Entry #29: Montreal

Montreal was one of our favorite cities. I didn’t travel there often before I met Annie and because of that I knew little of the city. That all changed with Annie.

Annie loved Montreal and convinced me to travel there more often so we could meet and she could show me all the great things about the city. It only took a few trips for me to realize how much I had been missing and how this particular city was so well suited to who we are and our dreams together for the future.

As I write this, you have to remember that all of this transpired a long time ago. Annie was never welcome in the U.S. during that time. The fact that she had a successful corporate career was a testament to her drive and the fact that she found herself in a company that refused to allow discrimination within its ranks. Even by today’s standards, many companies pay lip service to non-discrimination but turn an eye away from actual instances of it.

I became an expert at watching for “the look.” The more often I saw someone looking at Annie with disdain and hostility, the more dismayed I became for her safety. The reality of the situation was that since I was accompanying her, those feelings were projected onto myself as well.

We shared our feelings over this many times and we worked hard to find a place where we could live and have a future together in a welcoming environment. In the end, Montreal became the obvious choice. Even though it was only a short plane ride away, it was like traveling to another world where your gender or color of your skin held no sway over living an every day life in peace and happiness. The U.S. held no such hope for us. Even today, while I still live in the U.S., I would prefer to live somewhere else that is more inclusive and welcoming to everyone.

Without Annie however, there is little motivation for me to leave. Without Annie, life has become something like living on a treadmill. The day-to-day is repetitive, all the while my memories of her surround everything I see and do.

Her picture in my phone and her iPod, which frequently finds itself in my pocket, represent the shattered life that remains from the love that we shared for each other.

Entry #28: Hands and Eyes

Annie had the most beautiful eyes and hands of anyone I knew.

There were so many stories that hid in those eyes. It always surprised me to see how quickly her eyes could change. The pain and despair she felt when dealing with an intolerant society always showed in her eyes. She was beaten down so many times, yet always persevered to rise up again even stronger.

But…there was so much joy in those eyes as well. When we were together, making our way in finding out everything we could about each other, her happiness pushed back the pain. Once she accepted and embraced our relationship, she transformed into a new person. Still shy and introverted in public, she never held back from seeking new adventures and explorations with me. It seemed to me that I opened a door that she kept closed since she was thirteen, and now that it was open, there was no holding her back.

And she had amazing hands. Long and slender fingers which were always perfectly manicured with a constantly changing palette of nail polish. Soft hands…the softest hands I ever felt. Yet those hands were like fire. When she touched me, whether it be holding hands, or something more intimate, those hands caused me to lose my mind on so many occasions. The simple act of her human touch sparked many emotions and so many times it was hard to maintain control.

I have never met anyone else who could speak to me in such a personal way with just her eyes and hands. Watching and observing, and interacting with her every day, and week, and almost year that we shared together made for the happiest time of my life.

She didn’t deserve her fate. Annie had so much more to live for. I know how happy I made her, because she told me and showed me over and over again. If only she could have lived to enjoy the freedom the surgery promised.

Entry #25: Questions

I have been writing this blog for a few months now. Unlike my previous blogs, I have not received a lot of comments on the articles, or as many followers. It might be a function of less people following blogs than in the past due to most people using social media more often. Or maybe readers simply don’t find it interesting.

However, I do get more private messages with questions. The questions vary, yet I am surprised how many of them are of a personal nature, requesting intimate details of my relationship with Annie. I do my best to check out the questioners to see if they are serious or just another hater with an agenda.

Most of the time I tell them their questions are out of line and why would you even think I would answer them? Here’s the thing…

If I were in a relationship with another man, no one would ask. If I were in a relationship with a cis woman, no one would even bother me. But Annie was neither of those, so now people think it is appropriate to ask me personal, intimate questions? How rude and disrespectful can people be? Well, in my experience it seems they are pretty rude and disrespectful. What were they hoping to get back? Hoping that I will reveal something that will feed their fantasy or fetish?

There was however one question that I thought I would answer here and it is not what they were hoping to read I am sure. The question is “what did Annie and I like to do the most when we went to bed? So here then is my response.

We liked to fall asleep together. Exciting yes?

