"See ME!" Yelled the T-shirt: Or, the Importance of Being Seen

NOT the t-shirt caption, but a view from downtown Birmingham, AL, USA

The hot Alabama air wrapped around us like an overprotective mother’s blanket. It was early March, and unseasonably warm, even for the American South. We entered the thrift store, me reluctantly behind my mother’s excited, yet time-slowed, steps. What surprises might I find? she mused.

But, gone were the days of plenty, when survivors recycled things their newly dead had owned and cherished in life, or when many donated with assuredness of receiving a tax write-off.

In those not-long-ago days, Grandma could find a painting by Alabama's African American painter Art Bacon, or a stunning early 20th century clock sporting boxer Joe Louis (aka The Brown Bomber) beside the clockface. Even I had benefited then, finding a lotus-seated Buddha[WG1]  after deciding against the Buddha bust sans full body beside it in the thrift store.

No, things are very different now. The world revolves around individuals opting for Shopify or similar self-selling apps, knowing that tax exemptions are a thing of the past, and that the axe that fell on a neighbor’s job yesterday could well sever any of us from ours today. No, gone is that generosity.

So, on March 10, 2025, Mom had found but one silk scarf and an obviously unused garden hoe in the clean, cavernous store. I stood in line, having decided to buy these items for her. We were the only two shoppers in masks, I noticed. I was breathing deeply, practicing gratitude for a blessedly brief shopping venture (I intensely dislike shopping), when a very tall, Nordic/Viking-appearing, intense energy-person burst through the door. They were but a couple inches shorter than the doorway, and the sun blazed behind their insistent blonde hair, haloing it as their body was enveloped in shadow by the sun behind it.

My head tilted sideways as I am wont to do when in deep, wide-open contemplation. Their eyes darted around the store, telegraphing the demand to See me, dammit! See me! They strode down the aisle near me and I read the red lettering emblazoned on the blue t-shirt: F*CK *****, it insisted (but the “*”s are mine). I read the two simple words twice before understanding. You see, Alabama is a stridently red State. This person was very large. Very white of skin. Very male of appearance. Very belligerent of energy. And the t-shirt screamed anything but what one would expect to see there.

They loped, vulpine, around the store, eyes searching each face for recognition: See me!

My left hand floated to my face and lowered my mask. I nodded acknowledgement as their eyes shot down to me and mine up to theirs. I see you, I telegraphed.

Their nod was an adamant head jerk and, still, the eyes sought out someone to challenge them.

They circled again, then walked up the aisle and back toward the door, passing close to my right. Eager now myself, I indicated to Mom to notice this person. She looked at them and, too, lowered her mask after they passed by her. That’s when I noticed something else.

The tall, fervent one’s nails were painted a vibrant, careful, robin’s egg blue.

I paid for Mom’s items, and we walked out.

It was as if they were waiting for us. From nowhere, they were suddenly beside me, shortening their stride to match mine.

“These fools,” they said, gesturing upward and out, “Can you believe this mess they’ve caused? They deserve what’s happening. But the rest of us? Disgusting!”

“I see you, my sibling,” I called out as they strode away toward their car. For the first time, I saw their smile. It was gorgeous and warm. They turned it on me and I smiled back.

“Yep, I’m going into every store in this town, wearing exactly this t-shirt!” they called out, gunning their engine.

“Wow! Beautiful nail polish,” I said to Mom.

“Yep! And red toenail polish, too,” she agreed. “That bright red set off the blue nail polish quite nicely, don’t you think?”

 [WG1] Photo