"Do you think it's possible that I could pretend to live at your dad's house in Santa Fe so I could get adopted by my yoga teacher?"
"Well, that's not a simple question. Let's unpack it. And then collapse in exhaustion."
Things had not been going well for Pat. He'd been smoking pot with a neighbor across the street and the man had figured out that Pat was transgender--having checked out the size of Pat's wrists and his short stature and other details.
"The other day I was out setting my sprinkler in the front lawn and I couldn't figure out the direction of the Rainbird--so it splashed me and got me soaked. I stripped off my shirt and went inside. I guess the neighbor guy saw my scars under my nipples and he knew what that meant."
"Sounds like you were doing an homage to Jerry Lewis."
"No, it wasn't funny. I fucking hate that Rainbird."
"Anyway, someone taped on my door last week a note that said 'I don't care what you do in the privacy of your home but stay away from the children.' Then a few nights ago I got another note with just two words 'GET OUT.'"
"Yeah. So my yoga teacher is going to help me put up security cameras here. One up front and another in the back. I also have my shotgun and rifle, but those aren't good for a confined space. I also have my dad's .38 but it's just a lady gun. I really need something with more stopping power."
"But I don't want to leave here, Gregory. I'm freaked out. There's this Mormon grandpa who lives up the street and who knows what he's saying about me. I think everyone on the block is talking about me now. It's so upsetting. I mean, every time someone meets me they're going to think about what do I have below, right? About my genitalia. And it's none of their fucking business. When someone meets you do they go right to your genitals?"
"In real life? No."
"See? They just see you as some white dude. But with me, it's all about what I have in my pants. And I'm sick of it! What's the point of transitioning when I still have to deal with this shit? I've been doing this now for nine years! And I might as well never have done a thing."
I looked at my Latin book.
"I wonder what Cicero would have said about it?"
"He'd probably tell me to get out, too."
"You mean 'ut ex.' Ha, ha?"
"Yeah. So do you think your dad would let me use his address?"
"If you're willing to read about mattress pounding. Dad is always looking for new readers."
"Never mind. I'll just get another gun."
"Probably the better plan."
HAPPY FIVE TO ME AND THIS STUPID BLOG!!!!
(Just before the Tinkertoy came swishing down....)