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

Academic, by Karin Bishop

Part 3

Chapter 7: Revelations

Despite Shelly’s teasing about screwing up, I kept things together for the next month. Of course, everybody at Morton was distracted by the upcoming holidays and I stayed under everybody’s radar. I was still buds with Lu and Amy and Connie–although Connie had the hots for an eighth grader named Steve and didn’t spend as much time with us–and with Shelly. Weekends I was Abby from the time I got home and showered Friday evening until the drive back Sunday night. Mom was amazingly comfortable having a new daughter and I realized it was because, as she’d explained about my father, she’d always known.

And true to her word, Mom got me a doctor’s appointment after school on Wednesday. Apparently there had been a gender clinic in Hartford but it had closed for various reasons. Some of the doctors and psychologists affiliated with the clinic were still in the area, either in private practice or at Hartford Hospital. There was also a gender studies program at the University of Hartford.

So Mom picked me up and we spent two hours with Dr. Audrey Nielson, a psychologist who spoke with us individually and together. I debated about not telling her about Shelly’s ‘jeeps’ but I knew that the first time I had a medical checkup the cat would be out of the bag. And then they wouldn’t trust me ever again. When I was talking alone with the doctor–after I’d come to feel that she accepted me–I asked her point-blank if she’d reached a diagnosis.

Dr. Nielson tried to avoid that but with some prodding, finally said she had a tentative but fairly certain diagnosis of gender dysphoria, but that my stature and appearance called into question possible medical explanations as well.

I asked if at any point, did she foresee anybody trying to make me be a boy?

Again, she tried to dodge the question because I was a new patient but finally sighed and said it would be highly unlikely. The time seemed right, so I told her that I was taking some medication to become a girl. She was deeply concerned, of course, and did a lecture about doing myself biological harm. I waited patiently and said that I understood that, and it was part of the reason why I told her. I didn’t want my self-dosing to delay or prevent any continuation on the road to being a girl. I stressed the point that it was not pills that were making me want to be a girl; I wanted to be a girl so badly that I was taking the pills to make it happen.

Dr. Nielson nodded, deeply frowning. I told her that my mother didn’t know; I wasn’t ashamed of wanting to be a girl but I was a little ashamed of not telling her about the pills. We talked some more and she called Mom in.

I knew it had to come to this; I gathered courage by thinking of Shelly’s love and support and my father’s long-ago diagnosis. I turned to my mother.

“Mom, for four months now I’ve been taking pills to help me turn into a girl. I’ve been taking androgen blockers to prevent my body from any further development as a boy, and estrogen pills to develop as a girl. My, uh …my breasts are budding.”

And then, to her surprise as well as the doctor’s, I stood and took off my school sweater and lifted up my polo, exposing my chest. Mom gasped a little.

“Yes, I got them from Shelly,” I said, reading her mind. “We’re in this together. She got them from a doctor in Europe to fit my body mass and age and metabolism. Here’s the point that I told the doctor. I’m taking them to become a girl; they’re not making me want to be a girl. I will do anything I have to so that I can live as your daughter Abigail. I have the pills hidden, and I will keep taking them even if you tell me not to. Even though disobeying you hurts me. Because I’ve got to do this! I can’t live as Benjamin forever; it’s just not me!” I was starting to cry. “But I hope that you and the doctor can get me treatment so I don’t damage myself taking these pills. I mean, treatment to let me become a girl. Other blockers and hormones, I mean. But if not, I will continue taking these because I will be Abigail!” I finished, fiercely.

There was stunned silence at my outburst, and then Dr. Nielson said, “That’s one of the clearest declarations of intent I’ve ever heard of. Mrs. Houseman, do you understand the determination of your child to proceed as a girl?”

Mom was still looking at me. “Absolutely, doctor. And …Abby, you don’t have to be quite so dramatic. With the striptease, I mean,” she grinned, and then got serious. “But I am concerned about the two of you procuring illegal drugs.”

“Mom, I don’t believe they’re illegal, in the sense that they’re not banned or controlled substances. They’re just not prescribed for me by a doctor in this country. So, taking them without a prescription might be illegal, but the drugs themselves aren’t.”

“Your child may have a future as a lawyer,” Dr. Nielson said ruefully. “That is essentially correct.”

Mom said, “I understand, but do you understand that I just worry about you hurting your body? Even with the best of intentions?”

“I do, Mom, and that’s why I told you. I know that the next step is medical evaluation, and once I pee in a cup they’ll know.”

Dr. Nielson said, “Good that you told me ahead of time. Well, folks, I think it’s time to arrange for the next step, which is the medical evaluation. Pee-in-the-cup time. Let me call.”

She set it up for Friday at Hartford Hospital, so that weekend started with, yes, peeing in a cup, having blood drawn and cheek swabs taken for DNA. Then we went home and I was Abby all weekend. Blessedly, Mom completely accepted why I’d started the pills and wasn’t troubled by it. Worried, but accepting. Monday after school we were back at the hospital with Dr. Nielson and a white-coated, silver haired doctor named Dr. Randall. I was ‘of interest’ to the gender studies group within the hospital as well as the university, and by the time we left, I was officially diagnosed as ‘gender dysphoric with possible physical abnormalities’, and under the official supervision of both hospital and university.

