A different sort of TS story
Jan. 25th, 2007 09:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kengr(posted by permission of the author)
Twelve Days of Christmas
By Itinerant
Edited by Amelia R.
There are many sorts of Real-Life Tests ...
**********
January - Day 1:
~Crap!~
I crumpled the useless lottery ticket and pitched it in the wastebasket.
I kept hoping that one day I'd win enough to at least take a nice, long
cruise around the world -- somewhere far away from the all too familiar
area of Atlanta -- but so far I'd only hit the smaller prizes. It was
my one real vice, I guess; the pastor of my church liked to tease me
about it, but since I didn't smoke, I figured I could indulge once a
week.
"What the hell??"
The shock in Jack's voice was plain, and I popped up from my desk to
look at whatever had prompted the outburst. I walked to where he stood
looking out the window and just gaped at what I saw. It was ... Ken?
The kid was coming to work in a dress, of all things. His light brown
hair was longer, but not by much, and looked shaggy; it appeared he
hadn't gotten it cut since he'd taken his vacation.
The shock of the sight left me raking through my memory to try to figure
out what might have happened. It had only been a couple of years since
he'd been hired in, and I had been tapped to mentor him through his
first year. He was bright, but shy -- not exactly the sort I expected
to work out in sales. He worked exceptionally hard and managed to
handle the job with a flair I hadn't anticipated. It was as if he let
another side of himself out when he was working the phones. I had no
problem giving Ken my unqualified approval at the end of his
probationary period, and he was transitioned to a full-fledged member of
our team.
His shy streak kept him out of most of the outings and parties we held
for the department, and there were times I worried how well he'd
function in the department over the long term, but there was nothing to
fault him with, even after two years.
Until this morning.
I waited until he'd gotten to his desk with his coffee before I wandered
over. The department was buzzing with speculation and snickers. Our
quiet newbie had certainly started the year off with a bang!
The conversation was frustrating at best. No, he hadn't lost a bet.
No, it wasn't a joke on someone at the company. No, he wasn't a
cross-dresser. No, he really didn't care to get into what's going on
just now, but he'd be dressing like this from now on.
I know my disappointment showed; Ken looked away, clearly embarrassed,
and promised me that he'd explain everything later. He had to talk to
Angus McBryde, our department head, first and the folks in HR.
He stood to leave as we both caught sight of Angus arriving, but paused
before starting off. I almost wished he hadn't.
"Matt, I know you won't understand for a while -- if ever -- but I'm
calling myself Margaret now."
*****
February - Day 2:
The month from hell was the kindest thing I could say for it. Ken had
endured a month that was far worse than the term 'hell' would describe,
and those of use who worked with and around him had dealt with a
horrible conflict of interest.
Margaret was even less outgoing than Ken, though it seemed some of the
women were more successful in striking up conversations. It was kind of
sad that he, even dressed as he was, was more accepted by the women than
the men.
Still, I couldn't understand why he'd decided to pull this stunt.
He'd been ignored for the first week or so after we'd all come back to
work, but now he was getting physically abused. 'Accidental' bumps into
corners, or doors slammed in his face, or even mysterious dents and
scratches on his car showed the increasing displeasure of his
co-workers.
I didn't know what to say, but about halfway through the second week,
I'd come around a corner just in time to see Ken body checked into a
wall by one of the first floor staff with a "Stay out of my way,
faggot!"
Ken was silent as he picked up his scattered papers, but his eyes showed
the emotional wound he'd taken.
~What could be so bad that someone would think this kind of abuse is an
improvement?~
I found myself trying to escort him when I could, and in particular when
he had to go to the first floor. For some reason, the inhabitants there
were more prone to physical abuse. Our floor seemed to hover between
quiet verbal heckling and sullen silence.
I made it clear to my own team that, whatever Ken's problem was, there
would be hell to pay for the first person to lay a hand on Ken, no
matter how he dressed.
*****
March - Day 3:
The department meeting had been straightforward and pointed. The Human
Resources VP had been cycling through every department in the company
with a simple message: The physical and verbal harassment of anyone,
for ANY reason, was against company policy -- not to mention state and
federal law.
