Everyone hung out at Maureen’s. She was a sweet woman, petite, in her twenties, and a divorcee with two adorable kids. We’d sit in the kitchen sipping cups of tea. She always had tea.
Maureen did not allow any drinking or drugs, although if you had already imbibed, you were welcome in her home. She was kind and for a couple of weeks, until she put a stop to it, there’d be guys nodding out in her living room. She knew she couldn’t let them stay but it took a couple of weeks because she didn’t want to hurt their feelings.
I don’t really know how she did it. She stayed up until all hours of the night with us and then got up with her kids. I know sometimes she got up later than the kids because she would tell stories of the small tornados that hit her kitchen; spilled cereal, milk, peanut butter and jelly caught up in the whirlwinds of making their own breakfasts.
I never met Maureen’s ex, but I met her ex brother-in-law. He was a wig designer and once he left a wig he’d been working on with her. She warned him not to. “You know the kids”, she said. He put the wig on top of the refrigerator, out of harm’s way. The next morning, when Maureen walked into the kitchen, there was the wig on its styrofoam head, in the center of the table, doused in maple syrup with a hefty sprinkle of Cap’n Crunch.
Her ex brother-in-law, Joey, was there often and loved her and his niece and nephew. She had a picture of him in her living room, dressed in a sparkly neon blue mini dress. He’d won a trans beauty contest in New York.
Joey didn’t like me. I didn’t realize why until one afternoon when a bunch of us were sitting around. Out of the blue, he said in a snarky tone, “I can get as many boyfriends as you, Sharon.” I said, “Yeah, but I don’t have to wear a dress and make-up to get one. I can just wear jeans and a t-shirt.” He rarely spoke to me after that. Not that we ever had a cordial conversation before, but the feeling wasn’t mutual. I didn’t dislike him. And if he was a little jealous of me, it was unfounded. There’s no way I could’ve won a beauty contest. Let alone in New York!
Maureen and I lost track of each other. I got married and moved away. She got re-married. A dozen years later I found out that she was living in the town right next to the one I was living in. We got back in touch. I was so happy to see her and found it comforting that we shared cups of tea.
We caught up on each other’s lives. I told her about my boys. I shared my new-found faith. She told me how good her kids were doing in high school, the older one about to graduate. And told me of her impending divorce. She didn’t go into detail but mentioned with cynical sadness that he should be in therapy, or jail.
“How’s Joey?” I asked. “The last time I saw Joey he wasn’t Joey.” she said with disdain. “He’s now Sheila”, she continued, “I told him to never come back. I didn’t want my kids to be confused. Their uncle is now their aunt!”
I was stunned. Not because he had a sex change, but that she rejected him. It seemed so out of character. One of the things I knew about Joey was he loved her and the kids. They grew up with that picture of him in a mini dress. He was ultra-feminine. When I knew him, he often wore short shorts. He shaved his legs, wore make-up and always had his nails done. I hesitantly said, “I don’t think they’d be confused. They’ve known him all their lives.” She shot me a look. She was visibly angry and didn’t respond. The subject was dropped.
Except for the comfortable familiarity of sharing tea, we’d both changed. Maureen had been so upbeat and happy in the small apartment where we hung out. She seemed worn out and bitter during our brief reunion. I got the feeling the kids might not be the reason she didn’t want Sheila around. She didn’t want me around either. I attributed it to her impending divorce. Or maybe she didn’t want to hear about how my life was different since I found Jesus. Or maybe she wanted no reminders of her old life. Whatever it was, I didn’t see Maureen after that visit. She moved shortly after to parts unknown. I found out that she passed away a couple years later. I wondered whether she was sick when we met and if that was the reason for her change in demeanor. I always had the feeling there was something she wasn’t telling me that day.