The Intruder (Part II of II)

If you haven't already, please read Part I first.

"Holy SHIT!" I said outloud as I watched the her open the back gate and peek inside. Being the brave one that I was (at least when old ladies were my adversary), I protruded my chest and ran to the back gate to confront her. "HEY!" I said to her from across the patio. She turned away once again. Frustrated, I went straight for her, grabbed her sleeve and gently tugged so I could see her face.

And then, in a curiously high-pitched but scruffy voice, she said, "Oh no, I'm just in the wrong place. Sorry." At that moment our eyes locked. My once hell-bent pupils no doubt dilated at the sight I saw, and in one fleeting glance, my entire world was both shaken and stirred. It truly was one of the few speechless moments of my life. Underneath the wig and sunglasses was none other than Mr. R, dressed head-to-toe in women's clothing.

Heels, pantyhose, makeup, rings, bracelets, purse, a nice broach, and even a bonnet for her, um, his, hair. I'm certain that the look on my face was unforgettable and that my mouth dropped directly to the ground. It was the first time EVER, that this small-town Texan had ever seen something like this in person. And to top it off, he slept five feet from my door.

I froze like a deer in the headlights. He walked away. Briskly.

In 1988, I didn't have access to the internet for research on cross-dressers. My only point of reference of a man wearing a wig also happened to be a man carrying a butcher knife behind a shower curtain. I didn't have the foggiest idea what to do. Tell the guys? Tell his wife? Tell my parents? Tell anyone? I did what any other normal guy would do: I walked immediately to the A&P and bought a padlock for my door.

Fast-forward 2 months.

After thinking on it, I concluded that Mr. R was no threat to me and I decided to keep this little secret between us. I only told my closest friends, who--after a good laugh--were very supportive in helping me make the decision not to squeal. Oddly enough, my silence must have given Mr. R. an extra sense of security, as I began to see him "dressed" more and more. Once, while he and his wife were watching TV. Another time, I recognized him in the frozen food section at the grocery store. He became so comfortable that I had the chance to snap this photo from my window on his way out on the town (this is actual picture of him):


Now don't get me wrong. This creeped me out a little bit, and I moved at the end of the semester. But during that time, I actually developed a strange admiration for him for doing what made him happy, even if it was a bit unorthodox. I also secretly hoped he appreciated my understanding (this was a bit step for me as a "worldly" college student). And though I didn't really know it at the time, I would seek similar understanding from friends later that year as I grappled with my own issues of being gay. It was truly the first time I got to appreciate the Buddhist saying "If you light a lamp for somebody, it will also brighten your path."

Congrats for having the balls to do what made you happy, Mr. R. Even if they are pulled back with duct tape. :)