Next came a very odd time. I continued my Benjamin-at-school/Abby-at-home routine, but it was now complicated by being both a patient and a case study. Since I was now under care, it was time that Mom and I met with Mrs. Carey.

It was a shock to discover that I wasn’t the first transgender student at Morton Academy; there wasn’t one now–besides me–unless Mrs. Carey was being cagey. She said that the board of directors had already been confronted with and discussed the issue and guidelines had been drawn up. I realized that Mom already knew this, as she was one of the directors, being a Russell.

Mrs. Carey smiled with warmth and some sadness. “I won’t say that I’m surprised, Marion …Abigail,” she nodded to each of us. “I’ve known Benjamin his entire life–please excuse the pronouns and proper names, but I think we need to keep things in a linear sense.”

“I agree, Barbara,” Mom said. “Benjamin has attended Morton Academy, but Abby will be attending.”

“Yes, but the question is, when?” Mrs. Carey pursed her lips. She looked at me, expecting some input.

I said, “Mrs. Carey, obviously I want to start living as Abby right now, from the moment I walk out of your office, but I know that’s impractical. And maybe not possible, legally. I can wait until the end of the school year.”

“You mean continue as Benjamin while at Morton until June?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mom frowned. “Honey, that …may not be possible.”

“I’ve been doing it for some time now,” I said.

Mom shared a look with Mrs. Carey and said, “Yes, but …you’re developing.”

“Oh,” I said in a small voice. Of course.

“You may have the best of intentions to continue in a stealth mode, but you are becoming more and more undeniably feminine. You won’t be able to keep up the masquerade of being male for much longer. No matter how deep you make your voice or strut like a stud, your boobs will kind of give things away!” Mom grinned.

I blushed and hung my head. “Yes. I hadn’t …thought of that. Sports bras, maybe? Really tight?”

Mrs. Carey said, “It’s brave of you to consider that, Abby, but you–” She broke off, startled. “Dear me! It’s so easy to slip and call you Abby.”

Mom smiled. “You should see her in a dress on the weekend sometime. There’s no way on earth you would think she was a boy.”

“Yes, I’d like that,” Mrs. Carey smiled in return. “But we’re still faced with the situation of being mid-year. Any dramatic change such as this would not be possible.”

“That’s why I said to wait until next year,” I said, and then sighed. “Although it’ll make me crazy.”

“Your life is already crazy!” Mom said with affection. Turning back to the headmistress, she said, “Barbara, I think we’ve done what we needed to do at this point. We have alerted the head of school and her file now contains the official documentation. I would suggest each of her–damn! Each of his teachers be quietly informed of the situation.”

I said, “What if they disapprove?”

Mrs. Carey said, “As a private institution with our …demographic, they are much more flexible than you would imagine. There have been significantly odd situations that would disrupt another school, that they have taken in stride. And, they’re aware of the prestige of their appointments and, quite frankly, the substantial paychecks they receive. I believe that should be sufficient to persuade them to be …tolerant.” She smiled but it was a little shark-like. I was glad she seemed to be on my side.

After discussing some ways to protect me if I got hassled by anyone, we left and Mom thought it had gone well. I asked why Mrs. Carey had been so quick to basically threaten her teaching staff if they messed with me.

Mom grinned. “She’s a Morton.”

That was all I got out of her, until I realized something that had never occurred to me before.

“Mom, are you and Mrs. Carey related somehow?”

Mom smiled at me and went back to driving. “I thought you knew. We’re cousins.”

“You said she was a descendant of the Mortons. But you’re saying ‘cousin’ now. Close cousins? Like I’m related to her?”

“Absolutely. She is your first cousin once removed.” She drove a bit, with her smile that I knew meant a happy memory. “We grew up together.”

“You did? You never told me.”

“You never asked!” she teased. “Besides, it might not be good to know that the headmistress was your cousin. It might have given you airs or something. But nobody could have known how sweet you’d turn out.”

“So she’s protecting the school, but she’s also protecting me?”

“Absolutely,” Mom said with conviction.

Chapter 8: Approvals

My body was responding beautifully to the new hormone regimen, according to Dr. Randall. Once I’d confessed about taking Shelly’s jeeps, I had to bring in samples of each. I didn’t want to lose them in case my gender care was discontinued, so I emptied the bottles of all but three and brought them in so they could inspect the containers and analyze the pills. Dr. Randall questioned me closely about the pills and I’d had to really tap dance around to not name Shelly, although it would have been obvious to anybody that knew us. Then I discovered he didn’t actually care who had provided the pills, in terms of legality. He told me that over the years he had seen some amazing determination on the part of patients to procure any method of changing their bodies.

Dr. Randall’s interest was in how they’d been prescribed for me without being prescribed for me, so to speak. They were certainly the genuine article and pharmaceutically pure–there were no worries there–but he said that within a tiny variation, they were just what he would have prescribed for me! I told him that ‘the procurer’–Shelly, of course–had given detailed information about me and my body and ‘the source’–whatever doctor she’d bribed–had guessed right, based on the data provided.

