A Shared Experience – An Assumptive Anthology

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Introduction

Hello! For those who read my last post, thank you for returning. For those who are new, welcome.

This post will show you a selection from the journal of a person who lived around Cincinnati, Ohio, in 1858. This is the same year as the Civil War started, yet there is nothing in the journals I’m showing you that has to do with that. The author does mention the conflict before the story I wanted to share begins, and they do seem to be on the side of the Union. So I do not think I’m sharing with you the story of someone who had confederacy sympathies. I just wanted to make sure that context was here, though.

Additionally, the writer of these journals, who goes by both Oliver and Charlotte, uses the phrases “dressed up as a man” and “dressed up as a woman” frequently. They use this terminology to describe what might be interpreted as going out with different gendered presentations. This seems to reflect a fluidity of gender within themselves.

This terminology might be uncomfortable for some as it reduces their identity to clothing or costumes. However, it’s the language the writer had at the time to express their emotions and actions, so we’re going to respect that and use their words.

I do recognize that this type of terminology can sometimes be hard to hear. If that’s the case, this might not be the story for you. Maybe come back next time.

Without further ado, here is a selected portion of the journals of Charlotte/Oliver.

Discussion of gender as “dressing up” or putting on a costume
Discussions of gender fluid as “two identities.”

The Journal of Charlotte/Oliver

Do I love my friend Tillie? Absolutely. Does she have an unbelievable skill of tricking me into agreeing to help her when it’s not at all convenient for me? Also yes.

How on earth am I going to have any semblance of a social life while Jean’s living with me? If it was anyone else’s little sister, I could maybe manage. Any other week, and I could maybe be alright with Jean. Next week is gonna be particularly difficult, though. Not only does Tillie have her monthly women’s luncheon, an event which I will need to dress up as Charlotte for, but Tillie’s husband Hubert is expecting me to go out dressed as Oliver that Thursday night. I bailed on him the last two weeks- I cannot do it again, or I may lose that group of friends. I’d like to think they’re not fickle enough to stop inviting me after 22 years of friendship, but lately, David has been quite a grumpy curmudgeon with me, so I’m uncertain how long I’d remain in any of their good graces.

I know Jean needs a place to stay, and I know it’s a good sign that Tillie trusts me enough, trusts her friend Charlotte enough, to recommend her sister live with me for a short while- but I’ve been friends with Hubert much longer, and he’s never made it feel like if I didn’t offer his brothers lodging when they came to town, I was a bad person.

It’s not that I don’t like Tillie’s sister or that she’s a bad person. I met her once at Tillie’s, and she’s quiet and lovely. I’m just frustrated that this visitor is being imposed upon me. Tillie may not know that I dress as a woman some nights and as a man on others, but I still have a right to privacy. Plenty of people have plenty of reasons for not wanting a visitor to stay at their home for a week or so.

That’s another thing. She cannot give me an end date. She has essentially asked me to become a free hotel while Jean finds a permanent place to stay in the city.

I don’t have a roommate because I don’t want a roommate. If this is Tillie’s way of trying to make another friend for me, she should mind her own business. I don’t have a lot of girl friends, but I like the ones I do have. I’ve only been Charlotte for a few years, and she doesn’t know this, but I have plenty of friends as Oliver. Those friends are just guys and not also friends with Charlotte.

I’m just scared. I suppose I can admit that here. I’m scared Jean will find out and tell Tillie. I can’t lose Tillie. She’s annoying me right now, but she’s still my friend – she’s still Charlotte’s friend. I don’t want to lose a friend as Charlotte or as Oliver.

I’ll just have to be careful, I suppose. Figure it out day by day, as if that’s not how I approach every other part of my life.

–

Jean has been here for one full day, and I have good news on the secret-keeping front. I was able to go out with the boys as a boy tonight, and Jean was none the wiser. I left 3 hours earlier than planned, so Jean was napping as I donned the hat and clothes I’d chosen for that evening. It felt like a good day to dress up as Oliver, so the extra time before dinner was nice. I was probably the only guy at the bar with a hat pin, but needs must when you’re trying to hide a full head of hair.

The evening went so well. Even David was less grumpy, though he did cuss up a storm when I beat him at pool. He should have seen it coming, though. I beat Hubert at pool all the time, and David’s only marginally better than Hubert.

