A snow globe, of sorts, of an insulated world where dreams can come true over several holidays.

Academic, by Karin Bishop

Part 7

Chapter 18: The Judge

When we got back home, it was like we’d just lived a magical twenty-four hours. After the black limo rolled away, we had only the extra bags to prove that our stay in New York hadn’t been a dream. It had been heavenly, and having the limo take us allowed us to have a leisurely hotel breakfast before leaving for home. Shelly was eating with us; her mother made what Mom called ‘a cameo appearance’, with phone in hand, distracted, and a very awkward hug. Poor Shelly looked like she was being penalized by staying behind! But I came up with the neat idea of having almost all of her bags carried by our limo; that way they’d be waiting for her at our house and it also meant she could travel lightly when she arrived.

It also might force her mother to let her come to our house since her things were there, if she had any second thoughts.

As soon as we arrived home I took a shower and then dressed in a sort of hybrid outfit–half school uniform and half banker. Blue skirt and a white satin blouse with a floppy white bow; you could see my lacy white camisole and bra under the blouse. Mom gave me a very light pink angora wrap sweater and we brushed my hair straight back with a white satin ribbon at the crown. When I looked in the mirror, I said it was ‘Alice in Wall Street’ and she cracked up.

We met our attorneys for the first time in the foyer at the courthouse; they introduced themselves so quickly that all I knew was that they were Mr. Dunn and Mr. Lambert, but five minutes later I couldn’t tell which was which. I wasn’t clear whether they were hospital lawyers or an outside firm retained by the hospital, but they were working on the hospital’s behalf perhaps a bit more than mine. Mom had explained this; the gender program was excited to be working with me but if I was a traditional thirteen-year-old transgender male–if there is anything traditional about that!–then there was a lot they couldn’t do; in any event, all legal procedures would be scrutinized closely. If I was truly oddball, as I seemed to be, getting everything declared ‘female’ by the judge freed them of worry. So it really was in the best interests of the hospital–and my best interests!–that I be declared ‘female’ as quickly as possible.

So we filed in and sat back in the gallery, watching, along with about a dozen people. There were two cases before us; a guy getting out of a contract, and a divorce. Mom had made me worried by a comment that the divorce might sour the judge’s disposition, but we were very fortunate that this divorce wasn’t at all like the movies. These were two people, both present in the courtroom and both friendly to each other–even sitting together until they had to sit with their attorneys–who said that they realized that they were friends and not spouses and neither one contested the divorce. Everything was already divided and signed off on by both sides, and the judge gave them a little lecture about not marrying in haste, but commended them for the mature, reasonable approach they took. He could see why they were friends and agreed that sometimes that just wasn’t enough.

I studied the judge; he was lean and tanned but not from a booth. The attorney for the husband was very friendly with the judge and congratulated him on winning a 10K, so he was probably a runner himself. He seemed cheerful, but very practical and very real.

Our attorneys were up and presented their papers; since it was just them and the judge, they spoke in rapid-fire legalese.

Until …the judge said that he would have to carry over until January; all of the documents were in order but he wouldn’t feel comfortable ruling until he could meet ‘the petitioner’ and since ‘the young man’ was not in court and could not be there for the 3pm deadline, he’d have no choice but to–

“Your honor,” Mr. Dunn or Lambert said quickly, “the petitioner is in the court.”

“Well, bring him in,” the judge said.

Mr. Lambert or Dunn turned and smiled. “Abby? Would you come forward, please?”

Mom squeezed my hand once for good luck and I stood and went forward. The judge’s face was priceless; I was sure he thought it was some sort of trick.

He looked at me and then looked at the documents and said, “Am I to understand that you are Benjamin Thomas Houseman?”

I cleared my throat and without thinking, did a tiny curtsey. “Yes, your honor, at least according to my birth certificate.”

He frowned. “What is your name?”

“I am …that is, I hope to become Abigail Elizabeth Houseman, your honor.”

He looked at the papers and as if he were talking to them, he explained, “You will understand that while in the petition process I am required to refer to you as a young man named Benjamin, and to use male pronouns?”

“Yes, your honor, I do. And may I ask, do you want my mother to come forward, too? Because I’m a minor?”

He smiled. “Certainly. I can tell she’s your mother; you look very much alike. Mrs. Houseman?” Mom got up and started walking forward and the judge said, “It’s a pleasure to have such a thoughtful and polite young lady–darn!–young man in my court.”

