Invisible Illnesses

Sitting across from me on the #6 train was a woman (?) wearing a two toned black and blonde disheveled wig. It was on a little crooked, and her shaved scalp was revealed when she pushed it up. More curious than the wig was her actual gender. I surreptitiously looked at her trying to determine if she was really a she.  Was the wig an early attempt of a man in the throws of gender change?  Did I spy a bit of a mustache on the upper lip?  Her hands, manicured with unpolished tips were large and masculine.  Her bare legs suggested male muscles under the turquoise and black wrap dress that reminded me of a Diane VonFurstenburg I had once owned.

Then I remembered my friend Kiki, bald from chemotherapy for a brain tumor and others I have known who donned wigs to hide their naked crowns after chemo sessions.  Kiki had told me of the rudeness of bus riders grabbing a seat from under her as she tried to sit following a treatment.  How she had burst into tears before someone offered her a seat.  We acknowledge the elderly or physically infirm.  But, the invisible illnesses allude our kindness.  Today I will be kinder I tell myself as I leave my home and venture out to board public transportation.