I live next door to a woman who is probably about eighty years old. We have been neighbors for over twelve years; but I tend to avoid her, and I am not out to her. At the time of this incident a couple of weeks ago, I hadn't spoken to her in months; the last time was before my top surgery and before my voice got really masculine. I dress very differently now--no layering, no ambiguity. I have a bit of facial hair, but I'm blond and it barely shows.
I came out of the house and was on my way to my car while she was watering her lawn. (Apparently, she cares nothing about the water shortage.) She called me over and expressed dismay that I let one of my cats roam at night. I babbled something about his having been an outdoor cat when I first found him; I had tried to "convert" him but was unsuccessful. In the end, the constant howling broke down my resolve. I wonder if the Nazis ever tried shut-in outdoor cats as an interrogation technique?
But I was thinking more about her reaction than about the cat. "This tears it," I thought. "She's going to hear my voice, notice my chest, and freak. Or start asking questions. I will NEVER get out of here."
Bupkis. Nada. Zip. She was completely oblivious and noticed nothing. I didn't know whether to be annoyed or relieved. I'm moving out in three months, and it would be much easier on my ex if ALL of our neighbors stayed in the dark about me. But most people aren't as clueless as she is.
A week later, I took the car in for some repairs. I hadn't seen the service rep for some months, probably around the last time I had talked to my neighbor. He is a nice guy but pretty conservative. I also happen to know that he is a Christian (I am a secular humanist), but I don't hold that against him because there are a lot of cool Christians in the world.
I left the key in the car, took a seat in the lounge, and slouched half-awake on the sofa next to a mound of tempting danishes. (I was pretty sleepy; I remember thinking it funny that a Swedish car dealership was offering complimentary danishes.)
When the rep came by and called my name, I jolted awake and boomed out, "Yo!" He did a very exaggerated double take, apparently not recognizing me or my voice. He looked sheepish and dismayed while he waited for me to catch up with him. We walked over to his work station, and he made some remark about having been surprised. As he arrived at his computer and turned to face me, I simply said, without considering what a hyperbole of understatement I was making, "Well, some things change."
"Yes, they do," he said, in his own minimalist moment. "I'm not going to ask!"
And then it was business as usual. But the car bill was astronomical. Apparently, my radiator was shot.
A couple of weeks before that, I was walking through a residential neighborhood to my favorite coffee house. I saw two little girls, pigtailed twins about five years old, playing on the sidewalk under the watchful eye of their father, who stood sentry on the porch.
I was wearing jeans, black Rockports, and a favorite blue plaid shirt. As I strode along, one of the girls regarded me with awe and called out to her sister, "Look! A police man!" I said nothing but smiled secretly at the cute way she had turned "policeman" into two words. Then her sister exclaimed, "That's not a police man! That's a REGULAR man!'
So now I guess I've made it. I'm a regular guy now. Confirmed.
