Fluke Ally

MONDAY

06:00 am 

Donovan hustles to the train depot, a sizzle of excitement lighting his guts. He's wired for orders, has been always. Even post-retirement, the drill of his government days is tattooed into his psyche. He's a man of military wake-up calls, precision routines, and everything just so, like a clockwork disciple. 

As the dawn slowly stretches its arms, casting the sky in dark shades, Donovan arrives at the KGB station. He sucks in the cool morning air, buying his ticket at the kiosk.

With growing anticipation, he stands ready for the train's rumble. The station hums quietly, the only sounds the soft radio chatter, the rhythmic sweep of the dedicated janitors, and bird melodies dripping from the greying sky.

Shortly, right as scheduled, the hiss of hydraulics and groan of doors signal the train's arrival. Boarding, he smiles at the lively coach of morning commuters, relieved to find an empty forward-facing seat—riding backwards irks him.

***

Russel's gaze hits the window, the rushing trees and buildings a blur, but his mind's far away. He's seeking aid, not for himself but his cherished one. Retirement promised peace, yet delivered strife. Now he's grappling with a pain that wrenches his heart. If only the world weren't so hasty to judge, so narrow, so shallow. If they could see the wounds their thoughtless words inflicted on Jenna, perhaps they'd reconsider. But their cosy, everyday lives can't fathom his reality.

"Seat taken?" A man's voice yanks him out of his reverie. The stranger's grey hair and smile-etched crow's feet suggest they're about the same age.

"No one's there," he responds, "Feel free."

"Off somewhere?" the man asks.

Truthfully, he isn't in the mood for chit-chat. He'd rather rehearse his upcoming conversation with Dr. Janet Chin, choosing words that will capture Jenna's plight. But manners win out. "Ah, yeah. It's... quite a story."

The man nods. "You alright? You seem tense."

His soft-spoken question makes him reconsider. Maybe a little chat wouldn't hurt. "I'm fine," he fibs. 

"Donovan," the man introduces himself, offering his hand.

"Russel," he replies, accepting the handshake.

With surprising simplicity, an unexpected camaraderie blooms between the two seniors. They talk about the weather, their former jobs, their families. They trade stories and share laughs. It's a welcome distraction, a breath of fresh air in his heavy world. In Donovan, he sees a silver lining - a surprise gift from above.

"Liverpool fan too?" Donovan asks, noting his jersey.

"Sure am! You?" he brightens.

"Since the 80s."

"Match on the 20th, yeah?"

"Against Karlsruher."

"Exciting!"

Donovan starts passionately discussing his love for Liverpool and his ongoing spats with his MU-supporting son. Russel is laughing so hard that his eyes start to water. Donovan is keen to regale more tales, but the automated voice drowns his voice, "Next Station - City Centre."

"That's me," Donovan nods towards the announcement.

"Alright, take care," he waves him off.

06:00 pm

Donovan is drained but satisfied from the day's work. It wasn't the usual hoopla he expected - no noisy rallies, no slogans shouted, no crowds waving signs. It was a peaceful gathering, pamphlets handed out, a seasoned panel of politicos, thinkers, and docs giving talks and running dialogues. He savoured the Q&A's after every talk; the insights fortified his conviction. It comforted him that he's not a lone wolf in this fight, they can win.

Heading home, his resolve is rock-solid. No doubt, this noble cause is worth the fight. 

*** 

Russel's beat. His trip to Dr. Janet Chin's place didn't roll out as slick as he'd wished. Jenna wasn't the only one fighting the fight. Seeing others - youngsters, grownups, little ones - in line for Dr. Janet got to him. What had Jenna, or any of them, done to deserve this? 

He hadn't set up a time, so he lost the AM session. To pass the hours, he drifted to a close-by mall, biding his time till he could catch Dr. Janet in the PM.

The world outside speeds past the window, blurred as it had been that morning. The murmur of voices and the thump of footsteps become a comforting background noise as his mind travels back to his discussion with the doctor.

"Hello, Sir. How can I help you today?" Dr. Janet had asked, all professional courtesy.

