Out of the Closet

by Aimee Norin

  “American Airlines—”

  “U.S. Air—”

  “Southwest Airlines—”

  “Avis Rent-a-Car—”

  “Hertz—”

  “National—”

  “Budget—”

  A Pensacola, Florida group cheered Mason for standing up.

  “You think they’ll kill us? It’s Arizona.”

  “Not with the news watching.”

  “Do they have plumbing in Kingman?”

  “I had G.R.S. in Scottsdale, so that’s plumbing.”

  “Well, I’m going to find out.” She pulled out her phone and tweeted, “Going to Journey in Kingman. Is there #plumbing in Arizona?”

  * * *

  Mayor Cori talked as quickly as she could on the phone. “You knew about this, Mason?”

  “It all happened so fast. Jed and Frank were being hauled into court, and I had to hurry to get it on the news in San Francisco.”

  “Yeah! No. No. I don’t mean making it a trans event,” Mayor Cori said. “I mean—look at this! We were expecting, what, ten thousand? But now we might have—I don’t know how many!”

  * * *

  “Let me put you on speaker,” Mason said to Mayor Cori. He pressed a couple of icons and sat his phone on the table in front of them.

  “Okay. Go ahead,” Mason said. “It’s Derie, me, and Oceanna.”

  The phone spoke clearly for all to hear.

  “We’ve just gone up in our attendance to a level that— Oceanna, you’re there?” the Mayor asked.

  “Yes,” Oceanna said.

  “Oceanna,” Mayor Cori said, ever the politician. “I’m so sorry for what Jed did to you, but I understand he’s got his keister fixed for it.”

  “Yes, I think he did.”

  “But now—” the Mayor said. “How many are coming? I don’t know the trans communities very well.”

  “Well,” Oceanna thought. “Three hundred plus million people in the U.S.— No one knows how many transpeople, of whatever kind, there are in the U.S.—there are likely millions—and Hila put out the call for others, too, so— And Kingman is not that remote, just a bit away from both Vegas and Laughlin, Nevada. You have an airport here. And this story has hit the wires.” Oceanna thought. “I don’t know, but I’d guess we may bring in an additional— Probably not more than an additional ten or thirty thousand.”

  “Christ on a cracker!” Mayor Cori said on the phone. “We don’t have the motels or restaurants or police—or even the out houses enough for that.

  “Derie!” Mayor Cori said.

  “Yes!” Derie answered.

  “You get more port-a-potties. Five times as many. Kingman is on the national scene. There’ll be press everywhere, and we don’t want people all over the world seeing we don’t even have anywhere around here to take a dump. We’ll pay for it with the emergency fund, and make a mint! Our businesses are gonna have their best day ever!

  “Mason!” The mayor asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Get a list up if you will of all the motels and restaurants in the surrounding counties, as well as hospitals. Print it out and have someone post them everywhere you can in Kingman, and all over the fairgrounds and the park. Put them at the airport, restaurants, grocery stores, gas stations. Stack them on the street if you have to. Print the copies out down here at City Hall. Same on the financing.

  “I’ll call the rest of the committee and get pallets full of bottled water— We got to get extra food!”

  Derie spoke up. “I will get a couple caterers from Phoenix to come up here ready to sling burgers and fries.”

  “Not everyone likes burgers and fries,” the Mayor said.

  “Yeah, but this is impromptu. It was dumped on us, and we’re just trying to keep everyone fed— Okay. I’ll also—”

  “You’re a vegetarian,” Mayor Cori said.

  “Yeah, I am,” Derie said. “No problem! So I’ll also get a couple Mexican food caterers to get up here lickity-split ready to serve tons of rice and beans.”

  “It’ll do,” Mayor Cori said. “This is all so sudden, but I think we’re going to be okay.”

  “They’re gonna want more stuff to buy,” Mason said.

  The mayor suggested, “Where can you get vendors this fast?”

  “I’ll call the carnival folks. I bet they know,” Mason said.

  Oceanna sat back in her chair with a smile.

  “I’ll call the governor and get more cops up here.”

