Malik White (3:24)

She came with me when I moved to Chicago. She was kind of hazelnut colored and small framed like me, and we were perfect for each other for a while. Her name was Layla and she was my bike. But six months in, I started identifying as transgender and things with Layla got a little complicated. That means that despite being biologically female, I identify somewhere on the masculine end of the gender spectrum. And while being a beer bellied, football watching dude has clearly just never been in the cards for me, I did change my name. I asked everybody to call me he instead of she. And I tried desperately to pass as male. So that meant shaving off all of my hair, speaking in a voice an octave deeper than my normal range, and turning on the boy's charms to no avail because the grocery store cashier still called me ma'am, teenagers still called me a dyke. And on the rare occasion when I did pass, I couldn't get into bars because bouncers tended to think I was a 10 year old boy. You can probably tell. And I blamed Layla. I mean, when people saw me riding around on my little girl bike, they saw a girl. So I was heartbroken the day that Layla was stolen. But I decided to seize the moment as an opportunity to buy my first men's bike. One that reflected the person I was becoming. So, 4th of July weekend last summer, the local bike shop announces a sale on Schwinn hybrids. And I go there with just enough cash to get me one way on the bus because I made a promise to myself that I was going to buy a bike that day and I was going to ride at home. So I walk in and the sales guy greets me with a How can I help you, sir? Ma'am, Sir. But I'm not even paying attention because I'm making a beeline for the bike in the corner. The bike that is everything I want. It's black and gold and badass. And unlike most men's bikes, which have names like Ranger or Mountain Cub, this one is called the Cutter. So the sales guy sees me Salivating over this bike. And he goes into the back room to get me the extra small frame size, and he comes back empty handed. And he says, I'm sorry, sir, ma'am. Looks like Schwinn doesn't make this bike in your size. But we carry the women's model. And I think, screw it if it's black and gold and called the Cutter. Like, who cares about the shape of the frame? I need to have this bike. And he goes into the back room, and he wheels out the flashiest, most garish, awful bike I have ever seen in my life. The back half of the frame is lime green, the seat is speckled with polka dots, and the entire front half of the bike, including the front wheel, is hot pink. I was terrified of pink. Not because I didn't like it, but because pink or anything remotely feminine compromised my ability to pass. But I promised myself I would buy a bike that day, and I needed two wheels to get home. So I just took a deep breath and said, okay, I'll take it. And on that ride home, I made many promises to myself. Promises that I would cover the pink with strategically placed stickers. Promises that eventually I'd just spray paint the whole thing black. And while fellow commuters were checking out my flashy new wheels, I cringed when I thought about what they saw. A girl riding a very girly bike. And then I heard it. Faggot. I hit the brakes. I turn around. I'm looking for the jerk who's probably harassing some poor little femme boy jogging in his short shorts. And I don't see anybody. And then I hear, nice bike, faggot. I realize he's talking to me. And I am elated. I mean, I do not condone homophobic slurs. And I am fully aware that when someone calls you faggot in the mean way, you do not smile. But I did. I was smiling because I was finally passing, just not in the way I expected. So I compose my face, and I keep going. And then I hear somebody else say, his bike is so gay. And I get a few more comments like that on my way home. And somewhere along the way, I. I have what I like to call a gender revelation. I realized that I don't have to hide the feminine parts of myself to be seen as the person that I am. And I realized that I don't want to be trapped in anybody's gender box, not even the male one. So over the next few months, I started wearing a rhinestone stud in my right earlobe. I bought hot pink skinny jeans. I realized that I'm the kind of boy who wears his hair a little bit long and listens to Elton John. I am the kind of boy who rides a faggot bike. I recently celebrated my three year anniversary of being openly trans and my one year anniversary with faggot bike. And no, I never ended up covering the pink with stickers or spray paint because I want faggot bike to be who she is. Completely all hot pink and green and just a little bit scuffed and dented. Thanks.

Dan Kennedy (9:49)

Malik White is a performer, storyteller and gender warrior for Chicago, where Malick writes, directs and performs new plays every week with the Neo Futurist Theater Ensemble. Most recently, Malick assistant directed the Ms. Neo pageant. Malick's writing has been published in Bitch Magazine, Windy City Times, and the Huffington Post. This podcast is brought to you by Audible.com, the Internet's leading provider of audiobooks with more than 100,000 downloadable titles across all types of literature and featuring audio versions of many New York Times bestsellers. To try Audible free today and get a free audiobook of your choice, go to audible.com themoth and here's a note for our listeners in Australia. The Moth is opening the Melbourne Writers Festival in Melbourne, Australia on August 22. For ticking in information and for a list of all of our upcoming tour stops, visit themoth.org Our podcast host, Dan.

Malik White (10:52)

Kennedy, is a writer and performer living in New York and author of the new novel American Spirit.

Rosetta Stone Representative (10:58)

Available now.

Dan Kennedy (11:00)

Thanks to all of you for listening and we hope you have a story worthy week. Podcast audio production by Paul Ruest at the Argo Studios in New York. The Moth Podcast and the Radio Hour are presented by Pete prx, the Public Radio Exchange helping make public radio more public@prx.org.