by Cindi Jones
Alex was having a hard time. Someone had broken into his apartment and had taken almost everything he owned. He had his letters of recommendation for surgery he said and was in desperate need for funds to get his surgery. He told me that he had breast implants already. He told me that he had been a member of the LDS faith. He instantly gained my trust. I had not learned the obstinacy to accomplish his own perverted goals, yet. That would come with the passage of time, interaction with church recommended psychiatrists, and discrimination at work.
I thought at the time that Alex would be a valuable source for information. And briefly he was.
Within only two weeks, Alex’s will was broken. His family, his church leadership, and his family’s psychiatrists soon found a way to saddle him and force him to return to manhood. His father made sure that he was financially bankrupted. He lost his hotel job due to his father’s intervention. With his possessions stolen and a pending rent payment due, he felt he had no choice but bend to the will of his family. His father told him that he could move home and he would provide for his needs fully until Alex could finish college and move on with life. I had little inkling of what he had gone through with his church relationships. I could only guess by comparing what I was going through. If he were to move back in with his parents, he would have to give up his Squirrel and remove his breast implants.
Alex gave up, had his implants removed, and moved back home. But he did not fully give up.
Within a week, he sat in my apartment retelling his recent history. It was very sad and not dissimilar to my current state of affairs. It hurt to see someone so emotionally destroyed. And then I was shocked with his next revelation. “I have a plan Cindi, if you will give me the money for my surgery, I will work very hard to pay for yours.”
We were both novices in different degrees. We had a version of innocence and immaturity that needed to be developed. Physically, he was an adult but emotionally he was a juvenile. He had the thought process of a 14 year old.
“Alex,” I replied. I don’t have any money. If I did, I would not loan it to you.” I still had a tremendous faith in my trust with Alex. But I had always been tight with money. I did not enough to loan money to anyone.
He pleaded with me to no avail. After providing for my family and my own personal needs, I had nothing to pay for my own transition. I was already building quite a bill with Debra, my electrologyst. I really had no idea how I was going to pay her back.
It wasn’t long before Alex was meddling in my personal affairs. I do not know why. I could never understand it. His family had contacted my family. Alex had promised to help them bring me back. He was telling them that he had fully come back to live his life as a male. At the same time, he was visiting me, begging for support to return to life as a woman. I do not know the extent of the involvement or if there was even a conspiracy hatched to bring David back. But I learned, several years later, that he helped arrange a meeting with a senior church leader through working with my parents.
“Cindi, you need to talk to Elder Packer. I did and he helped me a lot,” he told me. Elder Packer was an apostle. He was in the top leadership of the church. I had met Packer in Chile. He was visiting when I came down with typhoid fever. I was so ill; I could barely make it to the bathroom to attend to personal needs. He had given me a blessing so that I might get well. Even though the blessing didn’t stick, I still respected this man very much.
“Yes,” I replied. “If I could talk to Elder Packer, I believe that he could help me.”
Alex volunteered to help get me in to see Elder Packer. The appointment to visit with Elder Packer did not materialize. Instead, Alex proffered an appointment, already set up, with Elder Kakutchi, a Native American member of the quorum of the Seventy, one level down from the top level body of the apostles of which Elder Packer was a member. I had never met Kakutchi, but I reluctantly took the piece of paper. I would, for one last time, try to retrieve my life through the advice of a senior church member.
I sat down in Elder Kakutchi’s office. He sat across from me, with a desk and a closed manila folder separating us. “What can I help you with this afternoon Brother Steele?” he queried.
I did not know at the time he was fully aware of my problem. I did not know that he had been prepped with all of the history of my life. I did not know that he already knew what he was going to say.
“Elder Kakutchi,” I started, “I have a problem that I was born with. It drives me, it prods me, I do things beyond the realm of reason and normalcy. I do things that are embarrassing and just downright stupid. I want… I have always wanted to be a girl, to be a woman.”
“Brother Steele, you were not born with this problem” he stated flatly. “You have been taught this immoral thing. What are you doing to overcome this problem?”
I briefly related my history and then told him of what had happened in recent history. “Elder Kakutchi, I have prayed many times each day for God to lift this burden in my mind. I served a mission as best as I could. I have attended all of my meetings. I have married in the temple as advised. I have given myself in my callings to teach gospel doctrine in Sunday school, work with the boy scouts, direct the church choir. I have always volunteered to work at our church farm. Many times I have toiled there alone, working for hours attempting to drive this thing from my mind. And lastly, I have attended the temple as often as is possible. I have done all that I have been asked to. The problem only grows stronger.”
“Brother Steele, that is not enough!” he exclaimed. “You must develop a personal relationship with Christ,” he went on.
