by Rachel Gold
She wrote back: Sure, honey, we’ll be your knight in shining armpit.
* * *
By Friday I was ready for classes to be over and to get away from school for a while, but I was also looking forward to going to the movie with Shen and Johnny. Well, mostly with Shen. And the theater was off campus so I didn’t have to worry about the stupid bathroom thing.
The days weren’t cold yet, but the nights were starting to have a chill and the bright leaves that turned weeks ago were falling. Johnny, Shen and I walked from campus to the movie theater and Johnny pointed at the bright red trees we passed on the way and asked if I could name them. I didn’t bother to explain that microbiology was a far cry from botany, and the truth was I’d been on enough walks with Dad that I did know some of them.
“Maples,” I said. “And I think that one’s an oak, but I’m really better with microbes than plants. The red color shows up in trees that are rich in sugar, I remember that.”
Seeing the bright colors made me doubly glad to be headed home this weekend. The bus trip down would be gorgeous and I was sure Dad would want to hike with me on Sunday. Not that I’m a big outdoors girl, and I have nothing to compare them to, but I’m pretty sure the fall colors in Ohio beat just about anywhere.
We watched Alice blow away about a million evil zombies and ate too much popcorn and drank too much pop, but since you can’t eat too many M&Ms, we were fine in that category.
“Is it hard to understand people when they’re talking so fast and there’s so much action?” I asked Shen as we were leaving.
“I understand fluent English,” he said. “I started taking it in school at age six. I also speak fairly poor Thai. Sometimes I increase my accent or act like I don’t understand, but mostly that’s if someone is being obnoxious or just for fun.”
I laughed. “You look so serious all the time—it’s hard to tell when you’re joking.”
“I only look serious because I’m standing beside this guy,” he said and shoved Johnny lightly.
“I feel a little stupid for knowing just the one language,” I said.
“Me too,” Johnny said with a laugh. “My worthless cousin won’t teach me to swear or pick up girls in Mandarin. Hey, do you guys want to stop for ice cream?”
We’d come to the creamery on the strip of restaurants that catered to the campus population. They made their own ice cream and you could have them custom mix any flavors with any number of nuts, candies, chocolates and other items. I think they even carried bacon bits. I’d discovered the place the second week of class and usually kept a custom pint from them in the mini-fridge.
“Of course,” I told them.
I got a small dish of salted caramel ice cream with a prolific number of items mixed into it: more M&Ms, almonds, and toffee pieces. Shen ordered strawberry with fresh strawberries and blueberries. We found a table while Johnny was still putting in his order.
“It took me a while to catch on,” I told Shen. “But I think you’re actually the funny one.”
“Oh yes,” he said with a little smile. “I am so very much more funny than Johnny; he’s the loud one.” His face grew serious. “He has a harder life than me. He tries to make fun, but he’s not lighthearted.”
“What do you mean?”
“His parents came over before he was born so he is an American and also Chinese and he wants to please his parents and rebel against them and be American but also make fun of America. He’s torn in two ways, maybe more. I’m a good Chinese boy, so it’s easy. I’m just the one thing, like you.”
I thought about that. Was I just one thing?
“Yes,” I said. “I see what you mean—to do what I want and to make my parents happy and fit in culturally, it’s all the same thing. It’s harder when those don’t match.”
Johnny arrived at the table with a bowl heaped higher than either of ours, including a mountain of whipped cream and a river of hot fudge.
“I know you’re talking about me,” he said as he threw one leg over a chair and sat.
“It’s all I ever do,” Shen told him. “I was just telling Ella how bad you are at Assassin’s Creed 3.”
“Lies,” he said around a mouthful of ice cream.
“He is truly awful with a musket,” Shen said to me, but I could see from the glint in his eye that Johnny was actually very good at the game.
“When did you start gaming?” Johnny asked as the next huge spoonful of ice cream, whipped cream and chocolate sauce made its way toward his face.
“Junior high, I think. A few of my friends got really into the online games but their parents were limiting the time they could spend on the computer, so they talked a bunch of us into doing the classic pencil and paper Dungeons and Dragons and it was really fun.”
“Were you the only girl in the group? How was that?” Johnny asked.
My cheeks got hot. “It was mixed,” I managed to say after a long pause. “There were more guys than girls, but I wasn’t the only one.”
I was the only girl in the group who looked like a guy at that point, but my friends were pretty decent about me wanting to play female characters even though they all still thought I was a guy. It was toughest on the game master who once had my character hit with a curse that turned her male. I rallied the group into a campaign to find a wizard who could turn me female again. I think that actually helped when I did come out to that group of friends two years later; they were already used to fighting for my right to be whoever I wanted to be.
We went on to talk about the games we’d played and the ones we liked best and why—but Johnny’s question brought up dual tracks of uncomfortable wondering in my mind. I wanted to spend more time with Shen, but I also wanted to spend an awful lot of time with Tucker. If she hadn’t been with Lindy, would I want to be more than friends? And if so, was that fair to Shen? Even if it was fair and I could see more of Shen without feeling guilty, when and what did I tell him about me?
