Choir Boy

by Unknown Author

  Mr. Allen was due at their apartment around seven PM. It was Thursday, the free day between rehearsals. Berry realized with a jolt that it was also the original target date for the choir’s recording. The apartment looked neat beyond recognition. Judy had thrown out most of Marco’s junk. All the wrecked appliances had vanished. The Native American wall rugs sat in the dumpster behind the apartment building, and Judy had vacuumed and polished. “Wow,” Berry said.

  “I had to do something while you were gone.” Judy pulled out the big table and unscrunched the middle section to make a space for place settings and candles. “I’m marinating wings. So would you dress up nice, Berry? Boy or girl is fine.”

  Berry laid out some clothes on his bed and stared at them. Berry hadn’t done boy in ten days. His breasts still hurt like vinegar or hate. It stung just to touch them, and there was no way he could bind them. Hiding them meant layers, or a loose poncho. Berry wanted to make Judy as happy as he could. In the end, he pulled out a pleated gray skirt that Anna Conventional had bought him at Old Navy, a highnecked white blouse, and his choir blazer. The effect was a pastiche of choirgirl. The breasts pushed at the blazer and the skirt made him look schoolgirlish. High white socks and black shoes finished the outfit.

  When Berry came out of his room, he found Mr. Allen and Judy making out on the couch. The choirmaster had the same trimmed-everything look he’d brought to the Fennimores’ place two years before. He wore a nice flannel shirt and jeans instead of tweed. His hand sat near Judy’s lap. Judy had one hand on his beard. Berry coughed. They stopped kissing, but not in a hurry.

  “Hi, Berry,” Mr. Allen said. “Wow—you look terrific.” “Wow from me too,” added Judy.

  “Thanks.” Berry looked at the glass coffee table. He’d never seen its surface before. “So I’m sorry I messed things up. I know tonight was supposed to be the big recording.” “Don’t worry—it’s not the end of the world or anything.” Mr. Allen smiled and stayed leaned back against the couch and Judy. Berry looked up at the huge blue eyes behind rimless glasses, seeking the lie in his smile. When he found none, it shook his whole image of Mr. Allen, the obsessed maniac who lived for the choir’s performance. He’d always assumed Mr. Allen spent every spare moment grinding his teeth over each rushed half note or squeak the choir committed. He’d pictured Mr. Allen walking the streets cursing at his unfocused boys and amateur men. Not sitting with a glass of mineral water in one hand chatting about opera with Berry’s mom.

  Judy’s wings had marinated for twenty-four hours and tasted yummy. But everything else about dinner was awful, and Berry marinated through Mr. Allen and Judy’s boring conversation. Judy talked about her car for half an hour, including all the work she’d done on the suspension and winterized undercarriage, and how badly she’d miss it. Mr. Allen said car custody battles could turn just as ugly as human ones. They talked about all the construction on the Downtown Loop and plans to turn some old noodle-stretching plants into nightclubs. Mr. Allen talked about church politics and how Canon Moosehead had convinced the Downtown Association to support a revamped Hungry

  Souls program that kept the homeless from wandering onto the main street.

  “Canon Moosehead is dating my friend Maura. She’s a tranny ho,” Berry chipped in. Mr. Allen’s eyes went wild and he nearly bit a chicken bone in half. He looked more like the choirmaster Berry knew. “We should hang with her. She’s really cool, even if you did get off on the wrong foot with her, mom.” Judy didn’t remember Maura. Mr. Allen couldn’t quite take in what Berry had said. “Maybe you shouldn’t mention that to anyone else,” Berry said as an afterthought.

  Berry cleared up after dinner. Mr. Allen and Judy ended up back on the sofa while Berry washed dishes. Berry sneaked a glance over the half-counter dividing the kitchen from the living room. Judy had her legs up on the sofa and her head rested against Mr. Allen’s armpit. Berry felt jealous of each of them getting to be close to the other and a weird resentment on Marco’s behalf. The idea of a music scholarship at a school far away tempted Berry.

  “Can you tuck yourself in?” Judy started to lift herself. “Mr. Allen and I were planning on going out for a drink.” “Oh,” Berry said, looking at the coffee tray in his hands with cups and butter cookies on it. “Okay.”