I reflected on my life. I had truly tried to develop this personal relationship with Christ. I had read and studied the scriptures. In fact, I had read and studied all volumes of Church scripture several times. I had studied them with scrutiny as I had prepared gospel doctrine classes for years. I had many unanswered questions but I had come to comprehend that not all questions could be answered. For most of my life I realized this. I knew that I had done all that could be done. What more could I have done to comply, to mold myself in the vision of the perfect person, to humbly have a personal relationship with Christ? These thoughts were processed through the Squirrel cage in an infinitely brief pause.
“Brother Steele”, Kakutchi went on, “The spirit tells me that you are using drugs.”
“Elder Kakutchi, the only drugs I have taken were on the advice of a psychiatrist recommended by the church. It has taken me 2 months of literal hell to get them out of my system. I don’t use drugs!”
“Brother Steele, the spirit tells me that you are participating in a homosexual lifestyle, that you are having physical relations with men.”
Without analyzing an answer, without evaluating the proper thing to say, without understanding the consequences of a thoughtful response, I shot back “You are full of shit. The spirit is telling you nothing that is true. You have shown me that you, yes you, do not have a spiritual relationship with Christ. You lie! I don’t take drugs and I have had relationships with no one.”
“You are in deep doo doo now,” advised Squirrel.
“Brother Steele, I know that you are upset. But you must realize that you are living a lie. After all, you can not turn lead into gold.” Elder Kakutchi warned.
Again without thinking I responded immediately.
“Elder Kakutchi, you can turn lead into gold. You obviously know nothing of nuclear physics. It can be done.”
“Great”, said Squirrel, “you are knee deep now. You are never going to get beyond this. You do not challenge a senior authority of the church.”
Elder Kakutchi tried to reason with me but his reasoning was based on falsehoods and on lies. He may have been a spiritual man once, but today, he was presenting data he had received from someone else, perhaps from my family or Charlene’s family, as facts. The folder sat on his desk with my name on it. He referred to it constantly. The spirit was not with him, revealing the truth as he claimed. He was pulling it from notes
in that desktop folder. My faith in my church was shot in the heart and mortally wounded in that moment. There was nothing more he could say.
So Alex had helped set this up with my family’s involvement. My mother would later tell me that Alex presented himself to them recovered from transsexualism, that he had relied on God and the spirit of a strong testimony to break its bondage.
At the same time, he was begging me to finance his own transition. I had no idea at the time of his involvement but his actions had demonstrated clearly to me that I could no longer trust him. I still do not know fully what his involvement was with my family. Were there conspiracies hatched? I’ve often wondered if one of those shrinks I saw had been one of the ones who had helped “cure him” so that I may endure the same abuse. I added this experience to my paranoia storage container. I did not know if there was a conspiracy but I could not take the chance that there was. I was now literally afraid for my life.
Ellen, our HR director called me in to talk to me.
“David, we have talked with our corporate law group and I can now answer your questions. The company has helped others in your position to transfer into a new role. We have been advised that we must help you where we can facilitate without interrupting the business.”
I pondered this. Squirrel got to work on it right away. If I were to move out and obtain another job at another facility right now, I would have to reveal myself to yet another group of people. I would have to face another new set of problems. I knew that I must remove myself away from my children. They could not know the perversions of their father. I could not imagine how that my affect them.
“But what if”…. started Squirrel. “What if you did the transition here? They already know about you. You could at least get your act together. You could gain experience in working as a woman. Then, when you move, you’ll start life as Cindi. You won’t have to go through all of this ever again,” reasoned Squirrel.
Squirrel was right. I had been revealed to the world. It made sense to do it now, get some experience, grow my hair, and finish electrolysis on my face while there was nothing to hide. Although the idea of coming out like this was still embarrassing, it made perfect sense. Events pushed me again to take another step.
“So, what can we do to help you David?” Ellen asked.
“Can I do the transition here Ellen?” I queried.
“Yes David, you can.” She stated.
“I could use the restroom up on the next floor. It goes unused since no one occupies that floor space.” I volunteered.
“That sounds reasonable to me,” she responded.
“What do I need to get going Ellen?”
“There are some legal things that we need to go over, I will need to see an official name change document if you would like your legal name used on your checks and so on. We will need to set up a schedule. I will need to advise the employees what is expected of them as you do this.”
“Now that is easy.” Said Squirrel. “I betchya never thought it could flow like that.”
We set the plan in motion.
I spent the next few weeks getting together the things I needed. I contacted a lawyer to get my name changed. He was very gracious and got the paperwork going.
I got together with Kevin, a hairdresser I had met at church. My hair was fairly long now. I asked him to give me a cut that I could wear in both gender roles. The man was brilliant. Such talent he had. He quickly and deftly threw my hair this way and that, combing out a section and expertly cutting the ends. Within 10 minutes he demonstrated what he had created.