This was actually vitally important, because if they’d been the wrong type of pill, I’d have to discontinue them immediately and it would be possibly months before the stuff was out of my system. Only then would the gender studies team start cautiously start me on blockers–and Dr. Randall said it would be at least a year of blockers before they’d even think about adding estrogen! They would have had to test and test and withhold and test and start again and test and so on. He said it could often take two years or more for a teenager’s system to stabilize.

I’d had nearly four months of what had turned out to be the proper dosage and pill type, and had no adverse reactions. Of course, since Shelly never did anything halfway, I was taking both blockers and estrogen, and my body was already responding–as Chen Lu could now testify. Dr. Randall speculated that although he’d have loved an opportunity to examine my body the week before I started the pills, it was like my body had been ‘hovering’ around a female puberty and had needed the slightest nudge to start developing femininely. Only instead of a gentle nudge, I’d slugged it with a baseball bat with the estrogen on top of the blockers!

The week before Winter Break was very worrisome, as their committee debated what to do, but the Thursday before break they told Mom and I that they were going to continue my blockers and estrogen without stopping. The only thing they asked was that I use their brand, so to speak. I guess they had to for liability reasons, and I only agreed once I knew they were identical to the pills I’d been taking, since my body had accepted them.

Mom was thrilled almost as much as I was. On the way home, she was radiant.

“Oh, sweetheart, I was so worried that they’d make you stop!”

“Me, too, Mom, but …you’ve still got to be mad at me–and Shelly–for taking them behind your back.”

“Well, in a …parental-handbook sort of way,” she said. “But Dr. Nielson told me something that kind of changed that. She was telling me about the absolute hell that her patients live through, and I wouldn’t want that for you. And she told me about the determination of them to change their bodies to match themselves. Their selves.”

“Dr. Randall said almost the exact same thing. I was thinking that …well, I have it easy. I’m young and I’m tiny and I was already very girly. Come on, Mom, you know it’s true! I did what I could to ignore it over the years, but now in Middle school, it’s starting to be noticed.”

Mom nodded. “That’s one of the things that frightened me; wondering about you being bullied or attacked.” She frowned and her jaw tightened. “Just because people have money or come from First Families doesn’t mean they can’t be bigoted brutes.”

“Yeah. Shelly said something once, about a girl in our class that’s …a bitch?”

“I do know the term, Abby,” Mom chuckled. “But try not to throw it around too much.”

“Yes, Mom. But Shelly said the only difference between a private school and a public school is that the kid who beats up your kid has more money.”

Mom threw her head back and laughed. “God, I love Shelly! So wise, so …full of life! And she’s right. It’s a wonder …” She trailed off.

I didn’t pursue that thought; I was still brooding over my original thought.

Mom noticed and said, “You were saying …”

“Right. I was saying that I’m kind of blessed, because of my size and age and …nature. But I was thinking about poor transgender girls that are like two-hundred-pound truck drivers or 6'5" or something. There’s no way on earth they’ll ever blend in, be taken as regular girls. Not all the pills or surgeries or anything. But still they’re determined to make their body be female, even when it’s just them looking in a mirror.”

“It’s the psychological hell Dr. Nielson talked about,” Mom nodded. “It’s a wonder they survive.”

“I was …kinda mean, or I feel kinda mean, talking that way about those women. The ones that are masculine-looking, I mean. Because …” I sighed and looked out the window. “Mom, I’m delighted to be able to dress as a girl–ecstatic–but not because of the clothes. Not because of the mirror that I just mentioned. Because I know that being female is way more than just clothes. Or mirrors. It’s …”

“It’s who you are,” Mom said quietly.

“Exactly. Exactly! And that’s my point. Because when I was just saying that about looking in the mirror, I thought of lying in bed in the dark. No clothes–I mean, not that I can see, but whether it’s a nightie or pajamas don’t matter. But no clothes, nobody else there, and certainly no mirror. And I know that I’m a female. So even if they are big truck drivers, they’re still women and they know it and …oh, my God!”

“What, honey?” Mom asked, taking a concerned look at me and then back to the road. “What is it?”

“Mom, I’ve been thinking about something, and I want to say upfront that I am not and never have thought about suicide, okay? So don’t freak out on me?”

“Okay. One free pass but I reserve the right to freak out some other time.”

“Deal,” I grinned, and then got serious. “I was thinking about some …” I stopped. “Let’s call that ‘Thought B’. I think I have to tell you about ‘Thought A’ first.”

“Wait until I fire up the cocoa,” Mom chuckled.

It was a tradition that we have deep, heavy discussions over cocoa, and we were nearly home. I was very, very happy, because I only had one more day of Benjamin and then three weeks of non-stop Abby–Morton Academy took very long Winter Breaks. And I was happy because the gender program had allowed me to continue with the pills that I knew were making my new life possible.

Curled up with steaming mugs, Mom chatted until I was ready to start.

