Lessons from a Park Bench Conversation

The first thing I noticed, was she had pretty feet. I know, I know, as soon as someone says that, everyone thinks you’re a perv. All you have to do is do a search on “foot fetish” online, and you’ll see stuff that would make your head spin. But I’m not like those dudes. Its just … when a girl has pretty feet, I notice, that’s all.

The feet were encased in a sexy pair of sandals, and were attached to a nice pair of legs visible under a pretty black skirt with a frill at the hem. Above that she had a rich purple blouse, one that didn’t expose a lot of cleavage, Nevertheless, it did nice things for her breasts.

Above those was her face, which was also very nice. Not supermodel beautiful, but more of a human kind of pretty. She had striking green eyes that were watching me watch her, and above those was her blond hair, cut in a short, simple, but still feminine style.

“Do I pass inspection?” She said, but then she smiled.

“Sorry.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You’re very beautiful.”

“Well, thank you. Mind if I join you on the bench?”

“Feel free.” I said, and scooted over.

“What brings you to this park?” She asked.

“Her.” I said, and pointed to a small child on the swings.

“Pretty girl.”

“Yeh, I think so.”

“So, have you told her you’re transgender?”

I almost fell off the bench.

“What?” I managed.

“Ah. Still in the closet, then.” she said, nodding as if I had answered her question.

“What are you talking about?” I stammered.

“Its quite all right, I’ll keep your secret. Would you like to know how I know?”

I just gaped at her.

She leaned in, and whispered, “It takes one to know one.”

I took another look at her, and shook my head.

“No way were you ever a guy.” I said, firmly.

“You’re half right. I wasn’t a guy in my heart and soul and mind. But yes, my body was male.”

“Okay, I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” I said.

“I have no reason to lie to you. I was where you are now, and made it out to the other side.” she said.

“Good for you.”

“You can too, if you want to.”

“No, I cant. First, I have that little girl to think of. Second, I don’t have the money, and third, I look ridiculous dressed up.” I said.

“I said the same things, once upon a time.” she said.

“You have to be kidding me. You pass, totally.”

“Again, thank you. But that’s not how I saw myself at the time.”

I looked at her hard. Was it possible, that this totally feminine person before me felt the same way I did when I dressed up?

“The thing is,” she continued, “We are sometimes our own worst critics. We see the flaws so easily, and the good parts not at all. I’m willing to bet you have at least one person who has seen you dressed, and said you look fine.”

I shook my head. How did this woman know my life so well?

“Believe me, I know all the objections, all the barriers, Life is never easy for people who cross the gender line. But we are what we are, and trying to be someone we are not to please others just doesn’t work, at least not for long.” She continued.

I shook my head again, and just looked at my daughter on the swings.

We sat there in silence for a few minutes, and then she said, “Listen, dear. I have to go. Just think about it. How much pain are you in, trying to hide the truth? How much torture are you willing to put up with to ‘fit in’ when you know dam well you don’t anyway? Yes, there are risks going forward, but maybe, just maybe its better than standing still.”

I frowned, and said, “Okay, I’ll think about it. “

“Good.” she said. She got up, and started to walk away.

I found myself wishing she would stay longer, and to try and stall her, I asked, “Will I see you again?”

She looked back and smiled, and said, “:You never know. One day you just might.”

“I don’t even know your name.” I said.

“Don’t you?” she said, and before I could respond, a cry from my daughter distracted me. After checking her to see that she was okay, I looked back, but I couldn’t see anyone.

Shaking my head, I collected my daughter, and went home. My strange meeting faded from my mind, lost in the day-to-day rhythm of my life. It wasn’t until the next time I got a chance to dress up that I thought of her again.

A friend had sent me a new wig, and I was trying it out when suddenly I did a double take at my reflection in the mirror.

The wig had the same color and length as my “friend” from the park. Even freakier, after a couple of brushstrokes that seemed to come by instinct, it had the same style as well.

“No ... way ….”

Fin.