He was “portly”. Great jiggles of fat wiggled with every motion he made, including breathing. Many people stared at him in shock then turned away in shame and horror. I noted the shame they carried was supposed to be his, or so they thought to themselves. But it was easy to see the shame was theirs, that they looked on a naked man, who was not ashamed of himself, and because he was not ashamed, they realized they had no power over him and was ashamed. So they turned their head and whispered contritely, while he continued walking down the street.
“If I was buff and muscled, the women would be glad to see me! But because I’m fat, they turn up their nose in disgust.” He’s not angry. He is laughing at the very people that reject him. “They have been taught that only the best will do, and everything and everyone else is only a temporary measure until perfection arrives. They have no idea that not only do I know what a clitoris is, but I also know the other so called ‘secret zones’ on and in a woman’s body, and I will take great delight in making my lover speak in tongues.” He laughs and I laugh with him.
“So, why are the men staring at you in disgust as well?” I have no fear walking with him. He is great company and we have had much stimulating conversation along the way. Nakedness is a social shame, not a legal one. He is breaking no laws walking naked in public. I wish I had his confidence.
“Because I am a threat. I am a threat to their confidence. I am a threat to their masculinity. I am a threat to their sense of self. If I, who am not this society’s ideal of the masculine form, can walk around with impunity… then why are they, who are adhering to the societal ideal, covered up in suits? They say I am shameful, when I am the mirror they are seeing their own shame in! What is so hideous about them, that they feel compelled to cover up?”
“I don’t see how that is a threat to their masculinity.”
“They barrage women into covering their bodies. If you look at every man that sees me, and then reflexively pull a jacket closed or make sure their shirt is pulled down, you’ll see a flash of shame. They are treating themselves the way they treat their women. They are forcing themselves to make sure their bodies are covered. In that moment, they are women. All it would take to counter that is to remove their shirt and walk around as brazen as me. But not a single one will do it. They will claim it is the Social Code, but the truth is, they are caught red-handed in their shame and misogyny and lack the desire to confront it.”
Someone yells out why I’m walking with the “perv”. A few others yell out derogatory remarks. I ignore them all as if they were water in the gutter. This angers one of the hecklers, who decides to throw a bucket of questionable substance on my companion. “Not again!”, he moans helplessly.
I mumble for him to hold still. Before the pungent contents can reach him, I embrace him and call my flaming wings. The fierce fire envelops us both and the fluid flash-boils away in the cocooning plasma leaving only a stinky steam. The wind obliges with my unspoken request and blows the steam over the hecklers. The contaminated men flee.
“Ah. I was told you were different. I thought it was your attitude. Not many women are willing to walk with me for so far, and not caring about my body or how fat I am. And yet, you have not said a single word about it!” He wraps his arms around my waist and squeezes slightly for a gentle and friendly hug.
“It would be hypocritical of me to say anything, I think. I struggle still to accept my body as is. You have been an example for me. I remain quiet in the presence of my better.” His girth prevented us from continuing our walk with arms about each other’s waist, so we mutely settled on walking arm in arm. “Also, to judge you, is to judge my friends. And I accept them as they are, so why not extend the same to you?”
We arrive at the large house that served as the meeting place for his Odd-Fellows. Inside, we are greeted by the owners of the house, and several of his companions. Each and every one is rejected by mainstream society. But each and every one has achieved personal independence of mainstream society. It is painful to know, that each and every one also has a position of importance, that if they were to abandon, the infrastructure would collapse within days. They are vital to the running of the city, even as they are reviled by the very city that needs them.
He sees my boots, and notes they are soiled and worn nearly to the point of failure. “Ah! No! I will not tolerate that!” To my surprise, he becomes quite angry. “Sit! Right here, Weaver!” He points to an elevated chair with steel footrests. “It would be very improper of me to not extend protection to the one that protected me!”
Everyone else chuckles as I take the directed seat. “Did he tell you what his specialty is?” I shake my head. I never bothered to ask. “Protective clothing and gear for extreme conditions.” My blank stare was answered in peals of laughter. “He’s a tailor, but not just any tailor. He hand-makes astronaut suits, and deep-sea gear, and gear for vulcanologists, and other life-threatening conditions. That’s why he can’t stand clothes around town. He protects the human body, so it can be celebrated.”
As I get over my awe, he returns with armfuls of leather, bindings, and other material. “What has happened to this leather?” He inspects my shoes before gently removing them. “Weaver, you travel to harsh conditions, yes? Don’t answer, the boots tell me everything. Who made these? Horrid things. The weight balance is all wrong! You require boots that are made for traversing fire and ice! Not pretty little somethings for others to admire!” He suddenly turns a deep shade of red and ducks his head. Some of the others see and begin teasing him.
It takes me a bit, but I realize why. “Oy. Leave him and his foot fetish alone. Everyone has their favorite thing.” He says nothing, but smiles a little. I am suddenly embarrassed for my broken toes and deformed toe nails. He washes my feet and legs gently. When his hands run over the crooked bones, he only asks if I needed structural support or extra cushioning in the new boots.
“Here is another evil.” He is speaking softly, I don’t know if to me or to himself. “Perfection never allows for living. Never allows for happenstance or the intentional blows of another.” His thumb finds the other broken bone in my foot. “Do not be ashamed for your scars or misshapen bones, my dear. They are proof that you have survived. They should be celebrated, not condemned.” He kisses my foot over the broken (and now healed) bone gently, then suddenly realizes the company that still surrounds us.
What he did not see, as he kept his vividly scarlet face towards his work, was me with a halo of fire over my head and shards of flame on my shoulders, giving everyone severe stink-eye and daring them to say anything that might cause him pain. Most only smiled and nodded. One bit his lip and was punched by his companion in preemptive chastisement.
