Chapter 15: The Decision
Moira Vernon was a tall, plump, thirtyish woman, who dressed stylishly, seductively accentuating her soft curves. Unlike many heavy women, her outfits did not cling tightly to her body, giving the impression that the fat was ready to burst the seams of a dress. Moira wore tasteful outfits that were loose, but tucked at the waist to outline her full hips and ample breasts. Her face was lovely, rounded with blue, smiling eyes. Altogether, Moira was a pleasure to view.

Kenny had grown to like the woman and looked forward to his twice-a-week visits to the Gender Clinic, where Moira worked as a graduate assistant and therapist. Dr. Bargmann assigned Miss Vernon to be Kenny’s therapist between his monthly visits with the doctor. Almost from his first visit, he felt comfortable sharing all of his thoughts with the handsome woman.

“How are things going with you at the dorm, dear?” Moira asked softly, halfway into the interview on their sixth visit in late October.

Kenny looked down and didn’t answer.

“Not so good it appears,” Moira continued, reaching over with her hand to lightly touching Kenny’s, as he sat opposite the therapist on a couch.

“No, Miss Moira,” he said. “The other night, they hung a bra on the door. They’re so hateful. I’m scared, so scared now. I hate to think of going into the halls there.”

He began crying; actually it was more a sniveling whimper. He felt so humiliated at how pathetic he must sound to the confident women therapist.

“Have they ever hurt you, dear?”

Though his sniffles, Kenny answered, “Yes. They tried once to rape me.”

It was the one piece of his history that he had been reluctant to tell Moira. The experience was not only humiliating, but it brought back horrible, frightening memories. The memories had often visited him at night, causing him to curl up in bed and cry.

Finally, after prodding, he told of the night when Randy attempted to rape him, while the others encouraged him and shot out with disgusting comments so belittling to Kenny. He related how he was only saved from actual sexual raping by Robert, the boy who saved Kenny by challenging Randy’s assault.

“And then he tried to attack me on the path to the Union the next night, too,” Kenny continued.

“What stopped him?”

“Another, bigger boy came by and pushed him off,” Kenny said, a weak smile coming, as he recalled Gabe’s rescue.

“The other boy thought I was a girl, even though I was only wearing boy stuff then,” he added.

Moira smiled. “Did you like the idea that the other boy thought you were a girl?”

“Kinda, I guess. Actually he escorted me to the Union then and asked to see me again, and I did.”

“Have you told him the truth about yourself?”

“Yes, when he kissed me after the time we next met. I told him, not wanting to lead him on falsely. And he got mad, I guess, and left me.”

“Oh that’s too bad, Kenny,” Moira said. “But it’s always best to tell the truth when a friendship or a relationship is about to become ongoing.”

“Oh he got back to me a day or so later, still wanting to date me as Karen and we’ve had some time together. He’s altogether so sweet.”

Moira nodded her head, but then returned to the subject of rape.

“Why didn’t you report that attack in the dorm?” she asked.

“I was scared to,” he said. “Randy had all those friends in the dorm. I was afraid others would come after me. And besides, I knew it might cause them to be kicked out of school.”

“You were worried about them?”

“In a way, yes, but I was also scared about others attacking me.”

Moira got up from her side chair, and walked over to a small desk, retrieving a piece of paper.

“We need to get you out of that dorm, Kenny,” she said.

“But I can’t. I have a contract to stay through the year,” he explained.

“You don’t have to stay if you’re in fear, dear.”

Moira said that she would refer Kenny’s situation to the Gender Clinic’s social worker. “There’s a chance there’s a spot in a residence for transgendered girls that the LBGT group runs, and I’m sure we can get you out of that contract in the dorms after what you’ve suffered there.”

“Oh thank you, Miss Moira, thank you.”

“Well don’t get your hopes up,” she replied. “First we have to see if Dr. Bargmann will agree that you’re a prime candidate for transition and from what I’ve seen, you are.”

“Am I, do you think, Miss Moira?”

