by John Janelle Backman
I start with bare toenails. Dip brush in navy blue, apply gentle strokes, watch natural color disappear and navy spread. The part of my gender I knew I had long hidden inside.
*
In sunroom with in-laws. Bare feet on table, polished toes. One of the in-laws returns from the kitchen, sees my toes, and his face falls. I burn with the shame my girl self knows well.
*
Drive six hours to weekend retreat on religion and sexuality. All Christians, some conservative, some gay. I may be the only nonbinary person going. Obsess the whole drive over my toes and whether to show them off.
*
TV night at home, on sofa. Wife starts to admire my feet. “They’re so feminine. Large, but feminine. And navy’s a great color on you.” I hear, girl’s feet. A sizzle down my spine.
*
Arrive at weekend retreat, check in, chat. Sit in a circle with eleven others. We eye each other. “Let’s go around the room and introduce ourselves. When you do, please share why you came.” Fuck. Moment of truth.
*
Gathering of hobbyists from across North America. I share a hotel room with the couple who drove me, chat with the woman as she brushes her teeth. She catches sight of my toes. Her eyes stare at them for the rest of the conversation. Never talks to me again.
*
Fire sends us in PJs out to the street. Neighbors come running. We talk, I look down, see bare feet, shit. I’ve hidden my girl toes from them till now. Do they see? Glance? No reaction. We love you as you are is a possibility I hadn’t considered.
*
At the airport, approaching the TSA conveyor. I forgot to put on socks this morning. Thirty seconds of panic, big breath, remove shoes, gaze at toes. Spine straightens, chin tilts up. Stride toward the metal detector. I will not be shamed.
*
My turn at the retreat. Share why you came. Pause, remove shoes, display toes. Gay man beside me: “Nice!” Air rushes into my lungs.
*
Ten years pass. Toes still navy blue. Original bottle, still in use. Girl self alive and well. Shame be damned. Some things are real, and they last.
***
John Janelle Backman (she/her) writes about gender identity, ancient spirituality, the everyday strangeness of karma, cats, and whatever else comes to mind. Janelle’s work has appeared in The Citron Review, Catapult, the tiny journal, HerStry, and Amethyst Review, among other places. Her essays have made several contest shortlists and earned a few Pushcart nominations. Find her at www.backmanwriter.com.
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