Tell Your Story (20/31)

Please consider donating to Baltimore Safe Haven, an organization providing opportunities for a higher quality life for transgender people in Baltimore City.

~~~~

The Mac screen reflected Jake’s scruffy, pale face back at him. He had been at the kitchen table so long, his device chose to conserve what little energy it had left. His camera hid behind his laptop, ashamed of his lack of inspiration and creativity. The notebook to the left of him displayed a list of crossed out topics with comments like “boring” and “contrived” next to single lines. He ran his aqua-nailed finger over the topics, attempting to salvage them. At this point, Jake heard a depression nap calling his name. 

A jingle at the door finally broke his unintentional, self-absorbed trance. He tried to power his laptop back on as Leiomy walked through the back entrance into the kitchen with her hand covering her face, bonnet over her hair. When he failed to conceal his own embarrassment, he started to notice hers. “Hey, back already?” he asked.  

She froze with her back facing him seven feet away. Having been compromised, she rolled her shoulders back and placed one foot behind the other to slowly turn around. Her gaze met the floor. In her endeavor to avoid judgment, she noticed the amount of dust and crumbs piling up. Did they really live like this? She scrunched her face.

“That bad, huh?” Jake misjudged. “Let me see.” He stood up as he started to reach for her bonnet. 

“Boy, if you don’t!” She slapped his hand away. Readjusting herself, she prepared her reveal. She untied the knot around her chin and pulled the cloth from the top of her head, quickly throwing it in his face. She tried to beat feet out of the room, but Jake was a better athlete than he ever let on.

“Aht aht! Come back.” He chased her to the hallway but was met with ringed fingers that pushed him back into the room.  

            When Leiomy turned the corner back into the kitchen, he noticed her hair was still in a bun. “I didn’t get anything done. The place wasn’t for me,” she said, darting her eyes away from him.

            Sensing a compelling story if he asked the right questions, Jake pointed his camera and flicked it on while he resumed his seat. With a remote in his pocket, he started the recording. “That’s not what really happened? I mean, Flounce is cool, trendy. Shit, I go there.” He rubbed the back of his head to judge how soon he needed to make his next appointment. 

            “Yeah, but…” she started to be sensitive but decided she was at home, “it was so mothafuckin white in there. Like, I think I saw one black girl in the back under the dryer but like… parecía peligroso, I dunno.”

            Jake tried to hone his high school level Spanish classes. “Pinot Grigio? But I tho--”

            “No, stupid. Sketchy. Keep up. I dunno, I just… I’m used to feeling like this bad bitch, as confident, making people quake when I walk past ‘em. But in there, I didn’t feel threatened or nothing, but I felt like an other, even more than usual, you know. So like with that and then not even knowing what to ask for cause it’s my first time in a salon--”

“Wait, you never went with your aunties?” 

Leiomy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, they loved me and I was they favorite and all, but they weren’t gonna take who they thought was their sobrino with them to the salons. They wanted to gossip in peace.” She paused. “Maybe I should call them up. They haven’t seen me in years.” She stretched her mouth as if to convey doubt. “I wonder if mommy told them.” A hush fell over the room.

Jake, feeling they had only scratched the surface, wanted more. This was exactly the kind of diversity he couldn’t drum up from within. Sure, he just kicked two guys out of his bed this morning, but his exploits barely seemed interesting compared to this hair journey. “But shouldn’t you try to face your fears here first? Confront the gentrification of your scalp?”

“Wait, what? Who said anything about…” her finally looked his direction, the camera obviously pointing at her. As she noticed the red light blinking, Jake fumbled frantically in his pocket. “Jacob! You mothafucker, how many times do I gotta tell you to stop recording me without my consent? You lucky I don’t throw that fuckin camera across the room.”

“I can explain. I was just gonna look at this test footage first and then ask if--”

“I thought we were friends, but it feels like you’re just interested in making me your lil muse or some shit. You got a curse on me or something?” she stared him down.

Jake’s reaction speed got the better of him. “Ew, no.” He paused with fear as he closed his mouth.

“Ew?! So now your trans muse is disgusting. Ok, you cis bitch. Fucking white gays, I swear ya’ll worst than the straights cause ya’ll think you can get away with shit.” She started to storm out of the room.           

“Leiomy, wait! I just… you’re so interesting. I wanted to tell your story!”

