Just Passing

1. Special

Nora is singing in her crib. Not crying, but will be if she's ignored. That would definitely wake her brother, and then the whole day will be thrown off. 

"Five A.M. What's up with this new sleep schedule?" I mutter as I stumble out of our room and into the kitchen to heat up a bottle in the microwave. As I walk down the hallway I shake it to even out the temperature. Steam is pouring out of the bathroom. The shower must be to blame for the early wake-up time.

My wife emerges, half wrapped in a towel, hair still dripping. "Did you hear about the Powerball?" Her words rushed, insistent.

The tickets are sitting under my laptop. She bought more than was reasonable. Slim odds of winning and a waste of money we don't have. But nonetheless, I was the one who entered them into a spreadsheet last night so it would be easier to find matches to the winning numbers. I'm just as vulnerable to a good daydream as the next guy.

"What about the Powerball?" A momentary flicker of hope invades my usual pessimism.

"Fucking Springfield! Someone in Springfield is the sole winner! I knew I could taste it last night, didn't I say so? We were so close!" 

Springfield is about fifteen miles from where we live. All I hear is that the winning ticket was not purchased at the local liquor store where she went last night, walking in with two crisp twenties fresh from the ATM and walking out with a printout full of promise.

"Well, maybe we still won something. I'll check after I feed the beast." I shake the bottle one more time for emphasis.

"Don't call her that," my wife chides.

"You're the one who woke her," I mumble as quietly turn the knob to Nora's room. 

The baby pulls herself up and bounces in happy anticipation as I walk towards her in the near dark. "Da-da," she greets me.

"Come here sweetheart." I pick Nora up and sit down on the glider, placing her head on the crook of my elbow. "Here you go, love." She grabs the bottle greedily and starts to suck. Her first birthday was a few weeks ago. It's really time for the bottle to disappear, but she looks so sweet, her features illuminated by the light that finds its way into the room from under the door.

As the bottle empties, her eyelids get heavy and finally close. I continue to rock her for a few peaceful minutes before gently placing her back in the crib and sneaking out of the room.
I sit at the desk instead of going back into bed. I open up Excel and enter the winning Powerball numbers into my spreadsheet. The formulas I wrote last night highlight any matching numbers from our tickets.

Nada. Nothing. Squat.

We were geographically close, but not numerically. Didn't even win two bucks. But someone won the Powerball this morning – woke up to seven hundred million dollars. Can you even imagine? Your whole life changed in an instant.

I close my work-issued laptop with a bit more force than I should.

Of course I didn't win. I'm not that guy. I don't win things. I don't have secret super powers either. I'm not a demigod. I'm not the key to unraveling some dark and mysterious prophecy. And if there was a zombie apocalypse, I definitely wouldn't be the hero. I'd probably be the first to be eaten.

I always thought I would turn out special.

Guess I was wrong.

Maybe I read too many fantasy books during my formative years. Spent too long with my head in the clouds. Or, maybe my parents encouraged me too much. They still hang my paintings on their walls, for God's sake.

I've grown up to be the most normal, boring guy you'll ever meet. Except that I'm trans. But trust me –after nearly two decades living and passing as a man– that's not a big deal. I'm as white-picket-fence, middle-of-the-road, dry-as-toast, khaki-pants-wearing-suburbanite-dad as it gets.