Sisters

Growing up, when I wanted to look like an adult woman, I raided Mom’s closet and when I wanted to look like a teenager, I raided my sister’s closet. 

I am sure that Mom knew and I am just as sure that Sis did not. I say that because when I finally came out to my sister, she was clueless and shocked by my revelation. That reveal upset her apple cart and she was not a supporter. She never tried to upset my apple cart, but she was disinterested, never talked about it and never wanted to see me en femme.

Fast forward to the present.

My sister, daughter and I exchange texts between us all day long. My sister and daughter text a lot; me, not so much, but I am aware of their exchanges. A few days ago, my sister texted the following:

“I dreamed we were driving home and a car was following us and we thought it was Stan but I couldn’t see whose car it was but we figured out it wasn’t Stan and... I stopped the car and a woman was driving and I started yelling at her about following us.”

I don’t know if my sister put two and two together, but it was obvious to me that the woman following her was me.

Wearing Self Portrait

Professional femulators of Club 82, New York City, circa 1975