THAT EVENING

I bike to a group show at Live Worms Gallery in North Beach. A friend said it had edgy art--a place to show my dream art, maybe meet my kinda people. No. A lot of blah work--the only pieces I like are Jamie Ehrfurt's calligraphic horses. Ten minutes with the art and I'm done.

The artists? They only talk (and drink a lot) with their friends; it's not a crowd, but a granular collection of cliques. No one attracts me so strongly I'm ready to risk breaking the formidable, unspoken barriers in the room.

Feel disappointed. Go home after barely half an hour among the Worms. A long tiring trip back in the dark.

THAT NIGHT

I'm inside an American TV show from the 1990s, one I've never seen. Luckily, it's a comedy with sympathetic characters. Stars two best friends, Quin and Vera.

Quin's a small skinny girl who isn't quite human--herbivorous, long-necked, pointy-eared, her ribcage narrower and deeper than human, more greyhound shaped; tailed? Psychologically, she's like me--more unicorn than human.

Her best friend Vera is in contrast a very human girl, competitive and ambitious--and busty and beautiful and a bit spoiled by having any guy she wants. She's recently felt a little threatened by her friend, though Quin's younger, and naïve, and up till now no competition. But this year, Quin grew breasts at last.

But Quin chatters innocently on about multiple boob eruptions, not even realizing how strange her jokes sound to humans, as she tries to reassure her herdmate she won't go swiping Vera's stud stallions--as she sees those boyfriends.

Ironic. Being nonhuman myself, and sharing her herd-protective instincts, I find Quin funny (and sweet for trying) even though her talk is untrue--she is competition. She's adorable--was all along.

To me. All the others on the show just stare at the weirdo girl. Or glare.

NOTES IN THE MORNING

• Equine-tinged person: probably inspired by Jamie Ehrfurt's lively horse drawings.
• Big forward-facing breasts vs small breasts angled outward: I've been doing Barbie art, fusing them into centaurs. Barbies all have strange breasts, but they DO vary a lot over the decades.
• Girl with unicorn instincts: me. Echoes a major dream, Bastard Unicorn--I found I was only half-human--but the other half was unicorn, and I didn't like playing by humans' competitive rules! I think the tale of Quin's a reminder: I'm autistic, and we mature slowly at best... but my inhuman side has strengths, too. My instincts are different from, but no worse than, the cliquish, conventional humans I saw today--and couldn't relate to.
• ACTION: don't let cliques of drunk monkeys get you down! Just find another unicorn.

FOUR YEARS LATER

I'm still wondering that.

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