  “And hey, Berry,” said Mr. Allen. “Hope you can make it to rehearsal tomorrow evening.” Judy nodded. Then the two of them donned coats and strolled out.

  Berry put the tray down and danced across the apartment. Then he practiced marching back to the kitchen as if it were a cathedral. He rushed into his room and peeled off the skirt so only the blazer and white blouse remained. He considered: how could he squelch the breasts without dying? Then he forgot that question and went back to dancing bottomless around his room, hearing the voices raise within. A thought snagged Berry’s brain, what if Mr. Allen was only dating Judy to get Berry back in the choir? It would be really sweet and touching, but not necessary now that Dr. Tamarind had given the go-ahead for him to come back. Berry hoped Mr. Allen treated Judy well if that turned out to be the case.

  Berry went to sleep hearing an inner chorus cascading something out of Handel’s “Zadok the Priest.” He woke at three AM to the sound of Mr. Allen and Judy across the hall—at least he assumed they were the ones moaning and stuttering. Berry felt anxiety crowd out his assurance. His family had warped faster than his body. What would the other choirboys say if they knew Mr. Allen was fucking his mom? That thought took Berry back to the one he’d been avoiding all night: how would he deal with the other choirboys now they knew he was a sex-change case?

  Berry sweated and trembled in his bed until the noises from across the hall stopped. He stared at the flickers on his ceiling. Then he finally collapsed into dreams of kids standing over his battered body, kicking his face, his injured breasts, his stomach. “Please not the teeth,” he begged in the dream. “I just got my grown-up teeth, I can’t replace them.” In the morning, Berry felt like a survivor of an ancient war.

  “This past week has set me back a month,” Judy complained in the morning. Mr. Allen wasn’t around. “I’ll be lucky to pass my night classes with all I’ve missed, and they’re perma annoyed with me at work. But there’s always hope.” She’d talked to the principal of Orlac Middle, who might be willing to bend some rules to get Berry back in class.

  Judy wanted Berry to return as a full Swan, away from the “rough-housing” of the Geese. Berry could be officially a girl, but wouldn’t have to do PE or home ec, two subjects where ambiguous gender could craze people. Judy would make sure Berry got exercise. Hearing about this plan, Berry felt the pain fingers xylophone his ribs. “I won’t last a week,” he said.

  “We’re still going to find you a new school for next year, where they don’t know you,” said Judy. “Mr. Allen has some ideas. But this will work for now.”

  Before the confrontation with Mr. Hanson, Berry had someone else to see. “At your age, you would be starting an apprenticeship if you were living in the eighteenth century.” Gray Redman held up a picture of a boy in a tricorner hat and funny ribbony jacket. “I found this in a magazine. Cute, huh? Ever read Johnny Tremaine?”

  Berry shook his head. “A lot’s happened. I tried to cut off my breasts and now I’m a Swan.”

  “That’s heavy duty.” Gray Redman shuffled folders. “Well, here’s what I’ve found. The fastest growing jobs are all in information. Don’t believe what you hear about the dotcoms, it’s all just a downtick. Anyway, this is good news because tech companies are way mega tolerant, and soon enough nobody will have a body anyway, we’ll just be gen-derless consciousnesses in cyberspace. You’ll be skills and dirty jokes wrapped in a multiple choice identity, dig?”

  “So I’m losing what this has to do with me.”

  “The point being you’re not too young to get into the new economy. You’re almost too old, if anything. Go work for a web design firm—your musical background will help in some way I can’t predict right now—and
get on the fast track.” Gray gestured at his sliver of window. “This town used to be all about noodle stretching. Then the old economy died. Now this whole area revolves around stretching noodles of a different kind.” Gray tapped his head.

  “That’s it?”

  “I thought it was pretty cool. Especially the ‘noodles of a different kind’ part.” Gray looked at the disappointment in Berry’s eyes. “Aw man. I’m sorry. I couldn’t find anything about how to become an opera singer. I think you have to go to a conservatory or something. Look, there’s one other thing. I have this web service I subscribe to. You go there and type in a job and it tells you what other jobs are similar.” Gray swiveled to face his monitor and tapped on his keyboard. A web site appeared and Gray typed the word “choirboy” into a white rectangle, then clicked “Go.” A few moments passed, then five words appeared: “Priest, opera singer, game show host, politician, singing telegram.”

