As it turned out, Hannah’s “other issue” in the hospital that day was that everyone was clued in to the fact that she had been born a man except for naïve, sedated, and too-traumatized-to-realize-it me. That was why she had told them that she was my aunt and not my mother, even though the race was another dilemma. She had been completely transparent with me on the bus ride to NYC. I was fascinated with the entire story.
Hannah had been born Amram, after the father of Moses, the leader of the Jewish people in the generation preceding the exodus from Egypt. She knew early on that she did not identify with her assigned sex. Inside, she was a girl, and therefore loved little girl things. Her father, Chanan, was wrought with guilt that he had done something wrong, and up until his death, in a car accident when Hannah was twelve, he could never accept the fact that she wanted to wear dresses and heels and play with makeup.
Upon Chanan’s death, her mother, Nava, allowed Hannah to do as she wished. The rest of their extended family shamed and ridiculed her until she left home at eighteen to make it on her own. Nava still lived in The Bronx, but they did not speak. I asked Hannah often why she was shunning her mother when she had been supportive of her desires. Hannah would express that she didn’t want to bring her mother any more pain by being around and allowing other family members to badger her with nasty comments. She hoped that being out of their sight would also mean being out of their minds. I could relate to that, because I was hoping the same for my own grandmother. I had burdened her enough, and my mother’s mental instability had destroyed any chance of a normal existence.
* * *
“This place doesn’t have character,” Hannah replied, snapping me back from my thoughts. “I need to get rid of some of this junk around here.”
“Just don’t get rid of your Cabbage Patch dolls, the Snoopy Sno-Cones machine, or those Moxi roller skates.”
She laughed. “Sometimes I forget how young you are.” She sighed. “Speaking of which, I’m still trying to figure out a way to get you registered for school in the spring.”
“Who needs school? I can get a job and help out around here.”
“A job doing what? I can’t even get a decent-ass job and I have my high school diploma. I started boosting to make ends meet, and now I’m all caught up.”
“You get a rush from it, don’t you?” I asked, recalling the enthusiasm she always seemed to have when she unloaded her “take” for the day on the worn sofa.
“It’s partly that, but it is also mostly because I don’t have to deal with the bullshit that would come about from a regular job. Sure, I could get some fast-food work or maybe even get into a call center, but people are so judgmental about my choices. I don’t have the tolerance to have to defend myself from ridicule day after day. Being a booster allows me to stay off the radar.” She smirked. “But I am good. I haven’t been arrested in going on three years, and that’s a record.”
“What happens when they arrest you?”
“A bunch of nonsense, purely for show, then I post a little bail, and walk. They have serious crimes to worry about here. Up until about five years ago, The Bronx was the murder, rape, robbery, aggravated assault, and arson capital of America.”
I was stunned. “Really? I mean, I can see that it’s rough here, but everyone I’ve met seems so nice.”
“Most people around here are nice, but that has nothing to do with the crazies who had a total disregard for human life. That’s why you need to get your ass back in school. So you can make something of yourself.”
I looked down at the floor. “I can’t go back to school. Not yet. Are you forgetting what my classmates in Georgia did to me the night we met?”
Hannah grabbed my shoulders and forced me to make eye contact. “Listen to me, nature has a way of weeding out the thorns. Let karma take care of them, and I understand how you feel, but they are more than a thousand miles away and can’t hurt you now.”
“That doesn’t mean kids here won’t make fun of my scar.” I was on the brink of tears. “It’s not like I can cover up my face. My mother should’ve just killed me that day and gotten it over with.”
Hannah pulled me close to her and hugged me tightly. “You’re special. Believe me when I say that. You are going to turn your test into your testimony and your mess into your message one day. Don’t give up on life, and fuck anyone who thinks they’re better than you. They’re not. There are not any Big I’s and Little U’s in this world. We are all unique in our own way.”