“Mom, you know how we’ve talked about Middle school being so weird, with the boys and girls at both ends of the growth spectrum, so to speak?”

“I believe you said once, Barbies or bras, something like that.”

“Right. In the last month–really the last few weeks–that’s kind of clarified for me. And something else has clarified.”

“Thought C?” she grinned.

“No, maybe a subset of Thought A. Or …let’s just forget the sequence?” She nodded and sipped. I sipped, too, swallowed and frowned. “I know that friendships change quickly in Middle school. At least, I’d heard that, and other than Shelly, I’ve never had a friend. And, upfront, let me say there is no change in my friendship with Shelly; that’s forever.”

“I know, dear. I had a friend that way.”

“Um …I’m confused. First, I don’t want to be rude, but …I don’t know anybody that you’re that close with. And how would it be forever, then?”

“Oh, Abby,” Mom said with such sadness. She reached out and stroked my hair once. “Because sometimes life gets in the way.” Her face clouded, her eyes far away.

I stared and found my voice. “I’m sorry,” I said, upset that I’d hurt her.

Mom sighed deeply. “Sweetie, you couldn’t know. I met Maggie–Margaret Chamberlin–when I was …my goodness, just about the same time you met Shelly! We were nearly ten, I think. At a summer camp in Vermont. And we clicked. From the first look at each other. Just like you and Shelly. That’s why I made such allowances for the two of you, by the way.”

“Allowances?”

She chuckled. “What mother in her right mind would allow sleepovers with a boy and girl at your age? Before Abby showed up, I mean?”

“I never thought about it. Because she was Shelly, you know?”

Mom nodded. “I do, indeed. And because you were Abby, deep down.” She sighed. “Maggie and I were at Morton together–I’d told her all about it and she got her parents to start her there the next year. And we spent so much time together. Summers I usually spent with her family; they had a big old place outside of Boston. They made auto parts, did very well.” Mom sighed. “We were at Bennington together, and then she got an offer to work with a guy in Greece. A fellowship. She was an archaeologist, and don’t be thinking it was the stuff of romance novels. He was ancient himself, world-respected, and it was a tremendous opportunity for her.”

“So that was the first time you were really apart since, like, ten?”

“Yes. But we were young women and feeling the world …” She took a deep breath. “So with Maggie out of the picture I went to do grad work at Columbia.”

I gasped. “Where you met Dad! If Maggie hadn’t taken that fellowship …”

Mom was smiling and nodding. “We might not be having this conversation.”

“So …what happened? Why don’t I know about her? She sounds great!”

“Oh, Maggie was more than great. She was …such a life force. So positive.”

She was silent then, and I knew not to press.

Finally, Mom said, “She was my maid of honor. And had already met a wonderful man in Peru. Eduardo. But her love was in the Middle East–Mesopotamia, mostly–and …they’d been married about a year and she’d just found out she was pregnant. She was absolutely over the moon, and I was so happy for her, and had my own little infant that I cherished and wanted that happiness for her.”

“Me!” I’d blurted out, like a five-year-old, so caught up in the story.

“Yes, dear, you. So Maggie decided the dig in Turkey would be the last in the field; for the pregnancy and motherhood she’d move into researching and teaching. And then …” She shrugged. “An earthquake. They have them in Turkey quite often. Nearly ten thousand were killed, but …also Eduardo, Maggie …and their child.”

I gasped and tears burst. “Oh, God, Mom!” I was weeping, not just for the sadness of the story, but for the absolute loss on my mother’s face. I hugged her. “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! I never meant to bring up that sadness!”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she hugged me back. “I carry Maggie with me every day of my life. I mean, the memories we shared, not just the hurt of losing her. There are times when I’ll think about something she said, or just a look she gave me, and I’ll smile. She still makes me happy. But it’s not just my loss; the whole world lost a wonderful, bright soul the day she died.”

We were silent, hugging and I was weeping. Mom got me together with some tissue and went to refill the mugs. Then she grinned.

“If you had any doubt you’re female, that waterworks demonstration should have proved it!”

“What can I say? I’m hormonal!” I laughed, but also with the sadness of my mother’s story. We’d already talked with the doctors about me having mood swings and ‘a period’, a monthly cycle just as if I were menstruating.

Mom laughed with me, and then said, “Okay. So you and Shelly are on firm ground. So these deep, heavy thoughts you were teasing me with …?” She tilted her head.

I took a breath. “You know I’ve been hanging with Amy and Connie and Lu, right? Well, it’s like that Middle spectrum thing. Connie’s kind of boy-crazy at one end and Amy just doesn’t get it at the other. She doesn’t go so far as to say that boys have cooties or anything, but she’s pretty close.”

Mom nodded. “Amy’s …young.”

“Uh …yeah. And Lu’s just …Lu’s great.”

“I’m glad that you and she have hit it off.”

“Why?”

“Well, Shelly needs a life, too, you know!” she teased. “But however your friendship with Lu had started, she knows about your transition to Abby and I suspect that she’s actually friends with Abby. I mean that she sensed the girl within and so in a way, she’s your first friend as girl-to-girl. And she’s got a good head and a good heart.”