* * *
The bus down to Columbus wove through beautiful forests and relatively plain fields, though one housed a spectacularly blazing orange pumpkin farm. Mom picked me up at the bus station and we went to grab lunch at her favorite bakery and sandwich place. They usually had two great soups, homemade bread and fantastic pastries.
“Do you think I could have two of those?” I asked Mom as I pointed to the apricot brioche.
“For your lunch?”
“No, for dessert.”
She rolled her eyes. “One of these days that metabolism of yours is going to catch up to you.”
“Oh right, look at you.”
My mom wasn’t skinny but she still fell on the slender side of the spectrum compared to a lot of women in their early fifties.
“I had to give up pasta to look like this,” she protested.
She put in our orders, including my two brioche, and took the number-on-a-stick thing to a table by the windows. I carried the two mugs we’d been given over to the coffee station and filled them. Mine got a ton of cream and sugar and Mom’s just a dash of cream.
“Thanks,” she said as I set her mug down in front of her and settled into my seat. “What do you think about your classes now that you’ve had some time in them?”
“I still really like microbiology and that machine learning course is really hard but I’m learning a ton. I’m not sure I could do the next level of it, too much programming, but it’s helping me understand some questions I had. Calculus is only tough when I let it get abstract. As long as I can translate it into practical stuff I’m okay, plus I think Shen would tutor me if I asked.”
Mom’s eyebrows went up.
“He’s in the machine learning class with me. He and his cousin are really funny. They’re the ones who organized that big game on campus I told you about.”
She took a sip of her coffee and waited. While she was working on her Ph.D., Mom had to interview all kinds of people from different cultures and socioeconomic classes. Her ability to wait for the answer s
he knew was there trumped any other technique I’d seen for getting people to talk.
“I can’t figure out what their deal is,” I said. “Shen asked me to come study with him—well, he didn’t even really ask, he just kind of slipped it into a conversation like it would be a good idea. And then he invited me to a movie with him and Johnny, so I don’t get if that was a date or not and if he likes me or if Johnny does or if we’re all just friends.”
“Would I like these young men?”
“You’d love Shen. His parents sent him over here from China to watch over Johnny and get an American degree and he’s very polite but also really funny in this subtle way. He’s actually sort of courtly. I really like that. And shy but not awkward. And Johnny—he’s funny and kind of loud, but he’s also really smart, though I think sometimes he tries to hide that.”
“It sounds like they enjoy spending time with you,” Mom said.
I nodded. “I also kind of like Tucker but she’s in a relationship. But I’m not sure how good her relationship is.”
“This is your roommate?” Mom asked. “The one who came out as transsexual even though she isn’t?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think maybe that’s why you have a crush on her?”
“Um, what? No,” I said.
“There could be some transference going on.”
A lock of sandy blond hair was curling the wrong way from her chin-length bob and she tucked it back behind her ear. She turned her head so she was staring out the window, as if the lack of direct pressure on me would make her comment less obnoxious.
“Mom, cut it out,” I told her. “Don’t psychobabble me.”
“I just want you to be aware of what might be happening before you make any big choices,” she said. “If you’re worried about not fitting in, maybe dating a girl isn’t your best bet.”
“Mom!”
“On the other hand it would probably be easier to come out to her. Have you thought about how you’re going to talk to whoever you choose to date?”
“Of course I’ve thought about it, but it doesn’t seem fair. It seems like it’s a really…medical thing to talk about.”
The server showed up with our food and I dug into the steaming bowl of French onion soup. I knew why that was the first question on Mom’s mind when she heard I liked someone; the media was full of stories of the “deceptive” transsexual who tricks men into having sex with her and then usually gets killed for her trouble. The thing is, that image was total bullshit. It was some crazy paranoia cooked up by a culture that couldn’t handle that sex and gender just weren’t as cut and dried as some people wanted to believe.
But there was a real fear that some people, men in particular, if they thought I was a guy, would beat me up or worse. I understood what Mom was getting at, I just thought it was completely unfair. No other girl I knew had to think about having the most embarrassing and scary conversation possible with a guy she liked. I mean, how was I even supposed to talk about it. Just thinking about saying “Oh hey, I want to tell you I had genital surgery” made my cheeks burn with embarrassment.
Maybe Shen and I could just keep it at the casual friends level for a while. But even then, was I setting him up to feel deceived if I later told him and we’d already spent all sorts of time together?
This was another one of those issues I never had to deal with in high school because everyone just knew and if they didn’t like me, well then they didn’t have to hang out with me. It made it hard to find people to date because most of the guys had known me in my guy drag. I went out with a girl for a bit and then there was a friend of a friend who was cool about everything and we went out for a few weeks, but I never found myself all that interested in him. And I had this creepy suspicion that he was “putting up” with my trans status because he could get a pretty girl on his arm. It was like I was some kind of discounted designer purse. Well, except he’d never carry a purse.
