(Canary) Yellow

Casually dating, he said. Casually speaking, me too, I lied. Casually lying in my non-attached girlie façade I become Canary Yellow, a bright streak of a woman in a dim lit cafe, or restaurant, or unmade bed. Casually, this man and I laughed until the cackles gurgled from our mouths. Casually, we held our stomachs in witty banter and then each other’s stare. Casually, his cornsilk hair surprised me, I’d never dated a white man before. Casually, let me be real, I reached for his hand, unassuming of a squeeze back—I received a squeeze back paired with a smile and thought it must be love. Casually, we joked that he was John Smith and I, Pocahontas. Casually, he checked the time on his Apple watch followed by a scan of the cafe in Evanston that we huddled within while a raging November winter storm vanished our cars. Casually cynical, I’m lying again: he didn’t eye anything but me that evening—he was surrendered to me though I know he could see the jaundice revealing the lover girl in me I lied about. Casually and respectfully, he said, I won’t always be around to brush the snow off your Jeep. Casually, I ignored his caution and I invited him into my Jeep. Casually we burst into star particles when we made out, his tongue doing the work of his non-existent upper lip. Casually, time slipped by—I enjoyed every second of cautionless presence. Casually, we fell in love, and sexted and maintained video call dates while I left Chicago for LA for some weeks. Casually, our text conversations would be plagued by Pocahontas gifs. Casually Pocahontas waved at an injured John Smith across the sea. Casually Pocahontas dived from the top of a waterfall into the arms of a colonizer. Casually, history repeats itself. Casually he cheated on his ex girlfriend and could not forgive himself for it. Casually, we became busier, but he still sent me a kiss emoji on New Years Day. Casually exhausted, but he would pour his ochre drink in a stout glass with two cubes of ice and would give me his attention. Casually I’d drop hints about needing more. Casually he distanced himself, but remained. Casually he showed up drunk to our last date. Casually he cursed at me once. Casually, in the middle of gossip, I told a homegirl I’d been filling in his distance after weeks of dating so she shook her head and barked no, no no, a finger flung to my face. Casually she asked if I’d considered that, maybe, just maybe (and she winced into her left shoulder, a face of pity, the only thing she could offer me in her hands before saying), you’re only an experiment to him? Casually, I have been reminded of my unlovability as a (trans) woman in more than one occasion by (cis) women—strike me with a paintball gun with yellow bullets. Casually, they mostly always mean well, but I am streaked stupid, fluorescent bile over and over again with pyranine. Casually, I’m not blindsided by the yolkish rage the world has towards women like me, I didn’t say. Casually, I know I am a fun time, not a long time. Casually, I’ve never let FUCK YOU slip from my lips, but when it does it’ll be a yellow like lightning. Casually, I’ve begun rehearsing the phrase “Dating Intentionally” from the hard seats of my Jeep while I wait for it to warm up in the heart of a blizzard. Casually, I correct people when they misname a color. Casually, it’s not “Yellow” it’s “Canary Yellow”. Casually and with a deep breath I told her, With him it was love, friend, it wasn’t exotification, I said, and it makes me so sad you would think I wouldn’t be able to know the difference. Casually, she may have been right and I wrong. Casually dating him has brought me to tears (she must have been right)—I have not heard from him in 4 weeks and three days nor will I message him (I hate being wrong). Casually dated a white man for 3 months? Casually ditsy for show, but never a crumb chaser, always a gurgling fury and desire and disdain all in one cauldron. Casually, who makes all the fucken rules for dating? Casually I watch gay porn and I don’t know why. Casually throwing around this thought, but, the sun isn’t really yellow, now, is it? Casually serious, now, it’s hard to date. Casually so, that is, but what is the opposite of that if everything begins as happenstance, casualty, and then obliterates or shapes into something else. Casually irritated. Casually I’ve become a portrait my godson drew in a Banana Mania Crayola scribble and showed me through FaceTime. Casually, as in informal, impermanent, relaxed and all the things I am not. Casually restraint to be pretty, and depthless, hungry but never show it. Casually, I run from becoming a cautionary tale, a time stripped woman of folklore that devours men. Casually, I refute your invitation for love, stupid Cupid. Casually, I turn the volume down to hear the neighbors argue down the hall. Casually, I find my reflection lemony and must turn away. Casually breathless, tired of checking the blue screens for notifications from men, men, men. Casually irresistible, I’m blamed for their disrespect because I’m so hot. Casually defiant, but why am I still on Silent Mode? Casually venomous, I spit the phlegm I manifested when I pleaded to the cosmos to turn me a normal girl, a regular girl, when I am no such thing but vile. Casually, I am the caution sign and the stag lit up by headlights and you’ve reached a cliffside, but instead of choosing me, you choose flight, escape, become a sulfurous ghost that doesn’t reach my phone chime, but plagues my fingers sallow on the keyboard. Casually time ticks on, but who I am betraying by living from a maternity, biological clock, I don’t even have.