“Yes, honey. I see nothing but girl in you.”

*****
Every time he entered the resident hall, Kenny felt a thousand eyes were focused upon him, viewing his girlish mannerisms and demeanor with disdain, derision and disgust. Around each alcove and doorway, he feared the presence of Randy, or some other lout who might attack him and rape as if he were a tender wisp of a girl.

Admitting to Miss Moira that he was not strong enough to resist attack, he had broken into tears as he told how powerless he felt the night of the attack.

“Well, dear, you must be prepared for this like any other girl,” Moira said. “I’ve never faced such fears, maybe because I’m such a big girl and certainly not a cute little beauty like you.”

The therapist took Kenny hand into her own larger hand, and held it gently and firmly.

“First of all,” she began, “Girls like you need to realize what the weak points of a stronger person are and be ready to use that knowledge. First, of all, you know where to kick a guy if he gets fresh. Then, don’t be afraid to bite them hard and anywhere you can hurt them. Carry a police whistle or some other noisemaker and maybe even use pepper spray.”

“I’ve never liked to fight, Miss Moira,” he said.

“You may have to sometime, dear,” she said, patting his hand before letting it go.

Kenny felt a pang of fear as he considered the situation where he might have to do violence to another human being, even someone as reprehensible as Randy. Could he somehow muster up the strength to act firmly, he wondered.

Moira gave Kenny a can of pepper spray and a police whistle to put in his backpack, and to take one of them out of the pack if he felt he was entering an area where he might be attacked.

“Just have it at the ready, dear,” she warned. “A girl can’t be too careful.”

“Thank you, Miss Moira,” he said, hoping he’d never have to use it.

Only a few hours later, Kenny pulled the whistle out of his backpack as he walked through the wooded area on the approach to the dormitory. He took Miss Moira’s warnings seriously, remembering her warnings: “A girl can’t be too careful.”

“Here she comes,” she heard the voice coming out from a group of five boys who had gathered on the front steps of the dormitory.

He tried to ignore the hoots and whistles that accompanied his steps toward the dormitory. He made no pretense at attempting to appear masculine, and walked in the short, quick steps that he knew provided a feminine sway to his hips.

Kenny moved past the group of boys, even though one of them, a short, stocky lad with a dark, unshaven face and a tangle of heavy black hair on his head move in front of him, as if to block his way. Kenny dodged to a side and sprinted up the steps, ready to blow his whistle.

“Get out of my way,” he tried to say loudly and firmly, but was shocked to hear his voice come out as girlish squeal.

“All I want is a kiss,” the boy said, appearing that he was about to grab Kenny.

Kenny panicked, putting the whistle to his mouth, but getting only a breathy sound as he blew on it ineffectively. The boy moved closer, so close that Kenny smelled his pizza-scented breath.

“No,” Kenny screeched in fear, and in an instant did the only thing he could think of doing: he kicked the boy in the genitals.

It was a weak, almost pathetic kick, but it apparently hit the boy in the most vulnerable area, and he doubled up, letting out a shout that brought laughter from the other boys. Kenny scampered up the steps, into the dorm, down the hall, frantically opening up his room door, and charging inside, locking the door firmly behind him. He fell face down on his bed and cried uncontrollably.

*****
“What’s the use of it all?” Kenny began writing into a diary he had purchased recently. While shopping for school supplies he had fallen in love with the cover of the diary, composed of pink, purple, yellow and blue hearts.

It had been an impulse purchase, something he rarely did, having been disciplined by his mother to withstand such buying since the family finances were tight. It just seemed like a diary that a young lady might use to write her thoughts, and he imagined himself as Elizabeth, the girl in Pride and Prejudice, a book he had read three times over, writing by candlelight over her own thoughts.

Even for a young lady, the purchase of diaries — to be written in by hand — seemed to be hopelessly old-fashioned, but Kenny had been writing his thoughts in the diary each night since the purchase ten days earlier. On the title page, in a tiny, girlish script, he had neatly written in blue ink “Karen Jean Hansson” with his birth date, “June 22, 1994.”

