Jaime Witherspoon has been with the Fund for Trans Writers since November 2021.

Jaime is also supported by VMH’s Zine Project.

The I-95

On the passenger side of the I-95, I am a sexually ambiguous playlist looking for some hot stuff. My last day is my prelude to the first.

The word that stood out to me on the pamphlet was affirmation. I exist. I am true. It’s the reflection on the right-side mirror – I am closer than I appear.

It’s the warmest day of the year, the rain has cleared and Mop the Gingerbread Boy has the top down as the hangover cure. I’m trying to tell him it’s not going to work but he’s so happy about today I don’t think he really cares & that’s what makes him sweet - he’s the best kind of sympathetic warmth & those aren’t the same words when I say them about him.

I’m thinking about Spring ahead & realizing I don’t have to wear the permanent mourning veil I came with at birth. I am closer than I appear.

“I want to lie with this girl & I can’t lie to myself when I do. I don’t have to.”

On the passenger side of the I-95, my best friend is driving me to the Jacksonville clinic & I am thinking of everything dramatic I could say when I announce my arrival. I’m excited by the chaos in my head tossing out every kind of nonsensical phrase, I am freshly-made -wonder, I am a villain origin story.

I’m rolling down the sleeves of my hoodie down past the hands, now. ‘I don’t need a new pair of legs, baby, I’m good with my wheels, Doc.’