Then he chuckled. “This is going to be harder than I thought!”

I worried for a second that he meant my case but realized he meant looking at a pretty girl and having to say ‘young man’.

Mom said, “I am Marion Houseman, mother to Benjamin Thomas …and Abigail Elizabeth, here.”

He smiled quickly and turned to the documents again. “Mr. Dunn, do you have the …oh, here it is. That’s what was missing. Everybody please stand by; you obviously know how complex this is.”

As he read, I looked around at the few spectators left; four people not counting us and the court staff. The spectators obviously weren’t entirely sure what was going on; once the judge buried himself in the papers they seemed to have lost interest. I turned back and smiled at Mom and then kept my eyes forward.

The judge said, “Mr. Dunn, you realize how unusual this is.”

The attorney stood up. “Yes, your honor, and we appreciate you taking the time for this extraordinary case.”

“Extraordinary?”

“Yes, your honor. The medical staff has estimated Miss Houseman’s condition as approximately one in …”

He turned to Lambert, who was already handing him a piece of paper. Mr. Dunn read, “They noted, ‘Based on global reports of similar cases, factoring in unknown cases in undeveloped nations, we estimate patient to be approximately one in 27.3 million live births.” He handed the paper back.

The judge said, “One in 27.3 million? Not 27.4?”

“No, your honor,” Mr. Dunn said earnestly.

“Just messing with you, Mr. Dunn,” the judge grinned. He looked at me. “Well, then, you are an unusual young man, aren’t you?”

“If it please the court,” I said, “I have been informed by my doctors that according to current medical science, I am not a young man. But at the time of my birth, according to the procedures available at that time, I was diagnosed as male.”

The judge stared at me.

Oh, crap, I thought! I said too much. Missy Perfect English Girl, damn it! Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut? Stupid-stupid-stupid!

But then the judge smiled. “Two firsts in my career. I have never thought of the determination of a baby’s sex at birth as being a ‘diagnosis’, but of course it is, in a way. And I have never had this much medical and legal mumbo-jumbo,” he held up the thick sheaf of my documents, “reduced into two simple, declarative, and absolutely clear statements. By any lawyer. And now, by a thirteen-year-old …girl!” He smiled at the last word.

He looked at Mom and smiled, and then held up a finger to us all and then quickly read through several papers and then shuffled them together. He announced in legalese that I could decipher, that it was his court’s ruling that I had been improperly declared male at birth, that I was female then and now, and agreed to grant the legal change of name, change of gender, and ordered that all documentation conform to his ruling and that a new original birth certificate be issued for Abigail Elizabeth Houseman, female.

Bang of gavel, done!

I was almost trembling from nerves and relief. But I was almost frightened when he crooked his finger to Mom and I to approach the bench. He crossed his arms and leaned forward and looked at me.

“Miss Houseman–and let me be the first to legally call you that!–you are an impressive young lady. Where are you attending school?”

“Morton Academy, your honor,” I said.

His eyes did a thing, I didn’t know what. “Keeping your grades up? It’s a tough school.”

“Yes, sir. Your honor, I mean.”

Mom said, “Her last report card was 3.92, and that was …” She looked at me and said plainly to the judge, “She maintained better than 3.9 while coming to terms with her body changing and discovering that she was not a boy named Benjamin. Your honor,” she added.

He nodded. “A heavy burden for anybody, but especially one so young. And you’re right, Mrs. Houseman; it makes her all the more extraordinary. And you reside in Hartford?”

It was all in our file and I wondered if he was trying to trip us up.

Mom said, “Yes, your honor. Just outside the city, actually.”

Then I realized that it was Morton that had raised his interest, because it was so expensive.

I said, “We’re not rich, if that’s what you were wondering, your honor. I can only go to Morton because I’m a legacy, I guess you could say.”

“Ah, you were a Morton Girl, too?” the judge said to Mom, who nodded.

I said proudly, “More than that, your honor. She’s a Russell!”

Mom made a small, embarrassed shush to me, but my statement had had the desired effect on the judge.

“Founders, right?” Mom nodded. The judge smiled. “My wife was a Morton Girl. In fact, it was her fond memories of Hartford that brought me here, after we were married. It’s a tremendous school.”

