So we were in the food court eating chili dogs and my dad was smoking his cigarettes and drinking a cup of coffee…Then, out of nowhere, my friend started blushing, eyes fixed to his plate, very clearly distraught, so my dad asked him: What’s the problem? And my friend, he said: That lady looks like an old man, pointing his finger. My dad couldn’t hold his laughter. He doubled over the newspaper he was staring at, and when he finished laughing, he patted my friend on his back and said: That lady looks like an old man because she is an old man. But of us were taken off guard. Why’d he dress like that? My dad laughed again…and whispered loudly: He’s a fairy. That’s what he’s into.
And then I wondered if that’s what I was into. I thought of all the times my older sister put makeup on me. I thought about all the times I’d ever played with Barbie dolls of my own free will. I thought about what my friends might think of me, if they knew I enjoyed it when my sister let me play with her girly toys. I wondered what it would be like to be a man dressed as a woman, especially in a world so clearly dominated by men who dressed like men.
–From Witchita Stories, a collection of autobiographical short fiction by Troy James Weaver about growing up in a small town with a junkie, convict brother.
from Longreads Blog » Longreads Blog http://ift.tt/1G8N64g
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