Chapin City Blues

When A Stranger Hurts You

“It’s protected by free speech,” they told us. “If his sticky-notes came down, they all had to come down.” Fortunately for us, this news came to us after we had taken down the Pride Month display. His sticky-notes, while forever a part of our growing LGBTQIA+ collection, will never see the light of day until someone chooses to see them. 

“Had he come at it from an angle of respect, I may have not seen it as hate speech,” I said. Three students (or a single student visiting us three times) had written they identified as straight. This is a valid approach to our display, and I saw no reason to take them down. Straight people, like white people, tend to impose and center themselves in conversations where they’re not the main topic. They claim exclusion when the whole world tends to revolve around them – figuratively, of course.

“Except he didn’t. He came at it with hate already in his heart. You can disagree with “the movement” while still being respectful,” I shook my head. “Instead, he chose to “identify” as a bigot and called the LGBTQIA+ community a cult.”

I hate that word. Community. When you’re an outlier, it’s easy to clump people together. To see one as a monolith for the entirety. But I’ve seen several people disaffected with the people who gave them nothing but love and turned on them. Kelly Cadigan’s slow entry to the alt right earlier this year showed this, and several openly homosexual men have bashed transwomen in order to save their own skin and peace of mind. We are not them. I am one of you.

My only regret is not listening to the boy. Instead, I wrote him off as a lost cause. 

When A Friend Hurts You

“What are you reading?” a friend asked when entering my office. 

Elliot Page’s memoir, Pageboy, lies on a stack of journals I keep – one for my personal life, one acting like a work planner, and the other for work notes (as I plan to match my work planner with the fiscal year instead of the calendar – don’t judge me!). 

“You’re reading her book?” he asked.

“His,” I corrected him. 

He continued to misgender the actor and dead-named him, despite me correcting his actions. 

“It doesn’t work that way,” he told me after I explained to him that Elliot Page is, in fact, a man. “I believe you’re the gender you came out of your mother.” 

Science doesn’t agree, I wanted to say. People are stuck to their binary belief, not realizing it was imposed on them by societal pressure. The binary doesn’t even exist in science as people are born intersex, neither male nor female, but a combination of the two or none at all. 

“You know the Bible says people like that are an abomination,” he continued. 

“Do you want to know what Jesus said about homosexuality and transgenderism in the Bible?” I asked. “I’ll quote it.” 

Silence.

“That’s a direct quote.”

I know I can’t change the minds of people deeply embedded in their beliefs. I try to exist around them, wondering how much of me they truly know. 

Queer, but Quiet

In my last job, I hid my queerness. Kept it secret. When you work with children in Texas, this is a safety measure. Parts poked out, and it showed, but I never confirmed it. It’s easy to play the part of a cishet man when your outer appearance matches the persona. 

I’m sure some people had their suspicions. It’s not hard to see if you know where to look. 

There were others who were open in the workplace, but I wasn’t jealous of them. What a wasted emotion that would have been. I saw an opportunity in this job to be a little more closer to myself, though I only invite people in rather than coming out. 

And I wonder if my so-called friend knows exactly where I stand in the matter. Again, because when you present as a cishet man, it’s easy to fall into old habits.