A story of luck and pluck, good and evil, honesty and hypocrisy, and of a boy who gets by with a little help from her friends. Second of three parts.
© 01.2008 by Daphne Laprov
XX
Bing-bong! Jason was in the kitchen. Mom had left for work. He was cleaning up after their breakfast when the doorbell rang insistently. It was Shelly. “I rode my bike all the way over here to see my friend Jayne. I think it would be fun for Jayne to hang out at the pool.” Shelly pushed her way in. “Why didn’t you phone me? Aren’t you my friend anymore? What happened to your beautiful curls?”
“Wait a sec, Shelly.” Jason organized his thoughts. “One, your parents don’t want me anywhere near you; Two, I don’t know what you are planning but I think it’s about you, not me; Three, I love my mom and dad and they’d both have a cow if they saw me in a dress; Four, I don’t know who I am and I need time to think it out. Am I your friend? Yes, because I can’t help it!”
“OK, work it out,” says Shelly. “No biggie! My parents and your parents don’t have to know if Jayne goes swimming with her buddy Shelly. Now let’s go. I brought you a bathing suit and cap. You can wear the wig while you’re out of the water. Do you still have it, silly?” Shelly knew how to melt Jason.
Half an hour later, Shelly and Jayne had stashed their bikes, claimed a spot on the preppies’ side of the pool and were slathering on suntan oil.
“Jayne, even though your tits are foam rubber, you are a pretty darn sexy twelve, aren’t you?” Shelly was probing. When someone’s emotions get badly bruised, she figured, they need sympathy and a while to repair. Well, Jayne had had the time off, almost three weeks. Time for him, er, her to rise to greatness.
Jason was feeling uncomfortable, way out of place in the Atkinson’s posh club. He took a deep breath and replied without raising his voice “Why don’t you just shut the fuck up? I was doing fine until you decided to raise me out of the gutter!”
“Maybe,” she said with a grin, “I should call you Eliza, not Jayne. Like Eliza Doolittle. Dorky little boy turns into hottie chick.”
Jason rolled over onto his chest, arms under his head. He glared morosely at the mob of kids playing in the water. Oil squirted onto his back, then he felt Shelly’s hands kneading it into his shoulders, neck, spine. No, I’m not going to be her robot again, thought Jason. She thinks she can wrap me around her little finger. Mmm that feels good . . . . Jason closed his eyes.
“That feels good, doesn’t it Jayne? . . . Jayne? Doesn’t it feel good, Jayne?”
Something was strange. Shelly’s stupid giggle had moved to right in front of him. Whose hands were on his back? Jason opened his eyes and catapaulted to a defensive crouch.
“Hey, don’t freak out! I was just giving my girlfriend a back rub.” Matt was grinning from ear to ear. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”
The truth was that Jason was very happy to see Matt. He knew right away it was true because it wasn’t a matter of conscious thought but a surge of happy feelings. “Yeah, I am. A lot.”
Shelly remembered that she had to go sign up for an aerobics class. Matt stretched himself out on Shelly’s towel. Jason was surprised at how lanky Matt seemed. “Were you this tall before, at the beach?”
“My mom says I’ve grown about two inches already this summer — and four inches since Easter. I’ll need all new clothes for school. Funny, in sixth grade I was the smallest kid in the class.
“You’re still cute as a bug, Jayne.”
“A bug? Yew, gross!”
“Oh, that’s just something my grandpa says. Don’t take it litter . . . literally. You’re just the way I remembered you, except that your hair is different. After you had to go back home, I kept wishing I had a picture to remember you by. I was afraid . . . well, Shelly wasn’t sure you’d want to see me again.”
The way Matt talked gave Jason the shivers. How could he not want to see Matt every day? How could he help not dream of Matt’s goofy grin? A stiffening of his weenie confirmed Jason’s feelings. Afraid to look, he smoothed the skirt of his bathing suit to cover the crotch.
“Matt, honey. . . . Can I call you that? I’ve missed you too. Every day. But there’s a problem. Did Shelly tell you?”
“No, she just said you were evading contact. So we hatched this plan. I guess it worked. Sure, call me ‘Honey’ if you like. Call me anything you like.”
“I’ll bet you wouldn’t like it if I called you ‘Mildred,’” said Jason with a wink.
“Hello? That’s a girl’s name. Uh, Jayne? What’s the problem Shelly didn’t tell me about?”
“My parents are . . . kind of old fashioned. We spend a lot of time at church. They don’t want me to have anything to do with boys.” So far, Jason was telling the literal truth. “Not for now, anyway.” His last statement was more of a hope. “So I have to keep us a secret. Maybe I can see you sometimes, but I can’t see you very often.”
Jason waited for Matt to answer. He felt awkward, but he knew he’d feel a lot more awkward if Matt saw him as Jason, not Jayne. A thought zapped through his mind: if Matt knew I was a boy, he’d probably beat the living shit out of me!
Matt at last spoke. “Um, Jayne — that’s OK with me. I don’t want you to get in trouble. I would never do anything to hurt you.”
