TRANSFORMER
by Marc Goldin

Don was a transformer, or so the kid, Alton, down the street, had said several years ago, when he was 7 or 8. Don lived next door to me and had been a career air force man. He had lived on this street for years. All I knew was that when I first met him, shortly after moving in, I thought him somewhat simple. Not in the same way that some of the simple-minded nutters on the street can be but when talking to him, I noted a kind of glazed look the look of an adult man who may have lived with his mother for a little too long.

Don was by no means stupid but just seemed to be living on another planet. I guess it was true about his having been a lifer in the air force because he didn't have to work. He owned the building where he lived and he must have received a decent military pension. He wasn't particularly tall -- kind of square built, slope-shouldered, a bit stocky, but not in a man's way. He had almost a soft, woman's type body but shapeless. Light brown hair and thick glasses gave him even more of a nondescript look. He spent his time in leisurely pursuits he was keen on photography and would go out shooting a lot and then print his own stuff in his basement. He took walks, went to church some Sundays and trapped squirrels in his back yard when they got to be too pesky.

The squirrel trapping had some of the neighbors up-in-arms -- Cheryl, for example, was absolutely bent about it. I ran into her one sultry Chicago evening and she was enraged. She could be like that sometimes a kind of over-the-top do-gooder.

"Have you seen what Don's done lately?" she said, gesturing wildly in the direction of his house.

"No, I haven't", I couldn't imagine what the mild-mannered Don had done.

"He's been trapping squirrels back in his yard they were eating his fucking tomatoes and just ripping up his plants in general."

"What'd he do with 'em, then? - I know he didn't kill and eat them," I tried to play it down while wondering manically if he'd involved them in some satanic sacrifice. Visions of a couple of the furry little buggers splayed out on some homemade alter as an offering danced in front of me while trying to seriously convey to Cheryl, not only that I understood but that I actually cared. The thing is, Don had a freaky look about him very nice and soft-spoken but with that crazed gleam in his eye.

"I don't know what he did with them -- whatever, it's just wrong." She stormed off, muttering to herself.

I ran into Don a few days later and inquired about the hapless squirrels and he told me he'd simply trapped them painlessly and then transported them out to the forest preserve where he'd turned them loose, back out into the wild as it were -- end of story. He smiled as he told me about it with that faraway look and for a second I wondered but I somehow knew that their pelts weren't hanging in his basement.

Don's squirrel adventures were right in step with the rest of his personality -- he was a nature boy, obsessed with the weather and celestial events. If I saw the sky change colour or a storm front moving in, I would've given anyone 10 -- 1 odds that Don would be standing on his back porch riveted. Same with an eclipse or comet - Don would have his telescope out or head upturned to the sky. He was childlike in his enthusiasm -- may have been late 50s but took delight in the simplest of things. Then there was his mother.

When I first moved onto the street, Don lived with his mother on the first floor of his building and had a friend and tenant upstairs, Harold, who was tiny, bearded and looked somewhat like a garden gnome. From the back end of my flat, I could see over to Don's back porch and at least once a week, he would have all manner of brightly coloured lingerie hanging up to dry. A good son, I thought, seeing to his mother's laundry so regularly. There were teddies and gowns, silky looking, but what caught my eye were the panties. They seemed to be fairly big -- bigger than what I thought his mother might wear. She was a small woman but who was I to question the size of her undergarments?

Didn't give this anymore thought 'til his mother got too shaky to remain at home and went into a nursing facility. Still saw the under-things hanging but again, gave this no more thought other than what a considerate son he was. Months went by -- then I heard that she'd died and still, once a week like clockwork, the stuff was out there. At this point, I sort of acknowledged that Don was most likely freaking off with the dainties but didn't really know what the score was until one sunny summer morning. I happened to be in the back of the flat, drinking coffee like it was going out of style and mildly bouncing off the walls when a bright colourful vision in hot pink entered my peripheral.

I looked closer and Don had flounced out, looking, for all the world, like Loretta Young in some fucking 50s movie. He was out refilling his bird feeder, looked up and saw me. Hadn't intended for him to see me - I figured I'd give him some privacy but that's the last thing he wanted. He smiled and waved gaily to me. He was wearing a pink teddy underneath and over that, a darker pink silky robe. I waved back and in that moment, it became our little secret. When he was in the front of the house, he was Don, the retired career air force man, jeans and t-shirt, but in the back, he'd prance around in all of those delicate pieces I'd seen hanging for so many years.

This went on for a long time -- many mornings, over coffee, newspaper or hangover, Don always made his morning appearance, looking his best as if for the cameras. I grew to look forward to the mornings -- especially as the neighbourhood underwent the inevitable change with the young and affluent moving in. The homogenous look of everything -- the two kids and golden retriever trotting along began to assume a kind of grim and sterile feel, so I would stay in the back of the flat most mornings to avoid seeing the never-changing rush to work and wait for Don to turn up. I'd feel better after we'd exchanged a wave or two.