The battering Ke - Margaret had been taking had finally landed her in
the nurse's station. That made it a matter for official notice, and the
company had been forced to take action before lawyers got involved. The
next infraction was going to result in an immediate termination.
Margaret was, on the other hand, restricted to the unisex bathrooms on
the first floor, as there was no way the male or female employees would
put up with her in their rest rooms.
I'd managed to snag a seat in the back and watched as a signoff sheet
was passed around that showed everyone was here and had been warned.
Ken was sitting a couple of seats away; there was a ring of empty seats
around him, but I could still hear her surprisingly feminine voice.
"I never wanted it to get to this point."
I just wish he -- she would be a little less close-mouthed about why
this was all happening.
*****
April - Day 4:
It was getting warmer now with the middle of the Georgia spring
arriving, and I noticed that Margaret was wearing a lighter weight skirt
today. She still wore long-sleeves, which I guessed was an attempt to
hide bruises from off-work encounters with the less-tolerant population
in the area. She was chatting with one of the administrative assistants
as I waited for the coffee machine to deliver its nectar. It was the
first chance I'd had to process the changes I'd seen since the first of
the year.
The former Ken now sported a short, but definitely feminine hairstyle,
and her body language was grating against the still male shape in the
clothing. There was maybe a little more rounding here and there, but
not enough to make him look much like a her.
I grabbed the coffee cup and headed back to my desk as I tried to
understand what could possibly make the man do what he'd done.
I sipped on the hot liquid, thought about what I'd observed a few
minutes before, and compared it to how Ken had interacted with the guys
in the department. There were two points that jumped out at me: first,
it was obvious that he was deliberately trying to mimic some of the body
language of the women as he talked with them; second, it was clear from
his body language that he was much more comfortable with himself now
than he'd been a year ago.
It was as if, after years of hiding, he was beginning to show his real
self.
*****
May - Day 5:
Jack cracked another peanut shell as we waited for the steaks to arrive.
He and I had gotten together one night a month for dinner since we'd
hired in. We had one rule that we always followed -- no work
discussions. It shocked me when Jack brought up our oddly dressed young
problem.
He'd broken the rule, but we really needed to talk about it. Things at
work had been a lot more awkward of late with the stress over Ken. The
bulk of our team seemed uncomfortable with him, though they were willing
to tolerate his presence. There were one or two who weren't so
accommodating, though, and they made no secret of their opinions in the
after-work sessions. I found myself agreeing with them at times; Ken's
presence *was* disruptive. On the other hand, the youngster was at
least as productive as last year; there was no job-related reason to do
anything to him.
"Matt, you know as well as I do that what Ken's doing is unnatural. He
may still be a good worker, but isn't there more to being a good
employee than just how much money you bring in? Shouldn't it be just as
important what kind of example you set?
"The guys in the print shop downstairs keep a close eye on him when he
comes down their way, and they keep seeing him chatting up the girls.
They say he's just trying to get into their skirts." He paused for a
minute. "And you know they're trying to start rumors about you and
him."
I shook my head at him. "Jack, if I'm pissing off the trolls on the
first floor then I must be doing something right. Words are bad
enough, but beating on someone is wrong no matter how they dress. They
hurt the kid, and it could have been serious. I don't know why he's
doing what he's doing, but the way he's put up with the abuse means it
has to be awfully important to him."
"Matt, you're my friend. I just worry that you'll lose your friends if
you keep sticking up for the weirdo."
*****
June - Day 6:
~Well that really didn't help anything at ALL!~
I cursed myself for losing my temper as I dropped back into my chair. I
still didn't understand how it all came apart, but one minute I was
sitting there trying to ask Margaret a question, the next she was
reaming me out for being as bad a bigot as the rest of them. I knew I
had been pushing hard, but she hadn't ever gotten around to explaining
why and how this all had started. She said she wasn't ready, yet, and I
... lost my temper. I didn't quiet yell, but was using that intense
whisper that's one step below hollering.
I'd tried to run interference for her within the department since no one
else knew what was really going on, and I was getting tired of fighting
blind after six months.
She wound up storming away from the table with tears of rage running
down her face.
*****
July - Day 7:
"Matt?"