Jason felt so happy he could hardly stand it. “C’mon! Let’s swim for a while,” he said, giving Matt a friendly punch.
Matt responded to this affectionate gesture by throwing Jason into the pool and cannonballing in next to him.
They were cuddling in a corner of the pool when Shelly found them an hour later. “Either of you lovebirds hungry yet? I’m starving!”
XXI
Matt was wolfing down a hamburger and a plate of fries. Shelly was finishing a big slice of pizza. Brooding on the suddenness of Matt’s growth spurt, Jason was barely nibbling on a tuna fish sandwich.
Jason and Matt had filled Shelly in on their plans. She’d been unable to suppress a giggle, but didn’t let on to her surprise when Jason replayed Jayne’s explanation to Matt about her ‘parent problem.’ As Jason expected, Shelly volunteered to help. She’d be the go-between so Matt wouldn’t have to phone Jayne’s house. She’d help Jayne figure out how to get loose.
“Um, Matt, wait here for a moment, won’t you? In fact, please clear the table for us. Jayne and I will be right back. C’mon, Jayne.” Picking up her pocketbook, Shelly headed for the women’s locker room. Jason had no choice but to follow. As soon as they got inside, Shelly doubled over with laughter. Jason couldn’t help laughing out loud either. Two women looked around to see what was so funny. “Kids!” said one to the other, chuckling, as Jayne and Jason disappeared into the bathroom.
“Omigod it went perfect,” Shelly gasped.
“Shel, I am so happy right now. I don’t even want to think about where this is going to go! Thanks for being a friend. Uh, can I borrow your lipstick?”
A moment or two more passed in primping and plotting. Then the two women observed two giggling girls returning to the scene of their triumph. “Darn, I wish I was young and cute again like that” said the other to the one.
Matt was waiting patiently to say goodbye. He was out for football, and practice had already started three afternoons each week. Jason gave him a chaste kiss and whispered a promise that they’d meet again soon.
As Matt disappeared up the path, Shelly fished around in her purse and pulled out pearly nail polish. “OK, stick up your toes, girl friend.”
“Shelly, I can’t do that.”
“Who sez? This is my reward for being so smart as to get you two back together.”
It seemed to Jason then, and long afterward, that Shelly got her kicks by pushing him beyond his comfort zone. He was right.
XXII
Jason finished Mrs. Holloway’s lawn, collected his two bucks, biked to the drugstore for some acetone to take off the polish on his toenails, and then down to the Comic Shop with a dollar left. Eric waved it away. “Darla says it’s on the house, kid, as long as you’re doing research.”
Hours passed. Jason was reading someone’s site about “successful transgender women” when he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Eric. “Hey, c’mon up for air! Lunch is ready. You have to eat my chili.”
Darla was there for lunch, too. “I heard you were coming, so I got myself dressed to celebrate,” said she, a very believable she except for the baritone voice. “Jason, you’re gawking again!”
“Well, uh, I’m awful sorry but you really are like a woman. Your clothes are real pretty. That’s not all, though. It’s uh, body language isn’t it?”
“Kid, as transgenders go, I do it pretty well considering the disadvantages of my misspent youth. I hardly ever get read. You know what “read” means?”
“Probably not what I’m thinking,” said Jason, not wanting to seem either stupid or conceited.
“‘Read’ is when somebody figures out that you aren’t what you are trying to seem to be. It’s an interesting situation, normally embarrassing for everyone. Sometimes, though, it gets real ugly.”
“Darla, if you were a kid again — like me — would you tell your mom and dad that, uh, you really, uh, . . .
“ . . . feel I’m a girl? Or mostly a girl?” Darla finished Jason’s sentence. “Sweetheart, there’s never been a doubt in my mind. Not since kindergarten. Probably not in theirs, either. So why should I hold back? But I did. And when I finally came out to my parents, they threw me out of the house.”
“Dad, let me butt in,” said Eric. “Darla, or Earl, is a good dad. He didn’t want to do anything to screw me up. He thought that meant staying married to my mom. She died almost five years ago. I was nine going on ten at the time.
“Now I get to choose who I want to live with. I go visit my grandmom a few weeks every year, but I’d rather be with my dad.” Eric blew his dad a Gothic kiss. “How’s the chili?
Jason’s cue. He was impressed that Eric could cook chili from scratch. He started to ask if Eric farted a lot, but realized that that was the kind of thing that dorky little boys ask, so he simply said “you sure make good chili!”
“Want some more?”
“Uh, frankly, no. I love it, but I don’t want to start a growth spurt.”
“That’s what’s bothering you now, is it, hon” asked Darla.
XXIII
School was only three weeks away now, and Jason felt ill thinking about it. That he’d get stomped on again by the Apes was a certainty. This time it wouldn’t be a surprise, so maybe, just maybe, he’d handle it better. “The important thing’s not to cry. Once you cry, they own you.”
