Bille Button was always so cute. Everyone in the neighborhood used to chuckle and say, "Oh, she's as cute as a button, that Bille is." Her older sisters used to call her 'Belly Button' when they wanted to piss her off, and it always worked. Bille hated the play on her name ever since she could remember. On her eighteenth birthday, Bille legally changed her last name from Button to Bunton, and the following year began to dress up in male clothing. Not just jeans and trousers, but full out suits that she'd buy at the men's department store downtown. Even boxer shorts with cK plastered all over the thick elastic.
It was Suzie the hairdresser with the huge bouffant and the thickly made-up blue eyes that cut Bille's hair short, real short, buzz cut short. Bille watched as her waist-length brown locks fell to the floor and then were swept away by Suzie's assistant. A book of Anne Sexton's poetry rested on her lap. Bille smiled widely the whole time.
Now Bille was no longer 'cute as a button' and she'd moved out of her parents' home, moving so far away her sisters would have to call her on the phone to taunt her. She'd given them the new phone number shortly after moving in, but rarely picked up whenever they called. Caller ID was a grand thing to have.
Bille found a job at a local supermarket and joined the local poetry club. Having always been a huge fan of the written work, it felt like a good thing to do. Bille was now twenty and did not answer to any female pronouns.
The first day Bille walked into the dimly lit, smoke-hazed poetry club he instantly felt at home. It also helped that the person sitting next to him was gorgeous (not cute as a blasted button, but gor-ge-ous!). He leaned over and whispered his name, "Steven".
Bille's nostrils filled with the scent of sandalwood and vanilla cloves. Later on that night he asked Bille out for a coffee. Bille had replied that it was too late for caffeine, but it was never too early or too late for vodka. The smile on his new friend's face spoke to him as much as the poetry had.
At the bar they talked about everything and nothing, and when Steven asked Bille how long it had been since he'd changed Bille replied, "Inside I was always this way."
There were emotions, not the fire-work types that dazzle you and make your heart thunder, but rather mellow, comfortable feelings that washed over you like the waves on a hot summer's day. When Steven reached out to touch Bille's hand it felt right, Bille felt right.
Later that evening his sisters called him twice. Bille looked at the caller ID and ignored them both. He was still on a mental high. Steven's phone number blinked brightly on his cell, he was sure Ms. Sexton wouldn't mind.
© Christine Bottas. All rights reserved 2015-2018.
* I'm excited to announce that Breaking Up With Anne is going to be published in the anthology Conversations by Kingston University! The unedited version will stay here.