The soft voice, and softer touch, made me jump as Margaret had come up
behind me. I'd been so focused on work that I hadn't heard her. Any
biting remark I had intended to make was stillborn as I saw the pleading
look on her face. We hadn't spoken much during the last month; I was
really irked at her refusal to explain and had determined to wait until
*she* started a conversation.
I couldn't completely suppress the sigh, and she winced as she heard it,
but it didn't deter her from her mission.
"Matt," she began, hesitantly, "I'm sorry. I know I haven't been
helping you understand what I'm doing -- or why -- but I think I'm able
to talk about it now, if you aren't too upset with me to listen."
She looked afraid and hopeful as she waited for my response; I really
couldn't say no.
"Margaret, I'm still bugged about it, but I'll give you your chance. Do
we meet at lunch, or after work?"
We finally agreed that lunch was most convenient, and there was a fairly
quiet, secluded table in the office park where we could talk
undisturbed.
I swung through the cafeteria for a sandwich combo, and sipped on the
sweet tea as I walked out to the picnic table. Margaret was there
already, watching patiently for my arrival.
I sat on the bench opposite her, and we talked as we ate.
"Why, Margaret? Why all this?" I waved at the person Ken had become.
She had a bittersweet smile on her face as she sat back. "Do you know
you sound just like my father right now? All I can say is that I had
to." She paused. "As long as I can remember, I've known something was
wrong, Matt. I was a tolerable soccer player as I grew up, but I just
had no interest in most guy things. Football was a bore -- almost a sin
in Georgia -- and baseball wasn't much better.
"My parents didn't help; they kept pushing for me to get more involved
with team sports. 'It'll help you get over your shyness,' they said. I
spent most of high school riding one bench or another, never getting
into the games, and never caring.
"When I got to college, it was better for the most part. I wasn't at
home, and no one paid attention to me in the dorms. In a way it was
worse, though, because I finally had time to think without
distractions." Margaret's voice trembled with stress, or hurt, or both.
"Have you ever wondered why I always wear long sleeves, Matt?"
I admitted that I did, especially in Hot-lanta in the summer.
She carefully unbuttoned her cuffs and pulled back both sleeves to the
elbow. Her wrists had nasty looking scars across their width.
I know I stared for a while, but she patiently waited for me to look
back up. Her eyes were calm, and unapologetic. She spoke again as she
pulled her sleeves back down and refastened the buttons.
"During the summer between my junior and senior years I finally
'flipped'. I woke up in a hospital with these," she raised her hands,
"and a vague memory of pills and a knife. My roommate had gotten back
early enough to call the paramedics and keep me from bleeding out
completely. My parents showed up the next afternoon and demanded I see
a shrink."
She giggled. "I think they came to regret the decision, but it was too
late by then. The shrink and I went through a couple of years of
therapy before we finally got to the root of the problem. It was the
first time I'd ever heard of Gender Identity Disorder, but it boils down
to having a mismatch between my body and mind. Some people call it
being transgendered or transsexual."
She shrugged. "The doc said I tested out as being a female between the
ears, so I had a choice: I could go through therapy to try to make my
mental workings more male, or go through mental therapy and surgery to
make my body match my mind." She gestured at herself in a deliberate
echo of my earlier gesture. "I think you can see what my choice was.
Just before Christmas last year, my therapist said I was ready to start
my real-life test. That's why I showed up looking like I did after New
Year's."
"Why couldn't you *tell* me what was going on? It would have helped me
know how to answer some of the guys who had questions."
She looked ashamed. "I ... was afraid. You were the one who'd trained
me when I first came to work, and I really respected you; then you stuck
up for me when the creeps started beating up on me, and I worried that
if I told you everything that you'd abandon me."
I snickered, and then laughed as she looked up with a startled and hurt
look. "Maggie, you really don't know me very well. My family is
Scottish, Irish, and German all the way back to my first ancestors who
came over three hundred years ago. We're stubborn, and we don't abandon
friends."
Her lips quivered and tears welled up in her eyes. I shook my head as I
pulled my handkerchief out and handed it over.
"Use that to catch those tears before your makeup runs."