It was too bad Nico and I couldn’t seem to keep dating. We’d try it and sometimes it worked and other times we’d just end up cracking jokes and laughing together when we tried to make out.
I met a couple of guys at parties over the last year who wanted to make out, but I never felt like I wanted them to know a lot of personal information about me, so it was easy not to tell them. If a guy doesn’t already know that some of the women in the world were born with “boys’” bodies, then late at night on a Saturday when he’s tipsy is not the most effective time to deliver that educational unit. And I don’t think it’s deceptive to not want to tell strangers or new friends a long story about the state of my genitals.
“It’s kind of a mess,” I told Mom. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. There isn’t really a guide book for this.”
She put the fork down to the side of her mostly-eaten salad and touched my hand. “Just watch out for yourself,” she said.
“I won’t put myself in danger, I promise. Plus, Tucker will look out for me. I am going to come out to her. I almost did this week but her girlfriend came over all upset. I think there’s something not right going on there.”
“What kind of not right?”
“I can’t tell. It’s like, sometimes Lindy is fun to be around and other times she’s cagey and strange.”
“Does she drink?”
“I don’t know.”
Mom pushed her salad aside and tore one of my brioche in half.
“Hey, get your own,” I said.
She ignored me and took a bite of the gooey middle part where the apricot and glaze pooled together.
“I’ll get you another when you finish all this,” she said around a mouthful of pastry.
I grinned at her. “I have pocket money, I can get my own, I’m just defending my territory.”
“Poorly,” she said. “Now I’m not a psychologist, but I’d be wondering if there wasn’t some kind of addiction or alcohol issue going on with Lindy the way you describe her being inconsistent like that. Do you think Tucker suspects that?”
“I think she’s too nice to think that,” I said.
“Codependent?” Mom asked.
“Maybe, though I’m not really sure what that means. And I don’t want it to sound like Tucker’s got problems because she’s really awesome.”
I hadn’t told Mom the part about Tucker being grabbed outside the gym. There’s just a level at which I didn’t want her to worry about me, but I realized I was going to have to in order to ask the next question.
“This other thing happened to Tucker,” I said. “Two guys grabbed her and shoved her into a wall because they thought she was trans.”
I downplayed the incident because I didn’t want Mom to worry about me or to freak out and pull me out of school. I’d already spent enough time going over what could have happened if two huge guys started hitting me; she didn’t need to run that scenario too. It was over, the guys weren’t coming back to campus and I’d ordered myself a canister of pepper spray like Tucker’s.
“Oh honey,” Mom said.
“It’s okay, she pepper sprayed them in the face and they got kicked out of school.”
“I want you to get pepper spray too,” she said. “Don’t walk alone after dark. And if you don’t feel safe, think about transferring to OSU. You wouldn’t have to live at home. We’d give you money to get an apartment.”
“Mom, please. I’m not going to spend my whole life living close to home.”
She’d finished the brioche half and was eyeing the other half so I picked it up and put it on her plate. She cut off a small edge with her fork and ate it.
“Ella,” she said with a long sigh. “I saw the news about the facilities policy. Arinya came to my office to tell me and ask if you were okay.”
Arinya was Nico’s mom and also worked at OSU, so she was a quick walk across campus from my mom—plus, she was way more overprotective than my parents. I don’t know what kind of crazy Google searches she had set up that flagged the story about the faciliti
es policy at Freytag, but I was sure that was how she found it. No way would Nico share that with per folks knowing how often our moms talked.
“I’m fine,” I said and tried not to look away from Mom while I said it. Having an anthropologist parent made me very careful about social cues even before I got adept at navigating gender roles. “We think someone complained about Tucker being in the women’s locker room.”
“OSU has a much better policy and they have gender neutral changing rooms and bathrooms.”
“I’m not gender neutral,” I said.
“I know, honey, but it’s a tough issue and gender neutral facilities are a good compromise.”
“That’s why I have a suite in a senior dorm. They didn’t want me using the bathroom with real women.”
She didn’t bother to respond. There wasn’t a good reply to it anyway. She just looked at me and didn’t even pick at the remnants of the mangled brioche.
“I want you to seriously think about transferring to OSU,” she said.
“I don’t want to go to OSU,” I said. I didn’t say: I don’t need to go to college with my mommy there to protect me. “I like my classes, I like my friends, I’m fine where I am.”
“Your credits would transfer and you’d have your own apartment near campus. Just think about it.”
“I’m getting another pastry,” I said and got up from the table.
I went to the counter and ordered another apricot brioche, this one to go. I didn’t want to keep sitting there and listening to Mom’s suggestions about how to live my life: I shouldn’t date women so I could be more mainstream; I should move home so they could watch over me; I should be happy to have the opportunity to use gender neutral bathrooms. Right.
We went back to the house and I said I had studying to do so I’d have an excuse to sit in my old bedroom until I’d calmed down some. Then I made a point to help Mom with the chores before I fired up the Xbox, just so she wouldn’t think I was sulking or withholding and try to engage me in some other deep conversation.