I frowned, thinking. “Well, I think it’s fair to say that Shelly also sensed the girl within me, but she could have sensed the wildebeest within me and we’d still be friends.”

Mom chuckled at that. “I daresay you’re right. But I think Lu is good for you.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that because this kind of involves her, too. You see, Connie’s always going on about boys but Lu isn’t. And, you know that …well, we’re all at the age where kids are interested in sex and different sex things and start being worried about being gay.”

“And the name-calling,” Mom said. “And suspicions.”

“Yes. Although the name-calling …I’ve had that for years. I’m used to it.”

“It still goes on, doesn’t it? You never talk about it.”

“I keep Dr. Nielson updated; it’s what she wanted. I don’t have to talk about it, I mean …Mom, you’re pretty. Yeah, every kid thinks their mom is pretty, but you are, and I’ve seen pictures when you were young and you were gorgeous.”

Mom actually laughed. “I’d never say gorgeous! But …I was pretty, I must admit without false modesty.”

I bounced. “Mom, do you have pictures of you and Maggie? Now that I know about her, I really want to see the two of you!”

“Yes, of course I do. I’ll dig them out at some point. So, you were saying I’m pretty …” She teased me by theatrically posing.

I laughed. “My point is that you must have walked through a day and guys hit on you. Or just wolf-whistle or something.”

“Well …yes. Occasionally.”

“So did you come home and say, ‘Mom! Dad! A man in the store said I was pretty!”

“Of course not. That would be bragging, and silly, and …”

“And it happened so often it was no big deal, right?” She shrugged and nodded. I shrugged in return. “Same thing with me. I get called ‘fag’ or ‘queer’ so often it’s no big deal. So I don’t tell you about it, not that I’m embarrassed. It’s just part of my daily life. But Dr. Nielson said she wants to ‘monitor it’, to see if it changes over time–the things they say, I mean–and if I change how I feel about it.”

“Smart woman. I like her.”

“Me, too; I’m glad we found her.”

“Goodness me, we’ve gotten sidetracked. What are we talking about?”

“You know, I’ve sidetracked myself so many times I’m going to get right to the heart of things. Amy said something and somebody overheard and misinterpreted and thought Lu was a lesbian. With Amy, of all people! Who probably puts ‘sex’ after ‘root canal’ for her least favorite subjects!”

Mom had to laugh at that.

“Anyway, Lu’s not gay. We got to talking because, well, she thought I was. Benjamin was, I mean. This is confusing, but I think you get it. Before Lu knew about me being Abby, she just assumed that Benjamin was gay, because, well, let’s face it!”

“A reasonable assumption,” Mom said.

“And she likes boys, but not gay boys, like some girls do, because they’re ‘safe’? I don’t mean she doesn’t like gay boys, I just mean that–”

“You’re tying yourself in knots. I understand. Lu is heterosexual and likes boys. She’s open-minded enough to accept gay boys as friends.”

“Thank you. Yes. Okay. Connie thought I was gay, too–Benjamin, I mean–and that was okay with her. And gayness just isn’t on Amy’s radar. Anyway, Lu likes boys. And Lu knows about Abby. So Lu and Abby were talking …”

A smile started on Mom’s face. “And Abby discovered she likes boys, too?”

I blushed. “Um …yeah. I think if I’d had to work it out on my own, there’d be all these hang-ups. I’ve talked about it with Dr. Nielson.”

“That’s what she’s there for,” Mom nodded.

“And talking with Lu, about a guy she thought was cute and who else she thought was cute …it just kind of morphed into what boys we thought were cute and it was like a truck hit me. I was thinking about cute boys!”

Mom nodded again. “Never doubted it for an instant. I’ve had a small worry that because of the roundabout way that you’ve become a girl, you might sort of talk yourself into things that weren’t your natural inclination. I wouldn’t have a problem with you being a lesbian, or even celibate, but my money was on you being a heterosexual girl. And it sounds like you are.”

“I think so,” I grinned, blushing again. “And, Mom, once I realized that …”

“It was like the dam burst?” Mom raised an eyebrow and then laughed at my sheepish nod. “Oh, my goodness–there are boys everywhere!” she teased, waving her hands in mock-fright.

“Just about! Just walking the halls is so different now. Suddenly they’re–”

“The opposite sex,” Mom said confidently. “And really interesting!”

We giggled–there’s no other word for it. My mom and I giggled together.

After sips of cocoa, I said, “God, we’ve talked about so much tonight! But I never really got to what I was thinking in the car that started this whole thing.”

“Thought A? Or was it B?”

“I think it was B, when I realized I had to tell you about me and boys, which was Thought A. Okay, the original, original thought, isn’t cheerful. I was saying that I’m lucky that I was already pretty close to a girl, and how sad for really tall or really masculine girls that are transgender. It just makes their life more difficult.”

“I’m assuming you mean ‘girls’ as what they truly are, but not their birth sex.”

