Identity Interrupted

by Meriam Rodriguez

  “I got a list of psychiatrists who can evaluate you if you’re still down to move forward.”

  The gurgling of the water behind us provides comfort against the harshness of her persistence.

  “Adelina, I’m not going through with this. I’m not even going to do Tyler anymore. I’ve never wanted to be a man. You know that.”

  “You’ve said it yourself; you have always been a tomboy.”

  “We both know that’s not the same thing. That woman just confirmed it. I don’t want a penis or facial hair or to cut my tits off. I don’t want any of that.

  “I can’t… be a lesbian, Tyler. I’m not a lesbian.” Adelina starts to have another meltdown.

  “Look, I can pretend to be Tyler for a little longer, but eventually you have to come to terms with the fact that you’re in love with a woman.”

  Adelina stays quiet.

  “Is it really that bad? So bad, you would subject me to a lifetime of hormones and surgeries against what I want for myself. I can’t do it. I can’t self-sacrifice for you, anymore.”

  “Then don’t do that part, baby. You can wear a strap-on when we go out,” she goes into seduction mode. “My man’s bulge needs to be well endowed, anyway.”

  “Holy shit. Are you kidding me? Is this a hidden camera show or something?”

  “Okay, how about just a few hormone shots to deepen your voice and grow some hair?”

  “No, I’m done.” I declare once and for all.

  Those images in the binder fuel a new determination. You don’t transform your body like that to silence someone else’s beast.

  “What she said isn’t true. I wouldn’t leave you no matter what.” Adelina’s continued bargaining keeps her in denial.

  “Then why not accept me the way I am? Stop trying to change me.”

  “That’s not fair. You know how important this is to me.”

  “You know what’s not fair? For you to expect me to rearrange my entire identity because you’re not a lesbian. You don’t even have to say all of that, bring me around, and they’ll get it. For all you know, they won’t even care.”

  Adelina buries her face into my neck.

  “I care. I don’t want the world thinking I’m something that I’m not. I don’t even consider myself bisexual. You’re the only girl I like, and look at you. You’re practically a boy!”

  “Why does this have to be so complicated? You love me, and I love you back. Why can’t that be enough?”

  “You don’t know how my family is. They’ll disown me! Do you think we’ll live happily ever after if I tell my parents?”

  Tears stream down her face. It seems like all I ever do now is make her cry.

  “We won’t!” she continues. “I’m not losing my family for you, so you better figure this out.”

  Adelina walks away without turning back. I stay in the garden listening to the sounds until a light rain starts to dampen my skin. The train ride on the northbound car is congested. My eyes look at nothing but observe everything.

  A parallel reality plays out in my mind – a world where I give into Adelina’s request. What would people think? My parents would be disturbed. My brother and sister would probably be freaked out and ban me from seeing their future kids. People would know something is off from a mile away but not put their finger on it. It already happens to me because it’s not my truth. How can I convince them when I haven’t convinced myself? And no amount of hormones can undo that glimpse when you look into the eyes of a woman that loves being a woman.

  “There goes my boyfriend, Tyler Love.” Adelina’s slogan infiltrates my thoughts.

  A homeless man crosses over from the next subway car.

  “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, sorry for the interruption. I’m not here to beg for money,” he speaks with the cadence of a poet. “I’m a Vietnam vet and the homeless philosopher. Some call me a prophet. Others call me a nigga, but I’m neither. I just listen to things that pass through, is all.”

  He walks up and down the car while speaking, engaging attention as he does. Almost everyone is listening intently.

  “I’m here to share my wisdom and ideas with anyone who will hear me out. If you are present here on this train. Right now. I have but one question. Do you know who you are? Not who others think you are. You know, those other people we become in our daily lives? Yeah, not that. You. You, when it’s just you and you. And no, them.” his sermon has us hooked. “No, he. No, she. No, they be. If you are present here on this train. Right now. I have only one thought to share. Stupid is as stupid does, does happen when you’re stupidly doing what everyone else does.”

  We all laugh with him.

  “If you are present here on this train. Right now. I have but one solution. Figure out who you are and be the biggest, baddest motherfucker on this planet. Thank you. I accept coins, bills, food donations, books, and smiles.”

  The homeless philosopher jazzes up the last line in deep, smooth, Barry White-like inflections. He holds a hat to his heart and graciously collects donations dropped into it, showing genuine appreciation for each one. When he gets to my side of the train, we smile big at each other – kindred spirits, and we know it.

  He comes in closer and whispers, “Don’t do it. Whatever it is, don’t do it.”

  “What?”

  “To be honest, miss, I don’t know. Just don’t do it.”

  He faces the car doors and mimics the ting tung sound as it chimes. The homeless philosopher exits without saying another word. His message resonates, but I shake the coincidence off. There’s no way he channeled it from beyond. That probably could have applied to anyone on this train. A woman sitting across from me – who may have heard his advice – is watching as I prepare to get off at the next stop.

