Love Beyond Body, Space, and Time: An LGBT and two-spirit sci-fi anthology by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Bedside Press
Published: 2016-08-24T00:00:00+00:00

TRANSITIONS

by Gwen Benaway

I AM LATE. Crossing subway lines, zigzagging through the city's underground, takes more time than I have. My Blackberry blinks red with twenty‐five unread messages from work. My second phone, the one which links me to my other life, is also blinking with unread notifications. There is nothing for it but to rush to my appointment and hope there isn't anything urgent to deal with when I return to the office.

I push into the final train which will take me to the row of medical buildings and hospitals perched along University Avenue. All the seats are taken so I grab one of the metal poles near the door and hold on. I see my face in the train glass, highlighted by the reflected lights of the subway tunnel. My foundation is too heavy. I look whiter than usual, a combination of my half breed skin tone and the mattifying powder I use to set my face. Half of transitioning from a man to a woman is learning to blend. The other half is hair removal.

I finished the first stage of my transition last Fall. Now I'm working on the second stage, hormones and living full time as my chosen gender. This is why I'm heading to University Avenue in the middle of my work week, frantic and looking like a transgender ghost. They are running a new drug study on hormone therapy and need transgender guinea pigs. I signed up because they promised less side effects, lower cancer risks, and ongoing medical monitoring. I already have a doctor in the overworked clinic in the Village, but since more support is better than less, I volunteered.

The train lurches every time it reaches a stop, pushing me off balance on my heels and forcing me to grip tighter onto the railing. I feel the glances from my fellow riders. Some days, in low light and when I've had time to work at it, I can pass if I don't speak. On days like today, behind schedule and plastering my foundation on between cups of coffee at work, I'm an obvious transwoman. I tell myself I don't care what people think. If looking like a supermodel was my primary motivation for transitioning, I'd have backed out after the first painful electrolysis session.

A man on the right side of the train keeps looking at my face. He is caught between fascination and disgust. He stares at my face, drops his eyes over my body like appraising artwork, and then looks back at my face again. I know the look. It means he thinks I'm a man but he isn't sure. He is searching me for some sign to confirm whatever assumptions he has created in his mind. I keep my eyes averted, focusing on the narrow billboards running along the top of the train. Let him think what he wants. I'm too late to care.

People think hormones are a magic pill which transform you into Tyra Banks. It doesn't work like that.

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