What We Left Behind

by Robin Talley

  What the hell was that about? What gives Nance the right to analyze me? Nance barely knows me.

  I don’t really do any of that. Put people in boxes. I’m opposed to putting people in boxes. It’s why I hate labels and pronouns so much.

  Okay, sure, I do spend a lot of time thinking about labels and pronouns. And yeah, I did try to figure out Eli’s gender presentation right away on that first day—and Nance’s and Derek’s, too—but anyone would’ve done that. It doesn’t mean I did something wrong. Eli didn’t seem to notice. Besides, Eli likes me way more than Nance does.

  I can’t believe Nance called me a sycophant. I’m not going around kissing up to Derek. We’re friends. Nance is probably just jealous. Anyway, why didn’t Derek tell Nance to shut up?

  Unless...surely Derek doesn’t think Nance is right.

  By the time I get to the lobby of the Science Center and see the rest of my project group already gathered around a table, I’m in a worse mood than ever. Then two of them glare at me and I forget about feeling grumpy. I’m late, and they’re probably right to think I’m a tool. Even my friends seem to think that.

  “Finally, you’re here,” one guy says. “Did you bring the Katrina outlines?”

  “Yes,” I say, taking the only empty seat left. “But, um. I didn’t completely finish them.”

  The guy, who I’m pretty sure is named Mike, groans.

  “I know, I know, I’m sorry,” I say. “Look, I really tried. I did as much research as I could, I flew Delta just so I could get the fastest Wi-Fi, but—”

  Then the girl next to me interrupts.

  “I didn’t finish, either,” the girl says. “I got through the first two sets of readings, but then I had to go to my grandmother’s, and—”

  “Me, neither,” says a guy across the table. “I really thought I could do it, but there was too much going on.”

  “We were all busy over Thanksgiving!” Mike says. “We agreed we were going to divide up the research and the outlines, and then today we’d put it together and come up with our presentation themes, and—”

  The girl next to me bursts into tears. Mike looks like he’s ready to murder someone. People start grumbling to each other, shooting angry looks around the table. Soon it will be chaos and we’ll never get this project done.

  “Look,” I say, trying to sound diplomatic. “We can still get an A even if we’re behind right now. I bet the other groups are behind, too.”

  “I saw Tina Nguyen’s group already working on their PowerPoint last night in Lamont,” Mike says.

  “Shut up, Mike,” I say. The girl next to me sniffs, then giggles. “How about we all go home, finish our outlines tonight and meet back here tomorrow at lunch?”

  Everyone nods except Mike, but we’re all ignoring Mike now anyway.

  Now I’ll have to spend all night reading about Hurricane Katrina. Because my life didn’t have enough downers in it already.

  But when I get back to my room, my plan is derailed before I’m even through the door. Joanna and Felicia are sitting side by side on the couch in the common room, and as soon as they see me they stop talking. I can tell right away they’re up to something.

  “What?” I ask when I get sick of the silence. I dump my coat and bag, and turn to face them, kicking the snow off my shoes.

  “We need to have a meeting.” Joanna’s wearing a black cashmere sweater and pumps, and holding the same purse my mother bought in Tysons Corner for upwards of six hundred dollars. Felicia’s in a white lace top that looks more like a sundress than something you wear in Boston in November. I wonder if they’re going to a party after this or if they just got dressed up to ambush me.

  Why do they always have to dress that way? Gretchen doesn’t. Neither does Ebony. It’s like Joanna and Felicia are trying to be as girlie as humanly possible. They might as well be wearing signs that say We’re Cisgender, and Don’t You Forget It.

  Hang on. Is this what Nance meant? About me always trying to put people in boxes?

  I remember taking one look at Joanna and Felicia on move-in day and deciding that they weren’t worth my time. Maybe Nance had a point about me and the instant judging.

  On this one, though, I’m pretty sure I was right.

  “Oh?” I say. “A meeting? Should I go print off some agendas?”

  “We should talk,” Joanna says. “So that we’re all up front and there’s no awkwardness.”

  “Is there awkwardness now?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Felicia says. It’s the first time Felicia has spoken since I got here.

  They’re both eyeing me closely. I’m wearing a button-down shirt from the men’s section at J. Crew that makes my flat chest slightly more noticeable than usual. My roommates have never said anything about me binding before, though.

  I cross my arms and sit in my desk chair. Joanna and Felicia have to turn around to look at me. If they want to talk, I’ll talk, but I’ll do it on my own terms.

  “I’m not clear on what the problem is,” I say.

  “You look different than you did before,” Felicia says. “You act different, too. It makes the rest of us feel awkward.”

  “By ‘the rest of us,’ I take it you’re referring to yourself?”

  “Joanna doesn’t like it, either,” Felicia says.

  I look at Joanna, but Joanna doesn’t say anything.

  “By ‘different,’” I say, “I take it you’re referring to the increased masculinity of my gender expression?”

  Felicia blinks. “Yeah, if that’s what you want to call it. Plus, there’s your friends—”

  “My friends never come here,” I say. “Even if they did, what do you care?”

