Passing Bye

by Renee King

Sean had fair skin, café au lait it was called, and green eyes. She, or the queen, (how she thought of herself) was an amalgam of races. Her mother could boast Irish, Native, and African American ancestry. Her father was unsure of the specifics, but knew he was Caribbean of African and European descent. Truth is, one only had to look at those blue-green eyes fighting against the wide nose and plush lips to know that someone had gone visiting amongst slave row long back. She realized one day as she stood in the mirror viewing her soft fair skin that, “With makeup, I can pass.”

When Sean stood outside she was conscious of the rules, even more conscious because now she had to learn to forget them. She had to be more like the other, to blend in, to hide so well that she did not even recognize herself. A chameleon. But doubts crept in, “They can tell by your hands,” they’d warned. “Your features are a bit hard,” a successfully passing ‘friend’ had sneered.

Outside, she was conscious of shrinking. She was taught to step lightly, mute her demeanor, avert her eyes and definitely not walk like she owned the world – it was a sure giveaway, but why couldn’t she, damn it? Aggressive: another trait to get rid of and quickly if she wanted to pass successfully. She fell into her stance; rounding, instead of squaring her shoulders, opening her eyes wide, pasting a pleasant smile on her face. She had on her fancy dress, her delicately but intricately applied makeup. Her hair, naturally brown with red highlights, was styled beautifully, gleaming and silky and her locks swayed when she moved. She loved the feel of it down her back and not hidden away in a hat or a bun or forced to be cut… and it was hers, no wig for Sean, thank you very much! She took a step and then joined the world, conscious of them, conscious of her, but in this bustling northern city, no one seemed to care, she relaxed – a bit.

She needed directions. She was a fish out of water, newly from the South, settled in Harlem and now on the Upper East Side where people rushed by staring curiously more at her wide-eyed smile than at the spectacle of her. She must have looked like plump, juicy, country-fried chicken for the tasting, the artery clogging kind that left grease on the fingers and saturated lips to a high gloss. She clenched her hands together and rang them at the feeling of being alone and lost and insecure in this city. Then a thrill shot through her at the naturalness of the reaction, ringing her hands like those old blonde southern belles. The epitome of delicate American woman. Those pretty flowers she longed to be like. She noticed another thrill – her body. It tingled all over, her skin had goosebumps; it was the simultaneous thrill and fear of discovery and… arousal? She was almost, no, she was, sexually aroused. “My God, I feel alive!”

She was heading to the quarterly luncheon of the Holmes Reading Circle located in a small cafe on 5th Avenue and 50th Street or somewhere close by, in any case, close to St. Patrick’s Cathedral. It was the landmark given in the welcome letter and she knew it was in Midtown.

She walked aimlessly for a moment, to practice, to make sure her movements were gentle and flowing, not minimal, stilted, and guarded like before. She was also getting the feel of just being free; working up the nerve to talk to people; to actually go to the luncheon; to just exist, in a world that told her she dare not belong. Sean squelched her nerves and stepped close to the curb to hail a taxicab. Magically, one stopped for her almost immediately. She smiled and stepped to open the door. Just then, a thin, expensive looking woman flounced by and sat in the taxi. She leaned over with a self satisfied smirk on her lips and began to pull the door handle to close it. Sean held on for a moment, her lips tightening; the door not budging. “I hailed this taxi, he stopped for me.”

“First come, first serve, learn the rules, hon.” Then the woman looked at Sean, closer, and even closer after that and then she sneered and laughed. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. Of all the nerve…you’re not even convincing, ha! Now, Let. Go!” Sean stepped back mortified and the woman slammed the door. She looked around to see a few people witness the exchange. She met curious stares and others full of pity. She wanted to run and hide.

“Here.”

She turned. “Take mine.”

A gentleman in a dark grey suit held open his door for her. Sean sashayed over to the open taxi door. She turned to thank the gentleman that she towered over, looking him square in the eye and then slipping into the seats. He still held the door, transfixed. “I-I’m not heading too far, would you like to share?” Sean asked.

She saw his face change, melt into lust.

“Only if we are going back to your place.”

She was shocked, unable to utter a word.

