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The Loft -6-
🕑 Added 2020-11-04 17:28:42 +0000 UTCI sit nervously in the registration office. I have all of my paperwork and the letters from my doctors. Bob also got things going on my name change on Monday, so I can report that, too.
After sitting there for about ten minutes, a diminutive white-haired man in his sixties or seventies comes out of his office and reaches out his hand. He says, “Hello. I’m Dr. Jones. Ms. Richards is tied up, so how can I help you? Do you have questions about registering?”
I take a deep breath and say, “I…umm… I’ve been accepted for this coming semester and…well, I need to make some changes to my registration.”
He gives me a questioning look and asked, “Did we make a mistake on your paperwork? Come in and let’s see what we can figure out.”
I follow him into the office and timidly reply, “No, Sir. You didn’t make a mistake. I’m afraid I did. I…well… I registered as Greg Jennings and, well, I need to change that to Angelique Jennings.”
He gives me an incredulous look and says, “So, you’re telling me that you’re a girl that thought she wanted to be a boy and registered as such? And now you’ve realized that’s hogwash like all of those so-called ‘transgender’ cases. Or you thought you had better chances as a boy? Help me understand this, Ms. Jennings.”
I sigh and just hand him the stack of papers.
He shuffles through them and gets a red face. He nearly shouts, “I don’t appreciate being made a fool of, Ms. Jennings! April Fools is over. Who put you up to this?”
I pale and say, “I don’t understand. This isn’t a joke! I’m really transgendered and was born in a boy’s body. I’m in the process of getting my name officially changed to Angelique. I will also get my gender changed when I can. I’ve been on hormone blockers for years and am now on hormone replacement therapy to develop as a woman.”
I take a deep breath and continue, “To be honest, I’m still on the edge about this—but I want to officially start as Angie—not Greg.”
He blusters something unintelligible—I think I catch something about the world coming to an end, or something. Thankfully, at that moment a pretty, young woman walks in and says, “I’m free now, George, and can take over. Hello, I’m Grace. And you are?”
I sigh and say with as much confidence as I can muster, “Angie Jennings.” She smiles and replies, “OK, Ms. Jennings, please come with me and we’ll see about getting this all straightened out.”
I follow her into her office and try and ignore the mumbling Dr. Jones as I retrieve my papers from him. Hopefully, this Grace will be better to deal with—she seems nice enough.
She takes the papers from me and shuffles through them. After a minute, she says, “OK. First, just ignore Dr. Jones. He’s a little behind the times. So, if I understand correctly, you’ve been accepted as Gregory and you want to register as Angelique? You also want to be officially recognized as female for any facilities usage?”
I nod and say, “Yes, Ma’am.” She laughs and says, “I’m not that much older than you, Hon! No Ma’ams allowed! That makes me feel old!” She winks, then pulls up a screen on her computer and starts clicking and typing. Finally, she says, “OK, I have you in provisionally as ‘Angelique Marie Jennings’—pending your official name change.”
She looks at me and adds, “For now, I have to leave you as male—until you get that officially changed with documented proof. I’m afraid that’s school policy and since we’re a private school, we don’t fall under associated laws that apply to state schools.”
My face falls and I ask, “So, what does that mean?”
She sighs and says, “As ridiculous as it is, it means that you will be required to use the men’s restrooms and other facilities until you’re officially a female on your paperwork. Preferably, you need to get your birth certificate changed, but I can also work with certain other forms of proof.”
I shake my head and ask, “But I can go by Angie and dress as I like?” She giggles and says, “Of course! And any credits you receive will be under that name. But we do need proof of that name change ASAP to maintain that going forward.”
I nod and then ask about signing up for classes and she shows me how to download the college software package and register online. I thank her and quickly take my leave after packing up my papers.
I walk back to the bakery in deep thought. That didn’t go exactly as I had planned! I’m not sure I trust that old dinosaur, Dr. Jones. Grace seems OK enough, but the rules about having to use the men’s room are disturbing. There’s no way I can go in there as Angie! I’ll just have to hold it while on campus.