  “These people won’t be any trouble,” Oceanna said. “This is a celebration of love and friendship. Trans doesn’t mean criminal.”

  “Sorry, Oceanna. I didn’t mean that. It’s just if you get fifty thousand people from all over the country who don’t know each other, you never know.”

  “I understand,” Oceanna said. “But can you tell the cops to keep their distance and let us vent?”

  “What’s that mean?” Mayor Cori asked.

  Oceanna shrugged. “Maybe venting oppression from everywhere.”

  “Like you’ve had,” Mayor Cori asked.

  “Yes. But I think it’ll take the form of hugs and dancing and screams of joy, rather than fighting. You’re more likely to have public nudity or sex behind a tree than you are fighting. This is not a church picnic.”

  The mayor laughed. “No, I can see that. The police will be diplomatic as good ol’ Roy. But we’ll need to keep it off camera.

  “And I better call Apple,” Mayor Cori said. “We’ve got to Wi-Fi this town and quick, or we’ll have people so frustrated even Journey won’t lift their spirits. Which makes me think of beer.”

  “It’s a disinhibitor,” Mason said with caution.

  “It is, but it could also make us a mint.”

  They could all hear the mayor smile through the phone.

  “I’m calling the Budweiser people,” the Mayor said. “We’ve got some infrastructure we could get with this. I’m gonna be Governor before we’re done.”

  CHAPTER

  26

  Ma and Pa Severay sat in folding chairs under a tree in their front yard, across the street from the park, and watched the commotion.

  One big, ole cargo truck rolled by on Detroit Avenue, right in front of them.

  Another turned left off Fairgrounds Avenue and missed the corner, had to back up and take another shot at it, then rolled by on Detroit right in front of them, also.

  “Looks like big to-do this year for the 4th,” Pa said.

  “Big ‘n ever year,” Ma said.

  Pa leaned forward in his chair to peer at the fairgrounds to the east. “Lotsa doins over there, too.”

  “Don’t usually do nothin’ here in this park, here, though,” Ma said. “Just the fairgrounds yonder.”

  “Don’t explain it to me,” Pa said. “But look at ‘em go! They proly got a thousand folks over there, like they gonna ‘xpect Buck Owens to show up.”

  “I think he’s gone, Leroy,” Ma said.

  “Not if he’s comin’ here, woman!”

  A man walked out of the park into the middle of Detroit to pick a truck out of the line and turn him into the parking lot. He was waving his arms and yelling, smiling.

  After the truck turned, he walked over to Ma and Pa Severay for a howdy-do.

  “Mornin!” Mason said. “Big do here tonight.”

  “So we see,” Ma said back to him.

  “What cha got?” Pa asked.

  “Big 4th of July celebration,” Mason said.

  “All ‘em trucks,” Pa said.

  “Yep,” Mason said. “We’re expecting more folks than usual.”

  “Like a million?” Ma asked.

  Mason hooked his thumbs in his pockets and tried to answer. “You know, we don’t know, so we figure we better get ready for anything. Maybe twenty or thirty thousand.”

  Ma laughed. “Impossible. That’s more ‘n we got in this town.”

  “Ain’t more ‘n we got in the county,” Pa said.
/>   “But why would they drive here to see this?” Ma asked.

  “Cause we got Buck Owens,” Pa said.

  Mason smiled at him. “No, we got Journey.”

  Pa looked at Ma. “We’re out in the boonies.”

  “No,” Mason corrected. “It’s the name of a group: ‘Journey.’ Big music. Very popular.”

  “It ain’t Buck?” Pa asked.

  “So you better get—” Ma stopped when she saw a food truck roll by on Detroit. “Never mind.”

  “Food is good,” Pa said. “But I don’t know if we can go.”

  “Young man,” Ma said to Mason, “if you got all that food, you gonna need—” Ma stopped when she saw one truck after another—maybe twenty-five trucks in all—roll by carrying a thousand port-a-potties.

  Pa sat back in his chair. “Yup. We can go.”

  * * *

  People were rushing around, setting things up, hollering to each other, moving equipment.

  A man held a T.V. camera on his shoulder, pointed with a purpose. He followed a man in a dress carrying a box from right to left, then settled on his reporter.

