Eventually they start selling dowsing rods in the mall kiosks, right next to the Piercing Pagoda. Parallel for male, crossed rods for female- get it, crossed, like XX? the vendor grins. A gold tooth flashes behind his canines. There’s a fun-sized bible tucked in his shirt pocket.
Hard sells, he’s got this chihuahua behind the counter, neutered. Waves the rods around under the curlicue of its rat-tail like he’s waxing a car. See? He exclaims, when they don’t cross. The rods know!
All the PTA ladies buy two sets and station themselves outside the bathrooms at the park. The Neighborhood Watch, they call themselves. They wave their rods over everybody’s crotch like the TSA.
Is this really necessary? says this one mom, who’s holding the hand of a little boy. He’s got his legs pinched together at the knees. You were at his bris!
He could’ve transitioned since then, says the PTA lady. She narrows her eyes at the boy, then back at her rods. She’s concentrating hard, watching them twitch like they’re trying to make their minds up. And then once more.
The boy’s like, I’ve really gotta go.
I’m protecting you! goes the woman with the rods. One is spinning circles in her fist. Just a sec, I’ve gotta check the manual. She produces a pamphlet from her purse, and the mom groans.
The boy whimpers.
Mm..intersex, she hems, nodding, flipping pages, both rods tucked under her armpit. Hmmm. Graver this time. Nods again.
Then, Sheila! She’s calling to the mom, already halfway down the block. Starts to jog. I think you have the right to know..
She follows the wet footprints, a trail of clues.