  “Hmmm,” Gray said. “Pm not seeing the big money here. Pm telling you, the web’s where it’s at.”

  “Game show host,” Berry said. “I’ve always wanted to be Vanna White or something.”

  “Got any connections in Hollywood?”

  “Not really. My friend works at a magazine.”

  Walking into the noon sun downtown, Berry felt happiness flicker over every inch of his skin. He wondered if the hormones caused mood sw'ings. He almost didn’t care. “I was glad, glad when they said unto me, we will go, we will gooooooo into the House of the Lord,” he sang. He twirled his skirt so it fluttered up like a cocktail umbrella. Then Berry imagined becoming a singing telegram. He tried to make up some messages he could sing. “Sorry I almost drowned your dad, ta dumdumdum, Didn’t mean to make you mad, scoobie loo loo, It’s just one of those things. The memory still stings. Next time I’ll throw in a pair of water wings, dadudadudaduadudadaaah ...”

  “We value diversity here at Orlac Middle,” Mr. Hanson said. Berry felt the grilled cheese Judy had fed him for lunch adjust seismically in his gut. “Enough school boards have gone to court trying to bar transgender kids and lost in the past few years. So we have a policy of total non-discrimination.” Mr. Hanson wore a tartan shirt, blue sports jacket, and slacks. He seemed the opposite of Gray Redman, who always acted super-hip because he was terrified of not being taken seriously. Mr. Hanson took it for granted he had your respect and admiration, so he could afford to act cozy.

  “That’s good to hear. I think.” Judy sat straight. She’d told Berry she was ready for a fight or tears, whichever might win results.

  “Frankly, we’re excited, in a terrified and disturbed way. Pm hoping we avoid the screaming school board meetings, like we had with that gay coach a few years back. The more low-key, the better.” Mr. Hanson’s thick face never really smiled.

  “I’m not sure how you plan to get there,” Judy said.

  “I’m glad you asked that. We have a strategy we call selective denial. We’re going to pretend nothing much has happened or will happen. We’ll give Berry the same attitude of zero tolerance for harassment we extend to all other students. And we’ll try like hell to keep this out of the media. Anyone want to interview you guys, you shut them out. Hopefully it won’t be a slow news week any time soon.” “Sounds like a nightmare,” Berry said.

  “Let’s hope not so much,” Mr. Hanson said. “I’m personally all about diversity, preferably the non-screaming and burning down school facilities kind.”

  “So what if I change my mind in a few months?” Berry asked. Mr. Hanson and Judy both looked like he’d swung a very long crowbar and hit them both in the heads simultaneously. “I mean, I don’t think I will, but this is all new to me, and I may stop being into it.”

  “You’re not allowed to change your mind,” Hanson said quickly.

  Judy just glared. Once out of the meeting, Berry said, “I think that went pretty well, huh.”

  Judy grabbed Berry’s shoulders. “What? What did I do? Why are you torturing me? How much do I have to suffer while you toy around? If you don’t really want this, that’s fine, but stop flipping a goddamn coin. Which is it, Berry?” Berry just tilted his head and widened his eyes, not knowing how to answer.

  “Are you just nuts? Should I have let them commit you or observe you or whatever the fuck? Dr. Tamarind thinks you’re sane, but maybe he’s grading on a curve. The point is it’s not just you now. I’ve thrown away my marriage and risked losing my mind so you can become the person you want to be. Mr. Allen’s taking a big risk letting you sing again. Mr. Hanson’s going to get crucified if you go back to school here. So what’s it going to be, Berry? What are you?” “I’m a choirboy,” Berry said.

  “That’s not an answer. You can’t hide behind those robes forever. You need to make a commitment.”

  An empty school bus shuddered at the parking lot’s edge as someone tried to start it. Leaves, half-defined and almost dust, scuttled around their feet. The wind plushed Berry’s skirt out and made an outline of his arms and breasts under his deliberately loose blouse.

  “I’m sorry,” Berry said.

  17.

  Bathroom stalls are amazing. They have acoustics to die for, if you feel like singing on the john. You can shut the latch and live private. The bathroom may invite only boys or girls, but once inside the stall, it’s just you and your configuration. Berry wished he could stay in the girls room at Orlac Middle forever. They could slide food to him under the stall door, and he’d sleep there when the school noises became night noises and the neon lights strobed overhead no longer. The only difference in the girls’ room was the pink tiles.