I was an average size guy at the time, my weight varied between 180-185 pounds. Annie was almost as tall as me but she only weighed about 125-130. She was a size two, very slender. She was light as a feather.

So, when we went to bed for sleep, we took off our clothes and she would stretch out completely and lay on top of me face to face. Being a bit shorter, she would tuck her head into the crook of my neck. I could feel her complete body and bury my face in her hair. We loved to feel the beat of each other’s hearts and the rise and fall of our breathing against our chests. I loved to run my hands up and down her backside to calm her from the day. Sometimes we would talk softly and other times enjoy the peace we gave each other as we fell asleep.

Not what you were expecting right? Feel free to leave comments or ask respectful questions.

Entry #16: Peace

Mental peace for me has been elusive. For the last ten years, achieving peace has and continues to be hard to get a handle on.

So while seeing those pictures of Annie a week or so ago dredged up all the old demons and opened the door once again to the dark places I keep hidden, I thought that maybe I could make something positive out of the experience.

I took one of the printed photos of her and scanned it into the computer so I now have a digital copy. I didn’t edit it in any way. I wanted to remember her exactly the way she was when I took the picture so long ago. It is one of the few pictures I made of her. She avoided the camera whenever I pointed it in her direction. Some people just have an aversion to having their picture taken and Annie did not appreciate the art form at all.

Now I have a picture of Annie in my phone, and surprise myself how often I go to look at it. I haven’t slept well in those ten years. I always manage to wake up around three or four in the morning dreaming of her. The last few nights I have reached over and picked up the phone to look at her picture. I can remember every detail of her body, how she smelled, the beautiful sound of her voice and laughter. Using the picture has allowed me to go back to sleep for another hour or so.

I still don’t have peace as I dream of her every night. But, what the picture has given me is a bit more peaceful sleep. I can take that. I will never post a photo of her anywhere since she didn’t like her photo to be taken, but I may show it to a few people if they ever ask. I think I am ready to show a few people the image of the woman who chose me. We almost had it all. It was within reach and then snatched away from us.

Entry #15: Disfunction

When Annie described her family life and her journey, I found it to be a heartbreaking story.

She said that she knew who she was by the time she reached ten years old. While her mother supported her in minor ways, the animosity she received from her father devastated her. He railed against all her decisions, and when she was thirteen he threw her out of the house.

Against all odds Annie and Ellen surfed couches at the homes of friends and worked their way through high school. They went to the same college and even though they both worked around their classes, they could only afford one studio room on campus, which they shared until they graduated.

Both were lucky to land full time careers after graduation. Ellen with the government, which meant moving to Denver and Annie with an insurance company, making the move to Seattle. While building their careers they found they travelled frequently to the same cities and saw each other at least twice a month.

When we met, Annie was thirty nine, and Ellen was thirty eight. Neither were able to keep in touch with their families although through friends Annie made sure her mother always knew where she was. I remember many nights we would lie in bed and she would tell me horrible stories of her childhood. I grew to despise her father, even though we would never meet.

Even though we had not yet completed the arrangements to live together and move to Canada, our lives together were as normal as could be expected taking into consideration the discrimination she endured in the country at the time. She would take me to dance clubs in three of our favorite cities where she knew she would be safe from scrutiny and there would not be any issues. These clubs were unlike the bars or music rooms I frequented. Everyone was there to have a good time and no one cared about your personal life. We always went as a couple and were accepted as such.

After Annie passed and the months of anger and despair seemed to ease up a bit, I found that everything had changed for me mentally. It wasn’t enough that I gave up playing music. Traveling to the same cities we always travelled to, I found myself walking down the same streets, looking into the same shop windows, picking out clothes for Annie even though she was gone. One morning I woke up to find a bag on the table with a beautiful sexy dress in it. I obviously bought it the night before. At least I had the receipt so I took it back. I knew I had reached a turning point one night when I went into one of the clubs we had both visited so many times. It was so strange to go in as a male without her on my arm. There were some looks and I got the distinct feeling I wasn’t welcome any more. I was at the bar having a drink when a woman came up next to me, grabbed my ass and said hello. I turned to her, smiled and said sorry I am just leaving. I don’t know what she had in mind, but I was not interested.

