My Cardboard Balcony

I Am Ugly, And You Are Blind by Belinda Roddie You grip the white stick like an extra hand. I guide you to your favorite corner, where your favorite books sit in their solitary stack. You love the smell and the crinkling sound the pages make. The doctors say your eyesight might, just might, return in six months' time. I am happy that all the colors and textures will return to you - the sheen of fur on a fluffy dog, the brightness of ketchup on a mess of fries. But I am afraid of how your eyes will twitch when they land on my rather homely physique and expression. For now, I read to you, knowing all too well that, even when you can read without your fingers, you'll want me to do this every night, when we have our own room in our own apartment, where we can count the stars together until we get too tired to think.

No one local seemed to recognize me these days, but maybe that was a good thing. After all, I had a beard now - a big one, thick and bushy with little curls at the end. I loved that beard. I'd spent over an hour trimming it every morning before pulling on my favorite blue blazer and strolling outside with a little dance in each step. Still, when I walked into the drugstore that I used to loiter in back when I was a kid, I saw someone's eyes settle on me before she spoke.

We followed the train tracks all the way until they disappeared into the floodwater, the dip in the stone allowing for the storm to create a brand new sort of artificial pond. Troy was itching to drop a couple pieces of broken gravel into the pool to see how deep it was, but I preferred to test it with a stick. The first broken branch I found was way too short, and I lost my grip on it while dipping it into the murky water.

by Belinda Roddie She looked radiant in the streetlight, sucking on a long cigarette, her beautiful knees peeking out from the holes in her jeans. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, carry her off to somewhere dark and warm and dry and kiss her until my lips got chapped. From a distance, however, all I could do was watch. Her name was Astrid Arkin, and she made both men and women swoon. With her hair cropped around her ears and sweeping across her forehead, she looked like someone had painted her during the grunge era of the nineties. She would have fit in playing bass or drums for Nirvana. She wore piercings on her ears and nose and mouth like they were natural skin decorations. Beneath her torn denim vest was a T-shirt emblazoned with a sinister looking guitar, the words screaming, "My Favorite Axe" from her slender chest. Everyone who walked by gawked at her, even the ones holding hands. No one seemed to feel envy about others staring; he or she just enjoyed the v...

The first pitch was excellent; it sunk into the catcher's mitt like an old friend, the satisfying thoomping sound exciting the entire crowd. The second pitch was too high, and it narrowly missed the batter's head, and he arched his back in partially sincere, partially exaggerated surprise. The third pitch was low. It was getting hotter and hotter in the ballpark as the first inning began with as much speed as a crawl. I pushed my cool cup of beer against my head and sharply exhaled.

Happy Friday, everyone. First of all, I want to extend a huge thank you to those who read my May 15th introspection, which I have been returning to and editing from time to time to make sure it best fits my gender expression. The sheer amount of support and kindness that I have received is almost more overwhelming to me than the support I received when I came out as gay in 2011. I know genderfluidity can be a tricky subject because it means I'm sort of non-binary, but the fact that so many of you took my words into account and even told me that you learned something new about gender identity...it just blows my mind in the most positive, happiest way. So thank you again. Okay. Now that that's done with, uh...not much to report this week, really. My new teaching job is wonderful. It's nice to be making more money, of course, but it's also nice to be working in an incredible environment with amazing teachers and insanely talented and smart kids, and just being able to wo...

Let's Hit the Beach! by Belinda Roddie It's summer! Time to swim, tan, and kill a man.