It was as Karen that he wrote each night, usually sitting at his small desk with only a small desk lamp illuminating the room, wearing his nightie and having readied himself for bed. The past entries told of his encounters with Gabe and Angela, of his invitation and audition for the play and of his being accepted by the friends of Jenny as if he was one of the girls. Admittedly they were giggly and gushy entries, and he smiled as he wrote them.

This evening’s entry would be different. He wrote in his painstakingly slow and in precise letter formations. It was easy to read his entries.

“Oct. 22, 2012:

“What’s the use of it all? I feel so rejected and I cried and cried tonight, after again being attacked by boys and laughed at. I was told I was the best actress in the audition, but because I’m so different they won’t let me play the part.

“Why do I only enjoy girl stuff? Why do I only like girl clothes? Why do I feel I am a girl, but I’m not.

“I’ll never fit in. They say I can ‘become’ a girl. But I’ll never be a real girl, never able to bear children and to have a babe suckle at my breast.

“My dearest love, Mark, won’t have me, and, as sweet as Gabe is, I just don’t feel I love him. And even if I did, I know once his parents knew who I really was, they’d ruin it. Besides, I could never give them grandchildren.

“Angela, how fond I am of her, but she scares me. Her affection is so physical and I’m so weak in her arms.

“How can I stand to live this way?

“Oh mommy I love you so. Dearest mommy. Whatever happens, mommy, remember how much your daughter loves you.

“Karen.”

He cried himself to sleep that night, hating himself for feeling so sorry for himself; he knew people in much of the world would go to bed hungry; yet he was going to bed with a full tummy. He tried to think of all of the good things in his life; yet he cried and cried and finally slept.

*****
“What’s wrong, honey?” Jenny asked him as they finished their morning sociology class and headed to the Student Union for their morning coffee with the girls.

“Nothing,” Kenny said.

“You’ve been crying. I can tell,” Jenny said, grabbing Kenny’s arm and steering him to a bench along the path. The two sat together, with Jenny resting her hand on Kenny’s arm.

It was a cold October morning, and many of the trees were already barren, their leaves scattered about the ground; a cool wind blew in from the north off the lake, and most of the students scurried by along the path, braced against the wind hardly paying attention to what appeared to be two girls in hoodies sitting together on the bench.

In the few weeks since the two met, they had become close friends. Kenny realized that in confiding in Jenny and her boyfriend, Kevin, that both could keep a confidence. In turn, Jenny began sharing some of her most intimate thoughts and feelings to Kenny. In particular, Jenny told how “ugly” she thought she was compared to other girls, and she wondered why she had a boyfriend as handsome as Kevin.

Kenny reassured her sincerely that she was far from ugly, and was truly quite winsome and appealing. “I know Kevin loves you,” Kenny said several times, especially after an incident when Jenny complained her boyfriend was spending too much time with another girl classmate in apparent studying. “And that girl is prettier than me,” Jenny complained.

Quickly, Kenny and Jenny had developed a sisterly bond, often sealed with hugs as they shared their concerns about life. Kenny realized that Jenny’s questions that cold morning required answers.

“Your eyes are so red, Karen,” Jenny said, using Kenny’s girls name, as she usually did.

Kenny nodded, mumbling, “I had trouble sleeping last night.” It was only a half truth, of course, since his eyes were red from the heavy crying he did last night.

Jenny said nothing, but merely patted his arm, eventually removing her arm and wrapping it around Kenny’s thin shoulders, drawing him close to her in a warm sisterly hug.

“I’m such a freak,” he said finally.

Kenny poured out his feelings, telling Jenny everything he wrote in his diary, wondering if he did have a future.

“Why should I even live on, not sure if I’m a boy or a girl? I fit in neither world, Jenny. Oh, it’s so awful.”

He began crying again, as he finished.

Jenny held him tightly for a few minutes, and was quiet. The only sound came from the wind through the trees, the lapping of waves on the shoreline, the leaves rustling and occasional youthful chatter from other students as they passed.