I knew right then that I could not continue on like this. All of the adventures and the life we had in those cities were now just memories and every visit became more difficult. When I returned home, I quit my job. I could no longer play the music and I couldn’t continue to mentally tear myself apart revisiting those places. I just did not care about anything.

Over the intervening years the band has continued to reach out to me to play shows, but I just can’t do it. I still love music and will frequently go to some of my old clubs as long as the music is not what I played. Since I gained all the weight, most of the people I know don’t recognize me and I am ok with that. I would rather just pay for a ticket and sit in a dark corner in the back and enjoy the music without having to interact with anyone. I don’t travel much either and when I do, I pick places I haven’t been to before so I don’t have to face those old places.

I can face the fact that I have some sort of mental deficiency in dealing with this past, but the thought of going to a complete stranger to discuss it seems a bridge too far to me. Writing seems to be an adequate outlet for now, but what I miss most is having that human physical contact that comes from a having a true friend you can just hug and touch and discuss your true feelings with.

Entry #14: Introvert

I have always been an introvert. The truth is that I find most people either uninteresting or down right disappointing. Idle conversation just does not hold my interest and I would prefer to listen most of the time and if I have something of value to contribute I will.

So many conversations are initiated by people who just like to hear themselves speak. I am just not one of those people. Many of those same people show no interest in what is happening in the lives of others they are friends with. They are happy to pass the time with meaningless conversation, but seldom if ever ask the questions of another that would show that they are truly interested.

Over the years, my habit of listening more than speaking, and asking the hard questions of my friends gave me perspective into their lives. I can count on one hand the number of times those types of questions were posed to me. Disappointing, right?

Annie turned that model upside down. She immediately started out asking questions, and in return revealing her personal self. She was and still is the only person that managed to break through to me on a personal level. She was the only one who proved she did care by making the effort. Even today, I can start out a conversation with someone new, ask some questions, reveal some facts and still not get a question in return. I have to believe that most people just do not care how others feel or what is going on in their lives.

We had the deepest, heartfelt conversations between us as we described all our fears and hopes to each other. We both loved rain storms. When a storm was approaching we would head to the nearest beach to feel the fury of the storm and the pounding of the waves. The dark energy seemed to revitalize us.

Storms are a lot different for me now that she has passed. I still go to the ocean if I am near, whenever a storm occurs but no longer get the same result. It is always the same for me. I wait till the rain begins to pound on the sand and walk to the waters edge and sit and wait. The spot is always chosen where others are out enjoying the storm. I always write Annies name in the sand in front of me and wait. I wait for the rising waters to wash away her name as the tears stream down my face. No one else can see the tears because of the rain pounding on everything.

It would be so easy to just get up and walk out into the water and never be seen again. But then what? There is no guarantee I would see her again. Nor is there a guarantee that the memories I have of her would still be memories, or would there be nothing but darkness? The risk of losing those memories, which are the only thing that keeps me going every day is too much to consider.

So, when the tears finally subside, I get up and leave. There will be another storm and then I will be back to write her name in the sand once more.

Entry #13: The First Time

I remember the first time. After all these years, that moment is burned into my memory forever.

We were in Montreal for a show and it was just another rehearsal like so many others. We played the songs exactly the way we intended them to sound and then sat to listen to the playback.

Annie snuggled up next to me with her head on my shoulder as the music began playing. All of a sudden, when the voice track began, she was singing the lyrics in my ear to the music, soft as a whisper so no one else could hear.

In French! In stunned silence, I just sat there squeezing her hand, hoping the song would never end and I would breathe again before I passed out. As the song went on I could feel her shudder as she sang. When the song ended, I turned to face her, completely confused, only to find her in tears.

Annie said she had not spoken French in years, and she loved me so much she just became overwhelmed in the moment and it seemed to be the only way she could express herself. I had no idea she could speak any other language but English. She said yes, she also spoke Vietnamese and a bit of Tagalog.

After that evening, she spoke to me in French a lot. I mean every day. I do not understand 95% of what she said and she would translate in English immediately, but I had to hear her speak to me in French.

