Geechie Mance - Ch 1

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Chapter 1

There have been a number of major turning points in my life. Most of them are pretty much the standard fare, birthdays, major holidays, vacations, things like that. There have been three particular events that stand out in my mind as being outside the realm of typical and pretty close to being surreal.

I suppose I should introduce myself, as well as this story. I will be up front in sharing that many of the events that I will relate may be less than accurate. I can only attest to the veracity of the events that I witnessed first-hand. As the years have passed many of those memories have softened a bit around the edges, and may have faded a bit. Many other events that I will recount have been shared with me by those who were directly involved, and are tainted not only by their own bias in the telling, but by my own biases in the re-telling. I will freely confess that I do most certainly have biases of my own and feel strongly about the actions of many of those people who were a part of the events I describe.

Finally, I have done my best to piece together many other events from a variety of sources, not the least of which are the internet, news reports, anecdotes, wild-ass stories, and vague recollections dimmed by the haze of drugs, sex and rock-and-roll. My name is Alan Council. I am the lead guitarist of Geechie Mance. I am probably the best able to piece together Tiggy's story, not because I have any particular talent as an historian, but because I am outsider enough to be objective about the founders of said band. I am also most qualified because I am the closest friend of Tiggy Anderson, renowned in rock history as the inspirational force that propelled the band he named to the heights of success.

So, where to begin? Since this is Tig's story more than anyone else's, I suppose it would be best to begin with the day I met Lesley Dana Anderson. It was 1965 and he had yet to gain the famous 'Tiggy' moniker. He was just Lesley, not Les. He was also 9-years old, almost two full years younger than me. My family had just moved to Santa Barbara, California. It was summer, and I didn't know anyone. I was just wandering the neighborhood and noticed a little girl with dark curly hair crying in the shade of a Eucalyptus tree.

I remember the first glimpse of her swollen lip and the dark imprint that covered half her face. I asked her what had happened but she couldn't respond. She sniffled and sobbed and within a few minutes I was seated beside her, my arm draped across her narrow shoulders as she began to pour out her pain. It took a while to get the whole story. There were fits and starts and gaps, but she painted a pretty vivid picture of an emotionally neglected child, an alcoholic mother, and a psychotically unstable step-father. I also learned, during the tale, that this raven-haired beauty was a boy.

I am a normal hetero guy and have never felt a hint of sexual excitement around other boys. I cannot really say why I wasn't put off by this news. I know that my own father, good man that he is, would probably have walloped me if he had seen me cuddling another boy. All I know is that we connected some way on a plane that exists outside of sexuality and gender. I was not a boy snuggling another boy. I was a friend offering what meager comfort I could to a friend in need of said comfort.

From that day until this, we were the best of friends.

Before I recount the events that led to the first major turning point in my life, I feel as if I should answer all of those who might consider my words actionable in some form. I have spoken with lawyers about what I should and what I should not say. My only reply to anyone who takes issue with my commentary is very short and pungent. Fuck Off. I am recalling events to the best of my recollection and I challenge you to prove that anything I say is a blatant falsehood. In other words, sue me and be damned or shut the fuck up.

Over the course of that first meeting, Tig shared with me a veritable comedy of errors that led to a prime beating by his step-dad. Tiggy was always quiet and shy and was never allowed to socialize with other children. In fact, his mother usually banished him to his bedroom with a cuff around the ears and orders to shut up and don't come out unless called for. On this particular occasion, Tigs was doing what he usually did, creating his own little fantasy play world wherein he acted out dozens of roles. on this particular occasion, he had the misfortune to be overheard by his step-dad whilst acting out the part of the rescued damsel in distress.

Needless to say, the bastard was less than amused when he returned home from the track to find his wife passed out drunk in front of the TV and her faggoty little son dressing and playing the part of a girl in the back bedroom. When I say dressing, I mean only that he was wearing an oversize tee shirt that hung to his knees, his hair tied up in bunches, and a bit of color on his lips. It was enough to make said father figure leave a hand-shaped imprint on one side of Tiggy's face. He then grabbed the child by the hair and dragged him in to face his mother who was barely conscious.

Her inability to answer his screaming inquisition with any semblance of coherent speech caused him to redouble his brutish behavior as he backhanded the boy and tore into his lethargic bride. As she became more aware, it became a bit of a battle royale and by Tiggy's account she gave as good as she got (being a largish woman). Needless to say, the happy couple parted for the first and last time with both sides screaming epithets to the other. After the departure of daddy dearest, the woman spent several moments focusing on the image of her only son.

With venom in her voice, she focused on the badly battered child and said, "Now look what you've done! Go away. You disgust me."

Tiggy fled to the shade of a massive eucalyptus tree down the street.

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Comments

Jen, even I have longer

Jen, even I have longer chapters.
Great start, keep it going, hun.

Hugs,
Karen

It was an oooops....

waif's picture

I actually only got half the chapter done, but now I can only edit and add to it, add chapter 1b later this week, or consider it a teaser.

This story is a real departure for me as I am writing in first-person and it deals with history that predates my own life. I really think I will add to it and just hope that most people will be willing to re-read and catch the additions.

Be kind to those who are unkind, tolerant toward those who treat you with intolerance, loving to those who withhold their love, and always smile through the pains of life.

Mea Culpa

waif's picture

I have edited and expanded chapter one. Apologies to those who might be upset at having to re-read it.

Be kind to those who are unkind, tolerant toward those who treat you with intolerance, loving to those who withhold their love, and always smile through the pains of life.

I like it!

I like it!

I'm not the first to read so I haven't to reread. I see it's worth to wait for the last chapter to be posted.

Thanks

waif's picture

This story is a big departure for me on many levels. I am writing from a 1st person pov, it is a variation based on a true story that has always fascinated me. It has no real basis in fact. It is as if I went back over the tragic life of Van Gogh, Poe, James Dean, whoever and rewrote their story based on gender dysphoria as an underlying element in their personality.

The idea was planted in my brain by seeing a documentary about Syd Barret of Pink Floyd. In an interview, Roger Waters was speaking of the early days of Barret's drug-induced madness. He spoke of the band picking up Barret and he came out dressed in a frock and telling them he was really a woman. Waters said it was all a lark and a big joke that nobody took seriously, but from that moment, the seed of the story began to grow.

The characters in my story are not in any way reflective of the members of Pink Floyd. Their entire personalities, physical characteristics, conversations, mannerisms, etc are all constructed by me to fit this story and are in no way indicative of the real people who were involved in the tragic life of Syd Barret.

Be kind to those who are unkind, tolerant toward those who treat you with intolerance, loving to those who withhold their love, and always smile through the pains of life.

This is very interesting Waif.

I almost thought this is s real, half way I google it. I google Lesley Dana Anderson, Tiggy Anderson. lol it brought me all the way to hollywood and over to Prince William marrying his nanny. hehehe

Reality

waif's picture

It is tenuously connected to a true story, but I have changed every name, most of the major events, and all of the reasons behind those events.

Be kind to those who are unkind, tolerant toward those who treat you with intolerance, loving to those who withhold their love, and always smile through the pains of life.