  A sticky heat has everyone in the hood out on every corner. The Ruff Ryders’ Anthem is blasting from a car driving by. Roaring motorcycle mufflers pop into action, and screaming kids run in and out of park sprinklers. There’s a distinct contrast between this summertime joy and the sadness in my soul. It all creates a weight that induces a sluggish need for sleep. A nap would be the perfect getaway from these feelings of being an alien in my skin. My walk is different. The clothes I wear and this hair are unrecognizable. Nothing feels the same anymore. The person that reflects in mirrors and pictures hasn’t looked like me in a long time.

  A group of guys huddled up into a lyrical cipher are challenging each other to see who can create the most complex metaphors. On a different day, I would check to see who I know and join the sidelines as a hype man. Today though, I shrink into myself instead. After passing safely and without drawing their attention, another hurdle appears. On the opposite side of the yard is a group of girls in high energy. Some are getting their hair braided, others are double-dutching, and the rest are talking loud and cracking jokes.

  “What’s up, Slim Shady!” one of them yells out.

  Damn. It’s hard to keep a low profile when everybody and their mother are out in the neighborhood you grew up in, especially when you walk around with a bleach blonde head of hair. Instead of stopping, I pick up the pace a little. It could be anyone, friend or foe. The girl’s voice calls out again, this time from directly behind me.

  “Solei.”

  My defenses are up as I spin around.

  “You don’t know people anymore?”

  A familiar face that I haven’t seen in a while smiles back. It’s Camila. Yes, that Camila. My ex-girlfriend. The last person to leave me with a broken heart. We throw arms around each other in a bear hug. The warmth feels like we’ve lost no time at all.

  “What are you up to?” I deflect.

  “I’m getting my hair braided for a play. Do you have plans later? Tonight’s our opening night. I would love for you to be there. It starts at 9 p.m.”

  “What’s it about?” I ask before commit
ting to open fresh wounds.

  “Well, it’s called Devil May Care. It’s about a teenage girl that lives in a homeless shelter in the Lower East Side. She saves people’s lives based on these visions she sees until a dirty cop starts to blackmail her.” Camila’s passion for the story is gleaming in her eyes.

  “Is your boyfriend gonna be there?”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend anymore.” she smiles.

  “Interesting… well, I would love to support your opening night. I’ll be there.”

  I calculate the time in my head. That desperately needed nap will have to happen on the train ride back into the city. There’s no way I’m turning down a night out with her.

  After the show, we go for dinner and drinks at a spot I know we won’t get carded.

  “That was incredible! When did you get into acting?” I gush over her.

  “Believe it or not, I got my heart broken. That guy I was dating cheated on me with one of the girls from church, and I was devastated.”

  “Wait, how long was that happening for? Who did he hook up with from church?”

  “With Jessica, for almost a year. Goes to show that not even a God-fearing man can keep it in his pants, and he was older than me. He knew exactly how to play it.”

  “That’s pretty bold. How does someone keep that secret when you all go to the same church? Did you ever suspect anything?”

  “Never. And yes, the fuck he was. I would’ve bet my life on his loyalty. He had me and my mother fooled.”

  It’s bittersweet hearing that the man her mother was happy to see Camila with cheated and broke her heart. I try to find satisfaction in this but can’t.

  “How old is he?”

  “Thirty-five, with a Benz, and a summer home in the Poconos. I was ready to marry him and everything.” Camila downs the rest of her drink and sorrows.

  My jealousy has me doing the same. Her mother accepted anyone, as long as it wasn’t me. The waiter returns just in time with our next round.

  “I hope his dick falls off,” she laughs with tears in her eyes.

  “To dickless ex-boyfriends.” I raise my glass.

  Camila gladly raises hers to mine.

  “Anyways… a friend signed me up to this improv class, and that was it. I fell in love with theater. Who would’ve thought? Me, a theater nerd?”

  Heartbreak. The great catalyst to better versions of ourselves. Maybe that’s why I went through this with Adelina. What is she bringing me closer to?

  “Have you dated anyone since we… you know, stopped seeing each other?” she avoids eye contact.

  I’ve managed to leave Adelina’s name out of the entire dinner until now. Thinking of her makes my stomach turn.

  “There’s this one girl from Queens. We’ve been dating since February, but it’s not working out.”

  I keep it simple, hoping it’s enough to satisfy her curiosity.

  “Since February? It must be serious then. That’s like five years in lesbian time. What is she like?”

  “I thought it was getting serious, but it’s also been getting weird lately.”

  “Weird how?”

  “I don’t know. The first couple of months were amazing. Now she’s trying to change everything about me.”

  “I see. The classic, ‘I love you, you’re perfect, now change’ syndrome. It happens to the best of us,” Camila jokes.

  “This was my first real relationship after us. No disrespect, but our relationship was childish compared to this one. I don’t know how to get her to stop trying to make me into something I’m not.”

  “Don’t give in. No matter what. Make her love you the way you are.”

  “I don’t think it’s going to be so simple. She’s not asking for minor adjustments.”

  “Is that why you look different? The hair and the clothes. Is this all for her?”