He turned serious and said to Mom, “Legacy or not, a 3.92 at Morton is highly commendable. But the proof was her conduct and statements in my court today.” He smiled at Mom and then at me. “I asked you two for this conference because I would like to urge Miss Houseman here to consider law as a career. You may think that’s years in the future, but it’s never too late to …” He shook his head as if correcting himself. “Houseman …are you by any chance related to Edward Houseman, the historian?”

“My late husband,” Mom said, and I reached out and squeezed her hand.

“My father!” I said with fierce pride.

He was smiling widely. “I’ve read several of his books. I was particularly impressed with Fortune’s Gamble. That …turmoil with Aaron Burr …remarkable.” He nodded. “It is a pleasure and privilege for me to meet his wife and daughter. And now I can certainly appreciate your performance in my court today. Please, Mrs. Houseman, I strongly urge you to both to consider a career in law for this young lady.”

Then he grinned and said loudly, “And I strongly urge everybody in the courtroom to have a wonderful, safe, and happy holiday! See you next year!”

He actually winked at me and then stood. The bailiff called ‘All rise’ but we were already standing, and the judge, black robes flapping with his speed, flowed out of the courtroom.

Chapter 19: Christmas

Mom and I were in kind of a daze when we sat with the lawyers, back outside. They handed some documents to Mom, told her all sorts of things but my mind was going in every direction. Pride at my father being recognized, amazement that I was now a girl with one bang of the gavel, fear at what the Steve Duncan types at school might have in store for me, and so many other things.

Finally we were driving in happy–and still stunned–silence, and she pulled into a nice restaurant. She said we were going to celebrate. And halfway through my salad, I sat back in amazement.

“Did that really happen?” I asked. “I’m only thirteen and I kind of zoned out a little this afternoon while I was thinking about …things.”

Mom chuckled. “You did have more than a few things to think about!” She sighed deeply. “But, yes, it did really happen. And by the time we left the courtroom, you were completely, legally female. Still are!” she grinned. “It’ll take some time for the paperwork to all get caught up, of course. Oh; speaking of which …”

She took her cell phone out and dialed. To me, she said, “Excuse my rudeness but I think you’ll understand the reason for the call.” She paused, then smiled. “Hello, Barbara? Marion. This is just a quick call to let you know that our lawyers managed the incredible today. We got before a judge and it’s official, now: I have a daughter named Abigail. They’re issuing an original birth certificate identifying her as female.” She paused, smiling. “I know you did. And, yes, she is; over the moon!” She listened and nodded. “Just as soon as the wheels start turning again after the weekend. But, yes, it simplifies things. Oh, and she needs to change her room–ah, you’re so fast! Then we’ll see you Tuesday and she can move.” She listened. “Yes, it is, and I’ll tell her, and thank you for everything, and Merry Christmas, Barbara!” She hung up.

I said, “Isn’t it weird the way we nod when we’re talking on the phone? They can’t see us nod.”

Mom grinned. “Always thinking, aren’t you? That was Barbara Carey, of course, who says that she always knew you were a female, she says it must be a tremendous load off your shoulders, and that it simplifies dealing with Steve Duncan and anybody else. And she’s already arranged for you to move to the girls’ rooms. We’ll see her next week and she’ll give you the speech she gives to all the girls and then you can move your things.”

“Where is it?”

“She didn’t say, but the move alone will put you beyond the immediate reach of Steve Duncan.”

That was true; there wasn’t an easy way that boys could wander through the girls’ rooms. My girlfriends had already volunteered to accompany me around during classes, and I would be safe in my room. Up until now, since my room had been in the boys’ rooms, Steve or anybody could attack me.

But hopefully it wouldn’t come to attacks. Hopefully the announcement of my change of status would freak and disgust some people but nowhere the way it would if it were announced that I was a boy changing to a girl. It would be harder to generate any outrage and should defuse Steve.

Mom reminded me that we had an appointment Monday for what my doctors called ‘a complete internal workup’. The only thing I recognized on their ‘to-do list’ was an MRI.

Something struck me as odd for the first time. “Mom, why are they only getting around to an MRI now? Is there something …do they think there’s something wrong with me that they’re not telling us? Or they told you and they haven’t told me?”

Mom toyed with her salad, frowning. “There were several things I want to point out. First, they’re not ‘only getting around to it now’. I know you’ve lived inside the whirlwind but remember, it’s only been a short time that we’ve even been seeing the doctors!”