“Exactly. Because I can certainly testify to the …reality of their sex, in their minds, I mean. So I was thinking about the high rate of teen suicides. Articles and brochures and things talk about the pressure to succeed, to meet impossible goals set by parents, things like that. All the pressures they mentioned seemed to be the external world pressuring the kid. But what about internal pressure? Sure, they’d feel like failures to their parents and maybe couldn’t live with that, but I bet …” I took a breath. “We always hear in the news about teens that kill themselves because they were bullied. And, yeah, probably some of them do, just because of the bullying. But I think the super-high rate of teen suicides is also partly due to a percentage of them being transgender. Boys and girls. And they don’t have the support of their family or the ability to get help or the strength to endure and all they see is their body …as a boy, I mean …all they see is their body getting bigger and hairier and less and less like the girl they know they are, and year after year of having to pretend to be something they’re not, and no end in sight. And …so they end it.”

Mom stared at me and shuddered. She hugged me tight. “I’m so glad you told me that you’re not suicidal, and I thank God you told me about Abby–thank you, God, for Shelly, too!–and that you’re being treated and you’re so strong. You’re right. You’re absolutely right. Have you mentioned this to Dr. Nielson?”

“Sort of. She stared at me, and I thought that maybe she thought I was suicidal, so I kind of backed off.”

“The medical and psychiatric communities may already be aware of it, but I think you should mention it to her again, and I can, too, if you want.”

“Thanks, Mom. I just …my heart breaks for those poor kids. It was never their fault.”

“No, and you’re right.” She took a deep, sad sigh. Then a sip of cocoa.

Then she clasped her fingers and grinned at me.

“So …what boys do you think are cute?”

Chapter 9: Changes of Plans

The next day, the last Friday before Winter Break, was scattered as usual, with things all over the place. Amy got her period! Her first! Later, Connie made an offhand remark that ‘Maybe now she’ll be interested in boys!’ and my talk with Mom the night before was very much on my mind. I didn’t say anything about boys to Amy, who’d run to tell me, all full of excitement and happiness, and then had done a blushing back-down when she realized what she’d just confessed to a boy. I smiled warmly and hugged her and said I was so happy for her and it brought her smile back. She said thanks, and started to run off and came back to me.

“Benjamin, I want you to know that …you’re really special to me. You’re a boy, but you know, you’re like …one of my best girlfriends. I hope that doesn’t hurt you.”

I grinned. “No, Amy, it doesn’t hurt at all! It makes me happy–I want to be one of your best girlfriends!”

We hugged again. She scampered off four or five steps, and turned with another confused look on her face, and then she truly scampered off. With her size and nature, ‘scamper’ was really the only word for how she moved.

She’d told Lu and the two of us were walking to our classes and Lu frowned at me.

“You’d better butch it up, babe,” she said.

“How so? And why start now?” I grinned.

“You’re holding your books like a girl.”

“I am a girl, silly,” I said softly. My books were held against my chest, as hers were.

“I know that, silly,” she retorted. “But I overheard some of the boys …”

“Call me a fag? Kinda old news, Lu!” I grinned.

She stopped and put her hand on my arm. “No, this is serious. Steve Duncan was talking to some guys and I overheard. They sounded like they wanted to jump you today.”

I frowned and thanked Lu and we parted; she turned down a corridor and I continued down two more doors and walked into class. I was thinking hard. I hadn’t offended anybody that I knew of. I rarely spoke to any of the boys. I had only one class with Steve, although I didn’t know who the other boys were.

But I did have another class with Lu. When I got there, Lu was at her desk writing furiously and handed me a note just as the teacher called the class to order. I read the note and felt chilled. Lu had written:

‘More info: SD&guys talkin bout getting YOU.’ She’d underlined heavily. ‘SD says warning to all fags at MA. Today bcuz cant be suspended–winterbreak. STAY WITH PEEPS!! ’

It made dreadful sense. There were a few gay boys that were out in the Upper school, and that had encouraged some Middle boys to come out. I had never made any motions one way or another but was obviously swishy and fit all the criteria. I was supposedly untouchable by being connected to the school–and was assumed to be rich because everybody else was–and I’d ignored the taunts for years, so I’d never experienced any actual intimidation. But for whatever demons drove Steve Duncan and homophobes, they planned to make an example of me to all the gays at Morton Academy–if a Russell descendant could suffer, anybody could. And by assaulting me on the last day before the long break, they figured that the school wouldn’t press charges–if it even would–and they wouldn’t be reprimanded. Maybe a stern letter would be sent home to be ignored while I had three weeks to recover. That way, when we returned in January, it would all seem like ancient history to the adults–but in the minds of the students, the point would have been made. And finally, Lu warned me to stay in a group with people friendly to me.

She glanced at me to see if I’d read it. I quickly flashed the sign language gestures for ‘Thank you’ with a solemn nod. Then I added ‘Love you!’ Her mouth tightened and she quickly nodded back and then class really got going.

So we walked out of class and discussed where and when I might be attacked. We didn’t have the next class together but she had a class with Shelly and would relay the information.