  “Kind of, but not entirely. The hair was something I did in the heat of the moment, a rebellion sort of thing. But she’s encouraged a more masculine vibe. Encouraged being a mild understatement.”

  “It can’t be that bad. You’re not that far out of your comfort zone, right?”

  Camila’s search for silver linings has always been her thing. I take a deep breath and center myself before revealing my awkward situation.

  “Please keep this between us, Camila. Like ‘take it to the grave’ type shit, okay?”

  “I promise. What’s up? Are you good?”

  “My girlfriend wants me to have a sex change so we can live like a straight couple.”

  Camila spits out her drink.

  “I was expecting a threesome or anal. You know, something freaky. But not an actual freak show being forced into a sex change!” she cleans off the beer from her face. “Sol, what the hell?”

  “Hello, I know. This is my reality.”

  “I’ve never heard of some shit like that. You’re not thinking of doing it, are you?”

  “Not really, but I’ve been going along with it. I was hoping she would get over the fantasy, but she hasn’t.”

  “You need to get out of that relationship ASAP! Run for your life and never look back.”

  Camila reinforces the conclusion that’s been disturbing my brain since I left The Center.

  “You shouldn’t have to go through all of that for her to love you. There are plenty of women that will accept you for who you are. Believe that!” Camila gestures for the check.

  A part of me is still hopeful that Adelina is on the other side of town, coming to her senses.

  LAST CALL

  By the time I get back home, it’s still early for a Friday night. The house is calm, except for my parents sitting at the dining table with concerned looks on their faces.

  “Who died?” I try to make a joke about the somber mood.

  “Take your hat off,” Mami demands.

  I do as she asks without question. This has become a sort of ceremony between us as the “you cut your hair” argument, followed by examining my hairline. When I do come home with a fresh cut, we have a showdown, and I get the silent treatment for days.

  “Adelina called looking for you today,” Mami finally reveals.

  I’m automatically uptight. It’s not common for my mother to share information when someone calls for me, especially Adelina.

  “Okay, what did she say?”

  Mami stares me down, then sits without saying another word. My father takes over and tries to mediate the situation.

  “Sol, sit down. We need to talk about something.”

  My heart pounds with so much intensity that I’m on the verge of a heart attack. Did something happen to Adelina?

  “First things first, I don’t want that girl anywhere near my house.” Mami finally breaks the silence.

  “Um,” confused, and now a little less worried, I respond, “okay…”

  “Yolanda, why don’t we start with what she told you?” my father says.

  “You guys are scaring me. What’s this all about?”

  “That girl had the nerve to tell me that I have to take down your Sweet Sixteen picture because you look too much like a girl. ¿Esa ‘ta loca? This is my house!” Mami yells.

  The picture in question is a 24x28 framed portrait of me in a tiara and an off-white dress my aunt from Puerto Rico designed. My parents paid $300 to have it framed for all who visit. It’s a symbol of the daughter they once had. A naive version before the runaway, the sex worker, and the little dyke pretending to be a boy.

  “I’m not taking that picture down!” Mami rages on.

  “Shh, lower your voice. I don’t want the neighbors knowing our business,” Papi demands. “Solei, I feel like I don’t know you anymore. What’s going on?”

  “She also told me that you’re having a sex change,” my mother adds.

  They both
watch my face for a reaction – which has undoubtedly gone pale.

  “She told you that?”

  The burden of them knowing my secret humbles me.

  “Yes, and she told me about the surgery to remove your tetas. That you’re going to take pills to be more like a man.” Mami erupts again.

  Her anger has mutated into fear and concern. I can’t believe Adelina would take it this far, especially after everything that happened today.

  “Solei, we want you to go for therapy,” Papi says. “To help you make sense of things.”

  “This is some bullshit, Papi! You guys made this decision based on things that she told you? Things that were her idea in the first place.” I yell at my father.

  The summer heat is instigating my resentment.

  “Don’t scream at your father.” Mami charges back, pouncing from her seat.

  Papi stands between us in reaction to my mother’s aggression. He puts his hands on her shoulders and tries to calm her. My response is to kick into fight-or-flight mode. I choose the latter and flee before my parents can continue their interrogation.

  Sammy welcomes me with a hug and a beer when I show up an emotional wreck at her door.

  “Yo, let’s get some blow,” I tell her, ready to escape these feelings.

  “Nah, I’m good with my six-pack. I don’t wanna mess with that tonight.”

  “Well, can you hit up your connect for me?”

  Sammy unwillingly makes the call. My goodies get delivered in less than ten minutes, and the staircase becomes our chill spot while I do bumps. Once the nasal drip comes down, I start to feel like Superman – which always makes me more talkative, and I begin to tell her about Camila.

  “Oh my God. Do you think you guys are getting back together?” Sammy questions.

  “It’s not even like that. Camila is different now. After everything that happened with her mom and that guy she dated, the church, everything. There’s no turning back.”

  “Yeah, but she’s legal now. It’s a different battlefield, and I bet she still loves you.”