“I pay well,” the man said fingering the top of the door as if it were her skin. He rolled his tongue in his mouth at her.

“I think you’re mistaken.”

The man shook his head. “I’ve come to your community and sampled from the… forbidden tree before. Whaddaya say?”

Sean smiled, her best imitation of calm, her voice quiet, “I’m already booked for the day and now I’m running late,” she laughed lightly. The man smiled and gave her a card with his call information. “Call me, when you’re free.”

She mumbled a reply and shut the door and just sat there stunned as the taxi pulled away. She contemplated her trip. She wasn’t ready, she should have practiced more, researched more, gotten better makeup, not overdone it so much on the fancy dress in the middle of the day or the extra jewelry, especially the rings. She slipped all but one of the large gaudy rings off. When she looked around at the pretty women on this side of town she did seem to be flashier. She may have gotten away with this dress in Harlem, maybe better down South, but here… ‘Maybe I had better….’ She thought, ‘Was it something I did or didn’t do? Will I always be a freak in their world? The other to be used or abused but never accepted?’

“Ma’am, Ma’am, where are you going?” The impatience in the driver’s voice caught her attention. “Ahh, Saint Patrick’s Cathedral.”

She stood outside the door to the small café gathering courage. Inside, she saw the ladies dressed in casual skirts and cardigans for the afternoon luncheon, walking to the tied off section — the best section of the café, not in the back, but front and center. Sean longed to join them, to sit with them and be admired along with them. She was tired of being on the outside looking in, but she was scared of the exposure that came with being on the inside. Floating just on the margins and being invisible had its perks. You could look, but not touch. And because they never saw you, they couldn’t touch either–your emotions, your body. No one could find you out, beat you down. It was like being cloaked with a protective invisibility cloth. It was like having a delicious secret that no one else but you and a few select others knew of, but the problem comes when you want to share your secret or when you do want to be touched. Sean wanted to touch and be touched now by the world. She was tired of existing on the periphery of life, hiding in her house, avoiding others for fear of harsh judgment. She wanted to live and live on her terms. So she walked in.

She joined the line of ladies. They all took their seats and then noticed her. Their chatter stopped at her approach. There were 12 of them. She met their curious eyes and smiled. They smiled back tentatively. An older white haired woman approached. She wore thick glasses and still squinted. “I’m Rose Miner. The hostess and group leader for the circle. You must be Sylvia Cache.”

“Yes.” Sean was overjoyed and eager to be accepted.

“Everyone, this is the young woman I have been in contact with. She is new to our fine city by way of Georgia.”

Sean smiled in the faces of the open, curious, friendly, and wary eyes depending on the viewer. One woman on the farthest right began whispering to her neighbors.
“Sylvia, have a seat, help yourself to some refreshments and tell us all about you and how you came to hear of our circle,” said Mrs. Miner.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Miner, may I have a word with you.”

Sean stood where she was as a young woman approached and pulled the older woman away. Sean smiled towards the other women but the smiles weren’t too friendly any longer; she noticed a definite freezing along the eyes and stiffness of the mouth now. No one welcomed her to have a seat. She unconsciously squared her shoulders, readying herself to being kicked out of the tribe. Mrs. Miner came back and stared as inconspicuously as possible then she approached. Mrs. Miner grasped her hand and began pulling her forward. She then stopped, turned and looked closely at Sean. “Oh dear…”

The younger woman who had pulled Mrs. Miner away threw ‘told you so’ looks to her mates. The women looked shocked. Mrs. Miner looked distressed and began to murmur, then she said firmly, “Although we pride ourselves on being a group of liberal woman from backgrounds who believe in equality for all, in this small space we choose to keep company with women more-more-more in keeping with, ah, with-”

The younger spoke with a sweet smile, “What Mrs. Miner is trying to say is that she made a mistake in telling you that membership was open at this time. In fact, it is very much closed and I suspect it will be closed for quite some time. You may want to look into some clubs that are more suitable towards… your interests.”

Sean felt like crumpling, but she stood straight and strong and very tall. She felt like something inside of her was breaking and the pain was so unbearable she went numb. She didn’t speak; she just smiled and backed away before walking out. She never said a word because if she spoke her voice would have broken, along with her composure and then the tears would have come and… it wouldn’t end.