As I’m about to leave the grounds, I notice a little café right off campus—maybe I can use that in dire emergencies. The Loft isn’t that far, but the several blocks it is away will be too far if I’m desperate.
I make it back in good time, despite my musings, and go up the outside stairs to the Loft. I quickly change clothes and go back down the inside stairs to the bakery, where I make it just in time to help with the lunch crowd.
~ ~ ~
Mel, Kim, and I are sitting in the Loft vaping and enjoying a glass of wine after work. Well, I’m enjoying it as much as I can. My mind is still in a swirl.
I give them the full breakdown of how the meeting with Dr. Jones went and Mel exclaims, “Bullshit,” when she hears about the bathroom rule. Kim says, “But you can’t go into the men’s room as Angie! What are they thinking? Isn’t there some State gender neutrality law, or something?”
I sigh and say, “All I can say is Grace said the State laws don’t apply at the Foundation because it’s a private school. I don’t know—I’m not a lawyer.” Mel retorts, “You should fight it! I think you could win that one easily.”
I shake my head—this is exactly why I couldn’t bring myself to transition before. I don’t want to be noticed. The more invisible I am, the better!
I sigh and say, “No, Mel. That’s not me! I don’t want to be out on the front line fighting for our rights. I know I’m a chicken and am happy to benefit from those that do—but…” I blush and hang my head in shame.
Kim takes my hand and squeezes it. She looks at me and says, “Hon, tell Mel what you told me after your session with Dr. Greenwell. She needs to understand—and she won’t judge. Or tell.”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, then tell Mel what I had told Vicky last week and then later told Kim when she spent the night with me. These two and Vicky are now the only ones that have heard that story.
Mel slowly nods in understanding and says, “That does make more sense, Sweetie! Don’t mind me—Auntie was a spitfire and I kind of got that from her. I get that not everyone has that drive to change the world that was instilled in me, but that doesn’t mean that you can just let them step all over you. Let me talk to some of my contacts and let’s see what we can do.”
I nod and bite my lower lip. I feel all warm and gooey that I have their support. But I also have a bad feeling about how this could all go.
Just last night on the news there was another story about the President—who has refused to condemn white supremacist groups in the past. He was calling for so-called ‘militias’ to go out and protect the people’s voting rights and ensure that ‘the liberals’ don’t ‘steal’ the upcoming election. Anything LGBTQ is considered at the very least ‘liberal’ by these idiots—if not as just plain freaks that need to be exterminated.
If I hadn’t already started the ball rolling at the College, I would seriously rethink things again! As it is, I still am!
I shake my head and say, “Mel. Maybe we shouldn’t rock the boat? I can just hold it or use the restroom at your competition right off campus!” I giggle at her look and she retorts, “I’m just going to quietly check. Don’t worry, Sweetie.”
I take a nervous sip of wine, and thankfully Kim changes the subject.
~ ~ ~
I look over at Kim snuggled up in some cushions on the bed and studying. She has books strewn all around her and is deep into it. I can’t help but smile at my luck in meeting her. I’m at the desk and return my attention to booting up my laptop to navigate registering for classes.
After I enter my student ID and the default password provided to me in my packet, I notice that it logs me in as AngeliqueJennings! That both thrills me and scares the bejesus out of me—especially after our discussion from earlier. The system first makes me reset my password, then it takes me to the student page.
I download and install the software package, then look through the course catalog and mark down the classes I want to register for. The system lets me know that it has reserved the classes for me, but that I will have to get my student advisor to approve them before I will be officially enrolled in any of them.
I sigh. Student advisor? Nobody mentioned anything about a student advisor! I have no idea who that even is!
I check my school email and sure enough, I have a message from a Clarissa Wheaton. She is introducing herself as my advisor and providing her contact information. I’m just about to email her back when I get a video conference request from her. I hiccup in surprise at the sudden melodious prompt and click on the accept button—I didn’t even realize that I had the software set up on my computer!
The video window opens up to a mousy brown-haired girl that looks a little stressed. She makes an effort to smile though and says in a tired, but cheery voice, “Hi, I’m Claire. And you’re Angelique?”
