Biki and the Pflag Meeting

The day peeked around the shades in the darkened bedroom, slowly Biki was beginning to rouse.  After floating for a while in that blissful state between awake and sleep, suddenly was ripped from that nirvana by the remembrance that today was the DAY.  Speaking in front of others day.  Speaking about being an other.  Speaking to others about being a patchwork person.

In an effort to find a way back to connect on any layer with the feminine, small things have been lately tried by Biki.  The one thing that he can get out of the house with is black fingernail polish.  For whatever reason, black is Biki's strength color.  Wearing black makes Biki feel brave, strong, and able to deal with other people without fear.  Slathering a thick coat of black on nails, grabbing the blackest shirt, black earrings, grabbing the catalog from the transgender conference, he was ready to go.

In the car, blasting The Gazette hoping to fill the worried scared crevices with head bang deliciousness, he drove to the wrong street.  Pulling into an empty parking lot, pulling out the trusty iphone, ahh ... okies not 4 Avenue, but 8th!  Still even with the unscheduled scenic route, he wasn't late.  But what's this?  No Pete?  Sigh, he couldn't make the meeting, and it was ran by Beverly.  Okies, he can deal with that.  As the meeting wandered through new business, and the old that needed to be dealt with, Beverly looked up and asked, "Any new business?"  Well crap on a damask tablecloth, Pete had forgotten to put him on the agenda.

"Umm, yeah.... I guess Pete forgot to add me to the agenda."  This was it, the moment that he was dreading.  Telling people, random people what he is, giving them the ability to see Biki for what he is.  The only thing worse than not being seen, is being seen.  Leaping off the cliff, Biki began to speak, and badly at that...sigh.....  Mixing up genders, mixing up the days, the Biki car was completely out of control.  And then to make matters worse, as if that was even possible, he realized just how out of control Biki was, he was doing the feminine.  Fluttering hands, voice climbing ever higher, tears held back only by surface tension, sitting ever smaller.

In the train wreck, the governor came off Biki's tongue and stuff started falling out of his mouth.  Things that Biki didn't intend to share started leaping out of Biki, and into the bright light of the day.  And as he slowly came to a stop, it was to dead silence.  No one knew what to say to him.  Then finally, thankfully someone asked why I didn't want to sponsor anyone younger than 18.  When Biki said, "I don't want to have to monitor them at the dance, to make sure they aren't caging drinks off of someone.  And for sure I'm not going to going to want to keep track of their bed, either if they are in it, or whose in it with them."  That loosened everyone up.  Whew!  Then of course someone HAD to mention the fact that 18 is not old enough to drink, when a voice countered with, "Yeah, of course.  But the deal is Biki wouldn't be legally responsible for any of their actions."

The meeting limped to an end then, and Biki leaped out the door, as if the hounds of IRS was after him.

Two days later at the video store, while chatting with the clerk, who is a real fun girl, some portion of Biki's brain took over, and told the her, "Hi, I'm Gill, and I'm transgender.  I'm a boy living in a girl."  She took it well, and the conversation continued, it was both a fearful thing, and a heady thing for Biki to say out loud.  Straight up, Biki needs to be more wary of his tongue in the future.