theladyrose (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theladyrose) wrote2008-09-03 10:21 pm
theladyrose) wrote2008-09-03 10:21 pm
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theladyrose and a transvestite walk into a supermarket
My first thought is that I'm a sucker.
I'm on my way to the supermarket, walking away from a roommate behind a closed door crying to her mother on the phone. I'm a coward for not staying after she finished the call to comfort her, but somehow making my way up the police blotter zone street. W. H. Auden wrote in "Moon Landing" that we were always more adept at courage than kindness, and at that moment I have to agree with him. The anger I have directed towards myself comes out in my stride, the guys drinking beer in front of the after hours storefront doorways instinctively moving out of the way.
I'm so lost in my thoughts that I almost miss him in the sage green tank top and black skinny jeans. "Excuse me, sister," he beckons me in a pleasantly androgynous voice, "but I'm a long way from home and I hate to say this, but I need help."
Just two days ago a 58 year old lady very rationally and very humbly beseeched me and another friend to pay for a tow truck or else her car would be impounded and she couldn't pay for the ticket. We all like to think ourselves good judges of character, and I handed over $11 while weighing the probabilities in my head of how honest she was about paying me the money back (I didn't doubt that she was in a tough spot). My friend, a native Brooklyner, reluctantly hands over $10 so that the lady has the $21 she needs. "From the hands of babes," she mutters before asking me for my phone number so that she can pay me back within the next three hours. She even recites her home address not so far away, although foolishly I don't write it down as I have no pen with me. I don't doubt that it's hard to knuckle down your pride and ask for money when you genuinely need it when you're in an area where so many people pass them by, assuming that blacks are stupid, lazy and aren't doing enough to get out of their crappy circumstances. I get that there are theoretically resources in the community designed to implement more long term solutions to these sorts of social issues, but clearly they're not able to reach enough people to a significant enough extent. I honestly don't expect to be paid back, although I have no idea if she called because I'm missing my cell phone at the moment. I just hope that she was able to take care of what she needed to get done.
"What seems to be the problem?" He goes on about how his boyfriend at USC invited him over for a good time but instead took his wallet so that he could buy weed. Now he can't, and home's far a ways a way up in Baldwin Hills, and the cheapest way to get there is by bus, but the buses come fewer and fewer as the night progresses and gee, this neighborhood's not concerned about public safety at all. It's not the greatest place to be "all Beyoncéd up"...I'm not really focused on the exact details of what he's saying. The eyeliner's applied with a skill I envy and the glittery silver lip gloss really complements his ebony skin. The effect's surprisingly subtle.
I hand him $5, and he shakes my hand firmly without being overpowering, holding on as he thanks me. "God bless, I feel a spiritual connection with you. You have a strong grip!" Somehow this connection gets to me, too, and I sense that he's hungry. "I'm on my way to the supermarket," I tell him. "Do you want me to get you something to eat?"
He lets go and smiles, revealing perfectly straight white teeth. "Are you sure?" He hesitates slightly. "I've been out here, and I sure am hungry..."
Truth is, he reminds me of a friend in circumstances not so far removed. "Come along with me; I was on my way to get groceries anyway."
We continue up the street, with the locals giving us a wide birth on the sidewalk. I ask him about if he's always lived in LA, and he tells me about his performing ambitions and how he moved around a lot in the area trying to follow through on this and that. I sense that his home community wasn't too supportive. He switches the subject. "Look, I don't mind if others are gonna do drugs, but that's personally my thing and I just wanted to get out of there before anything happened. And then I realized that he took my money, but what was I gonna do when he was starting to get too far gone?"
"That was smart of you to walk away when you did. I'm sorry that you've been stranded in this situation."
He shrugs. "Everything happens for a reason, and God bless you for being here." He starts asking a bit about me. He tells me I'm the first Chinese girl he's really talked to, but he says it in a warm and friendly rather than skeezy way. Upon finding out I'm studying psychology, he clasps his hands together (the nails are unpainted). "Ah, so you must be psychic!"
Somehow interesting people just seem to find themselves at the right wavelength with me, that's all. Funny how empathy and trying to figure out what another's needs and emotions is associated with mystical powers.
He brightens up when he sees the backlit sign of Ralph's. "We'll be the classiest act to hit the store!" and I can help but laugh a little.
I tell him to get whatever he wants at the supermarket as I hunt down the items I need. The 'SC students stare at me and him together, but thankfully they're all too chicken to say anything. Anthony, my new friend, picks out hot chicken wings, Coke and spicy tuna sushi like the kind they sell on campus. He starts eating the sushi while we wait in line at the check out counter. "I just love sushi! And kimchee - yum!"