Three times more, Jason had hooked up with Matt. The first time he’d met Shelly first. They’d changed at the pool and all three kids swam and chilled together there. The second time he’d changed into Jayne at the pool and then met Matt at the Cineplex. He’d chosen a goofy romantic movie and Jayne loved him more for that. In fact, Jayne could hardly love Matt more. He’d bought double dip ice cream afterwards — pistachio and butter rum for her and triple Dutch chocolate for himself.
Alone in his bed, Jason wondered about his feelings for Matt. It seemed that he couldn’t imagine loving Matt except if he was Jayne. If he was just Jason, it didn’t feel right, in fact he didn’t feel a thing, but if he put on Jayne’s clothes just in his head, Jason’s weenie stiffened and all Jayne could think about was being kissed by Matt.
Matt was a good kisser, getting better all the time. Jayne was beginning to worry if she could keep Matt to that. On their third date SSS (since Shelly’s surprise), which wasn’t really a date date, Jayne had phoned Matt from the Comic Store. They’d arranged to meet after football practice. He’d given her directions on how to get to his school on the bus.
Jason had strapped the suitcase on the back of the bike. He was changing clothes in the bathroom of the store when Earl knocked on the door. “I have a present for Jayne,” he said, “for luck,” he said, handing in a box. Inside was a pair of double-A silicone breast forms. “It’s a trade sample,” he explained. “Supposed to fill me out. But I don’t need them anymore.”
It felt natural to be hanging out with a bunch of junior high football girlfriends waiting for practice to be over. Some were cheerleaders; most weren’t. There were a lot more football players than cheerleaders at Matt’s school, it seemed.
“So, who’er you waiting for,” one asked, giving Jayne a lookover because she was a new body. “A guy named Matt,” Jayne answered. Jayne was happy. It was impossible to hold back a grin.
“Matt LiPietri? Him? You’re da bomb he hooked up with?” She gave Jayne a closer look, frankly impressed.
“Well, mostly we’re just talking. But it might go somewhere if I’m lucky.” Jayne crossed her fingers behind her back.
“Damn’ right, girl. And you know what, he has one big crush on you.”
Matt came up behind them. “Hey, Suze. You telling Jayne all my secrets?”
“No way. Come to the kickoff dance, Jayne. Tell you then.” Suzie headed off to reel in her current fave. Matt gave Jayne a surprisingly gentle hug for a guy who’d just been slamming into other guys. Just out of the locker room, Matt reeked of deodorant.
“Matt, you shouldn’t use so much deodorant. I want to smell some of you,” murmured Jayne.
“Yes, ma’am. C’mon, let’s go for a walk. If we go over that hill, you can catch a bus home on Dorsey Boulevard.” Matt knew Jayne had to be home before her mom finished work.
To the extent that necking and squeezing is eventful, it was an eventful walk. The breast forms were wonderful. They felt real. Jayne let Matt squeeze all he wanted, only brushing away his big hands when they tried to wander inside her shirt. She felt his bone-hard willy when he pressed up against her skirt. Something told Jayne not to go there, at least not yet.
“Jayne?” said Matt. “Do you think you could go with me to our Kickoff Dance? It won’t be until September, uh, 23rd. A Saturday night. After the game.”
There. Jayne had been warned it was coming. What to do? “Yes,” she said, guided by a natural impulse. “I’ll figure something out.”
XXIV
There again. The clock was ticking. A month and a couple of days to sort this thing out.
Jason asked Earl. He said Jason should do something. Earl wouldn’t offer an opinion as to whether Jason should talk to a guidance counselor at school or to his parents, but the worst thing to do was /i>nothing.
Actually, it just happened one night after dinner. Jason had dried the dishes while his mom washed, which was the usual thing when his dad was away on a trip. “Jase,” his mom said. “I haven’t measured you for a long time. Let’s see if you’ve grown any.”
She got out the ruler, backed him against the wall and drew a line. “Lord be praised. You’ve grown an inch this summer!”
Jason couldn’t help the tears. First they filled up his eyes and then burst the dikes and overflowed his face. Mom hovered, unsure what this meant. Feeling like a little kid, Jason hugged her waist as far as his arms could reach and buried his face in her ample breasts.
“Jason, honey! You’re not happy to finally get your growth spurt? C’mere and sit. Explain this to Mama. What’s eating you?”
It spilled out like Jason’s tears, first a trickle, then a flood. How miserable he’d been in 7th grade. How scared he was that 8th grade would be even worse. No one would want to be his friend while the apes pushed him around, called him fay-rie and little girl. He used to like school; now he hated it.
“And you know what, Mom. The apes are right. I am a little girl, inside. I feel that way. I’ve always liked to do girl stuff better — art and music and writing. Cooking with you. Nobody beats up on a girl if she’s smart in class. Last year I deliberately made mistakes. I pretended to be dumb. Sometimes I didn’t turn in my homework on purpose. I thought it might help me fit in.”
Betty Lou Baldwin nodded. She’d seen her son’s grades go into the toilet the last year. So that was why. She waited for Jason to say more.
“Mom? I want to be a girl.”
