(A work-in-progress. Magical realism.)

Clydie had nine toes. She was as beautiful as a woman gets, and everything about her showed that she earned it. Now, that might seem funny to say about one’s looks, since they are generally doled out by God and we have little say in the matter. But God does move in mysterious ways, and Clydie’s good fortune of physical beauty was acquired by merit. She always took the high road in actions and deeds, not because she was trained to, or was afraid not to, but because it was always the right thing to do. And she was rewarded for it.

Clydie didn’t start life with an admirable visage, in fact, she started with her father’s certainty of her being a boy, and when nature showed him who was really the boss in this matter, he ignored this small fact and left her birth certificate intact with its manly name of Clyde. Her mother had the grace of adding the “ie,” but only vocally.

Naturally, her father raised her as a boy. And she was the best son a father could ever hope to have. She excelled in all things that boys do, and later, in all things that men do. However, she was equally at ease with her very powerful feminine side, and although she could stand toe-to-toe with any male counterpart in sports of skill or brawn, she was never mistaken for anything but a girl.

Her neutral looks at birth continued until she was several years old. She wasn’t cute or ugly, but more like a blank waiting for expressions to be stamped on. Slowly, as she made merit with her choices and offerings to others, her features began to fill in, like a pastel coloring book made by angels.

Like every girl of appreciable looks, she became aware of her attractiveness long before her breasts started to bloom. She never had a child’s face. The mystery of the eyes that belies the serenity of her features isn’t what Clydie had. Her mystery showed right there on her face for everyone to feel uneasy about. She seemed as if she knew things others didn’t, and in fact, she did.

Perceptiveness was her gift, and it was imbued in her from birth, like every successful psychopath seems to be blessed with. Fortunately for those who came in contact with Clydie, she never unleashed vitriol, but instead, smoothed anxieties, fears, and apprehensions with genuine insights that were like B12 shots to the soul.

Clydie liked to be out-and-about. She was comfortable everywhere, and in every situation. It wasn’t apathy, which most overly comfortable people are armored by, but a commanding presence that she radiated before herself as she moved through physical space. She didn’t turn this invisible luminance on or off as she needed it, it was just there, like her skin was there. Voices hushed when she entered a room, eyes tracked her; both genders. Conversations stumbled as thoughts were lost. When she finally smiled, metaphysical gears jerked forward again, and the collective consciousness in the room hiccupped back to life.

She used all of her chromosomes as she moved through life, harnessing the power of a woman, and the so-called fortitude of a man. Everyone loved her, or wanted to. Conversations smoothed out when she joined them because she would interject rather interdict.

Of course there was always some ignoramus who would venture  into one of these dialogues whenever a lull was eminent, to enquire about her missing toe. Now normally, if one were wearing closed shoes, no one would know about the missing toe, but Clydie never wore closed shoes, except tennis shoes or hiking boots, both used for their actual purposes. Clydie was all woman and dressed to that advantage, so, de rigueur or not, open toe pumps were what she wore.

It wasn’t that she was proud of the negative space between her little toe and the next full-length version, it was just a part of who she was, never mind that she gave it to herself the way other outcasts get piercings.

Her answer was always the same, however, not rehearsed, but matter-of-fact, that most took to be irony, but was really the stone cold truth delivered with her feather-light Kentucky draw. “Darlin’, a girl can’t be too beautiful.”

This statement seemed to leave no room for any kind of follow-up, and the numerous pairs of eyes that had inadvertently been drawn to that ignominious empty space, suddenly jerked away to alight on anything else the room. But Clydie never left her audience squirming in embarrassment, as she would recapture attention with her deep throat abandon laugh that turned heads back to her command.