Pronoun Problems: A Novel About Friendship, Transgender and (eventually) Ninjas

57 - Flight Is Stupid

Anyway, RBF describes a person whose neutral face looks to others like annoyance, anger or condescension. Think Kristen Stewart or Kanye West or me, which I discovered because, as first-time hang glider, I went tandem with an instructor who not only took care of the all-important not-crashing-into-cliffs duties, but also took pictures of me during the flight (which is impressive multitasking; I can't even change the song on my car radio without veering into oncoming traffic (I guess another visit to Comedy Traffic School is all but inevitable) —which I purchased for an ungodly sum of money because, to my surprise, I found hang gliding not only fun but transcendent. For as long as I live, I will never forget that moment when heart-pounding terror turned to sublime bliss as I soared gracefully and silently above the earth. It was, for lack of a better word, spiritual.

In the pictures though, I looked bored as shit. And not just bored, but also irritated, like I had sand in my bathing suit. If there had been a thought bubble over my picture's head it would have been, Flight is stupid.

That's when it all clicked into place, why so many people thought I hated them when I didn't. Or did, but was trying to hide that from them. So many life puzzles were suddenly solved, not the least of which was why Samantha initially hated me all those years ago, even though I had been enraptured by her. Because while my in my brain I was saying: My God, I have found you, my one true love! my face was apparently saying, You disgust me, you talentless hag.

It was also, I realized, why in my partnership with Tammy I was always Bad Cop. Just by looking at my face they automatically perceived me as the heavy, so I became the heavy. Lord almighty, why didn't anyone tell me?

(Actually, that's an easy one. As far as they knew, there was nothing to tell. Like I have done to others on so many occasions, they assumed they knew what was going on in my head.)

Of course, I am not saying that was the entirety of my problems. Especially because I kind of liked being Bad Cop a lot of the time. But it could only help me if I was able to sync up my expressions with my feelings, which was a lot harder to pull off than I thought it would be. I don't think that most people have to remind themselves to smile back at someone who is smiling at them or to do something encouraging with their eyebrows while they're listening to someone speak, but I did.

It worked, though. Samantha started remarking on how much nicer I had become, which reminded me of something that Tammy said when she came out. "People think I've changed, but I really haven't. It's just that the outside now matches the inside."

I was always a nice guy. I just forgot to inform my face.

And then there was Felix.

Felix was a very nice, very bright, wildly uncoordinated kid on the high functioning end of the autistic spectrum. When he was twelve his parents signed him up for lessons at Sherman Oaks Martial arts, in the hopes of improving his motor skills and keeping his weight down. Three years later, he had achieved partial success. His weight was out of control — he was fifteen years old and well over two hundred pounds — but his motor skills had vastly improved compared to where he started. Not good, but better. But he was still rather shaky and off balance which, combined with his considerable heft made him dangerous to work with.

Because of this Sensei Gilbert had established the rule that only black belts were cleared to partner with Felix, and I had recently become one. It was something I was extremely proud of. When I first saw a black belt test I thought, I could never survive that. But I had underestimated myself and when the time came, I did survive it. Barely. The test ran two-and-a-half hours and it involved randori, which is the closest we came to sparring. I had to deal with punches, kicks, grabs, chokes, knives, sticks and multiple attackers. Towards the end of the test, I could barely lift my arms and I could hardly see, my vision a rippling tunnel. But I made it through. Patience and perseverance.