Showing posts with label trans rights. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trans rights. Show all posts

November 23, 2020

Trash It! (23/31)

 


 

              Glass shattered against a pillar. It was the last thing any of the patrons expected to hear that night.

~~

              It must have been the disco music. Rufus assumed no one would ever bother his merry band of outcasts behind the two-foot thick, twelve-foot high stone walls he constructed. Grey to the outside wall, inside the tavern each brick was painted a different fluorescent color, a select few around the five-foot mark signed by legends and fallen fellows that graced the establishment. Spotlights attached to the walls angled out to hit the dancefloor. Those that wished to linger in the shadows until their moment to shine called them could linger on the sidelines or even watch from above along the inner balcony circling the room.

Feeling ambitious, Rufus mixed up his priorities. He couldn’t have – but should have – predicted the newly installed stereo system would literally blow the roof off, its craftsmanship always leaving much to be desired in comparison to the walls it rested on. Everyone from the slender, hairless, twinkling fairies to the beautiful, dark-skinned divas with newfound womanhood hollered and cheered. With the new breeze, their chief complaint about the stiff, smelly air was eliminated. It had been so long since their last threat, no one thought twice about the accidental renovation.

              By the time Lamont with the sharp nose caught his first whiff of wet dog, it was too late. Whispers of “Queeeeer” and “Mineeeee” slowly caused each dancer to stop as they looked up to the full moon shining down upon them. Lamont and Rufus climbed ladders to the balcony and peered over the wall. The Climbers had found them. Savage, quadruped beasts with grey and purple fur, their legs sticking out at 90 degree angles and toes that pierced the ground. “The Party Police are here, ya’ll!” Lamont called down.

              The Climbers came from the Stompers. The Stompers came first. Decades ago when outcasts of society were ignorant enough to hide in ditches and holes and shallow caves, the Stompers would pounce and crush oddities without trial. Their maliciousness was swift and bloody. They were lucky Rufus was smart and strong enough to build Stonewall for them to congregate at all.

              With the music still blurring, most of the crowd got on the ground and covered their heads as they prepared for impending doom. They danced a fierce last dance on the floor. That’s when the glass shattered and the people’s curiosity got the best of them. “Dammit, I missed. I meant to hit the…” Shirley, six foot five in burgundy heels and a dress that barely reached her knee, started to trail off before regaining her focus. “Listen, ya’ll, I’ve been through too much to just lie down and die. I just started really living, and I ain’t laying down on this nasty floor so one of ya’ll can take a peek up my skirt cause it ain’t ya business.” She reached her long, black fingers with burgundy tips for another beer bottle and smashed it against the wall behind her. “So ya’ll best get up there with Lamont and Rufus and start launching whatever ya’ll can at those trying to steal our joy.” Surprised her speech actually worked, Shirley dodged twinks and bears alike as they rushed for the ladders.

“Don’t all come up at once; grab and pass up some ammo for us. Ain’t but so much up here,” Rufus called down to the swelling mass. Like a well-oiled Cadillac, those behind the stone wall assembled into a firing crew. As the Climbers began their ascent, chairs and tables smacked them in their round, stout faces. Those knocked off or still on the ground were assault with glittering fairydust; any lucky enough to reach the top were scratched and shoved by the bears and otters dodging swipes themselves. However, this only stunned and angered the Climbers before they would try again.

              Lamont looked down at Shirley, still on the ground organizing the troops. “It’s not working, lady! You got any better ideas?”

              Rufus froze mid throw when he heard the music stop. Afraid they had already been breached, he turned around to see her carrying the stereo over to the ladder. “What you doing with my new equipment, gurl?!”

              “We’re gonna have to tear it down and rebuild if we wanna survive. Make it so they don’t want it no mo’. You see? Better than letting them have the satisfaction.” Shirley’s brown eyes shot up to meet Rufus’.

He shook his head as he reached in his pocket for his key ring. As pieces of the stereo were passed up the ladders, he found a hole in the wall and stuck the wrong key in. He was hoping he’d guess incorrectly again, but the second try was the charm. “Alright ya’ll. Start pushing these bricks over the side,” Rufus called out, but his command was met with bewilderment. “Did I stutta? I said, push!” As a demonstration, he showed his true might and pushed one of the great stones off the wall himself. It fell with great speed, crushing two Climbers below it. The other monsters let out a hiss in disgust.

The fight lasted all night, but by the time the last record was thrown and the names honored on the wall remained protected by another two rows of bricks, the Climbers fled into the sunrise, no longer interested in claiming what wasn’t theirs.

Rufus held a grudge against Shirley for helping destroy his tavern, but her legend lived on as the woman who saved the alternatives that night.


Word

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November 20, 2020

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… parecĂ­a 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