This is a Test that God has sent me, thought Betty Lou. Through a mist that she realized were her own tearing eyes, she saw before her a little boy in shorts and a tee, a tear-streaked face and the short haircut she’d insisted he get. A sweet little boy who’d never taken to fishing or messing around with motors as his dad had hoped. Who’d always helped with the dishes, who used to sing in such a lovely, piping voice, who loved to play dolls with that neighbor girl before she moved away. Who’d learned lately to keep himself clean and his room picked up.
“Honey, first of all, I love you no matter what. So does your Dad, though he has a harder time saying that. We’ve seen you suffering, and wondered why. I guess I didn’t realize how much you were being hurt. Thank you for telling me.
“But, Jason, you’re a boy. God gave you all the boy parts. In due course, He’ll let you grow up, too. You’ll be quite handsome, and the teasing will stop, I’m sure of that. In fact, I’ll bet you’ll have to fight off the girls.”
Jason was not at all cheered up by that thought. “God played a dirty trick, Mom. He gave me the body of a boy and the brain and feelings of a girl. And for that the preacher says I’m going to Hell!”
“Aw pooh, Jason! I don’t believe that Abominations stuff. Neither does your father. And I’ll bet you Frank Prentiss doesn’t either. But look here, sweetheart. When I was in the hospital after losing your baby sister, and afterward at home convalescing, I saw some of those transsexual people on Jerry Springer. Every one of them looked and sounded just like a man in a dress.”
Jason remembered his mother’s miscarriage, and how she’d had to have part of her insides removed, and especially how she’d grieved for months afterward for the little girl she’d lost.
“Mom? Listen! This is important. It doesn’t have to be like that! That’s why I’m scared of having a growth spurt! Sometimes kids like me are allowed to take hormones so they don’t grow up right away. And later on, if they are sure, they can change their sex, with hormones and after that an operation. And then they look just the way they feel.
“That’s what I want, more than anything in the world. I want to be your daughter.”
XXV
Jason and his mom talked a lot that night. He told her about Shelly Atkinson and the trip to the beach. He told her about Earl and Eric. Matt he kept a secret. He told her about the suitcase hidden underneath the Christmas decoration boxes, that held the girl clothes Shelly’d given him.
Jason asked what name she’d planned give his little sister, if she’d lived to be born. “Edith,” Betty Lou said softly, “after my grandmom.”
“My girl name’s ‘Jayne,’ Mom. I think I’d like to become Jayne Edith Baldwin, if that’s OK with you.”
Betty Lou got a notebook and a pen. She wanted to remember all the details, she said. She wasn’t too worried about Bud; he loved Jason and when he thought about it, would want what made Jason happy. Betty Lou wondered if she could ever call her son Jayne as though he’d never been Jason. The idea of going to Jason’s school to talk to the guidance counselors made her uneasy. But it had to be done. Maybe Bud would go with her — perhaps day after tomorrow, when he got home again.
Betty Lou said she wanted to ask a favor. She knew Jason didn’t approve of her spending time with the Reverend Prentiss. She wasn’t too proud of it either, but she hoped maybe Jason could let it go enough to quit reminding his dad. “I love your daddy, Jason, but there’s some things he can’t give me, and Frank can. You’re not the only person whose life is complicated.”
Jason just smiled. She could see he was exhausted, and so she urged her little boy up the stairs. When he didn’t resist, she tucked him in.
“Mommy,” he said, fighting off sleep, “I’m so glad I don’t have to pretend to be a boy anymore. G’nite.”
She kissed his cheek. “G’nite, princess.”
XXVI
Jason woke early. He could hear his mom in the shower. She was up early, too. He opened the closet door, moved the Christmas boxes, pulled out the suitcase, and rummaged around until he found some shorts and a cami top that almost matched.
He’d made his mom’s coffee, poured some juice and had a bun in the toaster oven when she came downstairs. “Jason! Thank you. My, don’t you look sweet? Would you rather I call you Jayne?”
“So, it wasn’t a dream at all, was it, Mom? Uh, call me whatever you like. What time will Dad be back?”
Maybe three, Betty Lou thought. Or maybe late. She hoped he’d call. She wanted to talk to Bud before he started in on the beers. “I don’t know when, Jason. I’ll see if I can get home early today myself. We’ll have steak tonight to celebrate,” she added, rummaging a package from the freezer.
XXVII
Jason had almost finished a list of things he wanted to tell the guidance counselor when Shelly showed up. He’d signed his name at the top. “What’s this, O wow, Edith! Is that name lame or what?”
“I like it,” Jason replied. “Jayne Edith Baldwin. The Edith is for my great-grandmother. And by the way — I told my mom everything last night. She’s OK with it.”
You really did that? I can hardly believe it! Y’know, my dad says there is something very weird about you.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re not supposed to want to be a girl! My dad says that some men do end up like that, but it’s only because they’ve been forced to by their moms or aunts or girl friends! I didn’t force you to do anything!”
Um, Jason had an epiphany. He realized what District Attorney Art Atkinson did in his spare time. Got off on those dumb tg story websites. . . .