She stood by the staircase, posing dramatically. Turning only her head, she replied, “I tell my story when I’m gotdamn ready. But for now it’s still unwritten; word to my girl Natasha!” With that, she stomped up the stairs to her room.

“Well she can’t be that mad at me if she’s quoting British girls at me,” Jake whispered to himself.

“Shut up!” she yelled down at him. Slamming her door, she ran to her makeup desk and collapsed. She wanted to cry, but she was exhausted. Looking above her mirror at her collection of wigs, she wondered how long she’d resign herself to these substitutes. She pulled her favorite one off the wall and positioned it on her head. She stared at her reflection, and after a few seconds she smiled. “Hey, excuse me, miss,” she practiced. “Yeah, I want this,” pointing to her head, “but for real,” and de-wigged herself. She started laughing at herself. “What, bitch? I’m serious! Make it work.” 

 

Word

RideShare Confessions

Alright, is this thing on? Cool, alright, cool. Um, I guess, what’s up, Youtube? I’m not even sure if amateur vlogging is still a thing or if anyone will watch a black gay guy on the internet, but here I go. Shoot, is this my “My Coming Out” video already? Nah. I mean, the story I want to tell you all is basically me coming out in more ways than one.

Anyway, yeah. So, I’m not sure if this is going to be a regular thing, depends on how well this video does. As you can probably guess from the title, I drive for [company redacted]. These are my stories. Well, one of them, at least.

This actually happened three days ago, but it’s been on my mind all weekend. It must have been around 8:12 at night. Actually yeah, I’m checking my profile now. I picked this white girl up; excuse me, I picked up this drunk white woman. I’d guess she was fresh outta college or a couple years out cause she had definitely been pregaming but by herself which I found a little weird, but she also seemed to be headed over to a friend’s house from the address I was driving to.

So, she gets in my Honda Civic, backseat - thank God - and lets out this long burp that smells like Bud Light. I, too, have low standards for alcohol consumption. I know my stuff. Then she goes, “Oh my god, you’re gay. I love you. I feel safer already.” For a second I’m wondering how she figured I was gay, then I remembered I have a freaking rainbow flag keychain hanging from my rearview mirror. So I just smile into the mirror and say, “Yeah, yeah, I am.”

I’m hoping that’d be the end of it, but obviously I’m telling you this story for a reason. “I’ve never met a gay black guy before. Can you vogue?” She lives in this city and hasn’t been around enough black people that one of them’s gay, but she knows enough about us to ask me a dumb question like that? I blame Madonna. ...and yeah, of course I can vogue. Very well, no, so don’t ask me to do so in the comments, because I’m never gonna drink and vlog for ya’ll.

I try ignoring her by discreetly turning up the volume from my steering wheel hoping Ariana Grande would distract her, but she wasn’t drunk enough to start carpool karaoking. “I mean, can you? Cause I follow vogueclips on Instagram, and I feel like I’ve seen you on there.” Racist ass… “Naw, I’ve never been on there; don’t really go out like that.” That’s a lie, but I’m not tryna connect with her. Then she says, “That’s a shame. I’d love to see your sexy ass on a dancefloor sometime. Me and my friends are going to the Rockwell tonight. You should totally join us.” My Honda almost stopped like a record scratch. White girl say wha’?

I go, “Oh honey. No, no. I gay, me no bi, mami.” I’m just gonna apologize to all my Latinx viewers; that’s just how it came out. Papi at the corner store is just very influential over my speech pattern on occasion. But she didn’t even notice, she just goes says, “Yeah, but all my gay guy friends have slept with me. Like, only two of them said they liked it, but I don’t know, gay guys are usually just drawn to me, you know?”

“Well, I’m good. Also, I’m married.” Which isn’t a lie. See, kiss the ring, bitches! Maybe I’ll have him on sometime. Again depends on how well this goes.

Do you know what this lady responded with? “I don’t see what that has to do with anything?” Do white women have a stereotype of being homewreckers that I missed, or is she a special case?

I didn’t even want to look at her by this point, but then I hear her unlock her seatbelt. Next thing I know, I feel her breath on my neck. I flinch, but before I can get away, she starts sucking on my neck. Ya’ll, I can’t even lie to ya’ll, it felt oddly good. Maybe she actually had a secret talent for turning gay men. Maybe she was created in a lab by republicans. I may never know, cause then she bit into my neck and I could feel her starting to break the skin. So, I pinch my head to my shoulder to break free.

