[Content Warning] An Evening in Life's Diner (Short Story)

I undertake these writings – and the sharing of them – for the sake of my self expression. I am under no particular illusions as to their literary merit, and ask only that any readers do not have any undue expectations. If you consider me wrong, then publish me – with full credit, of course :) Please also note that I check only occasionally for comments, so if you make any, please be patient. Kayleen White An Evening in Life’s Diner (This was an unsuccessfuil entry in a short story competition in 2006.) Her voice was gruffer than usual – a rock amongst the wash of other diners’ voices. “I think she was a wimp! Most of the world lived roughly, in those days – and especially on a frontier like that.” I smiled at her. “Did you get more gravel than usual in your Weeties this morning?” Carol stuck her tongue out in answer. Don had another view on the matter. “That’s true enough, but she was brought up in a sheltered life amongst a privileged few. I don’t think that makes her shock at encountering savagery any less real, or any less deserving of compassion, does it?” Carol toyed with her glass before replying. “One of the privileges that those few had was education. They knew – or they had the opportunity to know and should have, that it was a rough frontier. One of the things they were talking about were the Indian wars a few years before – which was why the settlers didn’t want to go off with the militia, ‘cos they wanted to be home so they could look after their own folks.” To which Carol’s taller partner, Helen, leaning with mock weight on Carol’s shoulder, added “Speaking of looking after their own folks, honey …” The hovering waitress thought that must mean it was safe to speak, and asked if we were ready to order. I guessed the “yet” was swallowed back about an inch (I’m too old to be completely metricated) above the vocal cords. Graham answered here “Yes, unless your menu has any hidden Mohicans that we haven’t dissected yet.” We all smiled, friends comfortable with each other, knowing each others humour and, generally, boundaries. The waitress didn’t know us. “Are you talking about “The Last of the Mohicans”? I’ve heard it’s a good film, although it’s very old – and Daniel Day Lewis is supposed to be a hunk.” Carol commented “Dunno about Daniel, but the chief bird is all right.” “Now, now, dear, don’t play with her” Don chided. The waitress, looking slightly as if she couldn’t remember if she was holding her pen upside down or not and was trying not to look, replied “It’s alright” in a tone of voice which said “Help – what’s happening here.” Helen saved her “You were checking out our young female lead, were you, my dear?” Carol and Helen touched finger tips – a small gesture with the intimacy and loudness of passionate embrace that almost drowned out the sound of the pennies dropping in the waitresses young mind. She looked ready to try and prove herself completely cool and experienced with the ways of the world, and to save her, as she opened her mouth Don started ordering. That occupied a few minutes, and as the waitress swooped back to the safety of the kitchen, Don put on his most impish grin and asked Carol “The chief bird? Is that an acceptable term in feminist circles?” Helen laughed, and Carol replied “I’m outraged – how could you doubt my political impeccability? Of course it is!” We all laughed at that, but Graham leaned his chin into a convenient hand, and continued “You liked the older sister, but the younger Monroe daughter …?” “I felt she was playing a bit into the princess and the “come rescue me” myth too much.” “Even though she died in the end?” “Yes. I think the only way I can describe it … and I know this isn’t quite right … is that sometimes the occasional failing of a myth just serves to reinforce that myth. Sounds a bit perverse, doesn’t it?” Helen waggled her finger and added severely “Anyway, dying is no excuse!” After the laughter, Don, leant forward and asked “She came close to being the basis for the redemption of the “nasty” Indian, though. Does that count for anything?” “No – and, in fact, I could argue that it was just in line with the view that women were just possessions, chattels to be disposed of as some old chief saw fit.” Graham chipped in “And I was just about to say how I thought the old chief was almost doing a Solomon.” Helen replied “There you go – saved by the bell. Honey, can we put the political knives down for a bit and pick up the table cutlery?” She continued with a smile “I’m sure poor Don could do with a break from being perpetually wrong.” Don, who had spent most of the evening so far, in his words “putting various feet into various mouths”, smiled back and said “No, it really is fine. I’m OK – I’m learning. In fact, the more I learn the more there seems to be.” More serious, Helen asked “Don, why the change? You’ve gone from some of the most self destructive behaviour I’ve ever seen, to someone who’s …” Graham supplied the missing words “Got angel L plates on, and almost learned how to dress fashionably – albeit a decade late.” Don laughed “No, I had to give the L plates back when they found out I’m an atheist – and they made me wear these as a penance. Helen, it’s hard to explain any other way that that I’ve just come to my sense, at the ripe old age of 40-something.” I asked “Are you an atheist, or a humanist?” “Both – I don’t believe in God, which makes me an atheist, but I now believe in trying to make the world a better place, which makes me a humanist.” Carol summed it up “A religious nut without the religion.” “Right on, sis! That’s me.” Our talk drifted to the technical aspects of the film then: Graham was a dedicated