a mother. Her father rarely spoke of Kris' mother, always deflectin with obvious attempts to change the subject whenever Kris had questions, even going as far as to never telling Kris her mother's name.

Though he never explicitly stated it, Kris was fairly certain that her father wished she had been born a boy. For starters, her birth name, the one that her father had chosen for her was Chris Michael Cherry, which she eventually had changed to Kris Michaela Cherry on her eighteenth birthday.

What Kris was not aware of, was that on the day of her birth her father had been reading the story of Abraham and the promise God gave to him concerning his future son Isaac. Her father had taken this as a sign and promise from God that he was about to have a son. He arrived at the hospital after a tent meeting, expecting to see his wife and newly born son, only to find that his wife and ministry partner was gone, and his son was actually a daughter. Though he never said anything to anyone about this, he often felt that it was some unknown sin in his wife that had caused the promise he was sure God had made to him go awry.

As soon as he was able, he packed up the Winnebago, took his daughter, and headed on to the next town.

If it were not for the bizarre travelling schedule that Reg maintained, someone would have eventually figured out just how dysfunctional their little family was. As it stood, they never stayed in one place for more than a week, which was hardly enough time for anyone to realize that the little effeminate boy that Reg brought with him was actually a girl in boy's clothes.

Around the age of thirteen it became more obvious that Kris was not a boy, but instead of raising red flags in whatever community Kris and her father were in, people assumed Kris was a tomboy that enjoyed wearing baggy jeans and sweaters versus the traditional dresses and skirts that the other church girls would wear.

Kris, with all the innocence and unconditional love only a child could have, did not really question her upbringing; it was all she had ever known, thus it was what she defined as normal.

It was not until a few days after her eighteenth birthday that she realized how opposite of normal her life was.

Kris was standing at the back of one of the many tent revival meetings she had been to throughout her life. She watched her father step up to the front, and could visibly see the gleam in his eye, the gleam he always got when he was in the groove and God was speaking to him.

Reg was starting the slow build of his message, as he always did, with a quiet whisper that would build until it was a tumultuous roar, preaching hellfire and salvation. Held in rapt attention, Kris failed to notice the woman approaching her off to her right.

"Excuse me," the woman said, gently tapping Kris on her shoulder, "Can I ask you something?"

Kris turned to the voice, expecting the usual person needing help with the soundboard or some other minute detail that her father had taught her to deal with. Instead of a fretful volunteer, Kris found herself face to face with a bespectacled amalgamation of bright colors and checkered patterns. As far as Kris could gauge, the woman appeared to be in her fifties, but had the kind of face that made identifying age difficult.

"Um, sure, yeah, uh, what can I, uh, do for you?" Kris managed to stammer out as her mind searched for any sort of context through which she could frame the round ball of bright frumpiness.

    "Well, I've been watching you for the better part of an hour, and I just have to ask you a question that has been nagging on my mind since I first laid eyes on you; what is your deal?" The woman asked, her face betraying none of the malice or smugness that often accompanies the phrase, "what is your deal."

    Kris, not accustomed to anyone ever asking about her, failed to register the question she had just been posed. It took her a few seconds of politely staring at the woman in front of her before she realized that the woman was waiting for some kind of response.

    "I'm sorry," Kris said, "I completely missed the question. What can I do for you?"

    "Oh dear, it's not about what you can do for me, but I might be able to do something for you, but first you have to tell me, what is your deal?"

    "I'm… Well, I'm not quite sure what you mean. Can you be a little more specific?"

    With a hint of a smile on her face, the woman explained to Kris, "What I mean sweetheart is what brought you here? How come you are you? I know that is your dad up there, but where is your mom? Why do you dress the way you do? Really, who are you?"

    Hesitantly Kris answered, "Well, you already know that my father is the preacher at the front right now. My name is Kris. We travel from town to town, bringing the message of the gospel, and my mom died giving birth to me. I'm not…I'm not sure how to answer the rest."

    Eyes bright with an unshed tear, the woman clasped both of Kris' hands and stared deeply into her eyes.

    After a couple of seconds of silence that felt like a millennia to Kris, the woman finally spoke in a very soft whisper, "You can't answer because you don't know. You are an empty vessel child; you have never been given the chance to develop your own personality. You are so beautiful, yet someone hides it from you. You might know you are a woman, but you have never felt like one. You do not understand how damaged you have been, but you will. Now go. Leave. Become a person."

    The woman let go of Kris' hands, turned around and left, leaving Kris alone with a massive knot in her stomach.

    If anyone had glanced at her for even a second, they would have been shocked to see the mix of fear, sadness and pain that was painted across her face. As it was, no one noticed her as the message her father was preaching was reaching its crescendo, and she was going about her normal duty of collecting the offering bags to be counted.

    If anyone had bothered to pay any attention to her, they would have been more shocked to see her drive off in her father's station wagon, offering bags in tow.