“Oh darling,” Jenny said finally. “You’re Karen, dear. All Karen. All girl.”

It seemed to comfort Kenny.

“It’s cold,” he said. “Let’s join the other girls for coffee.”

“That’s better,” Jenny said. She kissed him. It was a kiss between two sisters. The two headed off for their morning coffee time.

*****
The morning coffee time with the girls at the Student Union (each school day from 10 to 11 a.m.) had become Kenny’s favorite time of the day, and Kenny’s morose feelings lifted as he approached with Jenny. Rarely had he felt so accepted by any group of young people as he did with this warm, cheery bunch of girls, none of which showed the slightest bit of vanity or false pride. After his first several sessions with the girls they all agreed it would make sense to use his girl’s name, Karen.

“We just think of you as one of the girls, Karen,” Tricia had said in explanation. “Is that all right if we call you that?”

Kenny remembered blushing in humiliation, having recognized how easily the girls had penetrated his true feelings. He nonetheless nodded that he’d like to be known by the group as “Karen.”

What fascinated Kenny the most was their interest in their studies, world affairs and the future of the life ahead; they were unapologetic over their apparent lack of fashion or traditional trappings of beauty. Few wore makeup beyond usually neutral shades of lipstick, light touches of mascara and simple hair stylings.

As was usual for her, Tracy, a somewhat overweight, tall girl, knitted each morning while she chatted with the others, and Kenny had watched her labor over a sweater she was trying to finish for her father as a Christmas gift. That morning, her hands moved haltingly with light green yarn as she worked on what appeared to be a sleeve for the sweater. Kenny could see the girl struggle, begin to lose patience and finally put the partially completed sleeve down in her lap with disgust.

“I’ll never finish this by Christmas,” she said angrily, interrupting Jenny as she was describing a particular point the sociology professor had made in the morning lecture.

“Just be patient, Trace,” Beverly, who was seated next to her, said.

Jenny looked at Kenny as the other two looked at Tracy’s knitting; finally she smiled.

“Maybe Karen here can help you out,” she said. “She won prizes at state fair for her knitting.”

The girls all looked at him in surprise. “You did?” Beverly asked.

Kenny nodded, growing red in embarrassment. He looked at Jenny, angry that she divulged this moment from his life, a moment that was both proud and humiliating at once.

“I know it’s strange for a boy,” he said. “And I was the only boy in the competition. One of mothers even said I shouldn’t get the prize, that it should only be open to girls.”

Kenny giggled nervously after revealing that incident, which may have been the first time in his life that he began to wonder if he truly should have been born a girl.

“Let me look at that,” he said finally, turning to Tracy, still holding the knitting project in her lap.

She handed him the partially finished sleeve and the two knitting needles; he examined the project.

“Your knits are a bit loose here,” he said, directing the Tracy’s eyes toward the offending location. He unraveled some of the knits, and said:

“You see this. Now watch what I do.”

Kenny slowly began to knit, holding the project up to the girl so that she could see how he did it. After a few knits, he asked if she understood, and the girl nodded with a smile. He continued with light, speedy action to complete a few rows, before handing the project back to Tracy.

“Thank you, thank you,” she gushed. “I don’t know if my big clumsy hands could do it like you, Karen, but I see now what I have to do.”

“Wow, I’ve never seen anyone knit so fast,” Beverly said.

“You have such dainty hands, Karen,” Tricia said.

Kenny nodded, turned to Tracy and said: “Trace, I’ll be glad to help you. I know you want to surprise your dad for Christmas.”

“You’re such a dear, Karen. I love you,” Tracy said, her broad face beaming.

Kenny smiled, recognizing that phrase was often used girl-to-girl as an expression of friendship and companionship. He was proud that this tall, awkward girl off of a Wisconsin dairy farm considered him her girlfriend.

*****
“Hi mom,” Kenny said into his cell phone a few days later.

It was past nine o’clock and he knew his mother by now would be relaxing after her day of work, preparing dinner and cleaning up afterward. Her job, now that she had been promoted, tired her out each day so that she’d likely be in bed by ten o’clock.