The hours, spent gazing into her eyes as she lovingly whispered to me in French just melted me. I will never hear her voice again, but those are memories I will take with me forever.

Entry #12: Shopping

Annie loved to shop. It didn’t matter what city we were in, she always brought back her latest purchases to the hotel to show off. I don’t know how she found the time with her regular day job and the fact that we always had plans of some sort for the evening. She was obsessed with always having the latest fashion and she would do her research to find the appropriate event or in-place for us to go so she could dress to kill.

I am not much in the shopping world, but have to admit that her constant desire to be in dress up mode did start to affect how I dressed as well. I couldn’t let her be seen with a bum when going out on the town. So I shopped as well.

Shopping with Annie had its perils of course. We enjoyed shopping at night, so we could walk the streets together in the shopping neighborhoods. Stores were always lit up and it was great people watching as well. I always walked on the street side with Annie because that is what a gentleman does. We could be innocently walking down the street having a conversation and suddenly I would find myself alone talking to myself. Sometimes it would take me several minutes to back track and find out which store Annie had dove into. Anything sparkly or sexy displayed in the window would draw her in.

In the beginning, when I would pick out clothing for her she would politely decline my choice saying it was a bit too conservative for her. After a few times like that, I decided to change tactics. I would choose some of the most scandalous outfits I could find. She loved it. Who knew? From that point on she insisted I shop with her, hang out by the dressing rooms and give my opinions. Nothing was too sexy or daring for her to wear.

One night when we were in Montreal she decided she wanted to go shopping for some personal lingerie. I said sure, I can just hang out at a coffee shop as they were on every corner in the old city. She said no, she had a particular shop she always went to for those items and I was to come with her. When we arrived I noticed the windows were all covered for privacy. I told her I didn’t think it was such a good idea for me to accompany her inside, as the clientele might not like a male inside while the ladies were trying on all sorts of things. She just laughed at me and said I was being provincial and she grabbed my hand and in we went.

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t embarrassed. There I sat on a comfortable chair while she tried on numerous things and would strut over to me to get my opinion. The fact that the sales women and other women trying on items didn’t even bat an eye that there was a male sitting right there in the open while they took items on and off while I desperately tried to focus only on Annie was distressing to say the least. She finally decided on her purchases and I said, great, we need to get out of here. She laughed at me so hard I had to join her. She was totally enjoying my discomfort in the whole situation and promised to give me a private show when we got back to the hotel. As we walked away, she whispered into my ear…think how much more you will enjoy it the next time. I just shook my head thinking how in the world did I get so lucky to have this sexy, sometimes fearful, sometimes fearless, sometimes powerful woman to look forward to being with the rest of my life.

Entry #6: A Different Time

It was a different time in America when I met Annie. While we have come a long way in becoming a more accepting society, there is a long way to go. Today’s internet is so robust you would have a hard time not finding information on just about anything you wish to. Back then when we met, not so much.

On our third night (date) when she revealed that she was trans, I was so shocked that I was at a loss for words momentarily. I could not comprehend what that meant and asked her to explain. She said that while she lives her life as a woman and has since she was thirteen, she was born a boy. I said, that while I don’t know what that means for us, I don’t think it really matters. She responded that well…it will.

Annie was almost forty years old and had never had a relationship with a man and had no more than a handful of dates. She grew up in such fear for her safety and position in society that she closed herself off to everyone. Yet, on the first night we met, we both understood that we had stumbled into something that couldn’t be denied.

We met again the following week at a nice restaurant and the tension in the air was obvious. The few days apart had only solidified what we were feeling for each other. Our first kiss later that night was like a fire that consumed everything in the room. At one point I wondered if I would ever be able to breathe again. All of her fear and apprehension came to bear on the single moment she was so afraid of, but was desperate to experience. While we both wanted that final confirmation of what we felt for each other, all I could think of was that what I really wanted was to give her the love she lacked her whole life. I can’t recall everything I said, but remember mumbling something along the lines of “its only plumbing.” That night’s experience with Annie is something that I will never forget.

It just became better and better and more intense every time we were together until it ended.

There is no path forward to reimagine my experiences and passion for her with someone new. Deep down inside, I know that is my truth. She will always be the one and no one can take her place.