Transphobe wrongly clocks a non-binary person
Rain lashed against the bus stop shelter, blurring the city lights into a watercolor mess. Robin, huddled beneath the flimsy plastic roof, adjusted the worn strap of their messenger bag. Their hair, a riot of emerald and sapphire curls, was plastered to their forehead by the downpour.
A rumble from the approaching bus sent a wave of relief through them. They were already late for their shift at the bookstore, and Mr. Ramirez wouldn't be happy. As the bus hissed to a stop, the doors wheezed open, revealing a crowded interior. Robin squeezed onto the bus, the stale scent of wet wool and old coffee filling their nostrils.
They scanned for an empty seat, their eyes landing on one at the back. Robin started towards it, but before they could reach it, a voice cut through the murmurs.
"Excuse me, miss, mind if I take this seat?"
Robin turned, meeting the gaze of a man in a crisp suit, his face a mask of impatience. Robin froze, a dull ache blooming in their chest. "Actually," they started, their voice barely a whisper, "I—"
The man scoffed. "Look, I don't have all day. Move it, lady."
Heat flooded Robin's cheeks. They weren't a lady. They weren't a man either. But explaining that to a stranger on a crowded bus felt exhausting in the face of his dismissive tone.
"I, uh," they stammered, feeling a flicker of anger simmer beneath their skin. "I identify as non-binary. They/them pronouns, please."
The man's eyes narrowed. "Non-what-now?" he sneered. "There's only two genders, sweetheart. Now scoot over."
Robin's stomach clenched. "No, I won't. This is my stop in two, anyway." They straightened their posture, forcing their voice to remain steady despite the rising tide of frustration.
Suddenly, a deep voice boomed from beside them. "Hey! You gonna harass a customer like that?"
An older man, weathered and wiry, stood next to the suited man, his face a thundercloud. The man in the suit shrunk back, his earlier arrogance replaced by a sheepish look.
"I, uh," he mumbled, avoiding Robin's gaze. "Just trying to get a seat, sir."
The older man snorted. "Seems to me there were plenty of other seats available. Why don't you just find one?"
The suited man mumbled an apology and scurried towards the front of the bus. Robin turned to the older man, a wave of gratitude washing over them. "Thank you," they said sincerely.
The older man grinned, displaying a gap-toothed smile. "No problem, kiddo. Don't let anyone tell you different." He patted the seat beside him. "Come on, sit. Sounds like you've had a rough day."
Robin didn't hesitate. They settled into the seat, the worn leather surprisingly comforting. As the bus lurched back into motion, they struck up a conversation with the man, learning his name was Henry and that he was a retired mechanic on his way to visit his grandkids.
The encounter with the transphobic man still stung, but Henry's kindness offered a much-needed salve. It was a reminder that even in a world that sometimes refused to see them, there were allies, unexpected heroes on crowded buses, ready to stand up and say, "They deserve respect too."
As they reached their stop, Robin thanked Henry again. Stepping off the bus, they squared their shoulders, the rain no longer feeling quite as cold. They were Robin, non-binary and proud. And no amount of ignorance could steal that from them.
.webp)
Comments
Post a Comment