"A great mind must be androgynous."
This morning on the Q train I noticed that the woman across from me was sketching me. I looked away before she noticed that I noticed, knowing that a mutual recognition of the event would alter it significantly or end it altogether. The gaze of another person inevitably demands something of us, often shame. (Shame is endemic to the story of Adam and Eve.) I wondered what she saw, why she saw. I wondered if my body language would have changed if she were a man. I wondered if I was being seen, drawn “as a woman.” But I trusted something about her, about the way she seemed to understand the thinness of the veil, and I probably would have stayed on the train longer if I hadn’t already been a half hour late to work.
10:22 pm • 25 April 2014 • 21 notes
Alfred Hitchcock through R train window, 23rd Street, March 19, 2014
2:14 pm • 21 March 2014 • 53 notes
So I went to a movie theatre. I sat down, and two rows in front of me was my family. All four of us, the backs of our heads, including mine, just sitting in front of a blank screen. I could see myself very clearly: it was second-grade me, seven years old. How do I know it was second-grade me? I know because it was a dream.
They were talking but I couldn’t hear any words. I leaned forward in my seat to catch a better glimpse of second-grade me’s profile. And there I was: my nose, my boring brown eyes, my hair in a ponytail, my pale skin, my freckles—it was me.
My family disappeared, so I decided to go talk to second-grade me. I sat down in the movie seat next to her and looked at her face. She sat on her knees in the chair and turned her body towards me, closely examining my face. She yawned. I could see her teeth. Oh my god, those are my teeth. I was too terrified to speak. What if I disappoint her, I am going to be so disappointing to her. Please don’t ask about the future, please don’t ask about the future, please don’t ask about the future. She reached out and touched my hair.
“Your hair is fancy,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said. “I didn’t wash it today.”
I woke up before either of us could ask any questions.
6:43 pm • 31 January 2014 • 52 notes