Climbing With Logan-
It was 4:09:05 pm on Oct. 3, 2014. The ground was matted with old rain that now soaked into the black pavement near the front of the rock climbing building, one of Logan’s favorite places. Logan’s pace had a galloping motion, their chocolate brown boots hitting in hollow sound as they told me why they climb.
“I feel like I can be myself here,” they said, as we entered the frame of the doorway.
Behind the large front doors was a wall of glass at least 20 feet tall, displaying rock climbing walls of burnt orange, light green, dark tan, all speckled with bright neon colored pathways. People of all kinds roamed around; mostly early 20-somethings with long ratty hair and clothes that looked as if they just came from Woodstock. Music on the loud speaker was completely drowned out by the sharp sounds of clipping ropes, and the yells of many to say they were: “Coming down!”. Friends were everywhere, catching each other up on their days while falling in trust on their belays.
Logan said their friend Hope Harrington would be coming at 4:30 pm, and they were excited because she would be taking her test to be certified in belaying today. Logan took their time getting ready, pointing towards the gender neutral bathrooms as another sign of feeling at home, a place where no questions were asked when you needed to use the restroom. They took their forest green shirt off to reveal a black tank top underneath, a chest binding bra under the tank top.
“I wear this binder because it’s safe,” they said. “A lot of trans* people get hurt doing physical exercise in binders that are too tight.”
Logan was on their own for a while, climbing on auto belays with steady agility; not a beginner nor advanced climber. It was obvious by the deliberate placement of their hands and the pumping of their brain veins on the side of their head that these decisions were pre-meditated, planned with a great sense of the future ahead, in this case being the length of the wall above. No wonder they felt so at home here.
Hope Harrington soon made her grand entrance, surprising Logan from behind. She wore hunter green balloon pants and green climbing shoes, and glasses that touched the tip of her cheeks when she smiled. Blue streaks in her blonde hair and an uncannily sharp retort to Logan’s jokes made her stand out even more. They haven’t been friends for years, but they could have been based on their interactions. Teasing, laughter, and connection between the two could make any third party feel instantly alone.
Hope and Logan practiced for her test, going through the “you remember this” and “yeah, like I taught you” banter that denoted a previous time or two in this vast space together. Then with some encouragement from Logan, Hope took her certification test and passed.
“Wait, I actually passed?,” Hope said jokingly to the male certifier as Logan laughed the kind of laugh that sounds like the most warm and loving witch in the world.
Logan’s mom was also present. She came to pick up Logan for the weekend, where they normally go instead of staying at their apartment. Her springy pumpkin-colored hair and teacher’s attire counteracted with Logan’s style, but their laughter shared about Hope’s test was still genuine.
“Logan was just helping Hope with her test,” I said.
“She is something else,” their mom said tellingly, with a sharp bite emphasis on the “is” and “else”.
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