I’m burying the lead – if you can even do that in a journal where you’re writing for yourself.

Milton came!

No one told me he would be there, and it immediately made the sneaking around worth it. First of all, he is a proper rival at pool. Second of all, it becomes hard to call someone your best friend when you haven’t seen them in nearly a year. I did not intend to stay out so late, but even after the rest of the guys left, Milton and I played 3 more games while we talked (In total, I won 3/5 games). It reminded me of how we’d gotten good at playing in the first place. We spent so many evenings in the late 40s in that bar on 10th street playing until they kicked us out.

It was fantastic to catch up with him. He recently moved in with a friend named Joel. They’re in the city together today. I asked why he hadn’t brought his friend tonight, and Milton said he didn’t want to intrude. I insisted that I meet his new close friend. We also agreed to meet for lunch in two days, so hopefully, he will bring the man who is making him so happy.

I stayed out late enough that Jean was asleep by the time I returned, so I did not need to sneak too much. I only needed to be sure she didn’t wake from her place on the couch. Now it is time for me to go to sleep as well.

–

Given what occurred today, I would have assumed I had a long story to share, but it wound up being a sort of non-event. I had agreed to get lunch with Milton today, so I had to go out dressed as Oliver. I had assumed Jean was out of the apartment because I’d heard the front door open and shut. So I left my room with pants and a tie on. I wasn’t wearing a hat yet, so my long hair was visible, but I didn’t shave as close as last night, so there was some stubble along my jaw. All this to say, I was not Charlotte as I walked out of my bedroom door and straight into Jean. She must have opened the door and then realized she’d forgotten her hat and returned for it.

She froze and stared at me as I held my breath. I don’t believe she’s ever met Oliver properly. I thought perhaps she would think Charlotte had brought a man home the night before. It was wishful thinking. I saw realization creep over her face. First, her eyebrows rose, then her mouth dropped to an “o” shape.

I braced myself for – well, I don’t know what. No one’s ever found me out before. I wasn’t sure what was coming, but I knew well enough to be afraid.

Then Jean’s face relaxed. It was more of a curiosity than a shock. She let out a small “huh” sound and looked me up and down. I saw her eyes stop where Charlotte’s chest is normally larger. I wasn’t wearing any feminine undergarments today. As her eyes rose again, they landed on my cheeks-dark red hair visible on the surface.

“Okay,” she said, then shrugged and left the apartment with her hat in hand. I could not say what tone she said the words with, for all I remember is the confusion and relief that “okay” was the only word she said.

I do not know how long I stood there transfixed in that spot, only that I was late for my meal with Milton. I don’t think he noticed I was distracted because he was quite talkative himself. I asked where his friend was, and he told me Joel was busy today but that we could perhaps meet another time. Then he told me how they’d met, and of the many good qualities the man possesses. I was grateful to hear this, not just because it took my attention away from my moment with Jean but because Milton seemed happy. The two of us have always been close, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him light up like he was at lunch. I insisted again that I needed to meet the man who makes him happy. He smiled at this and touched my knee beneath the table.

“He makes me very happy,” Milton said to me. There was hope in his eyes.

I nodded, and I think I understood what he was trying to tell me. Regardless of whether these suspicions (which I have held for some time) are true, I intend to meet Joel and congratulate him on the honor of being friends with such a kind and loyal man as Milton. I returned home from lunch to see Jean sitting in the living room reading Monsieur Venus. I may owe her an explanation, she may desire answers as to the scene she saw today, but I was so stifled by the costume of Oliver that I ignored her and went to my room. I write this undressed and covered only in a spare sheet. I do not know if I would prefer she see me as Charlotte or Oliver right now, so she will see me as neither-rather she will not see me. Until this confusion passes, I shall remain in my room without the perception of others or the prescription of clothing. I can simply be.

I suppose I ought to journal the day’s events in the order in which they occurred, even though the end of the day held much more intrigue than the beginning. I don’t know precisely why this feels necessary to write in chronological order, but it wouldn’t feel right to begin in the afternoon.

Well, the first thing of some significance that occurred today was Tillies’ luncheon. It was a lovely day. Hubert had spent much of the night and morning ensuring the brisket cooked well and then got out of our hair so there were no men around as we ate.