"Well, it's not about me. It's my daughter," he'd responded.

"And where is she?"

"That's just it, Doctor. I wanted to know what treatment options were available before I brought her in."

"We need her here to provide appropriate care, sir."

He'd opened his mouth to respond when Dr. Janet flashed an empathetic smile, "It's alright. I understand. She's not ready to meet me yet, is she?"

He'd nodded.

"It's okay. Tell her she can talk to me whenever she feels ready," she'd explained. Then she proceeded to outline the potential procedures - assessments, therapy, even surgery if needed.

***

The City Centre station's evening flurry is a far cry from the quiet mornings at KGB. It hits Donovan hard, unsettling him. He wouldn't label it as perfect, that's for sure.

He struggles, worming his way through the mass to catch the train as it pulls in. It's a real fight to keep his irritation in check.

Then, as luck would have it, all the seats are taken. He's jammed between chattering teens during the rush hour insanity. They're all about the PDA, too wrapped up in their bubble to notice him. He yearns to reprimand them, to urge them to show a little decorum, but he knows it's futile. He might make it his mission one day to teach the young a thing or two about public etiquette. But for now, he just lets them be. At least, he muses, they’re normal.  

Seeing the crowd disperse after several stations, he swiftly swoops in to nab a vacant seat. He must admit, his feet aren't as resilient to standing as they used to be. He steadies himself on the seats as he makes his way, navigating the swaying train until something, or rather someone, catches his eye. "Russel!” he exclaims. “We meet again!"

"Sure do! Grab a seat," Russel gestures to the empty spot beside him.

Donovan realises that it's a rear-facing seat. There are plenty of forward-facing ones available. But for now, just this once, he's willing to forgo his preference. The company of his new friend outweighs his seat choice. He knows he's in for an enjoyable ride.

"What'd your day look like?" Russel questions.

"Fantastic! Pumped for the next gathering tomorrow. And you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your day, how was it?"

"Oh, just fine," Russel says, releasing a stiff ha-ha.

"Good to hear."

"Oh," Russel pipes up with sudden energy, in a clear attempt to shift the mood. “I ended up at the Shahbandar mall earlier. Loads of Liverpool gear on display. Might be your scene."

"I'd be into that. Thanks for the heads up. Might just swing by."

Russel’s tactic works. Just as they did that morning, the two men fall back into lively banter, their day's events momentarily fading. Donovan takes pleasure in this upbeat exchange. With Russel, he can relax and be himself, which is something he genuinely values. He appreciates when people can just be, in their most natural state.

TUESDAY

06:00 am

Russel pulled an all-nighter, trying to connect with Jenna. At twenty-one, it's easier to sidestep life's knuckleballs than catch them. Blaming and seeing the world as a nasty place was nothing new. He got it. That's why he stayed, kept pushing. 

Jenna had her share of gripes with the world, taking fastball after fastball from life. He wished he could mend everything himself, not need Dr. Janet. To him, Jenna was flawless. He had no patience for anyone who said otherwise. But her fight was wearing her down, toying with unthinkable thoughts. He wasn't just worried, he was shattered. He yearned for his little child to be alright again. 

Now, side by side, waiting for the train, gratitude fills his heart. Jenna's agreed to see Dr. Janet, finally ready to reach out. But more than anything, he's brimming with love. Having figuratively lost his child once—a hurt that still aches—he can't stomach the thought of losing her one more time. 

Anxiety pulls him closer to Jenna, arm slung around her. Jenna leans into him, becoming his little child again. Together, they catch the distant train horn, the steady clack-clack of wheels on track. They loosen their grip on each other, the air thick with anticipation, as the train gets closer. As it nears, they both feel it—the tender touch of the rain starting to fall, a gentle prod from the heavens.

***

Today doesn't bode well for Donovan. He's always found peace in the quiet early hours, weather's mood swings be damned. But today, the soft rumble of thunder and raindrops' patter don't stir him. Today's a crucial day for the assembly, meant to be outdoors, under a sky that ought to be clear.