*****
August - Day 8:
Margaret and I had a few more talks over the next month, and I tried to
get my head around the idea of what she was going through. The idea
that she'd tried to commit suicide left me with nightmares for days
afterward, and I found I was spending time at the Georgia Tech library
trying to figure out what Margaret was dealing with.
I found myself reading the newspaper with more attentiveness and began
to realize that Maggie was lucky -- she was still alive. People like
her were all too frequently beaten, maimed, and even murdered just
because they didn't fit the model.
I just didn't understand how anyone could *do* that.
It made it worse when some of the articles had statements from the
offender's pastor saying what a good person they were and how they had
to have been provoked.
I couldn't help wonder just how well the Pharisees would have gotten
along with them.
*****
September - Day 9:
"Freak lover!"
I had quit reacting to the little loving comments weeks ago. The last
two months had been a delightful, slowly rising tide of similar
statements from people I'd thought were friends, or at least not
enemies.
The guys in my department weren't a problem anymore. They were a little
more stand-offish, but not one had even made an inappropriate crack
after the first couple of weeks. Angus had made sure that he'd
circulated around the cubes a bit more, and a quiet word or two had
squelched the couple of jokers whose sense of humor needed work.
The Neanderthals on the first floor though were determined to make their
displeasure known. I'd been pegged as the prime target, since I had
made a point of watching over Maggie whenever I could on her excursions
to the other floors.
She'd become a fixture in the flock of women who gathered for lunch, and
it was good to see how animated and comfortable they all were. It was
apparent that the interaction was doing Maggie a lot of good in other
ways, too. Her clothing was a better fit, and her makeup was showing
marked improvement. I'd caught a couple of envious comments about her
runway model figure. It was all to the good as far as I was concerned.
The girl needed all the encouragement she could get.
*****
October - Day 10:
I kept looking back over the last few months and wondering how I got
here. I was looking for another church that didn't seem to be ready to
lynch people like Maggie and her friends, but Sundays seemed to keep
picking at a wound that didn't seem to want to heal.
It hurt to think that people I'd known for years would be that venomous,
but I'd gone from long time member to freak-loving heretic in their
eyes. The pastor had come by first, then two of the board of elders,
trying to make me 'turn from my sins.' I kept trying to tell them that
I just wanted to treat Maggie like I should, but....
I got the letter a week ago, now. I was 'under church discipline' it
said because I refused to acknowledge and repent of my sins. I had been
stricken from the membership roll and would be refused any further
pastoral care until I was ready to repudiate what I'd done.
Maggie had stopped during the morning and asked why I was looking glum.
I found myself choking up as I explained what had happened -- I
understood a bit more how she must have felt when trying to tell me
about her GID.
Her eyes shimmered with sympathetic tears. "I'm so sorry, Matt. I had
to do what I did, but I truly never wanted you to suffer for my choice."
She patted my arm sympathetically.
I forced as much of a smile as I could manage. "It wasn't your doing,
Maggie. I made my own choices along the way, too."
A little later, she stopped by and mentioned that some of her friends
attended a church that was open and welcoming.
"They're even pretty good about backsliders who have the gumption to
make friends with people like me."
"You attend there?"
She looked sad for a second as she shook her head.
"No, I have too many bad memories ... even for a place I know I'd be
welcome."
~So much for Christian love....~
*****
November - Day 11:
"I'm sorry, Matt, but with everything that's happened this year..."
Jack's voice trailed off, and he looked sheepish. He'd stopped by to
make sure I knew I wasn't invited this year to the football bash.
I stamped down, hard, on my impulse to take my feelings out on him -- it
wasn't just his fault -- but I still felt betrayed. Damn it, we'd been
friends since we hired in, but this last year had put a strain on
everyone. I guessed that some of the rumors from the first floor had
gotten around, and the wives and girlfriends didn't want to deal with a
weirdo, or even someone who stuck up for a weirdo.
My mother had extended her annual invitation, and it wasn't all that
unusual for me to accept. I had a feeling that the conversations could
be a lot different from the usual this year.
It was hard to feel too sorry for myself; at least I had a family to
spend time with. Maggie's family still wasn't happy with her, and she'd
mentioned that she was planning a quiet holiday for herself.
"You're resting up for the shopping mania on Friday?" I asked,
half-seriously.