She wandered along the streets of 5th avenue aimlessly. She looked at the goods in the shop windows, yearning to go into one of the hotels or tall buildings to have a peaceful lunch without threat of being read or worse denied entry. She thought of her mother’s tears; the beatings given to her by her father; and the counselor’s warnings of what having a disorder like hers could mean to her future. And finally, her family’s joy when she came to her senses, stopped her nonsense, settled down, and even got married to boot. Marriage was the cure it seemed. Marriage would keep her in line. She’d be too busy taking care of her family to dream. The old folks were convinced it was their prayers and excessively scrubbing her with lime and Blue, mixed with the sickly sweet smells of High John the Conqueror and Jinx Removing oils that had worked to remove the contrary spirits within. She shook her head, glad to be far away from those backwoods holiness churches in McRae. “People see who you are without you ever having to say a word.” Those were her granny’s words. And it seemed to be a double-edged prediction, she could turn her back on them like the Holmes Circle had turned on her, but she would never escape them, like she would never escape her true self.

She knew of places she could go to fit in just fine, but those places were tawdry and cheap. It was for performers, those with a fetish. Still, those places she had come to scorn now seemed comforting and familiar, so familiar the tears were back and she rapidly blinked them away. She had to urinate. She debated waiting and catching a cab back but the need was too great. She knew the risk she was taking, but she figured if she just walked in no one would question her right.

In a department store she headed to the bathroom. She had picked a large store; one she could get lost in; one where it was too big for anyone to notice a single woman. Just inside, a woman and child were adjusting their clothes at the oval mirror. She brushed past them and walked to a stall but every stall was filled. Sean straightened to her full height after bending to peep under each stall and met the furious eyes of the woman who gaped at her. She stuttered in her rage, “How dare you! How dare you!” She covered her daughter’s eyes. “Did you see the sign!” A girl emerged from a stall and Sean whipped around to meet her stare. The girl laughed, “Hey, you’re —“

Sean threw up her hands, “I’m sorry,” she whispered and began backing out and right into the woman’s daughter behind her. The woman pushed Sean hard causing her to stumble forward. “Ellen!” she screamed for her daughter.

All the stall doors opened now with women peeking out. The younger woman who’d laughed said, “Hey! She’s just trying to use the restroom like everyone else, leave her alone.” But most of the other women began stalking out to join the commotion, or else they just left, glaring at Sean as they passed. The woman with her daughter sputtered, “Use the bathroom? I know about you people,” she pointed at Sean, “Perverse… abomination! You come into these places to lure children!” She stared at Sean with malice. “There are witnesses here and I’m getting a guard.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong, I just–“

“You freaks need to be exterminated.”

The girl yelled, “You religious, close-minded assholes need to be exterminated!”

Sean stammered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t see my bathroom. I didn’t mean any trouble, I’m going quietly.” They ignored her leave taking in the midst of their tribal fight that Sean could have nothing to do with now.

She snuck back into the house before her family could see her. She was beat. She went into the basement, into her “workroom” and began the ritual in reverse. She delicately removed the makeup, taking care to moisturize all the way. She removed the fancy dress, the jewelry, and the earrings, all except the studs. She put back on the baggy pants and t-shirt, normally worn around the house. She carelessly arranged her abundant brown dreads into a disheveled bun at the back of her neck. She was miserable again. In hiding again. She could no longer just be. She was Sean again. Husband to Tanya and father to Cameron and Derrick. He heard his wife puttering in the kitchen and calling the children down. He fingered once more, his dress, shaper, and shoes hidden in a bag hidden under his workroom table and prepared to go up for dinner.

“Hey,” he said.

“Honey,” his wife laughed as he emerged, “You gotta see this, there’s a pregnant man on Oprah today.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s a transvestite and it got pregnant,” she howled. ”Can you imagine? Lord, my granny sure did say we were in the end of times.”

“And Matthew said in the end of times people would lose love and compassion for each other.”

She was slicing the rack of lamb, the insides still pink, the juice still in the flesh, “Hmm, what did you say?” she said distracted.