High School Halloween

 
I went to high school as Marilyn. It was Spirit Week. I didn't care what would happen, but I feared the worst.

I forgot that I had a site visit scheduled. She came from Washington, D.C., to ask questions about our federally-funded program. She couldn't get past the red vinyl pants, army jacket and cap, the three ratty wigs piled on top of each other, or the gothed-out make-up. She laughed the entire time. It ended with a great report.

Later, a student visited me in my office. He was Dracula -- face painted white, blood red lips, plastic fangs, polyester cape, and black pants and t-shirt. "Thanks," he said. "You make it okay for me to be in this."

I smiled and skipped as I walked home that evening. Everyone loved the costume, even the principal. As I was crossing the pedestrian bridge over the 101, my pants split wide open. I laughed hysterically. It felt fabulous being my self and not giving a fuck.

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Marilyn Discovered

 
Her name was Vamp. Then it was Wednesday. Now, I am not quite sure what it is. To me, she will always be Vamp. Her class and perfect make-up, her gothic look with lace and rock and roll remain with me.

I still look for her in clubs when I can muster the energy to go out. Sometimes, I see her perched against a wall with a tall cocktail in her gloved hand, the straw twitching from her impatient tongue. Most of the time I don't find her.

She was the one who discovered Marilyn. It wasn't my first time in drag. It was the best. It was Halloween in San Francisco.

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