"No. I'm cutting out almost all my Christmas shopping, so I can save up
for my surgery. It costs an awful lot, so it'll be a couple of years at
best before I can have the rest of my birth defect fixed."
I nodded and tried for a little levity. "It's not the sort of thing
that our insurance plan is just begging to cover, either, I suspect."
She stuck out her tongue at me, accepting the intended humor though she
was clearly unhappy with the situation.
*****
December - Day 12:
I looked at the lottery ticket in my hand, and then back at the web site
to double check.
I'd won one of the second prizes, and just in time for Christmas!
It might only be the prize for the five white balls in 'Mega Millions'
and a quarter of a million dollars -- before taxes, of course -- but it
was the first time I'd won more than a hundred and fifty dollars in any
of the games. I'd clear about hundred grand when all was said and done.
I couldn't quite wipe the grin on my face at the thought of getting away
from the hell-hole that Atlanta had become in the last few months and
taking that around the world cruise that I'd dreamed of. I was tired of
fighting every damn day with a bunch of brain-dead, slack-jawed....
I ground my teeth as I fought the anger down again.
Maggie's arrival, announced by a swish of fabric and tell-tale perfume,
interrupted my thoughts. It had been almost a year now since her first
appearance at work, and I shook my head at the pronoun I used in my
thoughts without even hesitating.
Maggie had said her real life test would be over just before the first
of the year, and if her doctor and therapist approved she'd be allowed
to schedule surgery -- if she could find the money.
I sighed, and looked at the ticket again -- and saw scarred wrists in
its place.
What else could I do?
I turned to the computer again....
A few minutes later, Maggie went to grab her morning coffee, and I
looked one more time at the folded paper in my hand. It was a small
fortune to me and would be the key to making some of my dreams come
true, but how much was a life worth?
I'd miss the travel, but there would be other tickets and other chances.
I left the ticket folded within the printout -- with the payout
highlighted in yellow -- on her desk with a small subscript:
Merry Christmas, Maggie.
Twelve Days of Christmas
By Itinerant
Edited by Amelia R.
There are many sorts of Real-Life Tests ...
**********
January - Day 1:
~Crap!~
I crumpled the useless lottery ticket and pitched it in the wastebasket.
I kept hoping that one day I'd win enough to at least take a nice, long
cruise around the world -- somewhere far away from the all too familiar
area of Atlanta -- but so far I'd only hit the smaller prizes. It was
my one real vice, I guess; the pastor of my church liked to tease me
about it, but since I didn't smoke, I figured I could indulge once a
week.
"What the hell??"
The shock in Jack's voice was plain, and I popped up from my desk to
look at whatever had prompted the outburst. I walked to where he stood
looking out the window and just gaped at what I saw. It was ... Ken?
The kid was coming to work in a dress, of all things. His light brown
hair was longer, but not by much, and looked shaggy; it appeared he
hadn't gotten it cut since he'd taken his vacation.
The shock of the sight left me raking through my memory to try to figure
out what might have happened. It had only been a couple of years since
he'd been hired in, and I had been tapped to mentor him through his
first year. He was bright, but shy -- not exactly the sort I expected
to work out in sales. He worked exceptionally hard and managed to
handle the job with a flair I hadn't anticipated. It was as if he let
another side of himself out when he was working the phones. I had no
problem giving Ken my unqualified approval at the end of his
probationary period, and he was transitioned to a full-fledged member of
our team.
His shy streak kept him out of most of the outings and parties we held
for the department, and there were times I worried how well he'd
function in the department over the long term, but there was nothing to
fault him with, even after two years.
Until this morning.
I waited until he'd gotten to his desk with his coffee before I wandered
over. The department was buzzing with speculation and snickers. Our
quiet newbie had certainly started the year off with a bang!
The conversation was frustrating at best. No, he hadn't lost a bet.
No, it wasn't a joke on someone at the company. No, he wasn't a
cross-dresser. No, he really didn't care to get into what's going on
just now, but he'd be dressing like this from now on.
I know my disappointment showed; Ken looked away, clearly embarrassed,
and promised me that he'd explain everything later. He had to talk to
Angus McBryde, our department head, first and the folks in HR.