I'm impressed, especially since I can only handle moderate levels of spiciness and always ask for mild when I'm at Indian places. He blends the extra wasabi and ginger together on top of the sushi pieces he quickly picks off with his hands. The cashier looks totally nonplussed as she scans our items. Maybe that's the beauty of Los Angeles diversity - at some point, you couldn't give a hoot about anyone who looks weirder than you because you're bound to come across a more extreme oddball fairly soon.
He tosses the sushi container into the trash as we leave the store. He's been a perfect gent the entire time (I let him tell me what gender pronoun to use because I didn't want to assume), and I compliment him on his manners. He puts most of the guys at USC to shame. "My momma taught me well," he beams. "She should be proud."
We walk back down the street, back to the spot where we first met. "Are you gonna be OK?"
He looks down at the sidewalk for a moment, then back at me. "You've helped me get this far. At least I won't be hungry." He shakes the plastic grocery bag with the fried chicken and the Coke. "I'm a growing boy. I'll be fine." We laugh again. I'm guessing that he's in his late 20's.
"God bless, Anthony," I tell him, and we shake hands again. He leans in as a sort of half-hug for a moment, almost as if he's expecting a kiss on the cheek. "Just remember, if you ever want lessons I'm at the ________ dance studio in Culver City. I teach jazz dance and hip hop on Saturdays from 10-4!"
I smile again at the reassuring grasp on my palm. "Thanks. I'll keep it in mind. Now you take care now!"
Only at this point does he realize that he doesn't know my name. "I'mtheladyrose, by the way."
"Thank you, and god bless." He dashes across the street to the yellow line separating the two different directions of traffic, hoping that he can find help back to the bus he needs.
"You take care now!"
He waves off cheerily toward the neon-like light of a street lamp in front of a rundown looking church. He never looks back.
I know many people who are dead set on saving the world - volunteering in medical clinics in Tanzania, building homes for families without shelter in Mexico, cracking down on sex trafficking in Thailand and seeking to make affordable housing and health care available to all. I'm afraid I've never been that heroic, not having the courage or the willingness to commit to eradicating some great evil like global warming. Give me an individual, though, and suddenly whatever tangle of thorns they're in feels much more soluble. If you need someone to handle the one-on-one matters, the behind the scenes stuff, whatever converges into the eleventh hour at a personal level - now that's more familiar territory. All that "pay it forward" stuff strikes me as overly simplistic in thinking that you have to do some grand gesture for some "stranger" as an unconscious ploy to garner attention for your good deed. I don't claim to be an ideal role model, but from what I've seen it's the small things that help people keep going when everything else piles up.
I'm familiar with that adage about teaching a man to fish. But sometimes you just need someone to feed you something so you have the strength to learn.
I'm on my way to the supermarket, walking away from a roommate behind a closed door crying to her mother on the phone. I'm a coward for not staying after she finished the call to comfort her, but somehow making my way up the police blotter zone street. W. H. Auden wrote in "Moon Landing" that we were always more adept at courage than kindness, and at that moment I have to agree with him. The anger I have directed towards myself comes out in my stride, the guys drinking beer in front of the after hours storefront doorways instinctively moving out of the way.
I'm so lost in my thoughts that I almost miss him in the sage green tank top and black skinny jeans. "Excuse me, sister," he beckons me in a pleasantly androgynous voice, "but I'm a long way from home and I hate to say this, but I need help."
Just two days ago a 58 year old lady very rationally and very humbly beseeched me and another friend to pay for a tow truck or else her car would be impounded and she couldn't pay for the ticket. We all like to think ourselves good judges of character, and I handed over $11 while weighing the probabilities in my head of how honest she was about paying me the money back (I didn't doubt that she was in a tough spot). My friend, a native Brooklyner, reluctantly hands over $10 so that the lady has the $21 she needs. "From the hands of babes," she mutters before asking me for my phone number so that she can pay me back within the next three hours. She even recites her home address not so far away, although foolishly I don't write it down as I have no pen with me. I don't doubt that it's hard to knuckle down your pride and ask for money when you genuinely need it when you're in an area where so many people pass them by, assuming that blacks are stupid, lazy and aren't doing enough to get out of their crappy circumstances. I get that there are theoretically resources in the community designed to implement more long term solutions to these sorts of social issues, but clearly they're not able to reach enough people to a significant enough extent. I honestly don't expect to be paid back, although I have no idea if she called because I'm missing my cell phone at the moment. I just hope that she was able to take care of what she needed to get done.
"What seems to be the problem?" He goes on about how his boyfriend at USC invited him over for a good time but instead took his wallet so that he could buy weed. Now he can't, and home's far a ways a way up in Baldwin Hills, and the cheapest way to get there is by bus, but the buses come fewer and fewer as the night progresses and gee, this neighborhood's not concerned about public safety at all. It's not the greatest place to be "all Beyoncéd up"...I'm not really focused on the exact details of what he's saying. The eyeliner's applied with a skill I envy and the glittery silver lip gloss really complements his ebony skin. The effect's surprisingly subtle.
