A Modern Reflection

Shane walked out of the elevator at the Sutter Health Medical Center feeling optimistic. He presented himself right in front of the COVID-19 health inspector as he anticipated those 3-5 questions on the current status of his health. A realization came to him every time he stepped out of his home he would have to answer these questions anywhere he had gone. The administrator stated, “Have you had a fever in the last fourteen days?”

“No.”

“Have you been in contact with anyone who has been diagnosed with or exposed to COVID-19 in the last week?

“No.”

The yadda-yadda of questions drew on and on. Is the only thing I ever say to strangers these days is no? Shane felt this moment, his life, all around him really, was turning into a blurred vortex of spiraling no’s. He was becoming increasingly aware of the pain from his crutches and boot, and by this point, he was ready to sit down. Eight weeks ago, he was under for a cadaver replacement in his right talus. The ankle area started to throb again and the sensation of heat was growing around it.

The health inspector had one last thing to do and that was take his temperature in order to be sure he was cleared. Relieved that his temperature was below average, 97.3, he crutched over to the waiting area and sat down in a purple chair. He could feel the condensation of his breath building up in his mask. Too moist for his liking.

Shane observed the familiar room for a little, but he had been there so many times before he withdrew from the scanning. Now, he started to chip away at his Sally Hansen Color Therapy nail polish, a dark gray-blue tint called Oceans Away. He felt the color aligned with his mood and altogether it made him feel less anxious.

Shane’s anxiety receded, replaced by inspiration and strength, and he pulled out his little black notebook knowing he had some time to burn. The notebook was his own private place of release and invention. He started to doodle faces with masculine features and feminine bodies. Flowers around them and filigree-frames as the outline.

After waiting thirteen minutes, the door opened at the far corner of the waiting room and Tatiana, a nurse assistant yelled, “Shane DeRapor, is Shane here?”

“Right here.” Shane replied in a hurried hum as he slowly stood up from the chair, grabbed the crutches, and began walking towards her direction.

The hallway past the barricade was long with alternating blue and gray tiles. It smelled of Clorox bleach and disinfectant, something that gave him a little sense of relief, being in a pandemic and all. They sat down in Room #6. The nurse went through all the preliminary questions before he could see the orthopedist. The nurse spoke first. “How are you feeling today, Shane? Is the ankle doing alright?”

“Yes, it seems to be on track. Swelling has gone down. Only hurts in the evening right before bed, but all in all nothing too considerable.”

“Well that’s great to hear. Are you still on the Norcos?”

“No.” I wish I had more.

“How about Enjuvia?”

“Yes, it doesn’t feel as if it’s affected anything.”

“Great, how about the Estraderm?”

“Yes.”

“Albuterol?”

“Yes.”

“Multi-vitamins?”

“Yes.”

“Awesome, well that’s all set. Let’s take your blood pressure.”

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Shane got home around noon. He was relieved he didn’t have the crutches anymore. His doctor cleared him and all he had left to do was physical therapy for the next six weeks before he could check back and hopefully get the boot completely off. The thought of no boot was inspiring and giddy, he almost tripped over his carpet thinking about it.

Though, that wasn’t the main subject on Shane’s mind. Shane was also Shauna, a transgender, non-binary, genderqueer, androgynous, two-spirited individual that had a germ-safe karaoke contest in two days and it was to be aired live on the local television channel. Just the thought of the first place prize evoked sweaty palms, an opening of some sort in his stomach, and lightheadedness.

They knew they could do it. If not, at least the second or third prize would feel damn good too. They practiced the last 6 weeks specifically for this contest and their entire life was enriched by singing. Shane and Shauna weren’t professionals, but they had many hours tallied practicing scales, working on tongue-soft palate coordination, lip trills, and simply humming throughout most daily activities. They were going to sing I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor and it was going to feel fucking glorious.

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Twenty hours and thirty minutes until the camera and lights were shining on them. They still had work to do. Taking out their anti-anxious strong invoking black notebook with all the notes, dates, critiques, stage ideas, random thoughts, drawings and the endless proof of written material that runs through their minds was set on the desk. Opening it with the ribbon-like soft black satin bookmark that falls gently between the fingers and pulling out their black German Kaweco pen to match. It felt as if the pen and notebook had a sweet coexisting relationship similar to that of Shane and Shauna. One could not live without the other. If the other did not exist then the products’ purpose would be inexistent. That was a motivating and tenacious belief in their mind. The ankle area in the boot started to feel warm again, it was time to elevate and simultaneously work.

