-I went back to the dead skunk today beside the highway. It doesn't stink. In fact it looks so lonely and pitiful; humble and gorgeous. It's stark black and white coloring make for quite the target amidst all the autumnal shades.
I mutter under my breath, "Poor little guy. Musta been hit" --when suddenly a charcoal car goes goes racing buy: so loud, so fast. I know this car, and the look of the driver. This same car races through our town twice a day. I hate it. He takes the center of the highway so as not to brush too close to me, but he is going SOOOO fast, I stiffen with fear and have a sharp intake of breath. I am tingling with adrenalin. This is the same car I have given the "arms lowering" gesture to on the stretch of highway behind my house while walking beside my wavering four year old on his bike.
I have this sad thought that some day someone will die from this man speeding through our town. I think it might be me. Yesterday it may have been little Stinky here.
This man is unusual because he has long blond hair. At least this is unusual for me. Most men I know with long hair are brunette. Now isn't that funny that we never say "brunette" for a man? Ha... Well that puts me in mind of another long haired blond man I saw long ago on a street near the University of Oregon campus when I lived at the McKenzie Study Center...
There was a very atypical man who walked the streets at that time (and I mean atypical even for Eugene.) For one, as I have already mentioned, he had long blond hair. But his long blond hair was not a sandy or honey brown like you might imagine, his was white white blond. No, he didn't dye it and no, it wasn't a wig... this man was an albino. This man was an albino who wasn't wearing sunglasses out in the broad daylight, so you could see his icy blue eyes. He looked me up and down and I tried to hurry past him, but I could feel he was zeroing in to speak.
"Nice dress!" He said emphatically.
"...Thank... you, " I mumbled and went on my way troubled.
You see, not only was this man an albino with long wispy white blond hair, he was ALSO wearing a dress! Now I pretty much know how to respond to a man who is a stranger saying "nice dress"; it means, "you look attractive", and so I politely thank him and go on my way, hoping he's not checking me out from behind as well as I hurry home. (I know this may sound trite in print, but bear with me.) I also know how to respond to a stranger who is a woman who says, "Nice dress!" which means: "you look so nice, and ....I WANT that dress". I usually say "well, thank you" and move on my way either thinking feeling bad for her or wondering why I even wore a dress that day.
But how should I have responded to this man? He didn't really fit into any of my previous experiences. Was he saying I looked attractive, or did he just WANT my dress? -(Again, I can't help wondering how politically incorrect this all sounds, but it was such an unusual encounter.-- One from which I had no reference, only intuition, and my guts told me to keep on walking because I was not ready to genuinely listen to this needy individual who already had a way of saying things very loudly.)
As I passed he said, "Don't you love wearing a dress on a day like today?" Well he got me there. There is nothing like wearing a dress on a bright breezy day and feeling your skirts ruffle about your legs in the wind. That is something not even men in kilts quite get. --I muffled a brief yes, and walked on.
I know now I missed the chance to be a courageous soul to another soul. So what if I HAD just stopped and talked about how lovely dresses are on a day that's bright and breezy. --? Weeks later I saw a letter he had posted on the green room board at the Universtiy Theatre. "Hello, I am the albino walking around campus. Lately I've been enjoying the freedom of wearing a dress..." It went on for about four pages. Here was the guy, again, reaching out to be heard, and I remembered how I had been too afraid. My little stab of fear has been something I've learned to trust, but I still wonder: whatever happened to that guy? Humm... maybe the long-haired blond man speeding through town has something that he feels can only be expressed by ruffling my "skirts" each time as he breezes past.
