RANSVESTIA

"Yes," I responded happily.

"Even with what you got on under skirt, you got nice skinny body," she teased. "Mrs. Feldman be envy!" Then she threw her head back in the heartiest laugh I have ever heard.

It was with some reluctance that I changed back into my male street- wear and prepared to leave. She wrapped the skirt and my slip to- gether and as she gave me my change, she placed her hand over mine on the counter and, looking directly into my eyes, said softly, "You come back when you want me help you. Boy-girls be nice."

I was genuinely touched by her beautiful simplicity and groped for words to tell her how much I appreciated her kindness. She just smiled, then returned to her sewing machine.

Months went by. Business took me out of the city several times and other distractions kept me away from the neighborhood, so that when I returned, I experienced some difficulty in locating the small shop. When I pulled up in front, I realized why it was so hard to find; it had been remodeled.

Inside was a young girl in jeans listening to rock music on a small radio. The sewing machine and the pleasant cluttered look were gone, replaced by garish colors and advertisements for cleaning services.

When I asked about the old woman, over the din of the music, the girl said, "Oh grandma? She died last month. She was 82, wuld ya believe it? Did you know her?"

"Yes," I murmured as I felt a warm tear forming in the corner of my eye.

I turned and left.

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