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Posted by Ann Teve
November 17, 2008
Filed in Society Girl's Personal Blogs
2,416 views
Evening at the grocery. I was on my way home. I'd stopped for a few items as I often do. The Gala apples looked good but I was tending toward the Macintosh. In the middle of my consideration, I heard heels clicking resolutely toward me on the tiles behind. A tall well-dressed blonde passed me, glancing as if inconvenienced at me as she headed toward the deli section. I chose the Macintosh.
Pushing my card through the vegetable bins, I adjusted my red ski jacket for comfort. Its one of those puffy sort of jackets, it's principal merit being warmth but it does have a tucked in waist. At work I wear a short (just above the knee) blue denim skirt and white sneakers with scrunchy socks. I think I look it makes me look athletic.
The heels clicked toward me again. She passed -- again -- but this time three or so steps beyond she stopped and turned muttering about the challenges of finding some item or other. I had a better look at her. She was about my age and even about my size. She was very well made up and looked very professional in a black knit dress. I pushed my cart past her toward the bakery section.
It happens -- and not so infrequently -- that your route through the grocery is the same as others and you see them throughout your visit. This seemed to be the case with this woman for there she was in the bakery, an aisle or two over inspecting a loaf of bread (which, being North America can be taken as odd because all bread comes pre-sliced and packaged in plastic, the texture of the which being the only means of judging the quality of the bread within). I went for the 12-grain whole wheat bread because it has lots of flax and I'm hoping to lose some weight. I was reading the nutritional facts when I realized that I was not alone. I looked up.
"Are you T G?" she asked leaning slightly forward as if presenting a password challenge to a co-conspirator. I took as a compliment that there was a bit of hesitation in her voice. Clearly, with her so close I realized that she was.
"Yes."
I don't know why but I had an overwhelming urge to turn up my collar, to take the safety off my Barretta, to check around to see if we were still incognito and whisper.
"Well put your shoulders back, you walk like a guy! I clocked you the moment that I saw you." Well, that hurt. She turned and walked away.
Nobody but trans-people use the expression ' clock '. Personally, I find it really tacky, an affectation of our ' community '. I have realized that being 'clocked' is not something that others do but something that we do to ourselves. If you're not looking for a response in the eyes of others, you won't find it. But, I couldn't leave the encounter at that. I gave chase.
"Excuse me." I offered, negotiating the bins of cheese in dairy. She stopped. I wondered if she was in some way embarassed by me. Hey, I'm on my way home from work as a clerk. I didn't know that I had to dress to go shopping.
"My name is Ann." I offered my hand.
"Joanne."
I really don't recall the substance of the conversation -- why I don't know. There aren't a lot of professional girls to get to know and I hoped that we might. I said so. The conversation was short and ended with my offer to get together for coffee. I began to search my purse for a pen. She pushed a card into my hand, "You call me." I considered the card for moment. There was a name from high school. Surely very few people have that last name. If not them, could Joanne be related to a high school friend of my brother? Can't be.
William's Coffee Shop is a great place to meet. Nice ambiance; good coffee. I waited on Joanne. I was early; She arrived a few minutes late. We talked. We talked about the issues of being trans, about the slights and injuries of our life, the people we knew and lost and new friends that we made. We talked for about an hour and as conversations tend to do, it became slowly more personal, more intimate.
"Did you grow up in London," I asked. My home town.
"Yes."
"Where did you go to high school?" I pursued. My High School.
"Westminster." Could this be?
"May I ask what your previous name was?"
"W___ ." she said.
"You had a old Chevy Biscayne." Her eyes widened.
"And you have a brother, G_____." she responded with growing recognition.
"I do." confirming what we both now knew. We had spend high school together eating lunches with my brother and other friends.
It was then that I truly knew that my gender dysphoria was caused by going to high school.
