“Oh,” she said, with a mixture of disgust and antipathy.
“So you’re Callie,” spitting out my name like curdled cream, apparently familiar with it from my postings on the local e-mail list
“Let me tell you one thing. Passing comes from in here,” she said, thumping her chest.
“I pass all the time, every time. And I pass because I pass in here,” thumping again. “I am full time and I never have a problem.”
“It’s all from here. That simple.”
Her lesson taught, she and her friend headed out and away for a smoke, leaving me with the other transperson in the place and the gal who makes drinks for the club every third Saturday.
I had been talking with them about the voice program, and issues around the goal of passing. I told the story of TBB last night, how she was read out by an admirer, how we have.
Well, this gal didn’t want to hear my crap. She has no problem, and to her, that must mean she passes. That simple. If TBB had a challenge, well, not enough pounding.
The woman born female I was talking to looked up at me. She knew this transperson didn’t pass as born female, didn’t read as a woman. But we both also knew she needs her defenses, and that means she needs the myopia of believing that passing can come just through pure, bull-headed, hard-driven belief.
I looked around and knew this place was unsafe for me, that she and her friend were going to be a problem when they got back. She didn’t like my crap, didn’t want to take it, and I felt threatened and unsafe.
I believed she didn’t have a problem. I believe that few have the balls to challenge her, and the nuanced challenges of women go right past her. And I suspect that attraction passes her by.
I was in a flowy outfit with peep-toe pumps, lashes and decollete, open and engaged.
And I was reminded of the fun of transwomen born male, passing because they believe they pass, entitled to womanhood, and defended as an armadillo.