Today I’m remembering a long-ago rush-hour subway ride. Settled into our confined spaces, pretending our butts and bits aren’t pressed up against strangers, politely not acknowledging each other’s presence. I gather little bits of awareness: the needles of a woman tatting lace, the huge size of a labourer’s lunch cooler, the Japanese lettering of a rider’s book.
Of a sudden, a switch turns on and I realize the weary middle-aged woman standing in the doorway “is a man.” Continue reading “Pride Day, 2017”