He clings to hope, the rain might just clear. He keeps his usual grin as the train comes into view, alongside a gaggle of uniformed kids. But as he clambers onto the moving train, nearly toppling, the sky busts open. The train roof pings with the unending downpour, drowning out all else. Thunder jeers, like a loud, crude laugh, as if taunting him. How's the assembly to continue now?

Accepting that he can't control the weather, he must rely on hope. He's a man who's always rolled with life's punches, who's always bowed to the universe's design. Indeed, thinking back on his guiding values sparks a wellspring of positivity. 

And that positive spirit broadens even more when, after staggering down the rocking train's aisle, he glimpses a face he knows all too well, that of his newly-found friend. "Back again!" he says.

"In the flesh!" Russel responds, gesturing towards an empty chair inviting him to sit.

Wasting no time, he strides over, but not before noticing that Russel isn't alone. A young woman is seated next to him. Before he can even open his mouth to ask, Russel jumps in, "This is Jenna, my girl," and to Jenna, he adds, "This here is Donovan, a good friend."

"Hi," he says, offering his hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

Jenna shakes his hand, her smile demure.

"You off to the same place today?" Russel asks.

"Sure am," he confirms. Then, curiosity piqued, he asks, "And you two? Where might you be headed?"

Russel glances at Jenna before responding, "We're heading to see a psychiatrist, actually."

Worry inundates him. "Oh," he manages. "Hope everything goes smoothly." He catches Jenna's timid smile and adds, "Best of luck to you both."

***

Russel's not sure why he's spilling his guts. Donovan's eyes, maybe. They're like warm blankets. His voice, too, has a way of saying ‘it'll work out.’ Then again, it might just be that Russel's tired of carrying his problems alone. Plus, getting on in years has taught him how to spot good folks, and Donovan sure is one of them.

"Huh?" Donovan cocks his head to listen. The rain is falling like a waterfall now, forcing everyone to speak as if at a rock concert.

"My girl's been grappling with thoughts... thoughts of ending her life," Russel gets the words out.

"Jesus, why?" Donovan gasps.

Russel glances tenderly at Jenna, and that is all it takes for her tears to spill.

***

"So, no more dancing videos?" Donovan queries.

Jenna nods, grave. 

"Kids today, huh?" Russel spits, angry. "So damn cruel. Can't they accept her as she is? Born this way, just like her mum, thin as a rail. Nothing to do about it." 

Donovan's head bobs in agreement. "Exactly! She looks fine." He turns a compassionate gaze to Jenna. "Nothing wrong with your looks. They're just jealous." 

Jenna murmurs something, but the rain's drumming drowns her out. 

Feeling Donovan didn't catch that, Russel pitches in, "Ever been accused of promoting an eating disorder because of your daughter's looks? She eats normal. Her body just stays slim." 

"If it's okay," Donovan begins, "Can I see some of your videos?" 

Jenna brightens, moves to sit next to Donovan. "I've deleted my TikTok. But I've got some videos here." She scrolls eagerly, showing Donovan a clip of her dancing to Kpop. 

"Well, this is great!" Donovan is genuine. He's not blowing smoke when he lavishes praise. To him, Jenna's a top-notch dancer. Yes, her flat chest and apparent ribs catch his eye but hold no significance. She flows with the music as naturally as a pro.

His compliment inspires Jenna to play video after video, her spirits lifted sharing her passion. 

Donovan doesn't mind. He watches every video patiently, honestly amazed by Jenna's craft.

After the final video, Jenna grins and says, "That's all," as she reseats herself beside Russel.

Donovan leans in, elbows on knees, studying Jenna. "Listen, you're fantastic! Looked beautiful in those videos." He pauses, mulls over his words, then continues, "See, that's people's problem. Quick to judge, not seeing the real you, just a skinny girl. And it’s nothing personal, really. People label - skinny, fat, ugly, weird. But don't let those judgements define you. You're more than that. If you see yourself as a dancer, then you are. I promise, when I first saw you, all I saw was a young lady with a lot to offer."

"Heard that?" Russel grins, mussing Jenna's hair, treating her like the little kid she once was, not a young woman of 21.