I nod and say, “Yes, but please call me Angie. I didn’t even know I had this on my computer!”
She giggles and says, “When you downloaded the ‘student’ software package onto your computer, it installed all of the software you will need for your courses—including software for virtual meetings and classes. As you now know, I’m your student advisor and we will coordinate your academic journey together.”
She takes a sip of something steaming and continues, “So, I would like to set up a more detailed meeting for later, but I got your requests for approval of several classes for this semester. I appreciate the enthusiasm. Normally we would discuss this prior to you reserving the classes. Can you tell me why you picked those? I’m not saying there is anything wrong with your choices, I just want to understand your thinking and what your plans are…”
I spend the next half hour discussing my class choices and she winds up approving my schedule.
I sit back with a sigh—I feel completely drained. Kim surprises me with a glass of wine and a kiss. She breaks the kiss and giggles, “Student advisors!” She takes a sip of wine and says, “They can be good—and they can be a real pain. You did that really well, though. It shows that you totally were on top of your credits in high school. She couldn’t argue that you didn’t have a plan!”
We chat a few minutes and she goes to finish studying—wine in hand—while I go to fix us some supper.
~ ~ ~
The rest of the week—for me anyway—is pretty quiet.
The news however is getting more and more disconcerting. There was a foiled plot to kidnap and kill the governor here in Illinois by armed ‘militia’. The president is not denouncing any of this behavior—if anything, he seems to be egging it on. I’m almost to the point that I don’t even want to watch the news! This is really messing with my head!
On a more positive front, Bob called me on Friday and let me know that he has a court date for my name change. In Nebraska, that means he now has to have this announced in the newspaper for four consecutive weeks. That, of course, settles it for me—I won’t be going back home anytime soon!
To be honest, I know that not that people even read the paper anymore. But my paranoia won’t let me believe that there’s not some psycho out there scouring that part of the paper just looking for someone to go after.
The real problem, it seems, is getting my gender changed. I have to get my birth certificate modified in Nebraska, since that’s where I was born. In order to do that, I have to have a physician sign off that I’ve had ‘gender-correcting’ surgery!
Bob said he’s looking into it and that Ginger has some connections on that front. It seems I may not have to have full SRS to qualify, but there is no away around some sort of permanent ‘correction’ to qualify.
I will talk to Frankie and Vicky at my next appointments about this, as well. Hopefully, they will have some ideas to add—this was…unexpected. I do want to go the whole way, but this is just pushing things really fast again.
On top of everything else, Mel has also poked the proverbial bear—and got the expected reaction when you do that. I begged her not to, but she promised she would keep me out of her pokings. She contacted the ACLU about the Foundation’s bathroom rule and now there is some attorney that’s going to visit them next week.
The problem that I see is that if there aren’t any other TG students in the same boat I am, then it will be clear that it is connected to me. Even if there are, the timing will be suspicious. I know that Frankie told me that the hormones could affect my mood in a number of ways, so this feeling of dread could be because of that.
Somehow, I don’t think so, though. I just have this feeling of impending doom. Like I’m going to be a bear’s dinner!
~ ~ ~
I take the Monday morning breakfast sandwich special to one of the regulars and hurry out back to take a quick break. It’s a typically busy Monday morning and the store is hopping, so I don’t have a lot of time. I glance at my phone as I vape and notice that I have an email from Grace Richards at the registration office.
I open it up and nearly faint as I read it.
Incredulous, I read it again, “Angie, it has come to our attention that a lawyer from the ACLU is coming to visit because of our bathroom rules for transgendered students. Dr. Jones would like to see you in his office this afternoon at two o’clock to discuss how this will affect your status at the Foundation. Please let me know if you have any questions.”
I pull in a deep lung full of vapor—repeating the action twice in rapid succession—to try and calm my nerves, and then check the clock on my phone before I hurry back inside to finish out the breakfast shift. Mel notices right away that there’s something wrong, but we get momentarily slammed with customers. It’s not until after the breakfast rush that we get a chance for another quick break and I tell her about the email.