There was another person, a woman named Denise, Alton's mother, who lived on the other side of Don, and who also greeted him in the morning occasionally while putting on her make-up. It was when Alton was young that he said what he did about Don. At that time, there was a kids' cartoon show about robots that changed into various vehicles, called 'Transformers'. Apparently, one morning, Alton wandered to the back end of the house while Don was on his porch and declared, wide-eyed, to his mother,

"Hey mom, I think Don's a transformer", and it just kind of stuck. Denise related this to me while sharing a smoke out in front one afternoon, under the judgmental glares of the young, healthy new neighborhood residents. It sometimes seemed as though even the golden retrievers were disapproving. We had a good laugh over this - Alton was really a creative kid and several years later, as young guy in his early twenties, had developed into an artist and musician, playing bass in a sort of goth band that did what he referred to as 'happy death-metal' music. In the band, were two people, Lonnie and Virginia, who appeared to be a lesbian couple, except for the fact that Lonnie was a young trans-gendered male just short of the operation, so technically they were not quite lesbian. Lonnie was living as a woman, however, in all her dress and mannerisms, and was quite charismatic.

One warm afternoon, the band was practicing and had called it quits for the day. They spilled out of Alton's basement and onto the street, in front of the house, saying their good-byes. These were usually long drawn-out affairs - lots of laughing, shrieking and falling about. I saw them frequently and they always seemed to be having a good time - especially Lonnie. She carried herself with a certain freedom -- cocky and confident in her alternate but real sexuality. I especially liked these scenes -- made me happy to see young folk delighting in each other's energy while confusing the neighbours at the same time. Lonnie was the belle of the ball, dipping and mincing around -- the whole band in on this huge private joke.

For some reason on this same afternoon, Don happened by on his way home. He had to pass the group on the sidewalk to get to his door and as he strolled by, fixed Lonnie with a glare that sent death rays shooting. In a twinkling, it seemed, he'd sussed the whole thing, and zeroed in on Lonnie. His shoulders slumped and he kind of wilted, but maintained his composure and continued on into his house. I spotted this and it looked almost as if Don was both disapproving and resentful at the same time.

A few minutes later, I had to leave and was getting into my car, which was parked right in front of Don's. I looked up and saw him sitting in his front window but he didn't see me. He seemed to still be glaring at Lonnie but now had a wistful look, as if he might be doing the same thing if he were younger and part of this new uninhibited generation. As I looked at Don in his window, I imagined a conversation between him and Lonnie; where he told her in no uncertain terms how a young lady should behave in public, and 'You, Lonnie, are not even close.' Then, I heard, again in my mind, Lonnie's response, telling him to 'Piss off -- that she was bloody going be whomever she felt like and conduct herself accordingly; and furthermore, she didn't need some bitter old queen preaching to her.'

I looked at the kids again, laughing it up, happy and unencumbered, and then back at Don, who at this point, was staring off into space as if picturing how he would look and be, had he been born later. Just meet him in the back -- he'd sure enough show that Lonnie tramp who the real lady was.

� Marc Goldin
Reproduced with permission

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MARC�S MISCELLANEOUS FAVOURITES:

MAIGHREAD MEDBH

"I had several of my book reviews published by a now defunct Irish lit site (local.ie). The lit. editor of the site, Maighread Medbh was kind enough to take my submissions. She is a wonderful poet and writer herself"

Click image to read about Medbh's poetry collection, 'Tenant' on the Salmon Poetry site; to read Medbh's poem, 'The Price that Love Denied' on the Magdalene Story website, click here; to contact Medbh directly on the Mother Millennia site, click here or for related items on Amazon, click here

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THE LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST

"Both Nikos Kazantzakis� book and Martin Scorsese�s film. A life changing experience."

Click image to read Christine Iannone's article, 'The Last Temptation Reconsidered' on the First Things site; for an extract from Kazantzakis's novel on the Thoughts Worth Thinking site, click here; for Steven D. Greydanus's article on Scorsese's film on the Decent Films website, click here; for David Ng's review of the film on the Images Journal site, click here or for related items on Amazon, click here

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UNDERGROUND COMICS AND GRAPHIC NOVELS

"Of course R. Crumb is the father of them all and whose work made me see things differently. Two newer artists I like: Chris Ware � 'Jimmy Corrigan' series and Daniel Clowes � 'Ghost World' and 'Eightball' series."

ROBERT CRUMB

Click image to visit The Crumb Museum website; for the Official Robert Crumb website, click here; for a biography and selected bibliography of Crumb on the Fantagraphics Books website, click here; for the Looking for Crumb website, click here; for the Robert Crumb unofficial fan site, click here; for a Robert Crumb chronology on the Sony Classics site, click here; for Steve Burgess's profile of Crumb on Salon.com, click here or for related items on Amazon, click here

CHRIS WARE

Click image for biography and selected bibliography of Ware on Fantagraphics website; for a bibliography of Ware's published comics on the Acme Novelty Warehouse site, click here; to visit the Chris Ware Resource site, click here; for a short profile and images by Ware on the Lambiek website, click here; for links related to Ware and the 'Jimmy Corrigan' book on the Random House website, click here; for the From the Mind of Chris Ware website, click here; for Andrew Bird's interview with Ware on the Brave New Waves site, click here or for related items on Amazon, click here

DANIEL CLOWES

Click image for a biography and selected bibliography of Clowes on the Fantagraphics website; for Corina Chocano's interview with Clowes on the Salon.com website, click here; for a biography of Clowers on the X Roads website, click here; for the World of Daniel Clowes website, click here; for Craig Elliot's interview with Clowes on the More Goat Than Goose website, click here; for a selection of images by Clowes on the Lambiek website, click here; for a profile of Clowes and the book, 'David Boring' on the Random House website, click here or for related items on Amazon, click here