Walter couldn’t help but notice the teen boys as he walked to the back of the metro bus, not because they were cute or handsome, but because they reminded him of the jock boys from high school. They were like the ones who had chased him through the halls and bullied him. He eyed them warily as he stepped between them, two on each side of the aisle. He was afraid of being tripped or antagonized in some way. His fear only seemed to draw their attention.
They sniggered and laughed, seemingly at his expense. He thought to prepare himself in some way so he sat up straight, his body became rigid. It was a facade of masculinity he had used in those high school days. That was when he spotted another teen boy between him and the others staring at him. The boy was not unlike himself, thin, dark haired, an angled face, full lips, and a faked sense of toughness.
No, it was a look of apathy, a practiced disinterest. Have no emotions so they can’t be hurt. Have no interests so they can’t be mocked. Live a secret, double life, one that he dreamed of one day being his true identity when he was out on his own, when he was independent and didn’t have to share the same space of his oppressors.
The jock boys seemed to lose interest, even the boy like himself did as well, and so he looked out the window but always kept his attention focused in that direction. Somehow he thought the worst they could do was throw a paper ball at him. He sighed at the thought.
The car tops became a pattern of low then high like a wave. The buildings were familiar landmarks. People were faceless dots of color. He knew his stop by the number of turns and the speed of the bus. He knew his was coming up. He looked around to see that not much had changed. He would have liked it if the boys had gotten off first but as it was he knew he needed to act.
He pulled the signal cord, then got to his feet, and took hold of the backs of seats and polls as he moved to the back door. The bus slowed so he readied himself to step off, sometimes not every bus driver pulled close enough to the curb. He adjusted his backpack and his shirt rode up his side but he was quick to fix it. Had they seen his diaper? Had they seen part of his skin? He couldn’t help but look for danger out of the corner of his eye.
The doors opened and he began to step away.
“Queer,” one of the boys said.
"Faggot," another coughed.
Walter continued to exit the bus. He heard the doors close behind him and for a moment he thought it was over when he heard them rattle again he turned and stepped back only to find the boy like himself there.
They bumped into each other and apologized. Walter turned away to get his bearings but the young man moved with him, stopped at his side as if there was more to be said.
“Hey, listen I’m sorry about those guys on the bus,” the young man said.
“Do you know them?”
“They aren’t friends of mine but we go to the same high school.”
“Sorry about that,” Walter said.
“My name’s Chester,” the young man said.
“Walter,” he replied.
“Hey uh, listen, I’m doing a project for class where we’re supposed to interview people. Could I ask you some questions?”
“Really?”
He looked to Chester who looked to the sidewalk embarrassed by his lie.
“Maybe I can buy you a cup of coffee,” Chester said.
“I don’t know,” Walter replied.
“Just five minutes,” Chester said.
Walter agreed. They walked away from the bus stop and down the street to a coffee shop where they each got a cup of coffee that they carried to a table by the window. They sat and looked at each other.
“Why are you like that?”
“Like what?”
“You know,” Devon said.
“Such a faggot,” Walter replied.
Devon blushed at the word, at the possibility that was the word he had been thinking. He looked to his coffee. His ears were red. Walter regretted being so abrasive. He wanted to correct it somehow.
“My mother always thought I should have been a girl. She knew I used to play with her makeup and clothing. I don’t know. It wasn’t like I wanted to be a woman. It was just different. I remember that I didn’t really care about gender or masculinity. I used to watch her putting on her makeup and it always interested me how she transformed with it. I thought it was neat the way her lips looked."
“Can I ask you something?”
Walter raised his eyebrows in expectation.
“Does it hurt?”
Walter rolled his eyes.
“You shouldn’t worry about that. It’s not about sexual acts. It’s about love.”
Chester sat up, took a sip from his coffee.
“Shouldn’t you be recording this?”
Chester shook his head.
“There is no project is there?”
If his effeminate demeanor was a threat to those jock boys, then it was also a signal to others like himself. It wasn’t some act or something fake. It was some unconscious expression that mixed gender expectations. He knew many people were annoyed, even offended by it, and yet he had no other choice but to be himself.
No comments:
Post a Comment