“So, Jayne Edith, old girl, d’ya want to go out somewhere,” Shelly asked. “Maybe to the mall?”
“Nah, I’ll brew you a cuppa tea right here, Miz Shelly. And then you have to go. My dad could come home any time.”
Shelly could tell it was a sobering thought. “He doesn’t know yet, huh?” She thought about her own dad’s reaction to just being near Jayne. Her dad was a lot better educated than Jason’s dad, and he was a sure thing to be elected mayor in November. “Oh, I wanted to show you. . . . I guess I’ll just tell you. You know the big billboard on Center Street? Guess whose pictures are on it? Me and my mom and dad!”
“So he’s running, is he,” Jason asked politely, wishing Shelly would just leave so he could think.
She took the hint and skipped the tea. Jason went upstairs and changed into a boy’s shirt. Then he went back to writing in the notebook.
I don’t want to shock my dad. What I wear doesn’t matter. It’s how I feel inside, if I feel OK about myself and if other people feel OK about me. Mamma’s right about him loving me. Still, he gets mad awful fast. I wonder what he’d think of Earl? I wonder if I should become a Goth chick? No, Matt would hate that!
XXVIII
Fortunately for Betty Lou, it was a light day at the office. Before the waiting room filled up, she’d called the late girl and asked her to come in at two-thirty instead of four. Then she managed to reach someone at Jason’s school who made her an appointment with the 8th grade guidance counselor for next Tuesday morning — five days away, two full weeks before the first day of school. That should give them plenty of warning, she thought. She filled out a leave request form. I’ll take off the whole day, spend some time with my new daughter.
She wondered where she could get more information. Of course, she knew Jason wasn’t just making it up, but maybe he was seeing what he wanted to see. She rang home. “Jase, what was that website you mentioned, the one for teens?” Betty Lou wrote it down. There would be time at lunch to check it out. She’d eat at her desk and try not to get crumbs in the keyboard.
XXIX
Bud’s ratty old TransAm was in the driveway when Betty Lou got home. He was finishing up a box of fried chicken with a little help from Jason. “Hey, Betts, what’s with my friend here? He’s been acting like the cat that swallowed the canary. Says you’ll explain.”
She joined them at the kitchen table. “Jase, take away this box and stuff and then come sit with us. You need to help me explain.
“Bud, I don’t know where else to start, so I’ll start at the beginning, and you please just listen. Then you can ask all the questions you want. We can talk all night if we have to, or until you can’t stay awake anymore. You’re not too tired, are you baby?”
“No, Charlie Steele rode back with me. We dropped a trailer in Columbus, and then he drove the last leg bobtail while I got caught up on my sleep. So give. What’s the mystery?”
“The mystery’s solved. We know what’s been eating at Jason. He’s miserable being a boy. He wants to be a girl real bad, honey.”
“Holy shit! That right, Jason?” Jason, who was rinsing the dishes, nodded slowly. He held his breath. “C’mere. Yeah, all the way over here.” Bud put his arms around his kid and pulled him close. “I don’t know why, but this makes some sense. I had a feeling it was going to be something I can’t handle. I can deal with this if you and your mom can. Just don’t get pregnant till you finish college.”
“This is serious, Bud. It’s not a joke. Look at him!”
Jason was crying again — tears of joy that wouldn’t quit, wrapped in his Dad’s hug.
XXX
“Honey, you still awake?”
“Yeah, I can’t sleep. Jase is awful happy, but this won’t be as easy as he hopes. . . . Maybe we should say she from now on, what do you think? . . . Anyway, if Jason couldn’t get accepted as a boy last year, should we believe the same bunch of kids are going to be comfortable with Jayne?
“He — she — says the real trouble was a fairly small group of boys, the ones, uh, she calls the Apes. Once they’d singled Jason out, everybody else just got out of the line of fire.”
“Were you happy in junior high?”
“I hated it half the time. That was when my parents were breaking up, remember? I felt like that made me defective. Fortunately, I had a few friends. Felicia and Rosemary, especially. They kept me sane.”
“She’s right, you know. . . .”
“Who?”
“Jase. If you like yourself, you’ll be OK in the end. Jayne’s the self he, er she, likes. She’s a different person when she’s into her Jayne self.”
XXXI
The guidance counselor was neither as friendly as Betty Lou Baldwin had hoped nor as hostile as she had feared. “She’s a different person when she’s into her Jayne self,” she heard herself saying.
“To sum up, then, Ms Baldwin, you want Franklin Junior High to welcome Jason back in whatever guise he chooses to present himself? And that includes presenting himself as a female?”
“No. That’s not what I’ve been saying. I’ve been saying that he’s been working through some very difficult issues, and what I want the school to do is to protect him against harrassment by other kids.”
“Do you think that would be likely — if he presents as a boy?”
Was the woman being deliberately dense? “My son got the shit kicked out of him last year. Every day before class. Sometimes at lunch, sometimes after school He was physically and emotionally battered. And you are telling me that not one teacher found a need to file a report on Jason or refer him for counseling?”
