10/9/08
5/16/08
4/29/08
Danielle
Aunt Lorie c 2006 & Danielle c 2008
2 stories
1 about loosing love forever
1 about finding love
Both are thinly described transcriptions of conversations. Although Danielle was written in 2008, it took place a while ago.
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Danielle
It was 10 or 11, and I had already been up since 3:30 a.m. in order to be at work at 4. Why is somebody like me in this position, I kept asking myself? Is it because I fucked around in college and didn't become a nurse, have no direction, and am clearly fated to end up white trash just like the rest of my family?
I looked up and a pretty transgender walked in, with big arms, long curly red hair, and glasses. It was obvious to me from her face that she had been born a man- the brow and the chin size are always the easiest ways to tell. She was full of hesitation, I could tell being in public was something she struggled with her whole life. Unlike most SF trannies, she seemed clean and normal. She didn't seem to be a sex worker, and as a man I envisioned her being quiet, gentle, and mousy- a library tranny, if I had to call her something. I put my smile on, and my eyes told her to come talk to me. I winked at her, to diffuse her nervousness. "Hey girl, how are you? I like your shirt. Can I get you something?"
"Hi there, can I get a small coffee?" She smiled nervously and looked down. She had a large book in her hands, plus a small bag that seemed to have papers in it. See what I said, a library tranny.
"Don't worry about it," I said as I handed her a coffee. Yeah right, as if I'm going to charge a tranny for anything, considering they have the HIGHEST rates of unemployment of any minority. The follow up thought then popped in my head. "Hey girl, do you need a job by chance"? I got her to smile again, a real smile, one with confidence.
"How did you know? I have been looking for one. I'm going to S.F. State right now and I'm taking some art classes. I really do need a job though." As she was saying that, the store manager walked by. I got her to talk about job options, although I knew that a coffee shop on 3rd and Mission was not really the place for her. She didn't take an application, and I knew she needed something low key, not an analog of Starbucks.
It was slow considering all the corporate people are out by 9:45. I wasn't going to let this one slip through my fingers. "I want to see what you've been working on!" She pulled out her sketchbook, and it was full of images of beautiful women, all femmes, with long hair and entrancing eyes. "Wow, these are amazing!" I exclaimed. "I love all your self portraits. This is really good how you just suggested the hair with lines. Most of these are very graphic as well, it makes them more versatile."
I could tell I was making her happy. She now felt comfortable with me, the acknowledgement I was giving her was worth its weight in gold. She was now responsive, and eager for connection. "Do you know that if you word for the State of California, they will pay for your SRS?" I started to go down the road that I always go down when I'm with trannies. "San Francisco is really leading the world out of the dark ages. Probably the easiest way to get in would be to major in library science, you can even get a degree from a junior college. It seems like the library might be a good place to get a job- it just has to be a government job and eventually they cover the SRS." I went on the same rant I fed to Cookie a few times, as well as every other transgender I meet. Sharing relevant information always makes me feel good, especially if it's information someone really needs- a way out, a step up, or a new lease on life.
"I would love to work for the library! Thank you so much for telling me that!" Her eyes began the line of schemes that makes them glisten with optimism.
"I'm going on a break," I announced. I whispered to the manager that we need to get a tranny in here, but I think that fell on deaf ears, mostly because not many people know how marginalized transgenders are in respect to unemployment. I walked outside to have a sit down conversation with her. "What's your name girl?" I asked.
"Danielle."
I knew it was time to get real. "I know you're a woman. You pass really well! You look great. The only reason I can tell is because I'm studying to be a surgical nurse, and I've had to look at many many pictures of SRSs. It's only your arms that stick out."
"I know, I guess I'm just a girl with big arms," she said with a smile. "You know, it wasn't until I saw The Crying Game that I really knew. All these feelings and thoughts just came to the surface. It was a very intense time in my life. I lost everything, and everyone. I was old, I didn't start to make it happen until I was older than 30." The story she was telling me was telling me was too familiar, and I knew she would never tell me how old she was, in spite of looking youthful.
"I know what it's like to loose everything, " I said with the certainty of a 21 year old. But I really do know what it's like to be left with nothing, and I could tell that she could tell that I was keeping it real. My honesty made it easy for her to trust me.
