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