film buff, and he wanted to particularly dissect the lighting (with a few questions from us about restaurant lighting), and the framing of scenes. During the framing of scenes dissertation, I asked Graham with mock seriousness “How did scene 34L compare with the tree lined suburban street framed by that front window” – to which the reply was “Less pollution, more trees”. Eventually we were saved by our entrees, which were brought by a new waitress, a broad shouldered woman with a quiet, deep voice. We shared glances as she served and, after she was safely out of ear shot, I asked Carol “Well, what do you think. Is she?” “So I take it you don’t know her, then?” I shook my head. “Could be.” Graham asked “So what happened with that festival, then – the lesbian one?” “Ah, that lesbian festival? That one?” asked Carol. I smiled at her “You don’t get extra dessert for frequent sarcasm points dear.” “Well, they shouldn’t exclude trans dykes!” Some of the nearby diners, a bit further advanced with their meals, were looking a bit like they thought – ironically – that passion and pavlova didn’t mix, and I paused to marshal my thoughts. After a moment, Helen gently tilted my head up so she could ask a question with her marvellously expressive eyebrows. I smiled in reply, and then said: “I can only speak from my experience, and although I’ve met quite a few trans people – men and women, one thing I’ve found is that any assumption I make, trans tho’ I am, experienced tho’ I be, will probably get blown out of the water in about five minutes time. ‘However! Having said that, I will dive in and give my personal opinion.” “Continue, please, most gracious diver”, Don encouraged, and we managed half an old world, formal bow while seated, to the accompaniment of Carol’s rolled eyes, Graham’s shake of the head and Helen’s laughter. “Obviously, being trans, I believe – no, I’ll use a work phrase here: ‘I am firmly of the opinion that’, trans people are of the gender they – we – say we are.” I studied my glass, and continued “I went through quite a bit when I was deciding whether or not to transition – or affirm my gender as they say now.” “Is that a good phrase?” asked Don. “Yes”, I replied. “It helps to reinforce the truth, which is that we are changing our life and bodies to reflect who we really are, rather than the old idea of changing the sex of one’s body – almost as if it was a whim. You know, oh let’s see, what will I do today? Oh, I think I’ll write the next Nobel prize winning novel, rescue some small third world economy from ruin, and oh, I’ll fill in the extra time before smoko by getting a bit of surgery done that will lead to all sorts of discrimination and harassment.” Helen commented quietly “It was pretty major, wasn’t it, that decision of yours?” I smiled back at her “Yes, dear, I did seriously contemplate suicide, as you well know. But, going back to that festival, most of us, when we transition, are so focused on surgery, and coping with the absolute barrage of seemingly universal discrimination, harassment, non-acceptance, and almost indifferent undermining, the sort of stuff that probably means nothing to the mongrels doing it – and it would probably be easier for them just to not be such … pains -” “Nice save, in this environment” commented Don. We bowed again. “Anyway, it is such a big, overwhelming deal to us, and we wind up seeming to have to fight for every scrap and skerrick of acceptance, that one of the problems we can wind up with a sort of a denial reflex:. Something along the lines of: I was always – in my case – female, and there isn’t any difference whatsoever between me and any other woman.” Don asked “Did you go through that stage as well?” “Don, of course she didn’t” Carol snapped. “Actually, Carol, I did” and I hung my head in mock shame. “But, I grew out of it, and I can now see that, yes, I am female, but society spent a lot of time and effort trying to make me male in my early years, and that does make for some differences – as do some of the shortcomings of surgery, like not having periods – yes,” I replied to Helen’s eyebrows “some of us do see that as a disadvantage, and not being able to get pregnant. I can argue about how it compares with, say, the differences that exist between cultures, and that, oh, let’s say … a woman from an Inuit tribe may have less in common with a white, Anglo woman’s upbringing than mine, but the fact remains that there is a difference. In fact, I can continue, and argue that the difference does not justify discrimination, but there are differences between me and other women, because of that upbringing, and because the surgery isn’t perfect.” “But” countered Don, “Does that justify having a separatist festival?” “No, in my opinion it doesn’t – but it does justify maybe having some workshops there to focus on the issues that being brought up as a female, being socialised as a female, do create – and I don’t necessarily think those events should be closed, just as I don’t think trans events should be closed off to others. In fact, we - trans people – want people to come and understand us and our issues, and I would have thought it would be good for these women to have other people there to learn.” “Although, I suppose,” Don added, “some people might need some time out for healing from that socialisation, perhaps.” “Codswallop! If they need healing, then they can go see a counsellor!” “Carol, dear, I can assure you my cod didn’t – or, at least, not you.” Helen pealed with laughter, Graham rocked, and I said to Carol “Your wife will explain later. It’s another old world thing.” “Anyway, madam, well expounded” Graham commented on my recent speech. Helen mused “If she’s transgender – or