I rushed back from London earlier than planned to meet a friend flying in from Italy.
When last seen, Dani was a Portland based projectionist, Chorus member, one of the hosts of the annual Pisces party; she was still dating Mickey (the filmmaker, not my cousin).
Before that we both went to Evergreen and our years overlapped – she even worked at the child care center, though we don’t remember each other. We both lived in the same NW scenes for years, and moved away around the same time, never keeping track of each other but somehow often ending up in the same place.
Back then it would never have occurred to me that any of my friends would veer from the ethos of that time and place, let alone appear one day as newly minted PhD student from an Italian university visiting the Cambridge History of Science Department.
Her particular research topic concerns trans identity and she was inevitably disappointed at the doctrinaire opinions expressed by some (obviously, not all) local experts, because, essentially, they don’t get it.
I was not surprised; I’m definitely the freakiest thing going in this town, which is idiotic, and the only person I know who actively talks about queer culture. Even as an observer – and yes, this is ironic given my lifelong refusal to admit to any identity whatsoever.
It is just the nature of the place – I would never bother elsewhere – consider my efforts taking it for the team. Plus nobody can take my kids away now; one is grown-up, the other too old to be at risk if my opinions are deemed scandalous. Hurray for us. That, however, is not the point, and it was incredibly satisfying to hang out with an old friend after a too-long hiatus.
The visit was brief but filled to bursting with enormously enlightening talks about our beloved former North Portland homes, the anti-intellectualism of that community, the good bad and painful process of leaving. It wasn’t all heavy discussions – we went through the inevitable list of food we never knew we would miss, things we’ve had to learn to cook, ingredients that are impossible to source.
We talked about the various sorts of annoyances unique to traveling as a woman in Europe (the attention is quite horrifying if you are accustomed to living in a place where people don’t make eye contact). The smallest things become enormous when you leave home – we’re both the sort who saunter forth with ripped clothing, in cultures where that does not translate.
At one point we were in a pub with a bunch of academics including a super macho dude I met in Spain last year. Dani and I created a little oasis of conversation in the middle of the academic chatter, ranging over all the juicy stories from home (and they can be quite shocking, even in a group of people who pride themselves on not caring), presuming that nobody nearby would hear or care.
Much later I learned that macho dude was listening, and quite improbably knows the punks in a certain eastern city (who are of course intertwined with PDX). I should have reflected on my surroundings and remembered the saying Loose Lips Sink Ships. Though I doubt he could have kept track of the names – half those we were talking about have transitioned to a different gender since we first met.
Beyond that I have probably solidified my (false!) local reputation as a femme fatale, which is neither desirable nor deserved. The fact that I lack mainstream aesthetics does not mean I want anyone to hit on me. Especially here. Ick.
To avoid future entanglements, I have officially decided never to go out again. Though that pledge might only last as long as, well, tomorrow.
Talking to Dani was the most amazing tonic – a strange but hugely nourishing combination of here, there, then, now, next. In my life there have been very few people who have understood exactly where I’m coming from, what I’m talking about, what I can’t quite articulate.
This sort of mutuality is not the result of love, friendship, congenial companionship – people have loved me hugely without ever understanding anything about me. It is something else, a similar set of views, an historical understanding of various cultural threads, with some kind of edge, like the tearaway spirit that can fling a person far from everything they once knew. Just because they want to see what happens.
I wasn’t expecting much from the visit but Danny has officially become My New Favorite Person (I’ve Known Ten Years).