I spent much of the meal on the fringes of conversation. As Charlotte, I do not have many long standing connections. Tillie is my nearest friend by far, and I only know about a dozen other women, most of whom were in attendance today. Jean was there too, of course. Yet despite being Tillie’s sister, she left early. She said she had a splitting headache. At the time, I believed her.

Today was a good day to be Charlotte, so I was very grateful to have the company of so many other women. Being in such an environment gave me the confidence to make friends with the women I met. It took me some time to adjust to a few of these women calling Tillie by her Jewish name, “Miriam,” as they knew her from Synagogue. Fortunately, as Charlotte, it is assumed that my mother only gave me one name. At least two of the women I met, Beth and Raisel, are coming over in a week to celebrate Shabbat with dinner at my apartment. Fraydel said she would try her best to make it, but she has a toddler, so it depends on how much her husband has to drink the night before. Apparently, they rotate between houses for the meal one week every month.

I think Tillie enjoyed her event as well. She seemed somewhat tired, but from what little I know of pregnancy, this is to be expected. I am grateful for Tillie’s invitation and for being able to attend such a party dressed as Charlotte.

Now I shall write of what I saw when I arrived home. Standing in the kitchen preparing dinner was a man. Or at least that’s what I first thought. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was Jean. She had taken the outfit of Oliver’s, which had been in a pile to be washed, and put it on herself. We met eyes for several moments, both holding our breaths.

The water began to boil on the stove, and Jean turned back to it. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, though. I know it was rude, and not just with hindsight- I knew it was rude while I stared.

But she looked so at peace standing there. Her arms hung loosely at her side instead of the tense way she’d held them that morning-with her elbows practically glued to her sides. The cut of the jacket did enough to disguise what breasts she had that, had I not known her, I may not have second guessed my original assumption that she was a man.

I stood long enough to realize that Oliver’s pants did not fit

her and she was not wearing shoes-then she cleared her throat and told me it would be a little while yet before dinner was ready. Her voice seemed affected to be lower than normal.

Dinner was nearly silent as I did not know how to broach the subject, and she did not seem to see a need to. So we ate, I as Charlotte and Jean as – well, I suppose that may be what is happening. Perhaps Jean also feels the need to be a man sometimes. Well, now that I’ve said it-well wrote it- it seems idiotic that I had not considered it before now.

Well, now I do wish to know if she sees herself as I do-constantly sliding between 2 versions of oneself, never changing yet constantly wishing to. That wasn’t right. It sounds kinda pretty, but there must be something in me that changes between Oliver and Charlotte.

Perhaps Jean has this same… what to call it-confusion? Perhaps it is common, maybe everyone has it, and I am merely unable to cope as others do- no, I do not think this is it. If it were more common, I would have heard of it. Humans are, on a whole, terrible secret keepers. If Jean is like me, it must be lucky that we found each other.

I shouldn’t assume. I should talk to her. I will-soon. Not today, though. I need to keep reading this story by Bayard Taylor. I just remembered I was near the end. I shall go read that to distract me from the strange goings on of my life.

–

I had no plans for the day except to clean up the apartment thoroughly, do the laundry, and read the Sunday Papers. I woke up feeling quite certain that I ought to wear my Oliver clothes today. I considered dressing as Charlotte anyway for Jean’s sake, but the idea grated on my mind, and I suppose if she can wear Oliver’s clothes while doing women’s work, so can I. It is I who made the clothes, Oliver’s anyway… I don’t know if that makes sense… Anyway, I wore Oliver’s clothes around the apartment today. Jean definitely noticed. Her eyes lingered on me frequently as I made my way through the apartment.

The whole day went on like this. She would watch me but pretend she wasn’t as I cleaned and cooked dressed as Oliver. The only thing of note to come out of this exchange was just before dinner.

Jean said, “Charlotte, would you like help with the cooking?”

I flinched at the name, and before my mind could catch up, I was saying, “Call me Oliver.”

There was a pause, and I was quite afraid that by acknowledging what had been silent, I would break the spell of acceptance.

She said, “Always?”

I blinked back at her for a moment and said, “Just today and just when I wear his clothes.”

I think it would be too much to say she understood, but she did not question- well, she did, but only to say, “Would you

like help with the cooking, Oliver?”