should I say transsexual? Anyway, I wonder if she knows Diane? Would it be safe to ask?” I replied “If she’s trans – I usually use that word rather than either of the others, she probably doesn’t want it being thrown in her face. If she is, she’d rather just be able to get on with her work.” Helen says “But that’s frustrating – I’m accepting her as a female, as I do with other trans people.” Don interrupted “Except the female-to-males, I hope.” Carol snapped “Of course – she knows what she’s doing.” Helen soothed “Settle, dearest” and continued. “I feel like I want to show her that I’m accepting of her but you’re saying I can’t?” “Well, it’s a case by case basis, but I’d err towards caution, and show her the respect for her work by not asking.” Then I added, with a smile “But that’s just me.” Helen looked at Don quizzically and tried again “So, this mysterious sea change you’ve had …?” “Will continue to be mysterious because … here’s tea.” For a while all was relatively quiet, as we switched from feeding our psyches to our bodies. Afterwards, as we fidgeted to find a position that best balanced gravity, comfort and our overfull stomachs, Graham intoned: “Friends, Romans and other immigrant Australians: it appears that we, the assembled pontificators cannot solve all of the world’s problems tonight! This is an absolute horror, and we shall all have to hand in our Pontificator Extraordinaire badges as, hanging our heads in shame, we leave the building.” At that point our new waitress arrived to collect dishes. Helen asked “Excuse me, I was wondering if you know Diane?” “No, sorry, I don’t know anyone by that name.” She paused after effortlessly collecting another setting, glanced at me and commented very quietly: “I’m not actually transgender, although my partner is.” Helen said “I didn’t mean any offence, I was just … curious.” The waitress smiled back listlessly. After she left, Don commented “Well, there’s a whole new field for you, perhaps, maybe there are a lot of other women who have deep voices etc but aren’t trans. I wonder what do they go through?” I commented that I had heard of women who weren’t trans having problems with using female toilets, at which point Helen said “well, not to the toilets, but we must away!” - and with a round of hugs and kisses, they were. Graham, twirling his glass again, commented absently “thinking she would know someone is like people overseas asking me if I know such and such who is Sydney – same continent, different state, but I MUST know them.” Don asked “Is it fair to raise that when they’ve left?” “Don, I wasn’t having a go at them. I just honestly only just through of that – and it’s not as if we’re counting points or anything. It’s just a normal night’s conversation!” Don apologised. “Anyway, I must also be away.” Don started to apologise again, but Graham reassured him it wasn’t anything he had said, and then he too was gone. I smiled at Don and asked “So, how’s it going then?” He smiled “It’s still growing away nicely, and thanks you for asking.” “And is the positive thinking helping?” He shook his head. “It seems that someone has done some more studies, and now there are down sides to trying to be positive, in that people may ignore things they need to acknowledge.” “But you’re still persisting?” He smiled back. So I persisted. “Why?” “Well, its got nothing to do with the cancer now. I just genuinely realise what an arsehole I was before, and I don’t want to be that any more – even if the cancer disappeared tomorrow, if it got up and walked out of me – leaving probably half of my body” with a wry smile, “I would still want to try to be a better person.” “Hard, isn’t it?” “Yes! – and you’re supposed to say I wasn’t that bad.” “Sorry – I’ll surrender my good friend of the week award. Why won’t you tell the others that –“ “I’m dying? I will, but not yet – I want to see if I can be a better person on the merits of my behaviour and how I actually am, and not get that all mixed up with sympathy.” Our new waitress delivered the bill. It was a smooth, well practised and entirely unobtrusive gesture, almost unnoticeable – until the wallet or purse was suddenly found to be so much lighter. But then, maybe her life was easier when she didn’t stand out, so she practised being invisible. I reached out. “No, I can’t take it with me, and I have no-one to leave it to.” As graciously as I could, I conceded, with a small gesture and incline of the head, and a few minutes later, we were standing out in the cold, drizzling night. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” “What, Don?” “The lights in the rain. Even that chill in the breeze – makes you feel alive” I looked carefully at him. “No, I’m OK.” With a wry smile, “I still have more good to do in the world. Yes, it’s hard to change so completely, but I’ve got to the point where I want to do that so I can feel my life was worthwhile. And if I can help someone else to get a bigger perspective, to be a little more considerate – or even less inconsiderate than I’ve been, this thing meant something.” “Any thoughts about spending this time differently?” “You mean by partying and living a selfish, “for me, now” lifestyle, like I used to?” I tipped my head on one side, and waited. “No – those thoughts went very quickly. This is a curse because of the time I’m losing, but it’s a blessing because the little time I do have is so much more precious and well spent now.” “Ya oughtta be a saint.” “There goes that lack of religion thing again, getting in the way.” I gave him a kiss and we went our separate ways – me into the cold, drizzly night, he to explore a world of magical lights in misty rain, life, learning and hope. © Kayleen White, January, 2006