  “This is Martina Wind, K.N.O.W.-T.V. News-Phoenix, here this morning with Mayor Cori Sable of Kingman, Arizona, site of the first annual Trans-Woodstock, as it’s being called. Madam Mayor. This is Arizona!” She indicated numerous transpersons already there. “How did you get the courage to host a Trans-Woodstock?”

  Mayor Cori’s smile grew larger. “It wasn’t a matter of choosing, Martina. It just happened, and like all good Arizonans, we’re determined to be hospitable.”

  “It just happened?” Martina asked, with a devilish grin.

  Mayor Cori nodded. “Yup. That’s the way it was. Thanks to one and only one angry citizen who assaulted a transgender here in our town— That is not the way Kingman is. That will never happen again!”

  “—and someone else who caught it on tape,” Martina said.

  “—with an accomplice,” Mayor Cori said, “which went viral, attention was focused here on how we treat people who are different. Well,” Mayor Cori said confidently, “we intend to show you how we treat people here in Kingman. This,” Mayor Cori spread her arms to encompass the whole area, including the fairgrounds across Fairgrounds Ave., “is going to be the biggest, fine tootin’-est 4th of July Celebration ever!”

  “But you only planned for some ten thousand?” Martina asked.

  “Until last evening, we had it largely set up for ten, but when the video went out and then the news out of San Francisco carried the announcement last evening, we realized we were going to have a whole lot more guests than we would normally have, so we’re rising to the occasion. We’re expecting some fifty thousand, now.”

  The camera man panned the area, including a thousand port-a-potties.

  “Fifty thousand transvestites? Transgenders? Drag queens?” Martina Wind asked.

  Mayor Cori smiled and threw her hands up. “We don’t know! Who can tell? Who ever shows up shows up!”

  A van opened his doors to the west side of the park and immediately announced he was selling cheap wigs.

  The camera panned left to get it in frame.

  “Wigs here! Get your Wigs! Show your support! Tell Jed where to go!”

  “Gimme two!” A guy slapped down twenty dollars for a blond, shoulder-length wig and a longer brown one. “Here, Sam!” he tossed the brown one to his co-worker, who laughed and put it on his head. He plopped the blond wig on his head before returning to his set-up work.

  The other man laughed as he walked away, trying to fix his “hair.”

  A transman stepped up to the camera from behind the reporter and stood beside the Mayor.

  Mayor Cori’s smile turned to consideration, turned back to a smile. She glanced reflexively at the camera, then, with only the slightest hesitation, she put her arm around him and took a step toward the camera. “But let me tell you this: We’re friendly here in Kingman. This town is upset by those two young men’s actions and that video.”

  She turned to the man with her. “You’ve seen it?

  “Yup,” he said.

  “What is your name?” Mayor Cori asked him on camera.

  “Luke,” he said, with a knowing smile to her.

  “Luke,” the Mayor said. “Hi. I’m Cori.”

  “I know.”

  The Mayor froze for a fraction of a second, then recovered, speaking into the camera. “I’ve met with Oceanna,” she told the world, “and I’ve assured her that we’re going to have a peaceable, accepting festival, here—accepting of people who are different—free expression—because that’s part of what America was founded on. For those few who’d like to argue with that, go ask Patrick Henry what he thought about it.”

  Oceanna and Derie walked into the park from the east. Oceanna’s face was very bruised, her nose was obviously abraded, and she still had a small bandage over the right side of her upper lip.

  Derie held her left hand.

  A large group of transpersons in the center noticed.

  “Oceanna!”

  “There she is!”

  Oceanna looked around then back at them.

  “Oceanna!”

  Other people turned to look.

  “Herman,” Martina Wind said. “Lets get some of that!”

  The cameraman broke into a run with Martina after him, leaving Mayor Cori behind.

  “Oceanna! I’m Martina Wind, K.N.O.W.-T.V. News-Phoenix, here to cover the Festival—”

  Two other T.V. news programs approached with their cameras, and a few different radio stations.

  Oceanna and Derie stopped walking.

  Fifty transpersons flocked around them.