"Crystal clear," Jenna replies, smiling back and leaning her head on his shoulder.

A hearty laugh escapes Donovan at the sight of their shared warmth. His own kids come to mind. He pledges to catch up with them later. "There's the attitude!" he tells Jenna. "I'll say it again if needed. You define you. Nobody else."

Jenna straightens, grinning. "Alright then." She clears her throat. "I'm Jenna. A fuckin’ fine dancer."

"Language!" Russel interjects.

Jenna giggles and continues, "I'm kind. I'm perfect as I am. Skinny? So what?"

For once, Donovan doesn't have to lean in to hear Jenna. Her voice rings loud, clear, assertive, and the compelling depth of her timbre holds him captive. He laughs, starts to speak, but the train's speaker announces the next stop - City Centre. Standing, he says, "Glad I could give you a pep talk. Hope to see you two later. But I've gotta go."

Russel smiles, "Thanks, friend. You did good."

Donovan grins, leaves the father and daughter, filled with a sense of victory. But now, as he hurries to the sliding door, he's got another battle to fight. And he's ready to win this one too.

09:30 am

"You're quite chipper," Dr. Janet remarks, eyes flitting from her laptop to Jenna. "Not the grieving, sombre young woman your father mentioned." 

Russel starts to speak, raising his eyebrows.

"It's fine, Mr. Beckley," Dr. Janet interrupts, still smiling. "Jenna being okay now doesn't mean she's magically cured."

Father and daughter nod in understanding.

Dr. Janet carries on. "The dark feelings will come. That's okay. I'll teach you to navigate them. You can't shut them out, no matter how hard you try. You have to let them in. We'll cover this in our sessions." Her expression lightens. "But today, let's focus on getting to know each other."

Jenna looks to Russel who gives her an encouraging smile. "My given name is..."

***

Donovan's been prepped for today's events. Yesterday's briefing left the echo of anticipated protests. He expected this, yet it's different. The protestors are just so... mild. They lack the aggression he and his team prepared for.

The relentless rain has forced a change in plans, driving them from their rallying spot into the confines of a closed hall. No speeches under open skies today, just improvised sessions in a stuffy space. 

He has to navigate through a throng of them to reach the entrance, a mishmash of bodies refusing to conform to typical gender norms. Rain hammers down, yet they stand undeterred—some under umbrellas, others luxuriating in the soak.

"We're as human as you are!" a quasi-man's voice rises above the rain.

"We're not deviants," a quasi-woman retorts. "Life's a cakewalk for you, huh? If only you could understand feeling like a stranger in your own body."

More voices begin to echo off the wet concrete of the pathway, their message seeping into the air. 

"I save lives for a living," another quasi-woman states defiantly. "And this one right here, designs buildings. But all you see are labels - tranny, cross-dresser, she-male. We're not just our appearances, but you won't even try to see that, will you?"

The sheer magnitude of everything engulfs him. He searches for familiar faces among his fellow traditionalists, seeking conversation and comfort, but all march under the roofed walkway, heads down. Maybe they're as daunted as he is. He fervently desires to unburden his thoughts to Russel. If only Russel were here, he laments.

Abruptly, on a whimsical turn of thought, he starts to revisit the comments made by the quasi-woman previously. Her – his – declarations carry a bizarre resonance of déjà vu that he struggles to push aside. He craves a conversation to sort out his thoughts. Why, oh why, doesn't he have Russel's number? 

***

Russel's gratitude is deep. Donovan's words left a mark on Jenna, and it shows. Jenna's journey is far from over, but today's a good day - Dr. Janet's not pushing pills. It's a hope Russel clings to. Plus, there's something he yearns to share with Donovan, something he couldn't voice on the train. Now, he's ready.

"Jason Beckly," calls the dispensary staff. Russel and Jenna approach. "Here's your appointment card. See you next week," she beams. 

They both thank her, and just as they're about to exit, Jenna swings around. "I go by Jenna."

His daughter's newfound boldness leaves Russel bursting with pride. The urge to tell Donovan is overwhelming. If only he had his number.