I had to build Shields

SHIELDS

I met Jackie in Chelsea, she had to go to the pharmacy to pickup some medicine. She went to the counter and gave her name. I tried to hear the name she gave. Was it Theo? It will be ready in five minutes the clerk said. We sat waiting. “Jackie!” the clerk calls after a few minutes, and she gets up to pick it up and pay for it. We walk out and go to a café across the street. I ordered a cappuccino for her. I want to treat her. I tell her there’s a project I am working on, and I was wondering if she would be willing to be involved in it. “Yes, but before we talk about that, let me tell you about my father,” she tells me.
“I always knew my father was not who they told me he was. I grew up with my grandmother, and grew up believing that my father was black, you know, black from the islands, Garifuna, but I used to meet people that would look at me and said to me, ‘Are you Arab?’ I would be really surprised and there were a lot of people who told me that. Then one day I discovered that my father was Lebanese. He had an affair with my mother, didn’t know me until now. Is there sugar already in the coffee?”
“Oh no,” I said. “Let me get you some.”
“Equals, get me some equal.”
I got up, get the equal and come back to sit down at the table.

I met Jackie at a reading I was doing as part of an art exhibit of a friend. She was the MC. She approached me, talked to me and we exchanged numbers. Weeks later, she invited me to go on a TV shoot with her and other people. We drove to Long Island. On the way there, she sat next to me and told me her story. She was a teacher at an elementary school in Honduras. Then, she came to the States –as a he –and started her transformation. She then became Jackie. “My name is now legally, Jackie,” she told me as she put the equals in her cappuccino. “Congratulations,” I said smiling.
“Well, tell me what’s your project,” she said.
“I am doing research about transgederism. The research takes place in the virtual world,” I said. “And I wanted to see if you could participate in it.”

“You know, I think that there’s a story to tell about me. I’ve been waiting for the right moment to tell it. I keep a journal you know. I’ve been writing a book for a long time.”
“I am interested in your story. I think it’s a heroic. The things that you’ve done.”
“Yes, because most of the time people are interested in telling the story of transformation, but the burlesque part, not the other part, the human part.”
I interrupt.
“It should be told with respect,” I said.
“Yes, because let me tell you, it hasn’t been easy. I was an elementary teacher, and the head of the school system at the national level, came to supervise me. Can you imagine? Not because I was doing a bad job but because of the rumors that were spreading about me.”

“When I was a little kid –I must tell you that being who I am was not my choice –it’s not that I wanted to be this way. I was born this way. I was born with breasts, since I was a little kid, and they use to tell me to squeeze them so they wouldn’t grow but I refused. It made who I was, and I wasn’t going to destroy who I was only because others didn’t like it.”
“I’ve always missed having a father. Having a father figure it’s so important. When I was growing up, if they hit me or teased me, I couldn’t say ‘I’m going to go and tell my father.’ The others, that’s all they had to say, and nobody would bother them. I couldn’t.”

“Look, I was always afraid of walking on the street because everybody would make fun of me. I had a tiny waist. I didn’t know what it was like to walk like a boy. I was nothing like they wanted me to be. I was made into something they wanted, not what I really was. My grandmother, she wanted me to be the man of the house, and I wasn’t. I never knew what it was like to walk like a man. I bought a bicycle. I had a build a shield, to hide. I rode the bicycle to the store in the corner. I didn’t want to be seen walking. I always wore my shirts untucked to hide my waist and my breasts.”

“People treated me badly. Then I left and started my transformation. I started to send pictures and videos back home. I didn’t want it to be a shock, a total surprise. I wanted them to be prepared for when I went back. When I did go back, it was great, no one bothered me. They received me with honors, even the people that had been bad to me. They came and greeted me with respect. My niece, she told my mom, that she admired me, because no one had done what I had been able to do. I am proud of that.”
“It is what I think,” I said. “That you are brave. Well. What do you say? We meet again?”
“Yes, of course, but let me tell you something. I hate riding the subway. Sometimes, I rather take the bus, even if it takes me longer, and whenever I can, I take cabs.”
“We’ll talk and see how you feel.”

We walk outside. I was tired. She had to take the subway on Eighth Avenue. I had to walk east, to Sixth Avenue. She asked me to come with her. She almost begged. I understood, and could see why she didn’t like to ride the subway. I was happy to be there with her, even for a short time. I gave her a kiss goodbye and got off at my station. Shields, I thought.