"It's taken me a life time to know who I am. But now I finally have everything. And as long as I create, I feel fulfilled." I thumbed through her illustrations. She had even dabbled in digital art, which made me happy. Some of her collages were as good as Dinaz's, she had a passion for mixing all things natural together, putting octopuses on the heads of people. Anytime science and art get mixed together, it makes me think of genius, or the renaissance. I mean, that's what Leonardo Da Vinci did right? I'm not even talking about cross dressing, or gay relationships either. I went through her stuff, giving encouraging and relevant comments on her works of art.
"You think so far outside the box. The world would be such a better place if everyone was like you." It kind of struck me how well she could read me in spite of having just met me. Nobody else had ever told me that self-evident fact about myself, it made me feel good.
"Wow thank you so much that really means a lot." Nobody had ever told me something so nice and genuine. "I really feel for you. I'm studying to be a surgical nurse in the hopes that I can give SRSs for free. It should be against the law to try and charge people for something that they need so much." She asked me little facts about myself such as my drug history and what I liked to do in my spare time.
"I think you might be an angel," she then confessed. All the bad names she had been called became quieter in her mind, and all the years of hating herself began to dissipate with my approval and encouragement. Maybe if she had met more people like me when she was young her life would have been different. I fed her my fire, let her feel the heat of burning optimism, in the hopes of inspiring her to be strong.
"Yeah I'm with a guy now, he's really great. I never had anything like this before, it's all I ever wanted. He really loves me, He always tells me he's going to put me in a high rise." Her voice held a slight elation, that was subtly overpowered by self doubt. It sucks being able to read people's minds.
"So why don't you believe him?" I asked inquisitively. "Trannies have this crazy notion in their heads that they don't deserve love. It doesn't have to be like that. You deserve someone to love you, just like everyone else. The world would be so much easier if we loved one another. Why is it so hard to believe that you could find a man who really loves you for you, and will keep on loving you forever."
"You're right. I've struggled with it a lot, but I'm finally starting to see what love can really do." She smiled a subtle smile, the smile of someone who has got it all.
repost c 2006 Aunt Lori
Aunt Lori
"I can't believe what you've been through. Loosing your both of your parents before 10 and the only man you ever loved. Also, the courage it's taken you to live your life. I really can't even imagine." Walls are the operative word in my psychoanalysis of this transgender.
She jokes so much, and is always a little drunk. I felt like she understood loss much more fundamentally that I ever could. She's a Virgo. Mutable signs always catch me off guard, because I feel like they understand some things more than I ever can.
"I lived with another man for a while. A few years. But it didn't work. I know I can't be with anyone. That was much later in life though. God, it took me so long to get over him. He was in the military, an only child. I told you how he died, right?" I know she was referring to the man she lived with from about 20-23. I felt like the life she chose made love impossible.
"Yeah, crossing the street. That's terrible." I wished I could say something, anything and make it sound genuine. How can you alleviate something that's been sitting in somebody for a lifetime? You can't. It stays and festers forever.
"I have my album. It's all from my drinking days. I used to be a showgirl. Do you want to see some pictures?" She asked me with a sparkle. I know not that many people would want to hear her story. She grabbed her photo album from the corner of the room on the floor. I wondered how long it had been there.
"Yeah, I'd love to!" I reveled at the idea of seeing vintage trannies and queens. I love them. I started to look through it. I was amazed at the amount of 8x10s there were. All of the girls thought they were movie stars. They all had autographed photos for their friends, men, etc. A lot of them looked fierce. Lori probably looked the worst in most of them, mostly because she fully transitioned so late in life. I always think that it's taken her a lifetime and struggle just to be referred to as "she". How many people would know her story? Not very many. I'm sure most were dead now, either from hard living or HIV.
"So this is all the pictures from my family reunion. These are the first pictures after I didn't see my family for 17 years. I finally called my sister. She cried so much, she thought I was dead. I told her I was coming home for a week, and someone needed to pick me up from the airport. These are all my friends. This is back in my drinking days. She eventually got the surgery. Canadian. She was Canadian. They were nice people. Look at her. Here's my best friend. Mexican. Oh god, we laughed. She was so much fun. Such a good person. She died very young in a car crash."
