Wednesday, September 25
Today started out really, really shitty, but got better really, really quickly.
Normal 9th grade boy mode' morning. Showered, examined myself all over for the nasty signs of pubic hair (none!). Dressed in boy outer' clothes, no makeup but lip moisturizer and facial moisturizer and maybe just a tiny hint of blush that no one will notice and combed my hair boy mode' and headed down to my normal school day b'fast (granola, almond milk, orange juice). Took my second puberty-blocker pill (Mom got them yesterday, and I took the first before bed, but the doc said to start taking in the morning. Dunno why.). Book bag with normal boy' stuff, and headed to the van.
Text went off as soon as I got in the car. Brie had formed a sister-wives group.
"Word has it 9th gr Engl tests were curve busters."
I replied... "Yo no comprende". I felt good about yesterday's Spanish quiz.
Assorted other replies:
"Test yesterday? When were u gonna tell me?"
I could only imagine what that last one meant, but I had a good guess.
Then Mom's phone went off and since she's bluetooth'd to the van, she just pushed the button on the steering wheel. It was Ms. Weston. "Maggie? Jean here. Are you on the way to school?"
"Yes."
"Could you and Chris come in to see me? Do you have a few minutes"
"Yes, sure, Jean. I'll be there in about 15 minutes."
I didn't like the sound of anything I heard. First, I had my regularly scheduled reluctance to get anywhere near the office. Second, though, she called me `Chris' on the phone. That didn't.... Yo no comprende....
Sigh.... poop emoji.... eggplant emoji... poop emoji...
We pulled into the parking lot and into one of the visitor spaces. The sister wives were all ganged up near the regular drop off zone, maybe waiting for me, maybe waiting for the second coming of Leonardo DiCaprio. Anyway, I didn't have my regular support group on my "Longest Mile" to the Headmistress' office. I now regretted my last meal was granola. I should have asked for an Oreo Blizzard.
Ms. Weston's office was wide open, and her assistant just motioned us in. I tossed my backpack on the floor, slouched in my seat, and waited for the jury to read the verdict.
"Maggie, I've spoken with all of Chris... er.. Christy's teachers."
I perked up... `Christy?' Was the governor calling with a stay of execution?
"No one really voiced any objection, and in fact most of the teachers were enthusiastically accepting."
I caught myself sitting up in my chair.
"I spoke with a couple of parents on the Board, and they agreed that we want our school to be a loving, nurturing place of acceptance where every student can excel without reference to sexual or gender orientation."
I had to physically remind myself not to start cheering. I don't cheer well. I let other girls cheer and carry Pom Poms. I'm more of a `sell tickets' type.
"State law requires that a student should be recorded with his or her chosen gender, rather than birth gender, after consultation with an appropriate medical professional. With that in mind, we're changing all of Christopher's records to read... I assume `Christine'?
I nodded so hard I thought I was going to snap my neck.
"Fine. Starting today, when rolls are called, it will be `Christy'. You can pick up girls' golf shirts in the school store. Of course, the pin-on school blazer crest is the same. We'll be switching over to winter wear in a couple of weeks, depending on the weather forecasts. I'm sure you'll want to get Christy a new blazer -- Nordstrom's juniors department has the best supply and it's where most of the parents shop. Of course," she said, looking at me, "you have the choice of khaki pants or a khaki skirt..."
I cut her off barking, "Skirt. All my friends wear skirts. I want to fit in."
"Well, you may change your mind when the cold weather hits."
"I'll wear tights."
Mom cut me off, "I'll take her shopping this afternoon. We'll find just what she needs."
"Of course, she's free to use the girls restroom."
"Thank God," I said, "Have you seen the boy's restroom? It's truly a pig pen."
"Yes," she sighed, "I've seen it, but the girls room isn't that much better. Some of your... ahh... `sisters' can be pretty sloppy, too."
"At least they don't pee on the floor to win a bet."
Ms. Weston just shook her head and said, "Yes.. You have a lot to learn about just how gruesome young ladies from proper homes can be."
Ms. Weston went on, "Christy's not our first transgendered student. Three years ago, we had a young lady transitioning to become a boy. As it turns out, she'd been transitioning somewhat on the sly since the 10th grade, but didn't come out to her parents until she turned 18, in the 12th grade. Of course, with the way we allow young ladies to dress here, and some of the haircuts from some of our girls, her change in appearance wasn't remarkable. Christy will be our first male-to-female transition, and we're all looking forward to seeing how this works out."
That last part made me a bit queasy. I suddenly got the feeling that I was everyone's lab experiment. I could see myself being hauled up on some stage somewhere as proof of just how liberal my school was. I do all the work, and you get all the credit. Sigh... Yo no fully comprende, but what the hell.
We got up to leave, and I was about to bolt to potions... er... algebra class. Mom said, "I'll pick you up after school, and let's plan to go shopping."