“Can you not? I’m actually Positive.” And that’s when she lost it. She yelled at me for me to stop the car and started calling me all kinds of names I can’t remember. But I let her out about five minutes from her friend’s place. “I can’t believe you tried to kill me, you freaking AIDS monkey,” and then she slammed the car. I didn’t even know people still spoke like that, but leave it to white people to surprise you with a vintage slur. Ya’ll it took a lot for me not to get out that car and give her a piece of my mind, but we were definitely in the white part of town, and I didn’t want to risk being the next name ya’ll chant. So I gave her one star and kept it moving.

Some of ya’ll might be asking why I didn’t report her? Honestly, it’s not a big deal. People freak out. I get it. They think HIV and AIDS are still death sentences. For real, there was a time in my life when I would have freaked out like that, too. Maybe I did freak out like that. But there’s so many steps and meds out there now. I could prob do another video just on that. But I ain’t a doctor; I’m just a driver. Maybe I’ll see you around. Til then, peace.

Your Fav is Problematic: Interacting with Trans People

Hey, your fav blogger here. Three years ago, I vacationed in Ireland with the sister I share a dead father with as a way to rekindle our relationship. It was a fun trip. I nearly recapped every day of it in blog form but quit after two days when I decided the readership I received wasn't worth the hours I dedicated to each post. Because of this, I never really got to unpack this photo.

The Wednesday or Thursday of our weeklong tour of Southern Ireland, we finally hit the southernmost part of our trek. My sister and I were traveling with a tourist group made up of mostly elderly Asian sightseers and middle-aged white people with plenty of disposable income. Luckily there were four others in their 20s that liked to explore the nightlife. For the first time since our start in Dublin, we found a proper nightclub. Needless to say, my night was full of dancing. I'm not sure if it was the Irish beer (their mixed drinks are WEAK) or my feeling of anonymity, but I danced with a couple of strangers that night. However, for most of the night, my eyes were locked on the two pictured above.

As a gay man, I kept my sexuality hidden from my traveling companions but yearned to find a gay bar anywhere in Ireland. I didn't exactly know why, but I had a feeling the two of them were part of my tribe.

Everyone in my group, including my sister, went back to our hotel two blocks away before last call, but I stayed til closing. When I filed out to the parking lot, I saw the two I'd been spying on standing right in front of me. Filled with liquid courage, I walked up to them and introduced myself. I believe I still had my wits about me, because I asked them if they were trans before I asked if they were drag queens. They replied, "Yeah." I had found the extended members of my LGBT+ family in a strange land, and I did not hide my excitement.

Before I knew it, I asked them if they knew of any gay bars. Sadly, the nightclub was the closest thing to anything LGBT friendly in the area - or most of the Southern tip of Ireland - according to them. Disappointed to hear that, I kept my attitude up as I begged them for a photo to remember this occasion by. Immediately after it was taken, I departed, never to see them again.

For the past three years, this picture still haunts me. I honestly think I freaked them out. Possibly even offended them. It's not as if I asked to see their private areas or anything like that; even three years ago I had more sense than that (thanks to Tumblr). No, from my memories of that night, I don't think I treated them as humans. I used them for information and, even though I knew they were trans, treated them like drag queens there for my meet-and-greet entertainment. This was obviously not my intention, but that's not how offending people works.

I'll be honest. When I first learned about transgender people, I was confused. I think I was still subscribed to the "God doesn't make mistakes" narrative at the time. I've since grown out of it and think of trans people more as God telling us all that gender isn't what we think it is, but that's a post for another day when I have more time in my lunch break.

Luckily, since my experience in Ireland, I've met more trans people. I still feel weird around them because I want to make sure I give them the respect they deserve and use their preferred pronoun and not stare at them and a slew of other problematic things I occasionally have to shun myself for thinking. But I'm trying to learn and do better everyday, trying to undo whatever mental conditioning growing up in a black conservative community did to me. I'm almost positive it's working.

In the meantime, I'm continually sorry to the Irish women I may have offended that night, even if they thought I was just a lovable bloke looking for the craic*. I'm sorry to any trans person I may have met and said the wrong thing to. I'm sorry if I stare or look away completely. I'm just learning and doing my best to not be totally awkward. I hope you'll bare with me during this time.

Word.


* craic - a term for news, gossip, fun, entertainment, and enjoyable conversation, particularly prominent in Ireland. It is often used with the definite article – the craic – as in the expression "What's the craic?" [Wikipedia]