by Aimee Norin
Mason led Oceanna into the center of the patio.
Slow notes from a guitar began, then changed into rapid country dance music, a song about America as an immigrant nation, a country with qualities from many cultures.
“…She’s got Brazilian leather boots
On the pedal of her German car…
“It’s a French kiss, Italian ice
Spanish moss in the moonlight
Just another American Saturday night…”
Mason took over the place and tried to dance with Oceanna on the patio, but Oceanna started laughing and couldn’t keep up.
“What dance is this?” Oceanna asked.
“Texas Two Step,” Mason said. “It’s easy! You just have a few beers, and it starts to come natural!”
All eyes were on Mason in the middle.
Oceanna retreated a couple steps to give him room.
A circle formed around Mason, as he began to show his talent. He dropped the two step in favor of something self-styled. His feet were quick to the beat, his shoulders rigid. It looked like he was killing cockroaches—
“Looks like John Travolta in Urban Cowboy,” Oceanna said to another older person there, who laughed with her.
“What’s that?” Hila asked.
When the song finished, Mason asked everyone. “’S matter, you all? You don’t know cowboy dancing? Come on, here!”
He pulled three giggling-yet-willing women from the sidelines, and ushered others in along with Hila, Simi, and Oceanna, to form a grid on the patio.
He positioned them in four lines of four each.
“Okay,” he said playfully. “We don’t wanna have ta do this, but we gotta!”
Ladies laughed at him.
“This is the Cowboy Boogie, here, and it’s a very popular dance. When we get it going, it’ll get you a feelin’ right in here.” He pointed to his heart.
“You all ready to do it?”
“Yeah!” everyone said.
“Okay, good. So,” Mason said, “We stand here, face the cook—always like to do that. We go through our little dance, then we wind up facing that a way.” He pointed to his left. “Which becomes the new wall we face, and repeat it again. You’ll see. Ready?”
Everyone affirmed.
Mason turned to face the cook along with them. “Okay. So to start, we step out to the right, step behind that foot with the left, then to the right again with the right foot, then a left leg ‘hitch.’ Just raise your knee with a little flair—”
Mason taught them the whole dance, which only took about two minutes.
“So lets try it to a little music! D.J.!”
“What you need,” she asked.
“You got ‘Mountain Music’ by Alabama?”
“Shore do!” She added a little country twang.
The music started, and Mason began doing the Cowboy Boogie.
People tried to follow.
Most messed it up and laughed at themselves.
People laughed with them.
Simi was doing pretty well.
“You’re kidding me!” Oceanna said
“You? Me!” Hila said.
“I’m a joke!” another lady said, trying to keep up.
One lady tripped over her own feet and dropped out, but someone took her place and as a group, they started to get it together by the time they reached the chorus. People on the side clapped their hands and made cat-calls at the dancers:
“Oh, play me some mountain music
Like Grandma and Grandpa used to play.
Then I’ll float on down the river
To a Cajun hideaway …”
Mason was crisp in his dance movements, setting a good example, and people followed him closely.
Their movements gelled into a genuine hoedown, with more talented dancers of the group adding some English to their moves.
The group stepped, spun, and stomped their feet in unison.
People laughed at each other.
“…Play some back-home, come-on music
That comes from the heart.
Play something with lots of feelin’
‘Cause that’s where music has to start…”
When the song finished, everyone laughed together and clapped for Mason.
“Thank you!” they called.
“That was fun!”
Hila sat down.
Simi was winded.
“Lets do another?” someone yelled.
“We’ll catch you on the flip-flop, okay?” Mason called to them, in C.B. language for “next time.”
Oceanna leaned on the rail to catch her breath.
Mason took Oceanna by the hand and led her back to her seat.
He noticed the lady across the patio who was staring at Simi.
Simi was trying to avoid the lady’s eyes.
“You know her over there?” Mason asked Hila.
“Not really,” Hila answered. “But I’ve seen her in here before.”
CHAPTER
8
The night was exquisite. There were no clouds. The temperature was a little on the cool side, but not quite enough for a jacket.
