I always hated going downtown. For reasons I can’t understand, people just seemed to get meaner the closer to our town’s center they are. Ironically, this is also where the seat of our local government resides. I always wondered if those two truths are related. Still, I always try to rise above my environment, mostly out of self-defense. Life is hard enough, especially in my case, without having to subject one’s self to the foul moods of others. In any event, I had important business to tend to. After a nearly three year’s wait, I was off to the Department of Motor Vehicles to amend my driver’s license. I was so excited to think that the document would finally announce to the world who I really was, Jennifer Simmons, a thirty-something year old woman. I could feel myself wanting to giggle at the thought of never having to hear or speak the name of the man many people still thought of me as.
I looked both ways down the corridor of the seven-story municipal building as I pressed the button for the elevator. The fact that the tallest building in our town was dedicated to the function of government business offers a metaphor about freedom that is lost on most people, I’m sure. As the doors to the elevator opened, I was happy that I was alone. I wasn’t fond of elevators to begin with because of my claustrophobia, and the notion of being in such a confined space with a stranger was none too comforting, either. Since I first came out, I had come to realize that there were people who hated me simply for being honest with myself about who I am. I always wanted to tell people like that that they were always welcome to be who they really were, but usually opted for the safer option of keeping my mouth shut.
“Ding” went the chime in the elevator. We stopped at the second floor. As memory served, civil court was on that level of the building.
“Please don’t let it be anyone mean” I thought to myself, almost saying the words aloud.
The man who stepped into the elevator was very nearly the exact opposite of what I would have preferred. He wore high top sneakers with the laces undone, acid washed jeans that weren’t really pulled up to their intended place on his body, and a hoodie. The fact that the man had an obvious neck tattoo added to my initial perception of him as well. That he had tattoos wasn’t really the issue, given I had a few myself, but there was something about a neck tattoo that seemed to push the line of taste a bit too far for me.
“I’m going down. Fuck this place” the said with an obvious tone of anger.
To look at, most people just assumed I was who I appeared to be, an average looking woman. That is, until I spoke. Two years of voice coaching and I still had not been able to contrive a believable woman’s voice. Wishing to not draw attention to an aspect of myself that shouldn’t have mattered to begin with, I simply pressed the button to the first floor, then smiled politely at the man.
The elevator continued upwards once the doors were closed again. With a gentle surge, we started going upward towards my destination, the fourth floor. Suddenly, there was a flicker of the small light in the elevator, then the sound of silence. I felt my heart race in an instant, trying to understand what had just happened.
“You gotta be shittin’ me” the man said in sort of an angry sigh.
Once again I made eye contact as to ask a question, not daring to use my voice.
“Power outage” he said after a moment.
My heart raced within me. I had learned to avoid unsafe situations, knowing there are many people who simply are not ok with my being transgender. Being locked in a stuck elevator with a man with a neck tattoo who had obviously had a bad day in court seemed a recipe for disaster.
“Please don’t talk to me” my mind shouted, afraid to reveal my secret with my voice.
I noticed the man sort of glance at me out of the corner of my eye in a way men do with other women. Part of me liked the way it made me feel, but another part of me refused to see his inadvertent gesture as anything but another reason for my anxiety to grow.
“My name is Jamal” he said in a very matter-of-fact way.
My mind did not miss the irony of the situation. Had we been in a night club, his willingness to glance me over then offer his name would have gone a long way to making me smile, yet now, under the present circumstances, his words caused nothing but concern. Still, I had to make a decision. Would I be better off letting my voice betray me, or would I be better off keeping my secret, only to appear rude. I took a long, slow breath, then made my decision.
“My name is Jennifer” I said, trying to remember every lesson I had learned from my voice therapist.
I could tell from the long moment of silence that my lessons had not been enough to keep my secret from the man.
“Are you…?” the man answered, seemingly not sure of what word to use.
I wasn’t sure if his ignorance was a good thing or bad thing, given the circumstances. There was nothing I could do if the man had a problem with me, that much was sure. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.
“I’m transgender” I nodded, deciding to meet my fate head on.
“Like, all the way?” the man continued.
I found the question rude, yet I sensed from his tone that the man didn’t intend it to be. I knew the rush of adrenaline I had felt moments before wouldn’t last forever, so I decided to do what I could before my chemically induced bravery wore off.
“I really am a woman. I’ve been in transition for three years. My… well… they’re real, if that’s what you mean” I said, timidly looking at my own chest.
“Look, I’m not trying to be fucked up here, but I’ve never really talked to someone like you, and it ain’t like we’re going anywhere” the man shrugged.
“I haven’t had my last surgery yet” I offered, something I normally wouldn’t discuss with a stranger. There seemed to be something about the man’s honesty that made me feel comfortable.
“Gotcha. Shame” he shrugged.
His words confused me in a way I simply couldn’t decipher. A voice in the back of my mind screamed at me to end the conversation, but there was another part of me that found something unexpected. What had the man meant? Now it was I that dared a glace at the man in a new way. I suppose he was handsome, in spite of his neck tattoo.
“What are you doing?” I asked myself in my mind, nearly saying the words out loud.
I took a deep breath, then once again decided to risk turning the moment sour with my words.
“I’m not sure how you mean that” I asked, trying to not sound aggressive at all.
I sensed that the man was now the one feeling a bit uncomfortable, which sort of surprised me. I watched as he seemed to have a conversation in his own head. After a long moment, he finally continued.
“I just mean that you make a pretty woman” he finally admitted.
I could feel the skin in my cheeks go warm. I had been called pretty many times, mostly by people who meant the gesture to make me feel good about myself, but this man, he offered the compliment in the sincerest of ways. The man seemed more attractive to me in that moment than any I had ever met since coming out. I waited a moment to see if my sudden surge of emotions would settle down before continuing the conversation. Finally, I decided to feel the waters a bit more.
“Until I get that resolved I ignore that part of me” I offered, trying to use a tone that came across as delicate.
Suddenly, the lights of the elevator flickered again. We both knew the moment was over. I decided to yield to desperation before pressing the buttons on the elevator to continue our journey.
“Maybe we could continue this conversation sometime?”
The man took a deep breath, then nodded.
“I guess if my neck tattoo doesn’t bother you, then I shouldn’t let that bother me” he smiled.
I got my new driver’s license that day, and I got to see the rest of the man’s tattoos later that week. It’s funny how things turn out sometimes. I know one thing, I’ll never judge a person for something so petty as a neck tattoo ever again.
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