Content Warning (CW): cis woman writing about another person, gender unknown - forgive my presumptions. Violence and harm come from obsessions with gendered physicality. I meant to write a love letter, not pour salt in a wound.
Be still my soul, what captivating eyes! The barista is simply doing their job at the register: taking cash, giving change, handing me tea. But, their eyes smile with a sweet kindness that makes me want to know more. Their hair looks like it's growing longer, pulled back in a ponytail, with remnants of a short boy-cut lingering. They look sensual with the straps of their white and black striped tank top showing from beneath the swoop neck of a tight black T. I don't like that I notice their breasts. They look nice. Am I objectifying? (I, who hate my breasts to be objectified.) A 5 o'clock shadow frames their cheekbones. Am I categorizing? (I, who hate to be categorized!)
They are efficient and friendly. Their eyes, captivating. I want to be friends. But, if we were to become friends, I would need them to forgive me for observing physicality without knowing anything about their person or their story. I want to be safe, and I'm out of my league. My "safeness" is normally assumed by the people I want to be friends with. My cis-ness is, too. I wouldn't blame this bright eyed handsome beauty for being wary. I would want to prove myself as safe, knowing that I'm not as safe as they deserve. I think about all these things when they smile at me again in that friendly and self-assured way that they have about them. My over-analysis and swirling thoughts go silent when I hear their voice.
"I would let the tea steep for a little while before you drink it," they say.
"Thanks," I say, feeling the warmth of the tea already.
And now that I'm writing about this person, I have this urge to let them be for a little while, to watch them become who they are becoming. Then I remember their captivating eyes. I realize they are all and everything they should ever be right now. And I'm drinking them up.
Post-script: A gender fluid friend posted this recently after describing violent aggressions towards their body: "...I totally feel why folks just wanna present binary/stealth (no judgement, for real, I get it). You can pry the fabulous off my cold, dead body, though. I will be silenced/bullied/cowed by nothing less. Bury me in all my tutus, mom, and don't forget the gender fucked accessories."