That startled me and I realized it was only a matter of …weeks, really, since I’d first officially met with Dr. Nielson. “Wow! You’re right! But we’ve come so far so fast …haven’t we?”

“Yes, we have, but think about the sequence of events this way. Dr. Nielson led to Dr. Randall and got you entered in the program. In the early, initial stages of that, they did the whole blood and DNA workup. That’s the easy part that takes little time and expense, unlike an MRI, which costs an arm and a leg. Or so the insurance guys tell us.”

“That makes sense; sure. It’s really all just in the first few weeks of our relationship. I just forgot it’s so new, because of the hearing.”

She nodded. “That’s understandable. But, you see, your DNA triggered alarms, so to speak, and they realized that they’d have to start getting the legal ball rolling, for documentation and everything. They alerted the legal department, and there things might have stayed for a month or two. Meanwhile, the doctors would move on to the next stage, which is the internal exam.”

“But Christmas hurried things instead of slowing them down?”

“Exactly. The legal department discovered that the folks they dealt with were trying to clean their desks before the holidays, so to speak. So they approved the first step, which triggered the second, and so on, so the whole process took less than a week. And they knew the judge they wanted and they knew his schedule and took a chance and it paid off.”

I frowned. “I liked the judge and everything–well, once he explained why he had to call me ‘Benjamin’–but was he truly the only judge that could rule like he did? I mean, was my case so shaky or something?”

“Not at all,” Mom shook her head. “Your case was sound and the lawyers were confident of approval, no matter who they drew as a judge. But judges are people, too, and although they try to remove any personal bias, it creeps in now and then. Most judges would have ruled exactly as the lawyers planned, but they told me there were a few that might disapprove on moral or religious grounds. And while they couldn’t say it that way, they could refuse and then the case would be prepared again for another judge. Worst case scenario would be that we’d have to go through it two or three times before approval. Depending on scheduling the judge’s calendars, it might have taken months.”

“That’s right; somebody brilliant had said it could take ‘an hour from now to six months’ or something,” I winked.

She smiled at her words coming back to her, but continued.“So it was the happy combination of the holiday rush and a lucky opening on a judge’s calendar.”

“And now I’ve got this MRI hanging over my head.”

“It’s not ‘hanging over your head’, Abby. Don’t be such a drama queen!” Mom teased. “Actually, you would have had it this week except the holiday and the judge’s schedule bumped it back to Monday. So you’ve had Dr. Nielson peering inside your head for awhile; time for Dr. Randall to peer inside your …insides!”

We had a pleasant, tired night that felt so normal that it was hard to believe we’d spent the previous night in a luxurious Manhattan suite, but we had the new purchases as proof. The next day was Christmas Eve and Mom declared that we’d bake, just to have a mother and daughter activity. The funny thing was that I broke down and cried a couple of times. The whole emotional turmoil was catching up with me. One minute I was using a Christmas tree cookie-cutter on some dough and the next I was collapsed in a kitchen chair, sobbing my eyes out. Mom said it was the hormone mix catching up with me, too–the mix of my doctors, not Shelly’s girl pills, the jeeps. Everybody was amazed that Shelly had gauged my dosage so well that I hadn’t had any side-effects; just a slow, steady physical change.

But there was another theory that Dr. Kramer believed, and had been suggested before by Dr. Randall. That was that my body had been heading towards a female puberty anyway, and that this was the year the timer went off. If I hadn’t had the jeeps, my body and emotions might have gone seriously wonky due to the lack of estrogen. I wouldn’t have developed more as a male because there was only a minute amount of testosterone produced, even before the androgen blockers. But the jeeps had blocked that and provided my body with the estrogen it needed so it went on its own merry way, smoothing my skin and starting my breasts and curves. And it had kept me mellow but docile, which also explained why I’d been so weak and indecisive. Let’s face it; not all women are fragile blossoms. I had only to look at Shelly and Monica standing up to Steve’s gang as an example.

Now the doctors were tinkering, adjusting the mix, and maybe that was the reason for my Christmas Eve meltdown. But I was also just so relieved and not scared except for what was in store for me with Steve and his gang. And besides, crying is what women get to do!

Mom and I had a lovely Christmas morning. I’d managed to get her Christmas presents during my shopping trips with Amy, Connie, and Lu, and Shelly had run interference for me in Manhattan, distracting Mom while I got a few things for her then, too.