  “The thing is,” Felicia says, “you can’t get offended about this. I’m not prejudiced or anything. It’s none of my business what you do. Plus, I have gay friends, and if you ask they’ll tell you I’m totally cool with all of them.”

  I do not have the patience for this.

  “What exactly is your problem?” I ask.

  “There’s a box on the housing form you’re supposed to check,” Joanna says. “For if you’re, you know, like you are. So they can pick your roommates out specially.”

  That’s true. The freshman housing application included a check box for transgender.

  The problem was, I knew my mother would read my housing application.

  “We barely see each other as it is,” I say instead of explaining that to Joanna. “I don’t see how my existence is making your life more difficult.”

  “I didn’t sign on to live with a guy, and neither did Jo,” Felicia says. “I don’t like being uncomfortable in my own room.”

  “No one bothered to ask if I was comfortable,” I say.

  “Are you even still a girl?” Felicia asks. “Do you have—you know—the right parts?”

  I sit back in my chair.

  “Do I have what?” My anger spins into embarrassment, then shame. I want to go grab the quilt off my bed and hold it up in front of me.

  No. I’m right, and Felicia’s wrong. I cling to that knowledge.

  “Why the hell do you think that’s an acceptable question?” I ask. “Do I go around asking you about your—your body parts?”

  “Look, my parents won’t feel safe with me living here if you’ve got a you-know-what,” Felicia says, chin lifted, hands folded demurely. As though this is a perfectly legitimate conversational topic and not a hugely invasive interrogation.

  I knew people said stuff like this. I’ve seen it on TV.

  I never thought anyone would say something like that to me, though. I didn’t think I’d know anyone stupid enough.

  Felicia’s not stupid, though. That’s just the thing. You don’t get into Harvard by accident.

  I stare
at my roommates. Joanna fidgets, but Felicia just stares right back at me. It feels like I’m naked under a microscope. Like I might actually cry.

  Compared with my roommates, Gretchen really does have a PhD in queer studies. Felicia doesn’t care if I’m gender nonconforming with a leaning toward the male end of the spectrum or if I’m all-out transsexual. To Felicia, I’m just a freak.

  “Okay, um.” I don’t know what to say. That doesn’t happen often. I run a hand through my hair and blink a few times, fast, just in case I might actually be tearing up. “Look, all I’m trying to do is get through the school year. I know you guys don’t like me, and, granted, the feeling is mutual, but we don’t have to be friends. You leave me alone and I’ll leave you alone, just like we’ve been doing since August. After this year we never have to see each other again.”

  “The end of this school year is six months away,” Felicia said. “And you still haven’t answered my question.”

  “Because my body is none of your damn business!” I’m nearly shouting. “Christ, Felicia, try to be a human being, here!”

  “Look,” Joanna says, “we’re not saying you have to move out—”

  “Uh, yeah, I should hope not, because I’m not going to.” I’m sputtering now. I feel like I’m going to explode.

  “Who’s moving out?” Ebony asks from the door. “What’s going on?”

  Joanna shifts. Felicia doesn’t move.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at practice?” Joanna looks at the clock over the fireplace.

  “What the hell is this?” Ebony asks. “Don’t tell me you went ahead with that dumb-ass meeting.”

  “You knew about this?” I ask.

  That hurts more than anything Felicia and Joanna said.

  “They told me this morning they wanted to do it, and I told them they could suck it.” Ebony dumps a bag of workout gear on the floor. I loosen my grip on the back of my chair a little. “What a load of horse hooey. Felicia, you’re in college now, so put on your big-girl panties and learn to deal. Next year you can go off and live with all your little tight-ass prep school friends and not have to put up with anyone who isn’t exactly like you ever again. Come on, T, let’s go to Annenberg. I’m starving.”

  I’m supposed to be spending the next six hours looking up stuff about Hurricane Katrina, but all I want to do is get out of this room. I shove my laptop in my bag and put my coat back on.

  “You know I went to a prep school, too, right?” I say to Ebony when we’re free and clear of the psycho twins. My hands are shaking. I shove them in my pockets.

  “Oh, right,” Ebony says. “Uh, sorry. No offense.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about that. I didn’t think they’d go through with it.”

  “It’s okay.” I’m grateful for what Ebony did back in the common room, but I don’t want a bodyguard, either. “It’s impossible to take them seriously.”

  “That’s right. Don’t let them get to you.” Ebony punches me in the arm.

  “Ow.”

  “Sorry. Hey, listen, I meant to ask you. I know most of your friends are upperclassmen. Do you have a blocking group yet? Some of us on the team are talking about going in together, but we want to get another person.”

  Blocking groups are how housing is assigned starting in sophomore year. You get together with a group of other freshmen and you put all your names in together. Then your whole group gets assigned to one of the upperclass houses and you stay there until graduation. That’s how Derek, Nance and Eli wound up together.

  “Are you sure?” Suddenly I’m self-conscious. “The others in your group are cool with it?”

  I didn’t sign on to live with a guy.

  “Of course I’m sure,” Ebony says. “Some of them are probably in Annenberg now. You can come meet them and see if you’re up for it. I already told them about you.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Oh, I warned them you’re a big dorky Government concentrator, but they don’t mind. They’re weird that way.”

