It turns out that ML is a people magnet. Especially women. And on the rare occasion that a dyke walks into our coffee shop, that woman will end up sitting next to us feeling like she has know ML her whole life.
In the past, I have described ML as a woman who exudes I-have-had-a-long-and-intense-military-career. But she hasn’t. She was a kindergarten teacher for 40 years. I would have bet a box of See's Candies on the fact that she loved sports and drinking beer. But no, she loves opera, she loves going to art museums, and she loves champagne. Am I a poor judge of character? Maybe, but ML's cover tells you nothing about the read.
Pen is the most complicated and take-your-breath-away wise person I have ever known, but ML is by far the smartest. By that, I mean every day smart, not erudite. Taking her to the coffee shop with me is always a smile.
This morning was cloudy and brisk, so we sat inside. The place was packed. We ended up sitting side by side on a slightly padded wooden bench facing a tiny coffee table. The coffee table had a cracked, faded orange placemat on it.
“It’s sticky,” complained.
“Get over it,” she suggested.
I turned to her with a smirk, but she was busy studying a woman sitting by herself a few tables away. The woman was staring into her coffee mug, which she circled with both hands. Her dark hair was short and curly. The side of her face, which was all I could see, was light brown. She was warmly dressed and seemed comfortable being alone. “She seems happy with herself,” I said, because she did to me.
“She’s thinking about leaving her husband,” ML announced.
I snorted.
“Her wedding ring is on the table. Her nails are painted but chipped. And she’s dressed like there’s a blizzard raging outside.”
“All Arizonans wear turtle necks and jackets when it dips down to the sixties.”
“So, you’re an Arizonan now?”
I had to laugh. “I’m getting a refill. You want one?”
ML nodded. I went over and took a spot at the back of a short line waiting my turn to place the order. This gave me a better view of the woman. Her eyes were downcast and seemed a little puffy and red. I shook my head and decided I was just imagining things. I turned away and scanned the billboard on the other side of me. I then ordered, waited for the two fresh brews, and returned to ML only to find my seat had been taken by a young soft-looking man or maybe a butch looking woman. I couldn’t tell.
I put the coffees down. The man introduced himself as Chad, and thankfully, along with his pronouns.
“Hey, Chad. I’m Lilly.”
Chad got to his feet and said he was just leaving, but I had already found an empty chair and was bringing it over.
“I don't mean to intrude, but I kind of thought you might be a couple, and I just needed a connection.” Chad's voice was louder than I thought necessary, but I guess he was still finding his voice.
“I’m glad you did, Hon,” ML said, not bothering to correct his assumption about us. “These are tough times. Especially for kids like you.”
This caused Chad to spend the next hour telling us about the tough times for himself and his friends, even the friends that weren’t trans. Through it all, ML skillfully encouraged his talk, while I hopefully made him feel safe and heard.
I have to tell you, this was the first time I had been sought out as an elder. The first time I had to listen to a kid ask, “What did I do wrong to make this happen? What can I do to make it stop?”
It is heartbreaking with no obvious answers, except maybe to build/join a community where you can live your best life. But that felt a little hollow when I said it. As a young woman when I was fighting these battles in DC, we were moving society from bad to better. There was a lot of joy and energy in that. These kids are going from better to bad. The energy of betrayal is gutting.