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As the hours went by that evening the regard of time was consistently on their mind every twenty to thirty minutes. Not because of caution or nervousness that enough time wasn’t spent preparing but that the wash was going and they knew the best night of sleep was always with a fresh set of sheets and comforter, so keeping track of the loads was also important. Additionally, they would take a melatonin to ensure a deep REM sleep, one without bad dreams.

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Today was the day! The day that was most exhilarating in a long time. It had been over a year since they had been a part of any space where a competitive nature was present. Shane and Shauna followed the exact plan written in their notebook. From the song, where to stand on the stage, the outfit, the hair, nails, and what to say once it was over. It was all there and they were scanning it over and over before they left the house.

The contest was taking place in a local concert hall that had ornamental decorations like that of an opera house. Not as fancy, but just as large. The stage was thirty-two feet in depth from the back wall and twenty-eight feet wide. The curtain was twenty-two feet tall, red of course, and the tungsten stage lights pressing up against the cotton, polyester, and mohair red made it seem as if blood was falling down a rippling screen. Shane and Shauna started to notice their hands becoming clammy the longer they stared at the red curtains. They looked at their nail polish...Oceans Away...and they thought of the white-washed waves and deep blue horizon, a safe haven of masculinity and femininity clashing together elegantly. This brought awareness to the body signaling deep breaths and the control of a slower heart rate. They were back at ease and ready to get into game mode. This was the time to warm up their vocal muscles, prep the timing of when to sing each note and contemplate when exactly to show-off their strengths. The thoughts and ideas had already been well planned out by this time, so they went to the bathroom to check their make-up and look over everything one more time.

There were seven other contestants, so eight total competing. Shane and Shauna looked at each one from head to toe trying to analyze the type of persons they were up against. What clothes they wore, what scent they had on, how they held their posture, what their eyes did and the tone of their voices.

It was time. Shane and Shauna walked up onto the stage. The stage fright set in, but they would only let it last until the beat started. Silence was always awkward. The cameraman and judges gave the eye queue and then the beat started. Scanning the judges, Shane and Shauna then closed their eyes and gripped the microphone tighter, like they were actually Gloria Gaynor in the seventies. That’s when it hit and they felt the heat of gold, the pinnacle star shining at the tip of their forehead. Singing with confidence and vibrancy that shocked anyone who was watching. Shane and Shauna saw people’s spirits lift with smiles and stances as they gave their undivided attention to them. They knew the audience was listening, so they stared right into that camera and then scanned the room, making sure to look at each spectator and give them each a little love. A smile, nod or a wink here and there. Then the song was over, the clapping started, and deep breaths were pulsing out of them. Sweat all over. It was over and they KILLED IT. No mistakes, everything just as it was written down. Feeling relieved and proud of how well it went.

Now the announcement of the winners was minutes away. The host was so good looking, enthusiastic and his tone of voice was so contagious, nobody couldn’t look away in the room or from their screens. As the top three were announced starting from the bottom all of the contestants decided to hold each other's hands. Encouragement and regards were exchanged between them all and whomever won, each one of them wanted to know the other did a fabulous job and that after they would all sanitize their hands laughing at the predicament of the current global situation. It was a heart-warming experience for Shane and Shauna to be a part of; they were happy they decided to take the risk and have a little fun. Safe fun they thought. The host was half-way through their speech, “AND THE THIRD PLACE winner is Daniella Chung!” Clapping begins. The winner walks up and receives their prize with a peculiar smile. Shane and Shauna’s heart is racing at this point, gripping the other individuals hands in theirs, assuming they feel the same exact way. “AND THE SECOND PLACE winner is….. SHAUNA DeRapor!!!”

Bewildered and shocked, Shane and Shauna could not believe it. Ecstatic as ever to just be a winner today. They couldn’t deny that they felt a shy sour that they didn’t get first place, but again they had to convince themselves that they were damn beautiful and outrageously vulnerable for representing themselves and being proud to be a transgender, non-binary, genderqueer, androgynous, two-spirited individual that had won second place in the contest. They had just won $20,000 dollars, the most money they had won for anything ever. They contemplated the hard work they endured in the last six weeks, the trauma they’ve dealt with their entire life, the pandemic in the last year and the imagination and inspiration that comes with visualizing winning and actually living it. They had proof that this life was in constant transition and that they were willing to live it, fully, whole-heartedly, and happily. To take this money and survive. They didn’t even notice that there was still a boot on their foot until they stepped in the door at home and that they couldn’t have prepared so well without their private companion, the black notebook.