  “OCEANNA! They shouted.

  “OSH-EE-ANN-A!”

  “OSH-EE-ANN-A!”

  “OSH-EE-ANN-A!”

  Martina smiled into Herman’s camera. “As you can see, it’s bedlam, and it’s only Thursday! Guess what this place will be like on tomorrow!”

  * * *

  Regina, Paula and six others sat in Regina’s condo, with the view of the back of other condos that had a view of the ocean, and watched the T.V.

  They saw Oceanna in the park with the crowd around her.

  “Thank God for Live T.V,” Paula said.

  * * *

  “See, look!” said one transwoman to another, in New York. “You can see! Look over here and over there, in the back! See?”

  The other did, leaning closer to the T.V.

  “Outhouses!”

  “But they probably have subways!”

  * * *

  “Oshie!” Simi and her mother jumped off their chairs in front of Harry’s T.V. “There she is!”

  “I wish Hila was here,” Fulton said.

  “She’s busy with something,” Kathleen said. “I called, and she said she’d get back.

  * * *

  “Oceanna! Talk to us!” the crowd yelled.

  “How are you feeling, girl!”

  “She’s okay! Didn’t you watch the news?”

  Martina maneuvered to stand in front of Oceanna. Glancing to her cameraman to get a nod from him—and he did—she fired her questions at Oceanna above the noise of the crowd: “Oceanna, how do you feel about all this?”

  Oceanna looked at her feet, to Derie, who smiled and shrugged.

  “Martina, did you say?” Oceanna asked of the reporter.

  “Yes. K.N.O.W.-TV in Phoenix. We’re live—probably to the whole world.”

  Oceanna calmly responded. “This is amazing,” Oceanna said. “I never would have expected it.”

  “But great!” Martina said. “Look at this outpouring! And all for—”

  “It’s all for everyone,” Oceanna said.

  * * *

  Regina’s T.V. was large on the wall in front of her guests.

  Oceanna continued on the T.V. “People think we’re some freak who they have to look at now and then walking into a store. They put up with us for a while, use us
as something to point to or an item of curiosity. But we’re not.”

  Oceanna looked at Derie, asking her to take over.

  “They’re people,” Derie said.

  “And you are?” Martina asked, putting her mike in front of Derie.

  “Derie Winchester—”

  “Mason’s wife?” Martina asked.

  “Yes—”

  “So they’re the same as other people?” Martina asked.

  Derie shook her head no. “Of course—” She smiled gathering her thoughts. “Well, we’re all people. But we’re all different also, aren’t we? Unique individuals? And I think that’s the point: We have to accept each other as human beings even with differences.”

  “How has it hurt your business,” Martina asked, “that you and your husband are friends with transgenders?”

  * * *

  The shelves in their feed store were empty.

  Customers stood around like tourists counting bent nails in the walls.

  “They’ve cleaned us out,” one clerk said to another.

  “We could sell tickets?”

  * * *

  Chicago’s O’Hare airport. One gate attendant looked up to see sixty transpersons waiting to board.

  “Look at all that. Must be a full moon,” one gate attendant said quietly to the other.

  The second attendant smiled pleasantly to everyone and spoke quietly to his co-worker. “Actually, it’s a waxing gibbous moon. And they pay our salary. Moron.”

  One transwoman in four-inch pumps and a mini-dress was carrying a relatively large purse and also a rolled-up tent in its bag.

  The 2nd gate agent fingered her to come over.

  She did, stumbling uncomfortably over herself with her bags.

  “Can I help you with all that?” The agent asked.

  The transwoman plopped her things on the counter. “Would you please? I’m going camping in Phoenix.”

  “Kingman!” her friend called from the line.

  The gate agent smiled. “I can take these things here and heave them waiting for you in Vegas.”

  “Oh bless your tender heart.” She brushed some hair out of her face. “I’m sure it would have been okay, otherwise, but—”

  “You old softie,” the other attendant teased.

  * * *

  A car had overheated on I-40, east of Needles, east-bound side. It had safely pulled over, and two other cars had stopped to help.

  The traffic was backed up for miles, with people slowing down to see.