Friday, May 11, 2012

Byron

Seen waiting for the Red Line to Howard at about 8:05 p.m. 

I dyed my hair pink so they’d have to look at me. All my life I’ve made them uncomfortable. They detect movement below. Their eyes move down. They expect a child, or perhaps a dog. Instead they see me, a grown man of tiny proportions, incorrect. Their eyes bounce away immediately, afraid that I’ll somehow realize the inevitable associations they’re making (though I always do anyway)—leprechauns, munchkins, the Seven Dwarfs, Mini-Me. It’s impossible for them to think of me as a person.

Dying my hair altered the pattern to my advantage. Its color is unexpected and alarming. Their gaze gets stuck in it, tangled in it, like when you can’t stop staring at a car wreck. In those few moments, I have power over them. I make them pay attention to me. I make them wallow in their prejudice. 

I'd like to dedicate this post to my sister, Molly Robison. She'll know why. 

Yesterday I saw Denise on the train again! She was still wearing her black heart purse, but her hair is orange now. It's always weird when I see my PTKY subjects more than once, but it happens from time to time.

Tonight: mojitos on the deck. Yessssssss. Weekend.  

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