The weekend previous had been awesome, mostly because:
- I hung out with my bff from high school and realized I was no longer in love/attracted to her at all (huge milestone)
- I got to stare at pretty butch girls at the Pride parade (including a used bookstore employee that fueled a lot of my adolescent fantasies)
- I went swimming in the rain with my best friends at school, one of whom is moving forever away this week.
After I calmed down, I called my friends to come help me try to change my tire or at least follow me back to school, and then managed to park my car outside a little country store/gas station where I stayed.
Never have I been so glad to be wearing pink. This was the podunk that makes my podunk look like NYC, complete with a table of old men drinking coffee and gossiping.
The men were sweet, and used to work near my home town, so we talked for a good half hour. All the while, I was so happy that I wasn't trying to pass that day, that I was in pink tie dye with girly hair, jewelry, and women's jeans.
And I really felt ashamed afterward. I mean, to them I just looked like a little funky college student, but I amped up the Southern accent and talked at a higher pitch, trying to say "Look! Normal, heterosexual girl here! Sweet as sugar!"
I was stuck in a town with a population of like 400 with sketchy cell phone service and no one that I knew. And then I realized how important passing can become.
My bff transman came in to get me, and I'm pretty sure he just registered as "guy" to them, because, well, he passes pretty damn well. But, had I been dressed more masculinely, I think I'd come off more as just a dyke to them.
Dyke + small Southern town full of strangers = B horror movie or Dateline Hate Crime Tragedy
I shouldn't care what strangers think, and I should be able to defend myself if need be. But sometimes, I just want to be a sweet Southern girl who makes old men laugh, rather than stare.
I just don't know if that feels right or not.
0 comments:
Post a Comment