It is 11:12 a

It is 11:12 a.m. Sunday morning. A heavy greenish-gray sky looms menacingly over Atlanta this morning threatening to complicate today’s air travel, though the helpful bellman insists everything will be on “shedyewul”. His confident tone and thick British accent is surprising yet welcome. Checking my bags, I politely I accept his doubtful assessment of the situation. Seemingly encouraged, he goes on to explain how he and his family relocated to the U.S. six years ago from South Africa and more recently to Atlanta. He adds that he likes it very, very much. Thanking him for the assistance and wishing him well in the states, I begin to make my way to the mezzanine café.

“There’s still time to grab a bit of breakfast” I tell myself, before my 12:30 shuttle to Hartsfield airport arrives. Despite not being particularly hungry I feel motivated by a different hunger. I need to savor yet one more moment of SCC 2006, before it’s gone forever.

The hotel lobby is always a bustling place, more so this morning with people in various phases of departure. Some stand at the registration counter checking out, others make their way to the front door with bags in tow. Still others, a surprisingly large number of them actually, occupy the inviting lounge areas conversing with friends, reminiscing I expect about the week’s events. To be sure, not everyone is recognizably an SCC attendee. Some faces are immediately familiar, the ones who have made the transition to fulltime for example. For most others however, recognition is impossible. Like me, they are back to “stealth” mode this morning - that state of existence where we find uncomfortable comfort in the expected presentation of our birth-given gender.

Arriving at the top of the staircase I wait briefly for the hostess to seat me. From this vantage, I can see once again the spacious lobby below where many times this week I had passed. Memories come racing forward – welcomed memories to be sure - and bring a satisfied, contented smile to my face as they play out.

Standing anxiously in the seventh-floor elevator lobby, I quickly go over my mental checklist one last time before the elevator arrives to whisk me downstairs to the Saturday night dinner gala.

“Stand up straight, shoulders back, chest out, stomach in, hips forward, smile, don’t touch face, take small steps, be a lady!” Check, check and check.

Ding! On the wall behind me, the indicator for the arriving elevator lights. I turn to approach it as the door slides open to reveal its occupants – a younger-looking man, attractive woman and cute young girl, approaching-teenage I guess. A family, I presume, I step over the threshold into the cab, smile and greet them with a collective “Hi”. They each politely reply “hi”, “hi”, “hello” and then the deafening silence that always follows the closing door settles in.

The now-familiar, always-polite automated female voice announces “Going down!”

“Wish my voice sounded like that” I muse to myself watching the descending numbers display above me - 6, 5, 4.

“Love your gown” the woman offers from behind me, her voice daring to break through the silence.

Flattered and pleasantly surprised, I turn to acknowledge her compliment. “Why thank you” I reply, smiling at her. “I fell in love with the color” referring to its iridescent lavender sparkles.

“Yes, it’s really very pretty” she observes. The girl doesn’t appear to share her approval and has nothing to add while the husband simply stares past me at the elevator display panel.

Ding! “Mezzanine level” the polite voice announces.

“Enjoy your evening” the woman adds as we move through the door, followed by the daughter. I am pleased as the man politely waits for us to exit before him. “A gentleman” I think to myself, chivalry is not dead!

The short stroll along the mezzanine balcony overlooking the lobby below takes me past several “sightseers” dotting the railing, apparently enjoying the bird’s-eye-view of the party’s participants below. A couple heads turn as I pass by and I am pleased that no one behaves less than politely. I acknowledge them with a smile and try to gracefully “glide” by.

A purposefully-placed grand staircase unfolds at the end of this walk to the lobby-lounge below, creating a perfect opportunity for noticeable entrances. Like so many gals before me tonight I’m sure, I gather myself, smooth my gown, take a deep breath and put on the best smile my nerves will allow. I begin the descent, slowly, carefully, one step at a time and to my delight many people observe my belle-of-the-ball entrance. This special moment was just as I’d hoped for and imagined so many times, itself alone worth the investment of the trip.

Arriving at the bottom I join the gathering of beautifully-clad ladies and handsome men milling about, smiling, talking, posing for pictures, sipping cocktails, critiquing each other’s attire. The scene is worthy of any movie premier event Hollywood can muster. Sharing cordialities and compliments as I proceed to one of the bars, I survey the crowd hoping to locate my dinner partners.

“Would you like a table?” The hostess’s voice startles me from my daydream, returning me unwillingly to the dreary reality of this Sunday morning. “Yes, please” I reply, shaking my head to clear the lingering images. Is it really possible that incredible experience was just last night, a mere seventeen hours ago? The young woman leads me to a window booth which affords a view of the busy goings-on at the hotel’s circular drive and main entrance. “I’ll bring coffee. You may help yourself to the buffet at any time” she instructs politely. I smile and nod appreciatively noticing a burgundy-colored minivan jockey for a space near the entrance.

The driver, an attractive middle-aged woman, hustles to the cover of the hotel’s canopy as the morning rain intensifies. When she turns to survey the dreary sky I recognize her as one of the owners from the vendor area during the conference. Helping me choose a particularly dazzling CZ necklace and clip-on earrings for the big to-do Saturday night she was convincingly focused on getting just the right look – she said I should “sizzle” when I walk into the room. All I can say is that she made the sale of course, and I did in fact (at least in my own mind) “sizzle” when I presented myself that night.

What sticks out about my interaction with her was the way she simply treated me as just one of the girls. Still feeling a bit awkward in public, I was elated when she instantly made me at ease and turned my shopping into a genuinely enjoyable experience. She press me to express my style preferences, appearing to be focused on getting me matched to the perfect jewelry instead of hustling through the sale.

In reflection, it was her refreshing way of treating me, the way she made me at ease and encouraged me to express myself, that will remain as one of the highlights of this year’s trip. A seemingly simple, small thing in the overall spectrum of experiences that makes up SCC - but given its purpose, her actions quite possibly embodied the true meaning of its mission. She simply helped me be myself that afternoon, just as SCC has these past few days.

To her, to all the friends I’ve made in community, to the organizers and volunteers behind the scenes of Southern Comfort, I thank you with all my heart for allowing me to be myself and, more importantly, accepting and loving me for who I am as well. God bless you!

Kris Haley