I hand him $5, and he shakes my hand firmly without being overpowering, holding on as he thanks me. "God bless, I feel a spiritual connection with you. You have a strong grip!" Somehow this connection gets to me, too, and I sense that he's hungry. "I'm on my way to the supermarket," I tell him. "Do you want me to get you something to eat?"
He lets go and smiles, revealing perfectly straight white teeth. "Are you sure?" He hesitates slightly. "I've been out here, and I sure am hungry..."
Truth is, he reminds me of a friend in circumstances not so far removed. "Come along with me; I was on my way to get groceries anyway."
We continue up the street, with the locals giving us a wide birth on the sidewalk. I ask him about if he's always lived in LA, and he tells me about his performing ambitions and how he moved around a lot in the area trying to follow through on this and that. I sense that his home community wasn't too supportive. He switches the subject. "Look, I don't mind if others are gonna do drugs, but that's personally my thing and I just wanted to get out of there before anything happened. And then I realized that he took my money, but what was I gonna do when he was starting to get too far gone?"
"That was smart of you to walk away when you did. I'm sorry that you've been stranded in this situation."
He shrugs. "Everything happens for a reason, and God bless you for being here." He starts asking a bit about me. He tells me I'm the first Chinese girl he's really talked to, but he says it in a warm and friendly rather than skeezy way. Upon finding out I'm studying psychology, he clasps his hands together (the nails are unpainted). "Ah, so you must be psychic!"
Somehow interesting people just seem to find themselves at the right wavelength with me, that's all. Funny how empathy and trying to figure out what another's needs and emotions is associated with mystical powers.
He brightens up when he sees the backlit sign of Ralph's. "We'll be the classiest act to hit the store!" and I can help but laugh a little.
I tell him to get whatever he wants at the supermarket as I hunt down the items I need. The 'SC students stare at me and him together, but thankfully they're all too chicken to say anything. Anthony, my new friend, picks out hot chicken wings, Coke and spicy tuna sushi like the kind they sell on campus. He starts eating the sushi while we wait in line at the check out counter. "I just love sushi! And kimchee - yum!"
I'm impressed, especially since I can only handle moderate levels of spiciness and always ask for mild when I'm at Indian places. He blends the extra wasabi and ginger together on top of the sushi pieces he quickly picks off with his hands. The cashier looks totally nonplussed as she scans our items. Maybe that's the beauty of Los Angeles diversity - at some point, you couldn't give a hoot about anyone who looks weirder than you because you're bound to come across a more extreme oddball fairly soon.
He tosses the sushi container into the trash as we leave the store. He's been a perfect gent the entire time (I let him tell me what gender pronoun to use because I didn't want to assume), and I compliment him on his manners. He puts most of the guys at USC to shame. "My momma taught me well," he beams. "She should be proud."
We walk back down the street, back to the spot where we first met. "Are you gonna be OK?"
He looks down at the sidewalk for a moment, then back at me. "You've helped me get this far. At least I won't be hungry." He shakes the plastic grocery bag with the fried chicken and the Coke. "I'm a growing boy. I'll be fine." We laugh again. I'm guessing that he's in his late 20's.
"God bless, Anthony," I tell him, and we shake hands again. He leans in as a sort of half-hug for a moment, almost as if he's expecting a kiss on the cheek. "Just remember, if you ever want lessons I'm at the ________ dance studio in Culver City. I teach jazz dance and hip hop on Saturdays from 10-4!"
I smile again at the reassuring grasp on my palm. "Thanks. I'll keep it in mind. Now you take care now!"
Only at this point does he realize that he doesn't know my name. "I'm
theladyrose, by the way.""Thank you, and god bless." He dashes across the street to the yellow line separating the two different directions of traffic, hoping that he can find help back to the bus he needs.
"You take care now!"
He waves off cheerily toward the neon-like light of a street lamp in front of a rundown looking church. He never looks back.
I know many people who are dead set on saving the world - volunteering in medical clinics in Tanzania, building homes for families without shelter in Mexico, cracking down on sex trafficking in Thailand and seeking to make affordable housing and health care available to all. I'm afraid I've never been that heroic, not having the courage or the willingness to commit to eradicating some great evil like global warming. Give me an individual, though, and suddenly whatever tangle of thorns they're in feels much more soluble. If you need someone to handle the one-on-one matters, the behind the scenes stuff, whatever converges into the eleventh hour at a personal level - now that's more familiar territory. All that "pay it forward" stuff strikes me as overly simplistic in thinking that you have to do some grand gesture for some "stranger" as an unconscious ploy to garner attention for your good deed. I don't claim to be an ideal role model, but from what I've seen it's the small things that help people keep going when everything else piles up.
I'm familiar with that adage about teaching a man to fish. But sometimes you just need someone to feed you something so you have the strength to learn.