“I’ve looked at his file, Ms Baldwin. Jason is described as immature and a bit of an underachiever. There’s one note about his lacking social skills — that of course could refer to what you were saying. . . .”
“Tell me, Miss . . . uh”
“Croynberg”
“Miss Croynberg, you are going to finish with me and then you are going to talk with . . Jayne, and then you are going, no doubt, to write a note for your files. What else are you going to do?
“Um, I’m going to talk with Jason’s homeroom teacher in particular. I’ll speak to the Assistant Principal. We’ll set up an evaluation by Dr. Schenk; he’s the school system’s psychologist. As soon as we have his report, I’d like to meet Jason.
“Are you going to protect Jase — him or her as the case may be — from harassment?
Guidance Counselor Croynberg put on a you-can’t-please-everybody-but-you-can-try-kind of smile. “Well, we have to admit, don’t we, that your son’s behavior has brought a large part of this so-called harassment down on himself?”
Betty Lou sat very still, counting to ten while she struggled for self-control. “Since when is it school policy to blame the victim? I cannot believe you actually said that! I refuse to believe that you think that!
Angela Croynberg, brand-new in her job, had to admit that Mrs Baldwin was right.
XXXII
Angela did what the school counselors’ handbook told her to do. She put notes in the file, cc to Assistant Principal Jack Reardon and Principal Sylvia Stanton. She set up an appointment for Jason with the psychologist. Then she picked up the phone and called Richard Spittle, listed in the handbook as the school district’s lawyer.
Spittle took notes and inquired as to whether Miss Croynberg had yet had a word with her superiors. She said she’d sent an e-mail.
“Thank you for giving me such a prompt call. This is a matter that must be handled very carefully. Where did you leave things with the boy’s mother?
“I told Mrs. Baldwin that I would consult my superior — that’s Jack Reardon, our Assistant Principal — and almost certainly Jason would be referred for evaluation. I said I’d meet Jason himself after the evaluation results were in hand. Oh, and of course I said I’d alert Jason’s homeroom teacher.”
“And, you told me Mrs. Baldwin alleged that the school had failed to protect her son last year, while he was in seventh grade — did she make any threats?”
“Well, sir — she was quite upset, particularly when I told her that there’s nothing in the boy’s file that suggests a problem. Uh, sir, if I may offer my professional judgment, . . .
Spittle cut her off. “No, don’t do that. My job is to protect the school, not the kid. Tell your supervisor, uh Reardon, to call me right away once he’s in the picture.”
Spittle hung up, thought for a moment, then dialed the extension of a colleague. “Barbara, Dick here. Have lunch plans? No? Let’s grab a bite outside. I’d like to tell you about something that’s going to be very interesting to the school board.”
Barbara was a partner in the firm. Dick Spittle wanted to be a partner. Helping Barbara’s husband revive his faltering campaign for Mayor might do the trick.
XXXIII
“What! He said that?” Sylvia Stanton had heard a lot of dumb things from lawyers in her twenty-nine years as an educator, but this one took the cake. “I don’t give a damn what Spittle thinks — our first priority is the welfare of the child.” She looked at her Assistant Principal. “Am I right, Jack?”
“As always, Sylvia.”
“Right, uh, Angela? May I call you Angela?” Miss Croynberg was new at Franklin. Sylvia had meant to sit her down for a chat before school opened, but Mrs. Baldwin’s visit had happened first.
“Yes, ma’am. Yes to both questions.”
“Jack, do you know the kid?”
“I remembered him when I looked at the school record photo. He wasn’t much bigger than your average fifth grader. Timid, introverted and solitary, as I recall. The kind of boy who’d be picked last in gym class.”
“I’d like you both to talk with him after we get the doctor’s report. Two sets of eyes and ears are better than one in situations like this. And Jack, I’ll want you to talk to 8B on the first day of school. Keep me posted. Angela, don’t worry. You are going to do just fine here.”
XXXIV
Barbara Atkinson poured two more daquaris and continued her story.
“. . . So, anyway, Art, Spittle does have an interesting idea. He says that left to make its own decision, the school will accommodate the kid and his parents. I told him to let things just happen, not to push a legal opinion on the school board. Did I do good?” Barbara gave her husband the coy glance she reserved for occasions like this.
“Sweetheart, better than good. We’ll let the board step in a cow pie, and then cover them in shit. Would you like a big kiss now or later?”
“Now, you handsome hunk, you.”
XXXV
SUMMARY REPORT: Request for Evaluation of Jason Baldwin
Children in their early teens or younger are not deemed capable of making informed judgments as to how they wish to live the rest of their lives. There is therefore a consensus within the medical profession that no irreversable drug interventions should be allowed before a gender-conflicted patient reaches the age of fifteen or sixteen. Surgical intervention is rare before eighteen.