God bless my girlfriends; they kept me safe. Lu rallied Amy and Connie and two other girls I was friendly with, and since Shelly knew my schedule, she was with me but also got Monica and another girl that was huge–the star on the field hockey team–to join us. So I had two to five other girls with me at all times. I was gratified and humbled by their friendship and more than a little humiliated. But then I thought, what if Lu had overheard Steve say they were going to rape a girl? The girls would have rallied as well and the intended victim could count herself lucky for her friends.

Finally, back in the dorms, it was Lu and Shelly and I. We all hugged and Shelly said she loved Lu forever for ‘watching out for Abby’ and Lu’s face went funny.

“It’s so weird how casual you are with that,” Lu said. “I mean, I get it, but it’s still weird.”

“Imagine how it looks from my side,” I grinned.

Shelly pointed to me and said, “Lu, do you have any doubt that this is a girl named Abby?”

Lu looked at me seriously. “No. Not really. Yeah, between her legs!” she grinned and then sobered. “But the person? The soul within? Absolutely no doubt.”

Shelly nodded, smiling. “It just makes sense. It gets hard to remember to say ‘Benjamin’. And I like your thing about calling her ‘babe’ in the halls.”

Lu had come up with calling me ‘babe’ for several reasons. It was a term that boys and girls both used and wouldn’t be noticed as odd, and she said it was also the B from Benjamin and the AB from Abby and even joked about the E from Elizabeth–once she’d learned my full, true name–and was always a fun thing between us.

When I’d told Shelly, she’d just shrugged and said, “I call you ‘babe’ because you’re a babe’.”

Either way, I liked it!

We hugged again and Lu left. “Come to my room,” Shelly said.

I flopped on her bed as usual. Shelly was frowning, stalling as she thought. I knew to let her have her time when she was like this; then she sighed deeply and faced me.

“Got a call from my mom.”

I rolled my eyes. “Ah, crap. Shelly! She’s taking you away for the holidays again?”

She nodded. “More to it, though. She wants to meet you.”

“Meet me? Why? And why now?”

“She wants to …oh, crap,” she sighed. “She’s coming here. I don’t know what she’s up to. Just that she said she wants to meet you.”

“Um …”

“Yeah …um,” she said, nodding. “She said she wants to meet my best friend.”

“Shelly …what have you told her? Or not told her?”

“That’s just it,” she said, flopping on the bed next to me. “I don’t know! Or I’m not sure …”

“Okay. Let’s take it this way. Does she know about Benjamin?”

“Of course. God, I’ve known you–him–for like five years, now. I mean, we don’t talk but she knew I was at your house last year when she sent the car …” She trailed off and then sat up. “No, she doesn’t! I’m pretty sure of it!” She was starting to smile, remembering.

“What? What?” I sat up with her.

“She was really kinda pissy last year. I thought I was going to at least be in Manhattan or something, but she made no plans. I remember what she called you–she called you ‘my little friend’. I was thinking about how boys love that Scarface movie?”

I nodded. You would not be a boy growing up without some guy pretending to shoulder a machine gun and doing a bad Al Pacino impersonation: ‘Say heh-lo to my leetle fren!’

“When she called last year, she asked if I was still staying with my little friend, and to give the address to her for her driver. And although we jumped around a lot she hardly spoke to me. I think once she said something like, ‘Everything okay with you and your little friend?’ so I don’t think she knew it was a boy named Benjamin. So it could have been a girl named Abby!” she said with a grin.

“But she wants to meet me now? Why?”

“Don’t know. Big doings on the Mom horizon; I don’t know. Maybe she read something about bonding with your daughter, being involved. But it’s not like her. But she …” She gave me a guilty look. “She’s actually coming here. I mean, in person. Not just sending a driver. And she wants to meet my best friend and also her family. Oh! That proves she doesn’t know about Benjamin–she specifically said, ‘I want to meet your best friend and her family.’ That means you and your mom.”

“Uh …okay. When?”

She really looked guilty now. “Tonight.”

“What?” I stared at her.

“Abby! I only just found out an hour ago! She sent the urgent text thing to call her right away. You know, for medical emergencies. She was landing at Hartford! She was going to get freshened up, she said–God, I hope that doesn’t mean she’s drinking again!–and then come here!”

Shelly seemed more confused than excited. And a bit frightened, too, I thought.

“So what do we do?”

“I stay here. You go home and get into your best Abby duds. If I know Mom, she’ll look around my room with disgust, go see you at your house, try to hide her disgust, and then be bored with the whole thing and drive off.”

“Mom’s coming to get me in an hour and a half.”

“Might not be enough time. Plus, there’s the chance Steve and the guys will jump you. Crap! Okay, I’m calling you a cab.”

“What?”

I say that a lot around Shelly.

“No time, and your safety might depend on it. God, I sound like a bad detective movie.” She was already dialing and ordered a cab and was told ten minutes. “Okay. I can see the road in from here. We go to your room, grab whatever you were going to bring home, and we come back here. Steve and the guys might try your room.” She was texting furiously. “Mon’s coming, too. Okay, we hang here until the cab pulls up, go down in a cluster and off you go.”