All of my presents were girl presents, of course, and yet I think the best present that Mom and I gave each other was when I turned to her after we’d cleaned up all the wrappings.

“Mom, I’m a girl now, and that makes me a Morton Girl, and also, doesn’t it make me one of the Russell women?”

“Yes, it does, sweetheart,” Mom smiled warmly.

“Then I’d really like it if I could learn about us, the women of the family, I mean. Old photo albums, stories, all of that; I want to learn about us. I never really paid much attention to our family history, and Daddy was always busy with the Revolutionary–” I broke off, staring.

Mom stared, too, and then her smile returned and she nodded. “First time, huh?”

I nodded, slowly. It had been the first time I’d referred to my father as ‘Daddy’ and it had come out so naturally and easily.

Mom hugged me. “Oh, my darling; every day I miss him and wish he was here, but never more than now, so he could meet his daughter!”

“Do you …” Tears were coming and I sniffed. “Do you think he’d like me?”

“Sweetheart, he’d love his pretty daughter!”

Chapter 20: The Next Christmas

Wow.

I’ve read over everything I wrote last year and it’s all just as I remember it. There are a few things that I left out, and a few things that I didn’t need to go on and on about. It was all so compressed, though. There are the milestones of meeting Shelly, and discovering Abby, so to speak. And then the crazy flurry of the holidays, from our hitting The Plaza to the judge ruling that I was a girl to Shelly coming to stay with us until school and the moving in and to top it all off, the total craziness of the internal exams.

After Christmas, I had the MRI. And another. And a CT, and a bunch of other initials for tests with gleaming white machines. The more the doctors found out about me, the more they were confused. In a nutshell, I was a mess inside. I was a mix of mostly developed female parts with some rudimentary male parts. The doctors speculated that in the womb I was a girl all along until something triggered a last-minute burst of testosterone that only started altering me to a male. If Mom’s pregnancy could have lasted twelve months, for example–half again as long after the testosterone triggered–I might have turned out a more-or-less normal male. But there wasn’t enough time to become male; just enough time to be a scrambled female. Dr. Randall suggested that the Y chromosome had been overwhelmed by the multiple X chromosomes. It hadn’t been blocked completely but delayed just enough that it had what he called ‘insignificant effect.’

I pointed out that giving me a sort-of penis and declaring me ‘male’ was not insignificant!

The return to school was fantastic and very quickly became last week’s news, which was fine with me. All of my girlfriends accepted me without question and any girls that might have objected were taken care of by my friends. The boys were a different matter; the very first day before classes started, Steve Duncan sought me out and his face was priceless! I was walking down the hall with my girlies and it happened that I was partially blocked from Steve’s view. He recognized me from a distance, and from my group of friends, and called out ‘Houseman! Your ass is mine!’

It was a wonderful moment. He probably had never thought of what he’d say, and if I truly were a sissy boy, the gay implications of his statement never occurred to him. He’d expected terror from a trembling sissy. Instead, he and his buddies stared as we girls turned to face him. He’d expected dweeby Benjamin Houseman in the boys’ uniform like his own. Instead, he was faced with Abby in a blue skirt, light blue blouse with ribbon tie and blazer. I had barrettes in my hair, dangly earrings, and makeup. And I stood proudly, the mounds of my breasts visible and my legs quite shapely.

My girlfriends and I looked haughtily at the stunned Steve, and then turned to leave. We flipped our hair and our skirts, noses in the air, and kept moving and Lu said something as we passed about ‘sexist comments’ to Steve and we knew that whether it was ‘his’ or not, he was watching my ass as we walked away and I put a little extra girlish wiggle to it.

During first period there was an announcement that Mom and Mrs. Carey had crafted. One of the things that was typical of posh private schools was how students came and went, as their parents’ lives changed. Kids might be pulled out of school to go to a movie shoot in Asia, or parents might divorce and suddenly there’s no money, or one takes the kid to another continent. Or the kid couldn’t handle the academics or had personal problems and moved to another school. Families that had been trying to get into Morton could take advantage of the ebb and flow and we’d have new kids join, but often between semesters as well as at the start of each year.

