Trans-fixed.

In search of Rhonda.

Once upon a time I was a file clerk.

In 1984 after being asked to leave St Catherine’s College in St. Paul after only one semester (too many Saints? No wonder I didn’t fit in), this was to be my next phase. Office girl with no real skills.

On crutches from a skiing accident during the semester break, everyday I would hobble to the bus stop 1/4 mile from my parents house in the snow and slush, and ride the hour into downtown to 8th and Marquette. Up the escalator, to the elevator, to whatever the floor it was I worked on. Struck by a florescent wash of light (?), and different mutations of beige everywhere. The company I worked for kept files of EVERY SINGLE INSURANCE CLAIM in the state of Minnesota. They were still in files!! Computers were new. Tables upon tables of stacks. Heavy stacks! I would grab a pile and start filing. One pile after another and another and another, until 5:00 when I would emerge into the light of the street yet again…to wait for the bus home. FML. Terrible days.

In the data entry section, in the same area as we pion filers, sat a gorgeous woman named Rhonda. We cracked jokes all day long, and traipsed the skyways together sometimes at lunch. We became friends. Thank God. It’s always about the people, isn’t it? I could be steeped in beetle dung all day, but if I’ve got some good company, I can manage.

I was 19 years green, fresh from the suburb of New Hope and ready to see what the world was about. Unprotected, without a net.
In June of that same year, I got kicked out of my parents home (I’m seeing a trend here! Again, I was no saint. Although the story of WHY I was kicked out is hilarious).

I secured a one bedroom apartment across the 3rd Avenue bridge from downtown with another file clerk named Donna. Not yet out of the closet, she and her Flock of Seagulls hair from Iowa, was greener than I. We both had our twin beds in the room. She with a Simon LeBon/John Taylor poster above hers, me with my pierrot clown painting (unfinished) from high school. We wanted to get along and be besties, and we did get along well. We just didn’t jive on our idea of fun.

Rhonda and I did. We both loved Prince!!! And First Avenue was right around the corner.

Rhonda was special. She had gorgeous, long black hair like Cher. Her features were striking, and her eyes were deep. She stood taller than me, somewhere around 6 ft? She wore heels a lot, so I could have this wrong. Maybe it was just her impeccable stature that made her seem like a skyscraper. Rhonda was wonderfully sassy, bright, and fun. Definitely the best dressed on the floor. But the coolest thing about her?

Rhonda was a trans. FKA Ron. How fricking cool is that?

In 1984, she was like a unicorn. One of the first in the state (according to her) to undergo the surgery. It was good to get out of the ‘burbs and get to know the magic of it all. I craved all our differences, because it was there that I found how similar we truly are as humans. It comes down to our hearts, not our parts.

One Friday night when Donna the roommate was out of town, I invited Ronda to sleep over so we could have a full on Prince night together at First Avenue. We bussed to my apartment after work and proceeded to get ready. THIS is often the best part of any night out with friends. The pre-gaming. Tunes were cranked from the boombox, and hairspray was at toxic levels.

I was so proud of my one dance club outfit. It was a black leather mini skirt, metallic blue threaded shirt (tight), the most fuckable black leather ankle boots you could buy (similar to the picture, but black and…better), fishnet stockings, and a black leather biker hat, yes, with a chain. Dangling blue beaded earrings that caressed my shoulders. I was BANGIN’! Until Ronda stepped in. That woman could put it ON!! And again, her stature was on hit! A sexy gazelle! (is that a thing?) Walking by her side into First Avenue was always rad, because I knew we looked good. She brought that A game I was always just shy of.

After a full night of dancing to Prince and the Revolution (Yes, Live!! I saw them multiple times, and it’s one of the coolest things about me. LOL) we went back to my little square apartment. While getting ready for bed, Ronda asked me “do you want to see it?” There can be only one “it” in this scenario, right? Can you guess how I answered? Curious little one from the land of cookie cutterville? Of course I said yes. I sat down on my twin bed. She dropped her skirt and stockings (which were superb, btw)

There was absolutely nothing sexual about this moment. It was about sharing the most incredible thing she had ever done, at that point. And I gotta tell ya!!!! The work was superb!!! There was NO difference looking at hers than looking at mine. If there was any “tell”, it is in the space above the pubis bone where women tend to be more round, and she was perfectly flat. That’s it. She told me men could not tell the difference once inside her. And yes, she could orgasm. I was absorbing ALL this info with furvor like a newly dropped Interview Magazine. Ronda was living the life she imagined for herself, and SHE put herself there! SHE did that! It is a lesson that has stuck with me. I was so happy for her!! And happy for me to be brought back behind this curtain of mystery.

One of the greatest lessons I learned about being a woman, came from a woman who was once trapped inside a man’s body . CHOOSE the life you want to lead, and never mind the rest.

I quit that filing job not long after, and began dipping my toe into more creative and exciting endeavors.

With ALL the trans hate happening today, I can’t stop thinking about Rhonda. Where is she now? How is she doing? Does she still have legs for days?

There is so much we can learn from each other, yet “other” has become this brand for someone we ought fear, or hate, even legislate against!! What a waste of time with your humanity. It infuriates me. I met Dylan Mulvaney recently at a dinner party, and to hear the stories she tells about people pushing against her very EXISTENCE!! In 2023! I don’t want to give up on people, but the ignorant have my brain cornered, and I don’t want to hear from or about them anymore. I want them to go away and leave all the colorful unicorns alone. I want them to fix their fixations and fuck off. Or come dance with us. It is the ignorant that need to transform. This would be a job from the inside out, which is where it starts for a trans person too. People like Rhonda. She started the internal work a long time ago, and kept going. Saw it all the way through to the outside. Brilliant. That sounds like a complete person to me.

Rhonda, where are you? Are the dipshits giving you hell? I hope you’re doing well, and like me, still cranking up Erotic City when it comes through.