  “Who’s in there?”

  Berry heard two or three girls outside his stall and smelled cigarettes. They laughed, coughed, and stomped.

  “Whoever it is, she didn’t just come out of a class. Somebody’s playing hooky in the girls room. Hey in there, come on out and party with us. ”

  Berry didn’t move.

  “She’s shy. Harrup.” The last speaker made a noise as she did a chin-up on the stall door. Amy Beckerman looked down at Berry. Her pigtails quivered. Her green eyes widened and she grinned wide. “Hey, wow!”

  “Who is she?” someone else asked.

  “Not ‘she.’ It’s that Berry guy. In a skirt and in our bathroom.”

  Berry shrank down in the stall to hide from the green stare and lipstick-coated drool coming down on him. Amy panted at the effort of holding herself up.

  “The stories were true!”

  As Berry slid further down on the seat to get away from Amy, hands grabbed his ankles. His skirt bunched and his back thudded as it hit the floor. In seconds, the girls pulled him out of the stall. He lay on his back surrounded by laughter, cheap perfume, and cigarette ash. The bathroom had crumbling foam tiles on its ceiling. Sneakers and boots prodded him.

  “Eww, he’s looking up my skirt! Pervert!”

  Berry tried to close his eyes so he couldn’t look at anything he wasn’t supposed to. He tried to imagine how a real girl would react to this situation. Maybe if he just projected the right persona, these girls would be his friends.

  “He wants to be a girl.” Amy had her breath back. “We should help him. Berry, has anyone taught you about tampons? They’re important in our world. Grab him.”

  Berry went limp in the girls’ hands. He panicked just as the ground whirled away from him. His balance upended. Nausea and terror kindled a scream from deep inside him. Blood soaked his brain. He opened his eyes to see a metal container full of bloody pieces of cloth and plastic. His head descended into the bin and everything fell dark.

  “You see Berry, tampons are supposed to be flushable, but they don’t let us flush them here because the school plumbing sucks,” Amy lectured. “They come in three kinds: junior absorbency, regular absorbency, and super absorbency.” “His shoulders are too wide to go in.”

  “Push harder.”

  “I can see his underwear. Oh gross. He’s wearing panties and they’re all dirty.”

/>   Berry’s world got smaller than the stall he’d tried to hide in. Sounds went distant. All around he felt garbage bag and cloth. The can smelled rancid. The girls’ shoves chafed his injured breasts and started the fire cycle. Heels clattered. Berry tasted stomach juice. He started kicking and screaming. The girls laughed louder.

  “Excuse me.” The door opened and Judy’s voice came from far away. “I’m looking for my daughter. She came in here to use the bathroom a while ago.”

  “Daughter? I don’t think so, ma’am. We’re the only girls in here, and we’ve all got mothers of our own.”

  Judy apologized. Berry screamed louder from inside the tampon case. He tried to twist his body free, but the girls held him fast. The girls’ room door closed. The girls rattled Berry’s box. Night doused Berry’s mind, made him drunk from suffocation. He was sure he’d die inside this canister and be discarded along with its contents. The box dragged along the ground.

  “Time to go,” Amy said. Berry felt the box lift and push through the girls’ room door and into the hall. The floor bumped his bare legs.

  A male voice shouted “Kick the can!” Something rocked then smacked. The tampon canister amplified impact. Berry howled and thrashed his legs. Voices cluttered the air into deafening white noise. Boys and girls laughed all around Berry, and voices took up the chant “Kick the can! Kick the can! ” Berry’s entombed head rocked.

  “Oh my God, Berry!” Judy’s voice came again. “What have they done to you?”

  Judy pulled Berry’s head out of the can. They were in the school hallway outside the girls’ room. He blinked at her, then at the ring of impassive kids. Judy dragged him back into the girls’ room. He saw smudges on his hair, hands, and face in the mirror. Judy stared at him for a moment, then pushed him over to the sink and scoured him with a paper towel. “We’re out of here. You can’t ever go back to this death camp.”

  Berry and Judy went home on the bus. Berry wanted to explain himself more, apologize for how things had worked out. Instead, he just put his head on his mom’s shoulder. Judy patted his head and clucked.