“Hi honey, how nice to hear from you,” she said, her voice growing with anxiety. “Is something wrong?”

“Why? Don’t you want me to call?”

“Gosh no, honey, it’s just that I usually hear from you only on weekends. I know how busy you’ve become.”

“I miss you, mother, and I even miss Sonny,” he began.

“You know, he misses you, too, Kenny. Really he does. You were always here for him when he got home. I’m afraid he’s becoming a latch-key kid.”

“But how’s the football team going?” Kenny asked, referring to the JV squad on which his brother played.

“He’s starting halfback now, and they’ve won every game.”

Kenny smiled, picturing his athletic little brother in his maroon and gold uniform. How strange, he wondered, that two boys, created by the same mother and father, could be so different!

“Mother,” he said. “I’ve got lots of news.”

“What is it? Good news I hope? You’re doing OK in school, aren’t you?”

“I think it’s all good news, and I think I’m doing OK in my classes, but we won’t know until the end of the semester when the grades come out.”

“OK.”

“Mother, I’ve got a job working at Professor Fenstom’s assistant during the play rehearsals. I’m actually getting paid for being what he calls a ‘script girl.’ Mainly I sit next to him during rehearsals, taking notes on what he says in directing the play, and he uses me to get things for him, including his coffee. The job begins the week before Thanksgiving and continues through the production. Maybe he’ll keep me on as an assistant next year, too.”

“Are you no longer going to be in the play?”

“Oh yes, mom, but my part is so brief, I can just pop up on the stage when my scenes come. He always asks my opinion on how the rehearsal is going. Mom he actually values my opinion.”

“Really, dear? That’s unusual, but it sounds like he values your opinion.”

“And, you need to tell Aunt Harriet that I have been helping a girl with her knitting project . . . she was trying to knit a sweater for her dad for Christmas . . . and, mother, all the stuff Aunt Harriet taught me . . . well, I guess I just dazzled everyone with how quickly I knitted. And this girl … her name’s Tracy . . . she’s from Winneconne . . . And tell Aunt Harriet about this; I think she’ll be so proud of me.”

“Oh Kenny, I’m feeling so strange about this,” his mother replied. “This just doesn’t seem right. You’re my son, darling.”

“Mother, please, don’t be worried. I’m really so happy now. Everything points to me being a girl. It’s the only way I’m happy.”

There was a pause.

“Mother? Are you alright?”

“Yes, honey, and I want you to do what makes you happy. That’s most important. I do know it’s going to be a rough time ahead.”

“I know, mother. Dr. Bargmann and the therapist have been clear about that, but I’m more happy as Karen . . . happier than I’ve ever been, and I’ve got friends now.”

“I can hear that in your voice, dear.”

“Dr. Bargmann says that he expects to start me on hormones after Christmas, and recommends I try to spend as much time as possible in my Karen mode. They’ve even arranged for me to move next week into a special house, away from the dorm.”

“But we’ve already paid for the school year, honey. We can’t afford new rent.”

“Mother, they’ve arranged to transfer the rent to the other place. I’ll be happier there, mother, I never fit in here.”

“What kind of place is it?”

“It’s called ‘Susan’s Place,’ named after Dr. Susan Planchet, a transgendered woman who became a prominent surgeon in sex transitioning. She was a graduate of the U.”

The conversation continued for a while, ending with Kenny telling his mother, “I think you better get used to calling me Karen from now on.”

“Kenny . . . ah . . . yes . . . my dearest Karen. My daughter.”

“Mother, I love you.”

“Karen, my dear . . .”

Her words were broken up by sobbing.

“Mother, mother, are you alright?”

“Yes, Karen, my daughter. I’m fine. I was just thinking how we could spend times together as mother and daughter. My beautiful daughter, Karen.”

Karen’s tears flowed as she ended the phone. Tears of joy.