Hila’s house was in The Castro, a district in central San Francisco referred to as a “gay” neighborhood, though as far as anyone could tell, the neighborhood had never actually slept with anyone. The four of them enjoyed the evening on Hila’s third floor deck under a dim blanket of stars. Soft, yellow, tungsten light spilled out of the house onto the deck.
Hila walked out of the French doors onto the deck with a tray of hors d’oeuvres: wine, cheeses, and crackers. “That was a fun evening,” she said to everyone. She sat the snacks on a table and took a seat on a deck lounge chair near them.
Mason was talking on the phone to his wife, but he broke out of that for a second to answer Hila. “Yes, it was.” He turned back to his phone call. “Oh, We went dancing at a women’s bar earlier.” Pause. “Yep. Spent time with about forty women, all at once.” Pause then a laugh. “Some good dancers there.” Pause. “I love you, too. Bye.”
Mason put the phone back in his pocket.
Oceanna showed Simi, “This is how you adjust the focus to suit yourself.”
“Thank you. It’s a nice telescope,” Simi said to Hila with a smile.
“What kind is it?” Mason asked.
“Celestron,” Hila said.
“I mean, what do they call this kind? I don’t know much about them.”
“Wonderful hostess! Thank you!” Oceanna gave Hila a kiss on the cheek and went to the tray, helped herself to a red wine and some cheese, took a seat on a deck chair to relax in the evening.
“It’s an eight inch Schmidt-Cassegrain. They call it ‘catadioptric,’ which is Latin for ‘expensive.’”
“Well, there you go,” Mason said, taking a seat near Hila and Oceanna.
Hila smiled at him. “There are mirrors in there and lenses. And Merlin, I think. That’s all. Can’t look at much around here, though, because we’re under the city’s light sphere.”
“Mars makes a nice image on the T.V. over there,” Simi said about a monitor hooked up to the scope, still looking through the scope.
Hila nodded. “And thank you all for coming over. It doesn’t take much to keep people away. People act like my friend, out in the world, but they don’t seem to like to come over. I’m a crossdresser and also Pashtun, so that seems to do it pretty well.”
“Even in San Francisco?” Oceanna asked.
“Even here, somewhat,” Hila said. “People are friendly, but I seem to be left out of a lot.”
Mason helped himself to some refreshments and returned to his chair.
“I’m sorry about that, but it is lovely here. You know much about scopes?” Oceanna asked.
“I know how to buy them,” Hila said.
“Mars is amazing,” Simi said. She turned away from the scope and stood at a distance from Hila.
“We’re probably going to go there one day soon, you know?
A trip to Mars.” Oceanna said. “And it could serve as a way to get the government to pay for innovations that could spur commercial technology, like it did for us in the space program of the ‘60’s, going to the moon.”
“Yes, I think so,” Mason said.
“I think it was also to show the world how well our missile technology worked,” Oceanna asked.
“Probably,” Hila agreed. “It was the cold war. And war is so ugly. It invades everything.” Hila sipped her wine, but she looked more at her feet than the others.
“Mason, you ought to look through that thing. Mars the best view. You can almost see Cydonia, the Face.”
“Yep. T.V. is good, but like to see the real thing.” Mason got up to do so.
Simi moved over and stared at Hila for a second, then slowly, with caution, sat on Hila’s lap and leaned on her chest.
Hila looked surprised to the others, but let Simi sit on her lap. “Um—”
Oceanna’s mouth widened.
Mason ignored the telescope and watched Simi.
Simi looked stiff but raised her hand, rested it on Hila’s shoulder.
Hila looked questioningly at Oceanna and began to slowly stroke Simi’s hair.
“She’s new,” Oceanna told her. “She’s had a lot on her plate. The Army was hard on her, and then this.” Oceanna indicated Simi’s transition.
“It’s okay, honey,” Hila said to Simi as she stroked her hair. “It’s okay.”
For a long while, everyone watched Simi and Hila.