Her face gets as red as Kim’s hair and she cusses, then she pulls out her phone and makes a quick call. I’m afraid to ask at this point. She tells whoever it is about the email and then nods resolutely and hangs up after some discussion.
She sighs and explains, “I’m so sorry about this, Ange. I know you didn’t want to get involved in a cause—and this may still be nothing. That was the lawyer friend of mine, Harry Blume, who contacted the ACLU. He advises that I should have you forward the email to him and he will just ‘happen’ to be on the campus at two today, in case you need him.” She makes air quotes around ‘happen’.
She goes on to tell me about the plan to have him on standby, just in case. If it looks like the College is going to make any moves that will jeopardize my enrollment or take any punitive action, then I’m to call him and he will come in to represent me.
Of course, with it being an educational facility, there is the whole academic government and judicial system to worry about—but they still can’t illegally discriminate. He is also going to check the College’s bylaws and student code of honor to see if there is anything in there he may try to use in pulling something.
The lunch hour drags by and my sense of dread increases with each second virtually ticking by in my mind. I just focus on delivering sandwiches and drinks and try not to think about the meeting.
Finally, at one thirty, I once again abandon Mel during the day to go to an appointment—at least this time, it’s not as busy. After the quick walk, I arrive at the campus administrative building ten minutes early and wonder where Harry is at this moment. I have no idea what he looks like, so he could be right next to me for all I know.
I steel my resolve, take a deep breath, and go into the building where I take a seat outside Dr. Jones’s office.
I jump when I get a text and quickly check it. It’s from Harry just confirming that he is waiting right outside the building. I text back that I am outside the office waiting to be called in. I then prepare a text to him that states I need him ASAP—all I have to do is hit ‘send’, if needed.
At that moment, a pale, but very pretty young Black girl comes out of his office—obviously fighting tears—and Dr. Jones pokes his head out behind her. He sees me and says, “Ah… Mr. Jennings. Please come in.”
I take a deep breath and try and calm my nerves as the young girl finally loses it and runs down the hall in tears. This is already not going well.
He has me sit down and then he stares at me for a moment before shaking his head and stating, “I don’t get you people—like that boy in here before you. Why do you insist on defiling your own existence? No matter.”
He glares at me and continues, “It has come to my attention that there is to be an inquiry tomorrow by a lawyer from the ACLU, a certain Gidgit Rosewater, to look into our bathroom policy. You wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with that, now would you?”
I hold my breath. First, there is at least one other TG student here, it seems—so he can’t know for sure I’m involved. Even though I’m really not, I get that implicitly I am, so I have to be careful.
I shake my head and say, “No, I am not. And it’s Ms. Jennings, by the way.”
He looks at me curiously, with his head cocked the side, and sneers, “Oh, so you’ve had your gender changed? Not that it matters in my mind—that won’t change who or what you are.”
I shake my head and say, “No. I’m still working on that.” I don’t know where it comes from, but I add, “And what you think really doesn’t matter—what the laws and policies say, do.”
He smiles dangerously and snipes, “Well, that’s the thing—as the head of this Department, I set the policies. Now, I will ask again—did you have anything to do with this investigation?”
I sigh and say, “No, I have not contacted anyone to have your stupid policies investigated.”
He smiles again and says, “Remember the student code of honor. Lying is terms for expulsion.”
I fight my own tears now and once again firmly state what Harry had told Mel to have me say, “No, I have not contacted anyone to have your stupid policies investigated.”
He nods and says, “OK then, Mr. Jennings. I have recorded our session and your response. You may go.”
I stalk out of the office in near tears and see a boy sitting in the chair outside the office. I hear, “Ah…Ms. Thornton. Please come in,” behind me as I hurry past a guy loitering in the hall and playing on his phone. I rush down the steps—I really need to get outside and vape.
As I blow out the first frustrated dose, I text Harry that I’m outside. About a minute later, a very nice-looking middle-aged Black man comes up to me and asks, “Angie?”
I hiccup in surprise and nervously nod. He smiles and reaches out his hand as he says, “Hi, I’m Harry. Why don’t we walk to Auntie’s and we can talk over a cup of coffee and a scone?”