  For the first time since Thanksgiving, I smile. I can’t believe everything that just happened.

  Ebony starts typing a text to someone, and automatically I reach for my own phone. I’m about to tell Gretchen the whole story when I remember.

  I slide my phone back into my pocket, my smile fading.

  I bet it’ll be a long time before I feel like smiling again.

  14

  DECEMBER

  FRESHMAN YEAR OF COLLEGE

  2 WEEKS APART

  GRETCHEN

  The days move slowly now.

  I’m waiting for Toni to call and take it all back. While I wait, I try to pass the time.

  I leave a lot of voice mails. I start with Chris.

  “Hey,” I say to his recording. “I guess you heard what happened. Um. I know you’re probably on Toni’s side and that’s fine, but I want to talk sometime just to, you know, talk. Can you call me if you have a second?”

  Chris doesn’t call back for four days. Finally I get a text.

  Sorry, I can’t get involved. Luv u tho.

  I leave a message for Derek. “Hey, it’s, um, Gretchen. You know, Gretchen Daniels, from NYU, T’s—um anyway, I just wanted to call to... I don’t know. I...never mind.”

  I hang up. Derek sends me a message the next day asking if I’m all right and if I want to talk. I don’t reply.

  I don’t call Toni. I don’t text Toni. I don’t email Toni.

  Those are the rules. They seemed so easy when we came up with them. Much better than the alternative.

  All of this sucks. It sucks more every day.

  At first I blocked Toni’s updates from my feed. Then I wound up going to Toni’s profile every half hour to see if there was anything new. Finally I gave up and undid the block.

  For a week and a half, Toni’s updates about having too much work and needing more coffee and hanging out with fabulous Harvard people have been my only proof that Toni still exists.

  I’ve become obsessed with my phone charger. I bought an extra one and I carry it with me everywhere. I plug it in every time I see an outlet, even if it’s just for a couple of seconds.

  I never take the subway if I can help it since I don’t get service down there. I sleep with my phone next to my pillow so it’ll wake me up if a text buzzes.

  Still there’s no call. No apology. No I made a huge mistake. Let’s pretend it never happened.

  I thought this part would be over by now. I thought it would be over a long time ago.

  I did everything wrong. I’ve been doing everything wrong ever since I decided to mail that stupid form back to NYU.

  I thought I was being bold. Taking a risk. When really I was signing away everything that was good in my life.

  “You’re taking a break,” Carroll tells me over breakfast Wednesday morning. “It’s time to get over yourself, my dear. Some of us have real problems.”

  I hug Carroll. He’s right.

  He came out to his parents over the break. It didn’t go well. He hasn’t told me the details, but I got the gist of it from his expression when we first came back into town.

  Hugging Carroll reminds me that it doesn’t matter if all my old friends—who are really Toni’s friends anyway—don’t want to talk to me.

  Carroll’s my friend. I don’t need anyone else. Having fun together is what Carroll and I do best.

  Enough moping around. Enough desperate waiting. It’s time for a distraction.

  “You know what we should do?” I say. “We should go out to that club again. The one we went to at the beginning of the year. We’ll get wasted and dance with the sketchiest people we can find.”

  “You’re absolutely right,�
�� Carroll says, yawning. “Let’s go right now.”

  It’s nine in the morning. We’re in the dining hall, having coffee and edamame. We have class in twenty minutes. I look up the club on my phone.

  “They don’t open until ten p.m.,” I say. “Oh, and tonight they’re closed for a private event. We could go tomorrow.”

  “I can’t last until tomorrow. I’ll have to find some sketchy guy to hook up with online tonight. It’ll be your fault because you put the idea in my head.”

  “Oh, don’t act like I’m your enabler.”

  “Blow me.”

  Samantha sits down next to Carroll with a tray full of eggs and bacon. The sight makes me want to gag.

  “Gretchen? Are you okay?” Samantha asks. “You look green.”

  “She’s fine,” Carroll says. “Give her a carrot or something.”

  “She looks sick,” Samantha says.

  “I’m not sick.” I sit up straight again. “Carroll and I are going dancing tomorrow. Want to come?”

  Carroll glares at me, but I don’t care. It’s not as if Sam will come anyway.

  “Don’t you have your paper due for Met Studies?” Sam asks.

  “I’ll do it, don’t worry,” I say. “Come on, we’ll get dressed up. You can wear your new silver fishnets.”

  “I’ll pass,” she says.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask. “Don’t you like fun?”

  “Not as much as you two do, apparently.”

  “You’re right,” Carroll says, rubbing his eyes. “Gretchen and me, we are the party-down duo.”

  Sam and I have our first class in the same building, so we walk over together after breakfast.

  “Hey,” I say as we pass under some scaffolding. “I just had the best idea. Can you dye my hair black? I’ll pick up the stuff at Ricky’s and we can do it tonight. It’ll go great with this outfit I want to wear to the club tomorrow.”

  “Since when do you care about hair?” Samantha asks. “Or outfits?”

  “Since...I don’t know, whenever.”

  “Do you think you’ll look good with black hair? You’re so pale.”