I lay on the blanket looking up at the blue sky full of charcoal soft grey cracks as floaters drifting inside my eyes obscured the purity of wispy clouds on a spring day. Things spinning for a moment as pressure from my head drained to the ground and the tension in my gut fell away like drops from a shower head.
Being VE Day I found myself talking to neighbours as they passed in the street and even neighbours from the other end that I hadn’t spoken to in years. What struck me was that the way I was dressed, my casual three quarter length jogging bottoms and a loose check over-shirt that would have terrified me years ago, is something those people stopping and talking to me thought nothing of; at least they thought not to mention it or pull a face or not speak to me.
It struck me that people were seeing my inside and talking to thatperson and not someone who sees too much of the female side of androgyny for their liking. Even my neighbour who came out to share some water meter reading earlier this week, “Had your water bill as well?” he said as we kept that two metre distance and alternating between reading the meter in the pavement that themselves are only a foot apart. “I can’t read it.” he said getting up from the floor.
I returned and looked at his, “There’s a cap over it, hang on I’ll have a go.” I pulled spider webs away and put my hand down the hole feeling braver than I normally would, which surprised me, my own meter had a little black shiny spider that I wasn’t keen to invite in the house for a pot of tea.
I pulled the cap off my neighbours meter that had obscured his view and read off the numbers for him and got a basil plant with huge leaves in return for my trouble. All this while laying on the pavement in another pair of comfort jogging bottoms that I couldn’t run away from and neither did I want to. It made me realise, when I went back inside, that it’s not bravery that we need, well may be a little, it’s personality, niceness and warmth. If we give it, we might just get it back.
Things for me are now about feeling and finding that comfort spot rather than how I particularly look. It’s like the dressing and presentation side is just a thing that is just a part of every day, in fact so much so I’ve become a bit lax and let things go from time to time. ‘Painting nails, I forgot about how much that can cheer me up.’ and then proceed to leave it on for far too long and get bumpy nail growth or a cami-top I’d forgotten about and some how got pushed to the back of the shelf ‘I haven’t worn this in an age.’ and then remember it’s hand-wash and expensive so make the most of it today – so normal everyday life.
I thought this week though about those that might be where I was ten or fifteen years ago or even those I knew back then who do the same thing today because they’ve not progressed or just don’t want to. Popping out on a Saturday night presenting the way they want to is enough for some people.
Some just aren’t even transgendered, it’s just something that feels right for them though I remember one person I used to know who was adamant she was simply a crossdresser yet there came a time when even she questioned it and even went to see a counsellor – a Gestalt Counsellor whatever that was. I asked her what that meant, “So you tell them absolutely everything and then you can work out what you really want.” Kind of sounded like a quick-fire version of regular counselling with a fancy name to make it more appealing to a certain type of person. In retrospect may be some interesting reading?
But what is happening to these people during this lockdown who need that outlet for whatever reason? For some there won’t be that going out night each week or month that is so important to who they are whether it’s just a release at the end of the week like a payday Friday night out for others. We all have to cope with the isolation for our own reasons whether they’re gender related or not and each week I find myself having to cope in different ways whether one week is taking advantage of the exercise allowance and taking a ride, the week after running or taking time to lay on the decking in the garden the week after that if the sun or warmth of the air decides to allow it.
A couple of stay safe stay sociallydistancedstreet parties popped up during the afternoon and one still going into the evening in a small close just around the corner. Music bumping through the thick humid warm air that feels like the thick of summer. It was a little rare to have such vibrant life being set in the countryside and I thought about popping over and may be even meet some people I don’t know. But I wasn’t in the mood. I’d been feeling drowsy all week and pollen seems to be taking its toll as I spend time outside whether riding or laying in the garden. It was just nice to lay here and hear the chatter echoing around the houses, kids playing and birds still chirping in the trees as the sun decided to go to bed just a little bit later than usual.
On Thursday evening, eating dinner a little late, I heard clapping. ‘Is it that time already?’ I dashed out to the front door and joined the NHS clapping just in time. A family in the next street looked over across the junction and all waved to me. I don’t even know them in passing so it was nice to have that contact with new people. It felt like in the face of the terrible deaths caused by this virus that out of it we really are coming together in some way and if that gives me, Hannah, just a touch of gender exposure at a time when we’re mostly alone then all the better.
For now though I’m content. What little horizon cloud that there is, is slowly turning tones of orange and pinks that only seem right in the wells of a paint palette and I’m laying in the warmth of the evening writing and waiting for the stars to shine.
Until next time,