So the announcement was the standard that hoped everybody had a great holiday, welcome back to Morton, time to get back to work, blah-blah-blah. And they announced the names of kids who had left–there were three–and kids who’d been added–there were four. But really, it was two and three …

“As some of you may know, some students have departed Morton. We say goodbye to Anthony Battaglia, Cheryl Hendricks, and Benjamin Houseman. We are happy to announce the addition of new students Marie De La Fontaine, Thomas Baumann, Abigail Houseman, and Han Sung Jee. You are all most welcome at Morton Academy and we wish you well.”

I’d like to think that everybody got it; that Benjamin had left and Abigail had arrived. If they thought it was two people, fine. It was only my immediate bunch of Middles that knew the reality. We didn’t broadcast anything like ‘Benjamin the boy is now a girl named Abby’ or anything. There was no need for it. If anybody had any problems with me, they didn’t say anything to my face. I had been invisible as Benjamin and was well-liked as Abby. But any complaints–especially parental freak outs–would go to Mrs. Carey, who handled anything with ease.

And the second week of school, we had a little event. One of the Upper boys was the son of two huge movie stars and they both arrived with lawyers and paparazzi in tow and were publicly fighting over custodial rights. Mrs. Carey and her staff ruthlessly clamped down on the public exposure of the school and all that we knew was that the kid was there one week and gone the next and then back again.

So in that first month, the overlooked dweeb Benjamin was forgotten. The new girl Abby giggled along with her girlfriends–as did all the other kids–over the spectacle of the quite-visibly drunk World Class Movie Star who’d tripped over the school’s stairs and splayed, dress up over her crotch and crying, demanding to be picked up.

The kid was pulled out of school in February, by the way.

Spring was wonderful and I fit in and was so happy. Shelly and Lu and I were a new trio. Amy was still in the little girl mode, and Connie found another boy-crazy group to start hanging with. I was also friends with Monica and discovering other girls were nice, too.

And I could now, quite freely and without hesitation–thanks to working with Dr. Nielson–discover that boys were nice, too. Yes, some not so nice, but by and large it was a more supportive environment than the boys’ world, where they were always competing with each other. Plus, there was the simple fact that I understood the girls’ world as I never had understood the boys’.

And the strangest thing was that by May, Steve Duncan quite obviously had the hots for me. Lu said, quite clinically, that ‘homosexual panic’ was at the root of his hatred of me last year; that he’d been turned on by the pretty boy Benjamin and reacted with aggression. Certainly the first time he saw me in the school’s swimsuit, his eyes fell out of his head. I’d joined the swim team after it was discovered that despite never really swimming before, somehow I was quite fast. Our school suits were ultra-thin one-piece racing Speedos in royal blue with a white vertical stripe over the heart. There was no mistaking the natural swell of my breasts or the slight mound at my crotch, and, yes, like most of the girls, I had the unmistakable Speedo ‘camel-toe’. When Steve saw me, he was fully convinced I was a girl.

But it wasn’t all smooth sailing; I had to deal with Heather Maxwell, who was also on the swim team. She made a point of loudly protesting that she was shocked that Morton Academy would allow a boy in the girls’ locker room! And to think that they even gave him a girl’s swimsuit and expected him to be treated like a girl! Shocking! And so on.

Shelly came to my rescue with something so simple it was funny. She told me, ‘Let her beat you’. We knew from the posted times that I was faster than Heather. But since the races against other schools were based on cumulative times, it really didn’t matter who was first and who was second if they were on the same team. I had a talk with Ms. Chambers, our coach. She was getting so annoyed by Heather that she was going to cut Heather from the team or me, and I told her of Shelly’s idea. Since she was always going on about sports psychology, she liked the concept, and had a day of mock time-trials. She posted the new times, with Heather in first place, and just to make sure, Shelly recommended–through me to Ms. Chambers–an actual race. Which I threw and Heather won by half a length. I did my best to appear completely winded and had to endure her smug smile of triumph. If Ms. Chambers had not been in on the deal, she would have flayed me alive for throwing the race. But it did the trick; Heather never said another word about me being a boy. I was just another girl that she beat.

Our team won the Middle championship between five other prep schools, and Ms. Chambers was really excited about me swimming as an Upper for the school. I’ll do it, of course, because I love swimming and it’s great exercise and I feel a devotion to the team and the school, but I’m not going to fully pursue it. I can’t, for two reasons. The first is that I don’t want the larger arms and shoulders typical of the hard-core girl swimmers.