I limply take his hand and shake it, then say in relief, “Thank goodness! I don’t know who to trust or what to think right now! Sure, that sounds wonderful. But…Auntie’s?”
He laughs and says, “That’s what all the locals call the bakery—well the ones that have been around long enough to know Mel’s aunt. So, how did your meeting with this Jones go?”
We start walking and I give him a quick rundown of the ‘conversation’ and explain that there must be at least two other TG students. He nods and says, “Good job holding steady! I know that can be tough. They can’t have anything on you and he’s just fishing. I just am not sure for what purpose—other than if he can somehow prove you were lying about contacting the ACLU. But that’s not academic fraud.”
We walk into the bakery just as the last customer is leaving and Mel pours us all a cup of coffee while I go to get the scones.
~ ~ ~
Kim and I are snuggling on the couch after I helped Mel do the after-hours preparations for in the morning. It’s close to time to start thinking about making something for supper and I’m feeling better after my talk with Harry, but still very nervous about what may be coming.
Nobody can figure out what Dr. Jones is up to. Harry is still looking, but so far has found nothing that makes any sense on what his motives could be. Calling all of us into his office that way is certainly suspicious, though!
Kim and I are just about to get up and start something for supper when my phone rings. I look at the caller ID and see that it’s Bob, so I put it on speaker. “Hi Bob, you’re on speaker with Kim here so watch what you say about her,” I announce with a giggle. I can hear the smile in his voice when he replies, “Thanks for the warning, Sis!”
We get over the basic pleasantries and I fill him in on the day’s news, which he can’t believe either, then he gets down to business.
He explains, “OK, here’s the deal—according to what Ginger knows and based on some other research, it seems it depends a little on the bureaucrat you get, but full SRS has not been required in any case to qualify for a gender change on your birth certificate.
He takes a breath and continues, “But there are discrepancies in what has been required. Bottom line, it has to be something permanent that would signify your…dedication, I guess is the best word. Something like removing your family jewels has been sufficient in some cases. In others, it has had to go a little further, like they can do something to also make you sit to go pee.”
He takes another deep breath, and I can tell this is rattling him. It’s not doing my nerves any better!
He continues, “In any case, Ginger seems to think, the further that you do ‘go’ to show that commitment, the better your chances are of not being rejected. At least that seems to be her experience.”
I nod numbly and Kim squeezes my hand in support.
I reply, “Thanks for checking, Bob. Let me check with Frankie and Vicky here, too. Maybe they have some ideas.”
We talk a few more minutes, then I disconnect the call and sit there in exasperation. This just got even more complicated—and very real…
~ ~ ~
I’m cleaning up a table after a scary-looking bald-shaven guy, covered in ugly tattoos, leaves. It’s Friday morning and I’m still reeling from all of my meetings this week. I’m afraid my mind isn’t totally on work.
Both Frankie and Vicky announced their dismay when I outlined what I have to do in order to have my gender changed—and they totally can’t believe the stupid bathroom policy. It’s a Catch 22 for me. If I don’t have the ‘correction’, I can’t get my gender changed. If I don’t have my gender changed, I can’t use the correct bathroom. I’ve committed to being Angie at school, now—so, I either quit or go through with it. I can’t really quit and go home, because my intention to change my name is already in the paper.
Then, the options that I seem to have for the ‘correction’ totally freak me out. I mean, ultimately, at some point, I do want to have full SRS, I think, so it shouldn’t be a big deal, but…
All of this is swirling around in my head when I notice the bastard that just left stiffed us on a tip. Then I notice the little note that he left behind.
Curious, I pick it up and read it, “Mr. Jennings – We know who you are. We know what you are. We are watching you. Freak!”
I drop to the floor in a dead faint.
Comments
Shauna J. Rousseau
Well, her luck certainly seems to be changing! :) She does have good friends, though--and hopefully, she can make some more! Thanks for the support! HUGS! S
Teri Ann
Ugh - not looking so good at this point, is it? I hope her real friends can help .