I called Mom to tell her the crazy plan–not mentioning Steve and the boys but only Shelly’s mom’s arrival–but she approved instantly, trusting Shelly’s instincts. Shelly and I went to my room and I threw the last of my things into my bag and then locked the door behind me. Shelly had taken a little piece of scotch tape from my desk and stuck it high up on the door and the jamb.

“Can tell if anybody’s been in your room!” she grinned. “Got that from a good detective movie!”

Monica met us in the hall and we went to Shelly’s room and not two minutes later we saw the cab coming up the drive, yellow against the dark trees and white snow. We left and were one floor from the main door when we saw Steve Duncan and three big guys coming down above us. Duncan shouted ‘There he is! Get him!’ and we heard them stomping downstairs.

Shelly and Monica and I crunched through the snow and icy path as fast as we dared. Shelly shoved money in my hand as shee hustled me into the cab. She barked, “Leave! Now!” to the startled cabbie, slammed the door and banged twice on the roof and the driver sped off. Looking out the back window I saw Shelly and Monica standing shoulder-to-shoulder as the boys ran out, steam bursting from their mouths in the chill air. They yelled at the girls, did the disappointed kicking the ground thing, yelled at the girls some more, and stormed off.

I texted back to Shelly: RU OK? Tell Monica I owe her big time!

She texted back: We cool. Just get pretty!!

When we got to my house, the driver turned to me, read the amount on the meter, and said, “Why those boys want to chase a pretty girl like you?”

“They’re …mad at me.” I was momentarily stunned that, even in my boy’s uniform, he thought I was a girl.

“What you do to them?”

I couldn’t say ‘I threaten their sense of masculinity’ so I improvised a lie. “They’re mad at me because I did well on a test. They wanted everybody in the class to do badly on the test so they’d have an excuse.”

He nodded. “Ah. You blew the curve.”

I grinned. “Yes. You know the term?”

He laughed. “In Romania I teach engineering. I know grading on curves.” He nodded, smiling.

“You’re an engineer?”

“Romanian engineer,” he grinned, wagging a finger. “In America, that means I drive a cab.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Life is not fair, pretty girl. But you do what you can. You …roll with punches, you say.”

I suddenly realized that he was certain I was a girl–and a pretty one. He seemed to have picked up on that.

“Why you dress down? You should let your hair go, wear pretty dresses–I am sorry; I go too far. Excuse me.”

“No, it’s okay. I thought that, well, we all wear uniforms and kind of look alike and …” I shrugged.

He nodded. “I have two daughters. They too had a time at …what are you, twelve, thirteen?”

“Yes. Thirteen.”

“My oldest girl …she was the best. She was smartest in school, fastest in sports, better than the boys …and then suddenly she …” He burst out a Romanian phrase and then gestured downward with his hands. “She dimmed her light?”

I nodded. “Sometimes we say, ‘hid her light under a bushel’. A basket.”

“Yes, yes; so many farm phrases still in big city America!” he grinned. “She dimmed her light. To not challenge the boys. So sad.”

“Is she okay?” I really wanted to know.

“She married a butcher, got fat, made babies. Five grandchildren,” he shrugged. “But that smart, fast little girl of twelve …gone.”

I felt a lump in my throat even as I wondered what I was doing spending time talking with this guy. But I knew that somehow it was important, and I was already home. On an impulse, I reached behind and pulled out my ponytail and took off the small elastic holding it in place and fanned my hair out. I was rewarded with a smile.

“It is like the sun coming out after storm!” he nodded. “Wait; I bet you are smartest in class?”

I shrugged and then nodded.

“Those boys …soon they will be chasing you for a different reason! But you must promise yourself to not do as my Anna did. Do not play down. Play up. Always up. And that is how you do not drive cab in America.”

It felt like a final benediction but I had to ask one more thing. “Your other daughter …did she play down?”

“No. She is not smart like Anna. She is loving and kind and works hard, though. She is going to Connecticut College and will be a teacher, like her father. Only employed!” he grinned. “Oh, one thing I should tell you …”

“Abby,” I said automatically, realizing it was the first time I’d given my name to a stranger.

“Abigail?” he asked and I nodded. “A great name. I read history; you know Abigail Adams?”

I smiled. “That’s who I was named for.”

“Be like her. If that woman could have lived now, she’d be a CEO! Or President!” He wagged his finger in the air again. “But I was saying about Ramona, my youngest. She was threatened. By students. She is small and dark and had a hard time learning English. So they tease her, they knock her books down …”

He looked out the windshield, remembering some pain. Then he said, “She learned Aikido. Martial art. But not for offense, not for hitting and kicking. For dodging, for using opponent’s force against him. To …step aside and let him go past, like a bull.” He nodded. “Just the thing for a pretty girl like you to learn, who is so smart she blows the curve for the boys.” He grinned.

I asked for his card and gave him a huge tip and told him that I almost never took the cab but anytime I did or my mother did, I wanted it to be him. He grinned and wagged his finger again and drove off.

End of Part 3