As he started the work of measuring and cutting, conversation turned to the others in the house. I was only passing through, I said. Been in a bit of a wandering mood, I said. How did they know I would be here and send him to escort me to the house?
“Because I saw it happen.” The house matron reminded me of Akhenaten for some reason, but I couldn’t place it until she turned to me to speak. Her bone structure shows the same elongation of face and hands. “I am a Seer. Yesterday, I saw you coming to town. And I saw many, many ways your arrival would have ended badly for the town.”
“Badly? Then why risk me arriving at all?”
“Because I saw the one way your arrival would have not impacted the town at all. You needed to be met with strength. Not the strength of an army. Not the strength of defiance. But with the strength of open confidence. And so, I sent him to meet you at the edge of town. And all is proceeding as I saw.”
“You’re not going to tell me how things could have gone south, are you?”
She chuckled with a deep masculine voice. And smiled. Oh, what a smile. “It never happened. Irrelevant.”
“Eh, Weaver.” My shoesmith tapped my leg for attention. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m taking some liberties with these boots. You can wear them folded down as ankle-boots, or pulled up for thigh-boots. You have martial wear on these old ones, so I’m leaving space for shin-guards. I’ll be including them, of course, and they will also cover the knee when installed.” His confidence suddenly wavered. “Is that okay?”
I could not answer with words, but only emit a little squee of delight. He took that as the answer it is, and resumed his work with renewed vigor. Watching him try to take into account unexpected encounters made me realize what the Seer did not say.
“Seer, why was it imperative I visit the town? If the chances of the town’s destruction was far greater than the chances of the town’s continuance should I arrive, why risk me arriving at all?”
She smiled again. “Because you had to have… this.” She hands me a thin wood disc, rimmed with black iron. It is covered in symbols on both sides, but I can not make sense of them. They turn and squirm under my gaze. “It means nothing to you… now. But you will have need of it later. And you will only be able to obtain it here.”
“Forgive me, Seer. But you placed the town at great risk for an outsider. That raises alarms with me. What are you not saying?”
She smiled, yet again. “If I told you that, I would not be a properly enigmatic Seer, now would I?” I threw my hands up in surrender. Everyone chuckled and commiserated with me, telling me of their own riddles and turnabouts with her.
I accepted the disc, and opened my satchel to place it inside. Strangely, my keys were lying on top. No matter how I tried to place the disc inside, the keys kept getting in the way. Fine. I took the keys out to place the disc inside. On sight of the keys, the Seer straightened her back in alarm, and two others in the room froze in fear.
Her voice now dropped to the rumbling of bass octaves, she said simply, “You have keys.”.
“Yes.” I didn’t think it odd. Most adults in Industrial Age or later societies have keys to something, after all.
She points to a certain key. My most precious of keys. “And that key… fits… me.”
Impossible, I think. That key fits a certain building’s front door. But as I focus on the key in question, I just know… it is related to her. “In a way… Yes.”
Her voice, still deeply toned, was barely a whisper. “What does that key unlock?” With a shock, I realize, the Seer… doesn’t see… can’t see. I share her fear.
The words come quickly. Instinctually. I want to deny them, but I can’t. I want to hold them back, but I can’t. My voice sounds distant in my own ears. “Your next life.”
Quickly, I tuck them back into the satchel and seal the bag closed. My flames no longer dance across my head and shoulders. I’m trying to make myself look at non-threatening as possible. My mouth feels stuffed with cotton, dry to the point of feeling petrified. The Seer and the two that understood what I said remain quiet. The Seer is trying to give the air of nonchalance, and failing. The other two looking between the Seer and myself, as if trying to decide if I am a bane after all. Everyone else in the room understands something just happened, but are unable to fathom what.
A hand pats my feet and I almost scream in surprise. “All done! Much better! Much, much better!” I look down to see my naked conversant has completed making the new boots. Indeed, he created them around my feet and legs, making for a truly custom fit. I lifted a foot and found them lighter than my previous boots, even though they are twice as large. “Oh yes. This will do!” He is taking obvious pride in his work.
“Lean over, my dear, I have delights to show you!” I ignore the double entendre and lean as requested. He shows me the different ways the new boots can be worn, and the little surprises he worked into the design based on my satchel and my travels. The boots are more than mere environmental barriers. They are weapon carriers, and tool carriers, and stylish, and warm, and cool.
“I only covered you from piss! I did not do anything to deserve this… wow!” My fear of implied debts was rising again. I thought of asking for the old boots back, but saw he had taken them completely apart to use as rough templates to pattern the new ones from.
“It was the contents of several soiled toilets, actually. The bacterial content alone was enough to cause great harm, never mind the insult.” He stroked my covered leg in admiration of the work. “Besides, you might not come this way again. And I appreciate our conversations along the way and your bravery to walk beside me. Not many women would walk even a block with me. I have yet to return you in full for your actions.”
Far in the distance, I felt a call. I understood then, how birds know when to migrate despite the warmth of autumn. It was time for me to leave, and I should not tarry.
The Seer took my hand. “Yes, you should heed that. I am glad you were able to remain long enough to receive the boots and the disc. I did not see you obtaining the boots, only that you would receive a help to your travels.”
“Thank you, Seer. Forgive me, but I’m kinda hoping I never see you again.”
She laughed, and joviality was restored to the house. She escorted me to the front door and opened it. Instead of opening to the street, it opened to the void In Between. “You’ll see me again, Weaver. It is unavoidable now. You’ll see me one last time.” She smiled, barely hiding the sadness.
I nodded in acceptance. I waved farewell to all, and insisted on another tight hug from my dear naked shoesmith. With heavy thought, I surrendered to the call, and left the house, the world, and the dream.