I tried very hard to hide the elation this brought me. If Jean didn’t treat this as a big deal, neither would I. Yet my heart flew as I accepted her assistance. Jean, who knew me as Charlotte, wasted no time calling me Oliver when requested.

I write it down now in part to ensure I wasn’t dreaming. Whatever hesitancy I felt at allowing Jean into my life has vanished. She may stay as long as she wants. To live with someone who shows such passive willingness to know me as Oliver and as Charlotte is striking.

—

Though I was ambivalent about which name I took this morning, I chose to dress as Charlotte. I own more clothes for her, so she tends to be my costume for days which feels like a person in between Oliver and Charlotte.

Perhaps it is a shame I did not look within Oliver’s drawers, for I might have had a warning of what I saw as I left my room.

The person I knew then as Jean stood looking in the mirror on the wall. It feels false to say I was looking at a woman. At that moment, I knew he was a man. I could not describe well what change suggested this to me, but I began to think of his fingers, his tie, his sly smile, his confidence. Actually, it was not his tie. It was mine. All of the clothes were clothes I wear when I am Oliver. And the tie was a mess. I’ve not seen someone tie a tie so poorly in my life. Well, except Milton, but he was exceptionally drunk.

I didn’t know if I should address the outfit, but I couldn’t leave him looking so unkempt, so I took a step forward, making eye contact through the mirror. I glanced down at his neck.

“Would you like me to tie that?” I asked.

“Are you Charlotte or Oliver?” He asked in response.

I frowned and thought for a moment, “Call me either,” I decided, “I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”

He nodded as though this were common and removed his own hand from the knot.

We were silent as I moved behind him. I undid his “knot” and began to tie it onto him as I do when I dress as Oliver. As I finished, I moved to his front and tightened it with a smile.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“You’re welcome, Jean. Any time,” I responded.

His eyes dropped to the ground, and after a moment’s pause, he whispered, “Call me Emmet?”

“Just today?” I asked.

He shook his head and said, “Always.”

I nodded and said, “Okay, Emmet.” Had I not been standing so close, I might not have noticed the tension release from his shoulders. He looked at himself in the mirror, and I stepped away for a moment, moving into the kitchen. He needed a

moment with himself to see the reflection he could cast back.

I set the water to boil and watched the pot heat. Moments and memories flashed through my mind. Events from my past and hopes for his future. Emmet will not do this alone. As I cooked, I decided that I will not let Emmet grow into himself in silent confusion. We can talk about it. We will talk about it.

We didn’t talk about it today. I couldn’t find the right time or the right words.

Regardless, neither of us is alone now.

—

Milton stopped by this morning on the way to pick up his friend Joel from the train station. Apparently, something in their plans changed, and he was wondering if I wanted to do dinner with the pair of them tonight. I invited them to eat at my apartment with my roommate and me, and they accepted.

It was only after he left that I realized how rude it was of me to assume Emmet had no plans tonight and that he would want to spend the evening with me, my friend, and his friend, who I have never met. He was a little worried when I told him I’d made plans but seemed excited at the opportunity to be Emmet, amongst others.

We spent the day dressed as men. I went to the market to get food for the evening, and by the time I returned home, he was dressed in clothes I had bought for Oliver. As we started to prepare the ingredients for the stuffed cabbage rolls, I confronted him about this.

I told him we should buy him new clothes, clothes which fit him better.

He seemed skeptical at this. He seemed skeptical at much of what I said in this conversation.

First, he asked if I was upset that he had taken my clothes. I wasn’t upset. I had been confused the other day, but I understand more now and I just think he should have clothes of his own. I told him this.

He asked why buy clothes he would likely just wear around the apartment. I wasn’t sure why he would just wear them around the apartment. Part of the fun of wearing clothes is being seen in them. I tried to ask him about this, and he said he wasn’t ready to try to be seen. I accepted that, but still thought it was worth it to wear clothes around the apartment. I see him in the apartment, don’t I? He shrugged at this, which I tried not to be offended by. It meant a lot for me to share my costumed existence with him. Not that it was hard to do- obviously, that was an accident, but it means a lot now. To have someone who I know will change the name they use means a lot. I suppose offense isn’t the right word. I tried not to feel ashamed at what wearing both outfits in front of Emmet means to me. Maybe it’s silly that it means so much to me to have him here. Maybe I was imagining how important

this all was to Emmet.