Because the secondary characteristics of an “unwanted” sex may become quite pronounced by the age of thirteen or fourteen in boys, and earlier in girls, these delays are typically traumatic for a patient who is intent on gender reassignment. Consequently, many practitioners now advocate the administration of hormones that delay the onset of puberty in such cases.
There is no doubt that a well-calibrated dosage of certain hormones can delay the onset of puberty. The medical protocol is well known, and the efficacy of hormone therapy in retarding the development of both primary and secondary sexual characteristics has been demonstrated in dozens of well-documented cases, particularly in the Netherlands. Nor is there doubt that it is reversable.
Jason Baldwin, aged twelve years, ten months, presents as a normally-developed pre-pubescent boy with an apparent age of eleven years, i.e., he is considerably smaller and slighter than average. His intelligence as measured by standardized tests and our observation is considerably higher than the norm. There is no evidence of endocrinological abnormality, nor of the increased androgen and testosterone production that is associated with the onset of puberty.
We assessed Jason using a battery of psychodiagnostic tests and techniques that have been developed to gauge the intensity and persistence of gender disorders. We also conducted extensive interviews with Jason and with his mother. We spoke to his father and his family physician by telephone to confirm certain details. We had access to school records dating back to kindergarten and to medical records from birth.
Jason is psychologically normal in every respect but his eloquently expressed conviction that he is “really a girl.” Challenged on this point, he displays a high degree of defensive anxiety. The trauma that he suffered when harrassed by his peers has damaged Jason’s self-esteem to the extent that he is poorly socialized in his birth sex.
We conclude that there is a strong case for hormone therapy to delay the advent of Jason’s puberty, in part to gain time for him to further explore his gender identity and other developmental issues. Jason has a deeply rooted, strongly feminine orientation dating from early childhood and appears sincerely persuaded that his chance for happiness and full self-actualization in life depends critically on eventual gender reassignment.
Jason understands that delaying his puberty may cause him more, rather than less, discomfort in the short run by accentuating his differences from his peers. He seems convinced that once his peers are no longer unsure who he is, he can deal with any consequent awkwardness. Regular pyschotherapy is strongly indicated.
/s/ Jonathan Schenk, MD, FAPI, psychologist consultant, City School Board
/s/ Ruth Martinez, MD (Psychiatry), Herschell Institute
XXXVI
Jason arrived well before ten, parked and locked his bike, and looked for the guidance counselors’ office. He’d never been at the school when it was empty of kids. Somehow, it felt friendlier.
There were two grownups who were going to talk with him. Mr. Reardon he recognized, and he knew the woman was the same one that had talked to his mom, Miss Croynberg. It was her office. Jason waited politely while they got their papers organized.
It didn’t take them long to get to the point. Was becoming a girl entirely Jason’s idea, or someone else’s? How long had he felt this way? Did he want to come to school as a girl?
Patiently Jason explained that yes, the idea was entirely his, that he had felt more like a girl for a long time but he’d only recently learned, mostly from the Internet, that he could do something about it, and no, he had no plans to come to school as a girl. The main thing the school needed to know now, Jason said, was that last year he had terrorized by a bunch of boys who thought they had a right to pick on someone who was different. Then, he’d almost accepted their right to beat him up because he had thoughts and ideas that he was pretty sure no one else had. He’d felt like jumping in front of a bus, some days. This summer, he’d learned that he wasn’t so different, and that he could do something about it.
Mr. Reardon said thank you, that was essentially what Jason’s doctor’s report said, too. He thought Jason was unusually brave to face up to his feelings. He was sorry that Jason had such a tough time in 7th grade. Mr. Reardon wanted Jason to stay home on the first day of school, so he could talk to the kids in 8B about tolerance. He couldn’t guarantee that Jason would have a lot of friends but he was pretty sure the hassling would stop. Miss Croynberg asked if Jason would rather skip gym class for a while; he was pretty sure he did. She said that instead of gym class, she wanted him to come and talk with her and some other kids who were having social adjustment difficulties. And that was pretty much that.
XXXVII
School started on a Wednesday. As he’d been instructed, Jason took the day off. On Thursday a couple of kids in his homeroom said ‘hello’ when he came in. Most of the others just looked in other directions when he entered their space. There were a couple of snickers from the back that stopped when Mr. Meizner’s ruler thwacked loudly on his desk.
It was an amazingly peaceful sort of day at Franklin Jr. High, but it was the lull before the storm.
When classes let out, TV trucks were parked near the school entrance, and also a couple more trucks with “Fight for Family Values: Art Atkinson for Mayor” signs. A knot of cameramen were gathered around a guy that Jason recognized: Shelly’s father. Then he saw Shelly’s mother. She was pointing at him. Suddenly all the guys with cameras were pointing them at him and his bike.
Transfixed like a deer caught in headlights, Jason hesitated, then bolted for home. The camera guys told each other it was good footage, better than footage of Art Atkinson mouthing off. They guessed it would be on the evening news.
XXXVIII
“Sonofabitch!” said Earl, who was watching the Channel 12 news at 6:30 pm, to Eric, who was warming up the stew. “C’mere! Look!”