Finally, Mason moved. “I wonder if I can pick up Saturn?”
“Sure. I don’t know how to work all its programming,” Hila said. “Just use that little controller, there. Sight it through the spotter, and move it over. Once there, it’ll stay.”
Mason played with her toy.
“I’m sorry they hurt you so much,” Hila said to Simi. “I wouldn’t have let them. And I was in the U.S. military, so I don’t know how to soothe you.”
“It’s okay,” Oceanna said. “You are.”
Simi was stiff, but she began to relax.
“I was Navy,” Oceanna said. “Third Class Petty Officer, back in the day. Aviation Boatswain’s Mate. Ran around on the deck of a carrier launching planes.”
“Like ‘Top Gun,’” Hila said.
“Yeah,” Oceanna said with an engaging smile. “Like at the beginning when they’re launching? I bet at least one of those guys had some silk panties under there.”
Hila laughed.
“You did marketing in the Air Force, too?” Oceanna asked.
“No,” Hila said. “I was just an interpreter.” Hila looked at Simi, who didn’t move. “In Afghanistan.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s right. What rank were you?” Oceanna asked.
“Captain, O-3,” Hila said.
“Oh, you told us that before. Sorry.” Oceanna saluted Hila with a friendly smile.
“Just talked for a living,” Hila corrected, returning the salute nonetheless.
“Simi—” Oceanna started to talk about Simi again, or at least integrate her into the conversation, but stopped herself.
“Saturn is beautiful, too. Great scope here,” Mason said. “You all oughta give her a look when you can.” He went over to the table and picked up his Resistol hat, put it smartly on his head. He sat on a chair and helped himself to some cheese and wine.
“I’m sure we will,” Oceanna said.
Hila stroked Simi’s hair some more and spoke to her gently in Pashto. “Khushala shum pa li do di”: I’m pleased to meet you.
Simi bristled on reflex, but didn’t move. In a few seconds, she relaxed again, visibly. “As-salaamu’ alaykum,” she said back to Hila: Hello.
Still lying on Hila’s chest, Simi spoke softly. “I’m sorry, everyone. I don’t mean to scare you, which I obviously am. I know I seem like I’m a little off, these days, but I’m okay.”
Mason nodded in her support.
Hila looked down at Simi and gave her a peck on the forehead.
“What was it like, Simi?” Mason asked. “I don’t mean to intrude, but really, they tortured you.”
Simi nodded a few times. “It was— It wasn’t them, it was me,” Simi began to talk to them. “They starved me. They beat me, hung me up. But I didn’t care, because it wasn’t them. And it wasn’t the Army.” She continued lying on Hila’s chest as she spoke.
“It’s that I couldn’t take it any more. I’ve been so off all my life with my needs inside. And this Army recruiter got me in high school to join their helicopter program, and I thought escape, was all. I did it, somehow. I got out of my town, for sure. Didn’t crash in school. Made it through, and they gave me Blackhawks. Then when we got shot down— You’d have thought I’d have been scared for my life, but I wasn’t.”
Mason watched calmly.
Oceanna teared.
Hila stroked Simi’s hair again.
“I just wanted to die. I didn’t try to kill myself; I just prayed for God to take me. I tried to will my heart to stop, the whole time. I tried to will my mind out of existence. And even when they did start to feed me, I wouldn’t eat it. I’ve never been so low.”
“Because you needed to be a girl and weren’t?” Mason asked. “That was more horrible to you than the torture?”
Simi nodded. “I couldn’t take it any more.” She sat up on Hila’s lap to look at Mason. “You don’t know what it’s like, to not be yourself. I mean, how can you literally be anything but yourself, but you’re not. Something in the brain is different from everything in the body. You look in the mirror, and yeah, that’s wrong. You know the way people regard you, and that’s not yourself. But worse, you can feel yourself, all the time. You can tell that your thinking is influenced by your body. You can feel the testosterone poisoning corroding everything. You can feel your skinny legs, your narrow hips, your skimpy chest—you know you’re supposed to have hips and breasts. You’ve got that disgustingly horrid putrid crap between your legs in the way of what you’re supposed to have there, rotting your life—”
Simi looked to Mason, who hadn’t flinched.