I’m going down this rabbit hole when I don’t need to. I had all of these worries already today. I don’t think it does me any good to write them down.

I told him that even before we lived together, I would dress up as Charlotte or Oliver depending on how I felt. There was a bit of a pause then he asked why. I tried to put it into words, and I don’t know how good it was. I tried to use big words and talk about seeing myself in the mirror and thinking about myself differently, but now that I’m thinking about it, it boils down to this: It just feels good. I kind of wish I’d said that because it’s true. It just feels so much better to be in women’s clothes when I feel like Charlotte than it does to be in men’s clothes and vice versa. I suspect it would feel better for him to be in men’s clothes too.

No matter how stumbling what I said had been, my words must have had some effect because he said he would think about it.

We kept at the cabbage rolls for a while, then continued with the meatballs I had planned. We were using his grandmother’s recipe, which his sister had given to me a few weeks ago. Occasionally one of us would ask a question, and the other would answer.

He asked why I switch between names, and I did my best to explain that some days I feel more like I can exist as Oliver, some days I feel like I can exist as Charlotte, and some days I feel a little outside myself no matter who I’m dressed as.

I asked why he chose Emmet. He said his train conductor had that name when he moved out of his dad’s house. He liked it.

He asked how I knew his sister and her husband, and I told him those stories.

I asked if he really always felt like he’d rather be Emmet, and he said yes. It seemed to shock both of us to learn how the other felt. I’ve never lived with one name and one feeling for so long, and his has never changed.

As we finished preparing our meal, he asked about Milton and Joel. I spent the rest of our time together talking about Milton. I told him about how we’d known each other for years and all the time we spent together growing up. I made sure to tell him how good Milton was at pool and how happy he looked talking about Joel the last time I saw him.

We finished dinner only a few minutes before our guests were set to arrive. I took that time to go find some clothes which were a little more suited for a formal dinner than for cooking around the house for both of us. There were even some pants that were too small for me but fit Emmet perfectly.

Dinner went really well. Emmet seemed more confident than I’d seen him before, even if he still spoke very little. Milton was, of course, wonderful, and I enjoyed our conversation so much. Joel was also great. He’s a black man

who is probably about the same height as Milton, but his hair gives him an extra inch or so, which makes him appear taller (though he is still shorter than I am). He seemed slightly nervous at first, but after a few smiles and an assurance that the meal tonight would be Kosher, he settled in. He seems to be a kind and warm man. Soft spoken and intentional with his words. I enjoyed him, and it was clear that he makes Milton happy.

There was something in his eyes when Milton spoke. It was like he also wanted to hang onto every word Milton was saying. They sat close together, their shoulders nearly touching. They knew each other well and clearly had been close for some time. There were unsaid stories that passed between them in glances and chuckles.

Time passed swiftly between the four of us. Tonight we were four men in companionship.

When dinner had ended, Emmet excused himself to his room. He had to be up early the following morning for breakfast with his sister. I was also going to attend that breakfast but felt no need to get more sleep because of it. Joel left to use the restroom, and I was alone with Milton for several minutes before they left.

He smiled at me as I gave him my review of Joel. He took my hand in his, and it was warm. He told me he was glad I liked him and then added softly that he loved Joel. I think he expected surprise from me but found none when he met my eyes. I told Milton it was clear that Joel loved him too. He blushed.

In tender terms, I tried to learn what I could of their relationship. They seem to have met 5 or 6 years ago, and they realized they were in love only 3 months ago. I asked about their future, and Milton said he didn’t know exactly what it would be, but he knew it would include Joel.

The pair of them left shortly after Joel returned. I finished cleaning up the living room and put the dishes into the sink to be dealt with tomorrow.

As I left for my room, Emmet came into the hallway. He said nothing, merely pulled me into a hug. I held him for some time. His gratitude for the evening, the day, the week, was palpable as we stood together. When he let go, he smiled up at me and retired to his room for the night. I did the same.

I took off my clothes and set out clothes for myself to wear as Charlotte in the morning. I wasn’t sure what kind of day it would be, but I would face it. And I wouldn’t face it alone.