*****
A day after my meeting with Professor Fenstrom, he messaged Kenny that he’d like to meet him for coffee at Java Jazz Coffee Shop at 4 p.m. the following afternoon. “I would like to suggest something to you, Karen,” he wrote.

The message bothered Kenny, since his hug at the end of the last meeting had seemed to be overly long. Even with her limited knowledge of male sexual desires, Kenny realized Fenstrom may have an inordinate interest in him. Moira had warned Kenny that sometimes men — older men in particular — may be particularly troublesome for a pretty girl, which apparently she was becoming.

Kenny broke off a scheduled date with Gabe believing it was necessary since Professor Fenstrom would have great influence on his chances for participating in future plays and being accepted into Theater School (even for a minor degree).

Gabe was Ok with cancelling, but when he told him why, he got mad. “You’re going to meet that Professor? I just don’t trust him, Karen,” using Kenny’s girl’s name as he always did.

“Oh I can handle myself, Gabe.”

“Maybe you need me tailing along when you are with him,” he suggested, half in jest.

“No, Gabe. Don’t you trust me?” Kenny asked.

“Yes, but I don’t trust him.”

He assured Gabe she would be Ok, largely since the meeting would be in a public place.

Since the weather had turned cold the next afternoon, Kenny dressed as dowdy as she could, wearing sweat pants and hoody under a boy’s winter jacket.

The professor beat her to Java Jazz, and was seated at a table for two at the rear corner of the room. He spied her as she entered, getting up from his seat, with broad grin, and yelling “Karen, over here.”

He took the boy’s slender hand in an old-fashioned manner and directed him in a courtly way to a seat.

“My you’re so cute, Karen, regardless of what you wear,” he said.

Kenny found herself playing along, flirtatiously responding in a coy girlish tilt of his head and a cooing, “Thank you.”

The professor, however, did not continue the charade, turning almost immediately to business and offering Kenny a job to be an assistant for the duration of the play’s rehearsals, paying him under the University’s work-study program at $2 above the hourly minimum wage.

He explained he contacted Stanton McIver from the Shakespeare Summer Camp program to learn more about him, and the McIver had been impressed with Kenny’s commitment to the theater and my work ethic. “I need someone like you to help keep me organized,” he said.

Kenny’s computer skills were more than adequate for his needs, he said. Under the plan he would work from 4 to 7 p.m. Monday through Thursday, plus most Saturdays, either at the rehearsal hall, or at his home studio, located in walking distance off campus.

The professor seemed to be most professional in his approach that afternoon and seemed sincerely to want someone like me for the job. Kenny needed the money, so he accepted the offer.

*****
The move to Susan’s place was made on November 1st, made possible by Dr. Bargmann’s intervention with the university housing program. He wrote a letter urging that Kenneth Hansson be refunded the balance of his rent for the year since the university was unable to provide safe housing. The letter said:

“Mr. Hansson has been physically attacked several times in the hallways of his dormitory, including a bust-in to his own room. He has also been restrained by two different residents of the dormitory who threatened to rape him. In addition, he has been constantly harassed and humiliated by items that have been hung onto his dormitory room door.

“Mr. Hansson has been diagnosed — after intensive examination — to experience gender dysphoria, or gender identity disorder, and will begin treatment to begin living as a female on January 1.

“The Gender Clinic has arranged for safe housing for Mr. Hansson effective November 1.”

The university, obviously fearing a law suit, sent the chief of the campus police to meet with the dormitory’s manager and with Kenny. They asked Kenny to give them his daily schedule, telling him that they’d alert police to pay attention to his activities and be close at hand to protect him in the time left at the dorm. He was given a special phone number to call if he felt threatened.

In addition, the dorm’s male residents were summoned to a special meeting and given a brief training on how to respect differences among the residents. They were warned that any further incidents of harassment to any student would mean expulsion from the university.

While Kenny was not mentioned as the victim, all the dorm residents knew he was the “different” person involved. It didn’t make his last few days at the dormitory any easier, since the boys either avoided him or snickered as he past.