Trans In Sugar Hill — An Urban NYC Story

An Urban Transgender Literary Fiction Story | Part 1 of 5

Alma receives an unexpected phone call

Alma awoke that hot July morning to the muffled tunes of Marvin Gaye from the next room, the scents of bacon and warm toast, the clammy feeling of sweat in her armpits and between her thighs, and, most aggressively, but not most presently, the rattling of the half busted fan in the window across the room. The smell of bacon was most apparent to her and she chose to fixate on that as she kicked herself out from beneath the sheet.

For as long as she could remember, her favorite thing about the morning was breakfast time: the smells — butter, fennel, and cinnamon; the sounds — sizzling bacon, the clanging of pans, and the bell of the toaster; and the tastes — salty, sweet, creamy, and rich. Even when she had nothing except a backpack of clothes and a cot at the homeless shelter, she looked forward to getting her morning egg and cheese roll down at the corner store. It was more of an experience for her than a meal. When she could not even afford that, she would sit on the benches in central park and reminisce about the spreads that she and her mother used to cook up early in the morning before anyone else in the house awoke.