“Look, all you have to do to dress in drag, is wash it and wear it. Now, when you are Cindi,” I paused to reflect exactly what he had just said. When I wanted to dress in drag? In male clothes? Oh this was funny. It was the first laugh at myself I’d had in a long time. This guy was brilliant. “you just have to poof it a little here, throw this back on both sides and use a little hairspray.” He concluded. Brilliant! An understatement of epic proportions. The cut really did work effectively. I cherished the image I saw in the mirror. I had lost weight. I had been on hormone replacement therapy for a short while under the care of my analyst and my face had softened ever so lightly. But it was an effective change nonetheless. There was a girl staring back at me in the mirror. “This is always a moment you will cherish,” cooed Squirrel. I knew she was right. I would remember this moment. It defined a beginning.
The petition to change my name had been snagged. Charlene’s lawyer was now involved. A stipulation must be added to my petition for name change. It stated that I must contact her and give her my address every time that I moved. “Great” I thought to myself. Her good name will be dragged into every legal proceeding I have for the rest of my life. Her name will be there when I get my driver’s license, my passport, any major financial transactions, and who knows what else? I wonder if she knows this? As far as me cutting out on her, she had nothing to worry about, I had every intention to provide for my children.
I approved the change and it went through with no problems.
I was now Cindi Jones.
The department of motor vehicles, the same sluggish bureaucracy in every state, changed my name with no hassle. I could not change the sex designation but a name change was fine. They asked me if I wanted a new picture taken. Were they crazy? Of course I did!
I had prepared myself very carefully for my photograph to be taken. My makeup was perfect. My face had been cleared for weeks (from facial hair). My hair was dynamite and I was in a very good mood. It turned out to be the best picture I have ever had taken of myself.
As I write this, I have my “old” license and the “new” one in front of me. For some reason, I never surrendered either. The “old” license shows a fairly handsome man with strong jowls, the beginnings of a fleshy chin and a face with acne. The “new” license shows a happy young girl in her twenties with a beautiful smile and a perfect face. As I place licenses side by side, I see only one similarity between them. And that is the “M” for sex designation. When I have shown these documents, no one has ever been able to tell that this is indeed could be the same person.
I was elated. I now had identification. My name was changed. And very soon, Cindi would be Cindi where she worked.
I got together with Ellen. I gave her a video tape of the Rene Richards story that had been broadcast on television. She was grateful that she would have a video she could offer to employees.
She had some documents that I had to sign to deal with the name change for payroll and for my insurance. I would insure my children for some time to come.
I told her that I would be taking a two week vacation to take care of some things in California. She thought that it was an excellent idea for me to disappear for a while to let everyone get accustomed to what may be a shock.
The paperwork had been signed. My life had some order to it. I was starting my real life transition. I would leave the next morning for California.
The Fall
I had been gone two weeks. I was sitting in front of my secretary’s desk. She was in the chair beside me.
“Cindi, those heels are to die for!”
I agreed. When I found them, I had purchased three pair, each in a different color. I had them for some time, long before I moved into my apartment. Yes, I had three pair of heels and very little else.
I did have terrific legs and beautiful hair. These were my best features. My face was a traitor only when deeply saddened. Otherwise, I seemed to get by very well.
“Cindi, I have to know.” Amy began as she cozied up close to me. “Did you have anything done?”
I had visited friends in the LA area and then had driven up to the bay area for a visit. Matty, short for Mathew, had taken me out to have my ears pierced. We went to a spiffy place in the Palo Alto mall. I liked a pair of some small ruby colored earrings. They were false stones but set in gold settings. I liked them but I could not afford the $30 or so to purchase them.
“
Your money is no good here.” Matty said as he saw me rifling through my purse. I was looking to see just how much was left in the wallet to ascertain my current purchasing power. There were other earrings that were okay and cost less money. He pulled out his credit card waving his hand in my face as if to shoo me away. He laid the card down on the counter. The cashier scooped it up and rang up the transaction.
The sales agent then escorted me to where my ears would be pierced. A woman sat down with me, explained the procedure, and then quickly set the studs into my earlobes. “Now did that hurt?” she asked. “Not much” I admitted. She turned so I could see my face in the mirror. The girl looking back was very happy. She smiled.
I really liked the earrings.
“Pigs really can fly” Matty reminded me.
I smiled as I recalled how he had purchased a gold chain necklace for me a few years earlier. He knew what I was going through and sympathized greatly. One day, after returning home from work, I had a package in the mail. I opened it to find a beautiful gold neck chain. I knew that he had spent far too much on it. Inside the box he had included a note that said “Pigs really can fly.” It’s a phrase that I had never heard before but it still comes to mind, even now, when I consider the impossible.
I looked back at Amy. “I sure did!” I said as I looked at her and turned my head slightly so she could see my new earrings. It was a joke that she did not understand. From our conversation, I thought that she believed something else had gone on. Oh well, what is it going to hurt to let her think what she wants to? I still hadn’t learned the lesson. If you will be close to someone, you must be honest to them.
I let her office with her thinking that I had part of the sex change operation done. “That is okay,” said Squirrel. “Let it get out that there is no returning now. Maybe they will leave you alone.”