Eric turned to see six seconds of Jason fleeing on his bike before the camera cut to Art Atkinson. Atkinson was flaying the school district for its spineless capitulation to political correctness in the guise of a boy who claimed he was really a girl inside. That was the launching pad for a forty-five second riff on the threat to American values and Art’s plan to clean out the liberal crowd who ran the schools when he was elected Mayor. Even Earl had to admit it was good theatre.
Earl’s better judgment said “lie low,” but he picked up the phone anyway. He reached Bud Baldwin on the second try at 6:42 and said he was a friend of Jason’s. No, said Bud, he didn’t have the TV on. Yes, he knew something was screwy because there’d been two or three crank calls in the last ten minutes. He’d been thinking of pulling the phone plug out of the wall.
Well, said Earl, perhaps Bud should turn on the seven pm news to see what else Jason was up against. And perhaps he should get some expert help. He wanted to suggest a very talented lady lawyer. She had formerly been a man; Earl hoped that wouldn’t bother Bud.
Bud guessed that under normal circumstances that might bother him but right now, he said, he was mad enough to phone her right away. Earl gave him Tracy Tyler’s phone number and also his own number, just in case. Bud said he was grateful and hoped to meet Earl for a beer or two sometime soon.
When Earl hung up the phone, his son Eric gave him a big and totally spontaneous hug.
XXXIX
By Wednesday morning, the media was in a feeding frenzy. The newspapers had been scooped by the TV crews and so they had to fill up columns with speculation and a few juicy quotes phoned in from Art Atkinson’s campaign headquarters. Determined to gain back lost ground, reporters from the Enquirer and the Clarion flooded the Baldwin neighborhood. They camped outside the Baldwin house, interviewed Mrs Holloway down the street and anyone else that had an opinion on little boys in dresses. The TV trucks were there too, parked at the top of the block, drivers dozing behind thewheel while hopeful cameramen debated whether to try to check the Baldwins’ trash cans for, maybe, discarded cargo pants.
At 09:20, Bud Baldwin, Betty Lou Baldwin and a smaller figure draped in an anorak got in Betty Lou’s RAV4 and drove toward Medford Junction. Six or seven press vehicles gave chase. Two were still on their tail after Betty Lou doubled back through Sleepy Hollow and then veered left through Rambler Crest to Washington Boulevard. A few blocks before the road became a four lane divided highway, Bud made a cell phone call, then spoke to his wife and son. “They’re coming. Pull left, Bett. Get ready, Jason.”
Betty Lou moved left, ignored the no-stopping-on-median sign and blew a kiss to Bud. He and Jason ran across the strip and into a small sedan that had paused just long enough to pick them up. A TV truck slowly cruised by Betty Lou. She resisted the temptation to raise her right hand to offer the truck the salute it deserved.
“I guess we’ve lost them,” said Earl Lindahl. “Nice to meet you, Bud. You’ve got a fine kid.”
Jason stood up to lean over the seat so he could give Earl a kiss.
XL
Bud was processing a lot of new information about how people could present themselves. Earl was pretty odd, hairless and tweezed, with a pony tail and a bald spot. Tracy Tyler was just overwhelming. She was six-two in low heels, with a big hat, big shoulders, auburn curls, a red blazer, short gray pleated skirt and brighter lipstick than Bud had ever seen on a woman not in the sex trade. Her office was near the courthouse.
“Hi,” Tracy said, offering Bud her large hand. “I’m Tracy and my job is to keep Jason from turning out like me. Earl and I are old friends.”
“Hi, back,” said Bud. “This is Jason, and I’m Bud. His mother’s off leading a diversion.”
“Now down to business,” said Tracy. “What the hell are you doing going into a firefight without a helmet and a flak jacket?”
“Huh,” answered Bud.
“S’cuse me, that’s Vietnam coming out again. Before your time, I guess.
“What I mean is that Jason is raw meat for that asshole Atkinson. Did you think this was going to be easy or something? ‘Please Mrs. Principal, help my little boy become a girl.’ ‘Oh, yes, of course, whatever’s best for the kid.’ Not in this state, I think. Not just before an election.”
“If you are wondering, I’m all woman. It’s said so on my driver’s license ever since 1976. I was admitted to the state Bar in 1981 after they ran out of excuses. I do cases like Jason’s pro bono. I just wish you’d given me a head start.”
“Nice to meet you,” answered Bud. “What do you recommend?”
“First, I need to ask Jason a few questions. OK?”
Jason and his dad nodded a synchronized ‘yes.’
Tracy Tyler fixed her gaze on Jason. She took his hands, one in each large, perfectly manicured paw. “Jase, honey, would you rather I call you Jayne?”
“Jase is OK. It’s just a label.”
“Jase, this could get really ugly. You up to it?”
“Nothing could be worse than last year.”
“Right. Now then, honey, tell Aunt Tracy about yourself. Take your time and include all the details.
Notes:
Want to comment but don't want to open an account?
Anyone can log in as Guest Reader -- password topshelf to leave a comment.
