She paid special attention to the way she dressed on her Friday nights out. Tonight she would wear the flowered dress, with the white shawl collar. She wore low heels in a light rose color and carried a small pink lace purse ornamented with pearls.
Her make-up was moderate, very natural looking; some light pink lipstick, eyeliner, mascara, an ivory foundation and just a touch of powdered blush… She thought about adding some blue eye shadow, but decided against it. She wanted to look young and feminine.
As she approached the bar, the friendly bartender greeted her, placed a cocktail napkin down at her seat, and took her order, “One magenta margarita coming right up!” The whole bar submitted to the sound of the blender mixing up the tequila and passion fruit juice, mixed with a little red cherry juice, and a squeeze of lime used to dampen the rim of the glass before dipping it in sugar. The drink came with a garnish of lime and a bright red maraschino cherry.
She looked at herself in the large mirror behind the bar. She was also able to view the other patrons eating dinner in the mirror, but mostly she was looking at herself. She thought she looked beautiful and that was the most important thing according to her doctor, “It all depends on how you feel about yourself,” the doc said. “You must be happy with yourself.”
Her history was not what you’d expect. She had been a soldier in the Vietnam War, she had been married, and sired four children. Now in the second part of her life, she was going to be the person she wanted to be. She was going to be a woman.
She was taking hormones and had the first surgery which was breast augmentation, and a lot of electrolysis. She was happy with the results so far, and she wasn’t sure she’d go for the next step which was genital reassignment.
She just sat there admiring herself, turning her head this way and that, examining her features for flaws and potential improvements. She loved to come to this upstairs bar and sit in the beautiful warm Redwood Lounge. She pretended to be whoever she wanted to be; Jeanette MacDonald, “Just to look at her, it gives my heart a pang…”
Ha, ha, she smiled at herself. She was in her own world having a ball. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She wasn’t out on the make. She didn’t want a date. Sometimes she would get dressed up and go sing a song or two at Open Mic Night at the pizza place down the street. Even though she wasn’t that gifted, people were always so nice to her, and it made her feel like she was good.
This was enough for her…to be accepted no matter what form she appeared in, to be treated kindly with respect, and to sit and stare at herself in this beautiful magic mirror.
Later that night the bartender heard the brawl in the street down below. It was Butterfly, a beefy looking butch, and a blond twink having it out in public. The twink was flaming off. It was about to be a fight. Butterfly pleaded, “It’s not my fault that he likes my tits, and you don’t have any. I’m just trying to get by here.”
The twink was furious. He said things he should have thought about first. His tone was predictably tacky. “Well, what are you anyway? Are you a man or a woman or a drag queen or a transvestite? What are you anyway?”
There had been liquor involved. In fact all three of them and the others now congregating in the street waiting for the fight to begin were all a little drunk. Butterfly was desperate because even she did not know for sure what she was. She didn’t know how to answer him. She was still in the process of figuring it out for herself. Poor Butterfly…..
(First published 8/28/12)