The second–and most important reason–is that competitive swimming at the college level, and some high schools, involves routine drug testing. After all the Olympic scandals, the idea is to test everybody beforehand. And what they do in the Olympics, they do in colleges–to prepare for Olympic and professional athletic careers–and what they do in colleges, they do in high schools, to prepare for collegiate competitive life. The chances are that any routine gender testing would reveal me as XY, noting only the ‘two places’ my doctors had talked about, without the additional X markers that made me legally female. It was a can of worms that I would deliberately avoid.

I had a meeting with Mrs. Carey, Ms. Chambers, and Mom, and told them that I’d give 110% to the school’s swim team right up to the point, in the possible future, where they began testing for gender, and then I’d quit, reluctantly. And I would not seek a college scholarship that involved swimming. Everybody agreed and Mrs. Carey praised my forethought, and Ms. Chambers was happy to know she could continue to win prep races with me for a few years.

Lu and I double-dated with two boys from St. Andrews, another prep school. It was funny; it had been set up by her family. The boy she was paired with, Wen, was from another wealthy Chinese family and the parents had hopes of a dynastic marriage. Alas, it was not to be; the boy was gay and told Lu right up front, even before we went on the date–although his parents didn’t know. He had a friend named Paul Broderick that knew he was gay and was okay with it, so the decision was that the four of us would go out to satisfy the parents; they’d report back ‘no chemistry’ and life would go on.

For the first time I experienced the thrill and giddiness of getting the right outfit and getting ready with Lu. The parents had rented a chauffeur for the night so we piled in and went to a fancy dinner in Hartford, just like we were little adults. It kind of bothered me that this useless fling–useless in the sense that they weren’t going to make a dynastic marriage–cost so much, but as with Shelly’s mom, money had a different scale with these folks. What nobody expected was Paul to be absolutely fascinated with Lu–and Lu was fascinated right back! They were so into each other that I grabbed Wen and left the others for awhile. He was nice and funny and fully accepted being gay; it wasn’t any more important to him than being left-handed.

It was a fascinating experience for me, because I had never really talked with a gay boy before. There were some at Morton but I literally had never spoken to them; not out of choice but simply because of class scheduling. And maybe because, until the very end, Benjamin was invisible–so much so that he was even under the gay radar. Wen only knew me as a pretty girl, so we could talk freely in that way that boys and girls can if they’re comfortable with their sexuality. The end result was that I felt another of those weights off my shoulders, the ones that I never knew I had until they were gone. This particular weight was the question, should Benjamin just have gone through life as an effeminate gay boy? And it was obvious that Wen still thought like a boy in the way that Benjamin could never even grasp. I was so much more convinced I was female after spending time with a gay male!

The next interesting thing in my Spring of surprises was Spring Break. Mom and the lawyers had continued to press for documentation after the judge’s gavel in December, and by March I had a gorgeous passport that stated Abigail Elizabeth Houseman, Female! So Shelly worked out something with her mother–busy again with something or somebody–and Shelly, Mom, and I went to Aruba! It was prance around in the sun time, in the skimpiest of bikinis, and I was deliriously happy! And we were deliciously golden brown–with wonderful bikini tan lines!–when we returned, as were most of the wealthy students.

And then Lu and I doubled again; this time Paul brought a friend named Derek, who also happened to be a swimmer. And while we didn’t high-roll it like the Chinese match-making date, we might have had an even better time. We ate at T.G.I.Friday’s and laughed and Derek was really sweet with brown curly hair and green eyes and these dimples when he smiled–which I tried to make him do as much as possible! We decided to forego a movie and went bowling, instead, which I’d never done. I was terrible and everybody was patient but the best, the absolute best, was when I bowled and knocked down nine of the pins! After all the gutters and onesies and twosies, I was ecstatic! And without thinking I threw myself into Derek’s arms–he’d come out from the scoring thing to congratulate me–and his hug and suddenly we kissed and oh God it was heaven! We pulled back and Lu made a joke about ‘Can we bowl now?’ and I blushed but it was absolutely the best way for me to have My First Kiss.

I knew that if my first kiss was one of those where it’s at the end of the night, the good-bye thing, I’d be so nervous I’d probably blow it. And always wonder if he really wanted to kiss me or whether it was just obligatory. But I’d definitely kissed Derek, and he’d definitely kissed back, and that was it! We spent the rest of the evening as two couples, kissing and nuzzling and I felt so alive!