I was always up for some first class shopping, although I could already picture that this was going to be fairly mundane `uniform' apparel. I got to class with about 3 minutes to spare, and Brie was right there, patting her hand in my seat and mouthing, "tell mama everything."
"Good news. Starting today, I'm Christy." I wasn't really sure what that meant, other than the teacher calling a slightly different name in the roll call. "Tomorrow, I start looking like a Christy."
"Oh goodie! We get to play dress-up!"
"Well, not so fast, sister-wife. We're all stuck in the khaki jungle. Other than some light makeup, and combing my hair a little different, oh, and a skirt rather than pants, I'm pretty much gonna look like what you see before you today. Only a little bit happier."
"Yeah, about that hair. We're gonna hafts do something `bout dat."
Sometimes Brie slipped into her native, inner-city patois. Strange, for a white girl from the `burbs who's grand-dad was on the Forbes 400 list, but who am I to judge, right?"
"My mom spent large on this hair weekend-before-last."
"And your mom was in the 9th grade... when... lemme guess, Nirvana was hot?"
"The Bangles, but yeah, I get your drift. Anyway, that's not my prob."
"Prob? You have a prob?"
"Yeah, I got the very real impression that the school was holding me up like their model trannie."
"I thought you didn't like that word."
"Yeah, and that's why I'm using it. Yeah, I can kinda see me on a poster of how liberal the school is. Me, and and Josh Johnson, and that girl in the wheelchair."
"Cynthia, and she broke her back skiing in Gstaad."
"Yeah. Proof of liberalism and inclusion." Josh Johnson was our token0 Nigerian kid. His father came over to this country with nothing but the shirt on his back and a bushel basket full of Nigerian oil leases. He drove a fucking Bugatti. His picture was in the fucking promo literature as proof of the school's inclusion. Oh, and his Dad donated the science lab.
Just then, our teacher called the class to order. Our cohort of 9th graders had taken advanced math in the 8th grade, which was essentially the normal 9th grade algebra curriculum, except for some strange reason having to do with arcane state law, this class, which was really algebra II stuff, had to be called algebra I. Anyway, she called the roll (I dunno why -- it was obvious every seat was full) and called Christy' when she got to my name. I yelled a little bit louder, here' and nothing happened. The earth didn't crack open. The sky didn't fall. There were no earthquakes. It would appear -- and maybe I'm exaggerating here -- that all of the warnings in the press about the societal demise that would follow letting a 9th grader transition from boy to girl MAY have been a tad overstated.
Then she said, "today, we're going to introduce functions." Everyone groaned, apparently not the first time she'd heard a 9th grade class groan.
The next four classes went... well.. well. In Spanish, I became Christina' rather than Christobal'. Three roll calls and a free period, three shoulder shrugs.
Lunch was a non-event. We gathered at our normal sister-wives location, and everyone just acknowledged that I was now Christy. We all talked about yesterday's quizzes, changing uniforms to blazers when the cold weather hit (two weeks? three?). Finally, Madison broke the ice and asked when I'd switch to girl uniforms. I told them the whole story about the meeting with Ms. Weston and my fear that the school was just using me to brag about how progressive they were. It was Emma-red who cured me, though. She said, "So?"
"So?" I replied.
"Yeah. So. Let em. The more they want to use you as their display model, the more you can get away with. Every time they fuck with you, play the poor little trannie card' and you get out of jail free."
Brie shook her head. "I think you can maybe play that card once or twice. Maybe. Look, we're all here for you and we've got your back, so if anyone starts to fuck with you, we've all got your back. But, sister, you've got to play the long game, here. And yes, you're now officially our little dress up doll."
With that, we didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but we did know lunch was over and I had English and Spanish and CompSci in front of me. All five of us were in the same cohort so took classes together except Brie took French for some reason. When classes ended, Mom was waiting in the car with a big package of three `girl' shirts from the school store.
She said, "Since Fall is just around the corner, I figured three would carry you. We'll get you more in the Spring. Now, let's go to Nordstrom and get you some skirts and tights.
And that's how the day ended. Suddenly, shopping for girl clothes was the norm. I went home, ate some dinner, did way too much homework, and headed to bed, super happy.
Note to self: i couldn't sleep, so I typed this binge watching old episodes of Grey's Anatomy. Mom told me she watched that show religiously while she was nursing me. Go figure... Am I Meredith? Christina? Izzy? Sure, Yang is my namesake, but she's too much of a perfectionist. I'm really more of an Izzy.
P.S. Written early Thursday morning.... I still couldn't sleep, I was so excited and happy. I pulled out my new toy', folded a pillow like Brie described, straddled it, and let my mind wander to a place where I was 69-ing' some buff guy. That took me exactly where I needed it to, and I dreamt some most wonderful dreams.