"Oh trouble. She looks like a fiery Latina." I said jokingly. As I turned though the pages of yellowed photos, obviously from the 60's or 70's from the choice of hair, makeup, and outfits, I wondered what Lori's life was like back then. The years upon years of struggling just to be herself. Hustling and doing drugs. She had so fewer opportunities. I wonder if my life would have been very similar under those same circumstances. The trannies looked FIERCE! Black, white, Asian. All kinds. Some could pass effortlessly, I could tell. "Oh this one has fake boobs!"
"Yeah, she got the surgery. She had the surgery too. She got married." She was taking me down the road of her life, pointing to safe havens and welcoming landmarks she had encountered on the way. Even now as a senior she likes to gossip. I'm sure she talked shit on all of them, but loved them at the same time. You know how it goes with your friends.
"It was just such a different time. I see how people tried a lot more to pass a women back them. I can't believe it. Look at this makeup. How did she get her hair so high? It's as big as her face, look!" I said laughing.
"Well, it's actually a hairpiece." She proceeded to tell me how they got that hair, but I was too wrapped up in these endless old photos. Their glossy matte finishes dated them so much. A lot looked like women, some didn't. I wondered how much they had to struggle in their lives. I was sure a lot of them were dead by now.
"Look at all the men you were carrying on with!"
"Yeah, that's at Aunt Charlies. It has to be 20 years ago."
"Wow, I can't believe it! I've been there. Hanging out in the TL? I bet you could tell some stories. Do you know Wes? He's MCed there."
"Well back in the 60's the gay scene was really fun. Trippin. Trippin." Then she made a syringe out of her finger and a motion of shooting up. It kind of caught me off guard. I could easily tell she was always into heavy shit, but I feel like needles cross the line, only because of the desperation to get fucked up. "And then I became a call girl. I can't even guess how many men. 40 50 bucks. That's what I charged. There you go. I did so many drugs. The 60's were really crazy. It was so innocent." Coincidentally, I always said that anyone I know would be worth 50 bucks on the street. Now I realized it was a lot more, if an unmodified Samoan tranny in the 70s already cost that much.
"Yeah, guys are easy. You do what you got to. I totally feel you, Lee. I can't imagine how fun it must have been. I wish I could have lived it Even though I'm way more grateful to be alive now, and if I could choose I'd much prefer to be born several hundred years in the future, it seems like the 60s were an exciting time to be alive!"
I got so lucky that I didn't ever get that disease. You know what I mean." She hesitated, she couldn't figure it out. Her eyes moved around in confusions, as if saying, why the fuck can't I think of it? It was then that I could tell she was drunk. Everyone knows she's an alcoholic, but nobody says anything. I guess other people know it's not their place. She probably has good reason.
"Hepatitis C?"
"No, I already have that. The other one that gay people keep getting. What is it?"
"HIV?"
"Yeah, I don't know how I escaped it. My sister always talks about marks on my face, and freaks out, telling me I have to go to the doctor. I got one on this cheek, but it went away. Then I got another one on the other side." She said laughing. "The doctor said it was ok." I was astounded that the AIDS epidemic was one of the few things that escaped her memory, especially since it has been such a hot issue my whole life.
"I get sunspots too, my skin is really sensitive. I get white spots and dark spots if I'm in the sun for too long. I've been like that my whole life, especially as a kid when I was on the swim team." I offered a similar story to diffuse the situation. It seemed like she had been HIV positive for many years, and was just pretending like the spots on her face were totally nothing.
"So, after I was a call girl I eventually was getting older, and I had to get a job. Let me tell you missy, you might think you've been around the block but I've been around the world."
The saddest yet most beautiful thing was that she really had. Nobody really knows what you go through except yourself. "You really should write a book. I know you could tell some stories. Seriously, as a person of color on top of being trans? That's what will be studied in universities, and as a marginalized person, the worst thing you could do to yourself or your sisters is to let your voice fall silent. You story deserves to be heard. This is the future, this sort of science has only began to come into existence in modern society."
She looked away with a disinterested look in her eyes. Nobody could every really get her, she would always be alone.
love