Derek and I made a point of calling each other once a week. Then he met some girl and things kind of tapered off. Mom told me it was best that my first was fantastic and brief. I had learned about myself, and about boys, and another weight had been lifted.

Shelly and I doubled a couple of times but she never met a guy who could keep up with her, although she did have her eyes set on one of the Morton Uppers …

And then the school year was over and Lu went to San Francisco and Shelly went to join her mother hopping around–and I went into the hospital.

That December revelation about my true nature chopped five years off my surgery schedule, as Mom had predicted. Dr. Randall had mentioned in passing that we could have put me in the hospital the afternoon the judge ruled, but because the recovery could take time, barring complications, we waited until the first week of summer vacation. So while other Morton kids were surfing or skiing or doing whatever, this Morton Girl was getting sliced open!

It was a long and complicated surgery, not the typical sexual reassignment kind. The reason for this was that I had those mostly-female organs the MRI had discovered. Depending on the organ itself, it was unclear if they were active, dormant, or non-functional. The Holy Grail, of course, was to be able to hook everything up and have my body completely function as a female, with menstruation and the ability to become pregnant. My girlfriends had opted for their choice–no periods or pregnancy chances, so I could have sex freely. And they’re only Middle school girls!

It was decided that I would have what turned out to be two more surgeries over summer. I fully agreed; as long as I could tan–even artificially in tanning salons–while I recuperated, and as soon as I was cleared each time, I swam furiously to keep in shape. But the first surgery was the most important to me, because it gave me my vagina! Then I had to learn to use these dilator things to keep it open, and then the next surgery came with its recovery period, and by the third I was pretty much done. It was too soon to tell what, if any, results we’d have. In theory everything was hooked up; in some cases it was easy and others difficult.

For instance, the doctors discovered that my testicles had never descended because they had never become testicles; they were still tiny ovaries. The doctors were pretty sure they’d function correctly, and hooking them up was ‘easy’, according to Dr. Randall. On the other hand, they’d had to add some tissue to my uterus–yes, I had been a boy with a uterus!–and it was unknown what functions would result.

I know that the doctors said I was a genetic anomaly from birth, but I like to think that it really came down to the Thanksgiving that Shelly and I met. She saw her best girlfriend under the shy boy exterior, and later she got the bottles of pills to let her girlfriend come out. The fact that I had the weird genetics was secondary, in my mind.

But I was a very happy–and very complete–girl that returned to Morton in the fall. We were big Middle girls now, and already full of distractions that Uppers had, like thinking about colleges and thinking about boys. I dated two boys during the fall, including some heavy necking after the Harvest Ball, when I did, in fact, wear an icy blue gown! Not too ‘Harvest-y’ a color, but I really stood out, and it was worth it to see my date basically melt. But I didn’t get serious about boys, despite the boy-crazy madness of some of the girls swirling around me, because I wanted to focus on my studies. I was still thinking about the judge’s recommendation that I go into law.

Thanksgiving was traditional, in that Mom and I participated in hosting the school’s Forgotten Ones, and I felt the first stirrings of what I guess I’d call maternal feelings. There I was dishing peas for a lonely Lower girl, and then wiping the nose of a Lower boy, and I felt such warmth and happiness. Weird; all along I’d never thought about being a mother. It was so far beyond the beyond that I simply never thought about it. But it was on my mind heading into December.

Shelly had been at the Thanksgiving break, staying with us, and probably would for Christmas, too. Her mother had a financial setback in August and things looked dicey for a time. Dicey, that is, if you consider going from $300 million to ‘only’ $60 million dicey. But sometime in November the coin flipped or shoe dropped or whatever–knowing her mother’s use of clichés–and Shelly said in passing that her mom was breathing easier and was back up to $280 million. I couldn’t really comprehend it but was glad that Shelly would still be at Morton.

And then I got the very best, most amazing Christmas present. The day after Christmas …I woke up with cramps and bloody sheets. I had my first period! It was a trip to ER with Dr. Randall and two days of observation and then released as healthy–a healthy female. Shelly joked that I was pronounced ‘cured of boyhood’!

And she was right.

There was no longer the tiniest scrap of doubt–I was 100%, completely through and through, once and forever, a Morton Girl.

The End