“And you can’t even move your own body, anywhere in life. Your skin. It’s callous, like leather. Hard and coarse where ever it is, caustic to everything you touch, even the way you feel your own body.”
Mason looked at Simi questioningly.
“See?” Simi went over to Mason. “Feel your own hands, one on another.”
Mason touched his left hand with his right and slowly moved his fingers over his skin.
“And feel here,” Simi said, taking Mason’s left arm and pushing his shirt sleeve up.
Mason felt his own arm, the coarse hair on it, rugged muscles beneath.
“Seems soft to me,” he said to her.
“But now try this,” Simi said to him, extending her hand to him.
Mason reached out a little.
Simi took his left hand and held it.
Mason felt her hands with his right hand. His eyes widened. “Yes, it is, soft like a woman’s. Never thought much about it like that.”
“And this,” Simi moved his right hand up to her arm.
Mason squeezed the arm a little as well.
“And there’s more. I want you to feel this, too.” Simi moved his right hand to her left breast.
Mason jerked his hand back. “Whoa, now!”
Oceanna startled, but remained quiet.
“I’m married, y’all.”
“No. It’s not sex. I’m not into you,” Simi said. “Others are right here with us. It’s me sharing, an examination. It’s your learning. It’s clinical, really. I just wanted you to know what I’m feeling.”
Mason looked at the other two present.
“I wouldn’t pass up the chance,” Oceanna said.
“Who else is going to let you— Bad idea. Any woman would who is into men,” Hila said. “He’s a hunk,” she said to Oceanna.
“Yes, but this is just me sharing,” Sim
i said to her. “He’s a friend, and it’s not sex to me. I’m trying to show him something.”
“Really? It’s not sex. It’s okay?” Mason asked.
Oceanna laid down fake rules: “No kissing, no smooching. No huffing and puffing, no pulling or pushing, no nudity—”
“It’s medical,” Simi said to him.
Slowly, Mason reached out his right hand toward Simi’s left breast. “It’s okay?” he asked her.
“Some time today,” Simi said. “I’d like some crackers over there.
Mason smiled and touched Simi’s left breast through her knit top. “Soft. No bra.”
“Squeeze it a little, massage it,” Simi said.
Mason did. Then he cupped the whole thing—it was smaller than his hand.
“It’s real,” he said. “No, I mean, I knew it was, but—”
“But now you know it’s real. And it’s soft.” Simi walked back to her own deck chair and found a slice of cheese on the table nearby. She started to nibble. “But now imagine,” she said, “that going from my harder skin, bulky, muscle toned body, with that glob between my legs to this one that’s so much softer—which I sense with a brain that also feels softer, in a nurturing estrogen soup instead of those caustic androgens, and guess what that same breast feels like inside, to me.
“Before,” Simi continued, “It all hurt so much from within, it was all I could do to face life every day. Shave. Cough for a hernia check. Go to the bathroom. Let someone cut my hair—which is never going to happen again,” she said sternly to her friends.
“And now!” Simi smiled and took a pose with her hands. She began to laugh.
The others began to laugh with her.
Simi continued, “I mean, go back and tell the Army about this! They’d have a cow! Tell the mean Marines who used to heckle me on post. Tell the Afghan war criminals about this! ‘Hey, guys: There is nothing you can do to this “guy” that’s worse than what God has already been doing to her on a daily basis for her whole life’! And then look at me now!”
Simi stood and turned around like a model for them to see.
The three applauded her.
Mason coughed.
“Why? What?” Simi asked him.
“Um,” Mason looked at the three of them. “I, uh— I am a Marine.”
“Oh no!” Oceanna laughed.
“You’re kidding?” Hila asked.
Simi put her hands over her mouth. “Ohhh, crap!”
Mason tipped his cowboy hat at them and smiled. “Once a Marine, always a Marine.”
