Fireworks from the direction of Walz's mansion awoke me at 5:30 AM the morning they announced the election results. I gasped and sat up straight in bed. "Good news," I thought. "Walz's team is celebrating."
I checked my phone. At first I thought it was a mistake, that it was misinformation. Maybe there would be a recount. Hope faded as I looked at the numbers. Worse even than 2016. I stared numbly out the window at the sky, dark now the fireworks had faded. My heart raced. It didn't feel real. We couldn't be heading toward the future this election represented. The small remaining part of me that thought it couldn't happen here died; I hadn't realized it was still there until it was gone.
I got up and went downstairs. Midway down the staircase, the fears overtook me, and I sank down to cry.
I walked to the train station in a deep fog. The neighborhood I knew, elderly houses and tree-lined streets, dissolved into the haze. I could see only what was closest to me. Half a block away, buildings turned to mere shadows; beyond that, only blank grayness. The sounds of the neighborhood, too, had faded; a hush had come over the school, and the cars driving past sounded strangely muffled.
A voice called out behind me. A woman with two dogs emerge from the fog.
"I just didn't want to surprise you with the dogs," she said as she walked up alongside me. We walked in silence for a few heartbeats before she added, "This is a dark day."
"Yes." I hated how my voice shook.
"This is all I could think to do," she said. "Walk the dogs."
"I'm going in to my office today. I need to be around people."
A few more moments of silence. "This is going to hurt so many people," she said.
I took a deep breath. "I'm transgender, and I am terrified."
Tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.
I rode the train home later than usual after work last week. As I always do on the train, I made myself as difficult to interact with as possible. I covered my face with a mask, and my head with a hat. I put my earbuds in, making it clear that I was not listening to anyone who may try to talk to me. My long coat hid my form. Only a few inches of my skirt peeped out beyond its hem. When I got to the platform, the train was already there and about to take off; I had to board the last car, rather than the first car as I usually do. I wedged myself into my usual seat and stared off into the middle distance.
People filtered on to the train. No one seemed to notice me. I drowned out the sound of their conversations with my music, tried not to look at anyone lest I should meet their eyes.
A couple stops down the line, a group of teenagers boarded the train.
They seemed to be having a good time. They laughed with each other and talked. I couldn't make out what they were saying.
They spotted me. One turned in my direction, and the others followed. "We're gonna have some fun," I heard one of them say. My shoulders tensed up. I told myself I was being paranoid and turned up my music.
As he shuffled past me, I saw one of the kids turn to look at me. On instinct, I turned to him.
"Faggot," he said, with a smirk that made my shoulders tense up even more.
I took a deep breath and returned to staring straight ahead. Perhaps I had misheard him, I told myself. In any case, I didn't want to hear more. I turned up my music. Reflected faintly by the acrylic barrier in front of me, I saw the kids settle in the seats behind me. One sat in the seat across the aisle from me. I only glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.
I couldn't make out words over my music, I just heard that the kids were talking or that the kids were laughing. They seemed to be keeping to themselves. I took another deep breath and tried to relax the tension that made my body hum like a guitar string. I was just being paranoid, I told myself.
Something, or a collection of somethings, collided with the back of my head and neck. I jumped and inhaled sharply, then cursed myself for reacting. I looked down at my sleeve to see a disturbingly wet piece of candy sticking to it. It didn't come off when I shook my arm. I decided to ignore the thing sticking to my sleeve, gross though it was, to pretend I didn't even see it to deny them the reaction they were so clearly seeking. If they were seeking one at all. Maybe it had been a mistake.
One of the kids got up from her seat and came to sit in the empty spot next to me. Her sleeve brushed against mine. She scooted closer, jostling me. I moved closer to the wall. She closed the space against us and continued to bump against me, sometimes almost leaning against me, sometimes briefly moving away. In my anxiety, it felt as though she was testing the waters, trying to build up to something more. I continued to stare stonily ahead as my stomach twisted. I hoped it didn't show in my eyes, the only part of my face that was visible. I didn't know how I would get up - would she let me out? What would that social interaction bring? Would talking escalate things?
As we approached my stop, one of her friends said something that distracted her. She turned to him. In one fluid movement, I got up and slid through the gap. I walked the few paces to the door and stood in front of it, staring out at the familiar landscape, now feeling strangely unfamiliar, as I waited to see if they would follow me. I couldn't hear what they were saying over my music, but I didn't think to turn it down. I urged the train forward.
We finally slowed to a stop, and I jabbed the door open button. The doors seemed to take forever to open; I slid through them the moment the gap was big enough for me to get through. I walked down the platform, barely breathing. When the train doors closed, I looked behind me. The teenagers had not followed me.
As I passed the trash can at the end of the platform, I pulled out my bus pass and used it to flick the unpleasantly moist piece of candy off my sleeve. It left behind a greasy spot. I scraped at the spot with the bus pass, which didn't seem to do much.
As I walked through the darkened streets beyond the train station, I played through the situation over and over in my mind. Were the kids harassing me? Was I misunderstanding? Maybe I heard the one kid wrong, maybe he didn't call me a faggot. Maybe they hadn't meant to throw things at me. Maybe the girl just wasn't paying attention to where she was sitting.
When I got home, I found I couldn't talk about it. I just sat on the couch with my partner, drowning in dread, until it was time to sleep.
I didn't tell anyone until the next day. I dressed in a much more drab way that day, pants and no earrings and my long hair hidden. While I was at work, one of my roommates sent me an article about two trans women who had been badly beaten at a train station I passed through every day. The crowd has just watched, even cheered on the attackers. Their blood was still on the platform days later. I felt as though I was drifting through the day after that, unable to concentrate, my body tense and my mind churning.
On the train on the way home, a man got on and sat a few seats behind me. He screamed threats into his phone and pounded on the seats in front of him. I froze in my seat, afraid of provoking him even by getting up and moving. An older lady sitting facing me met my eyes and raised her eyebrows. I raised my eyebrows back at her, a modicum of tension leaving my body just knowing that I wasn't in this alone.
When I got home, the panic started to overtake me. My breathing came fast, and my heart pounded. I stood in front of my partner, opening and closing my mouth, not sure what words to use. I felt like I was being silly, like I might have just misunderstood the situation with the kids. Maybe I was just being dramatic. Maybe it wasn't even worth mentioning. But finally I did mention it. I told the story as concretely as I could, just the solid facts, none of my feelings.
They looked up at me sadly when I finished. "I'm so sorry that happened to you," they said.
I canceled my hangout with my best friend that night. "I'm sorry, I'm having a panic attack," I said. "The train has been really bad." He was understanding, though I didn't explain to him exactly what happened.
Things didn't solidify for me until the next day, when I texted my brother to ask him whether the train had been bad for him lately. I told him what had happened to me, trying to make it sound like not a big deal.
He typed for a while. Finally, he said, "They assaulted you. That was a hate crime."
My eyes blurred with tears.