He stood to leave as we both caught sight of Angus arriving, but paused
before starting off. I almost wished he hadn't.
"Matt, I know you won't understand for a while -- if ever -- but I'm
calling myself Margaret now."
*****
February - Day 2:
The month from hell was the kindest thing I could say for it. Ken had
endured a month that was far worse than the term 'hell' would describe,
and those of use who worked with and around him had dealt with a
horrible conflict of interest.
Margaret was even less outgoing than Ken, though it seemed some of the
women were more successful in striking up conversations. It was kind of
sad that he, even dressed as he was, was more accepted by the women than
the men.
Still, I couldn't understand why he'd decided to pull this stunt.
He'd been ignored for the first week or so after we'd all come back to
work, but now he was getting physically abused. 'Accidental' bumps into
corners, or doors slammed in his face, or even mysterious dents and
scratches on his car showed the increasing displeasure of his
co-workers.
I didn't know what to say, but about halfway through the second week,
I'd come around a corner just in time to see Ken body checked into a
wall by one of the first floor staff with a "Stay out of my way,
faggot!"
Ken was silent as he picked up his scattered papers, but his eyes showed
the emotional wound he'd taken.
~What could be so bad that someone would think this kind of abuse is an
improvement?~
I found myself trying to escort him when I could, and in particular when
he had to go to the first floor. For some reason, the inhabitants there
were more prone to physical abuse. Our floor seemed to hover between
quiet verbal heckling and sullen silence.
I made it clear to my own team that, whatever Ken's problem was, there
would be hell to pay for the first person to lay a hand on Ken, no
matter how he dressed.
*****
March - Day 3:
The department meeting had been straightforward and pointed. The Human
Resources VP had been cycling through every department in the company
with a simple message: The physical and verbal harassment of anyone,
for ANY reason, was against company policy -- not to mention state and
federal law.
The battering Ke - Margaret had been taking had finally landed her in
the nurse's station. That made it a matter for official notice, and the
company had been forced to take action before lawyers got involved. The
next infraction was going to result in an immediate termination.
Margaret was, on the other hand, restricted to the unisex bathrooms on
the first floor, as there was no way the male or female employees would
put up with her in their rest rooms.
I'd managed to snag a seat in the back and watched as a signoff sheet
was passed around that showed everyone was here and had been warned.
Ken was sitting a couple of seats away; there was a ring of empty seats
around him, but I could still hear her surprisingly feminine voice.
"I never wanted it to get to this point."
I just wish he -- she would be a little less close-mouthed about why
this was all happening.
*****
April - Day 4:
It was getting warmer now with the middle of the Georgia spring
arriving, and I noticed that Margaret was wearing a lighter weight skirt
today. She still wore long-sleeves, which I guessed was an attempt to
hide bruises from off-work encounters with the less-tolerant population
in the area. She was chatting with one of the administrative assistants
as I waited for the coffee machine to deliver its nectar. It was the
first chance I'd had to process the changes I'd seen since the first of
the year.
The former Ken now sported a short, but definitely feminine hairstyle,
and her body language was grating against the still male shape in the
clothing. There was maybe a little more rounding here and there, but
not enough to make him look much like a her.
I grabbed the coffee cup and headed back to my desk as I tried to
understand what could possibly make the man do what he'd done.
I sipped on the hot liquid, thought about what I'd observed a few
minutes before, and compared it to how Ken had interacted with the guys
in the department. There were two points that jumped out at me: first,
it was obvious that he was deliberately trying to mimic some of the body
language of the women as he talked with them; second, it was clear from
his body language that he was much more comfortable with himself now
than he'd been a year ago.
It was as if, after years of hiding, he was beginning to show his real
self.
*****
May - Day 5:
Jack cracked another peanut shell as we waited for the steaks to arrive.
He and I had gotten together one night a month for dinner since we'd
hired in. We had one rule that we always followed -- no work
discussions. It shocked me when Jack brought up our oddly dressed young
problem.
He'd broken the rule, but we really needed to talk about it. Things at
work had been a lot more awkward of late with the stress over Ken. The
bulk of our team seemed uncomfortable with him, though they were willing
to tolerate his presence. There were one or two who weren't so
accommodating, though, and they made no secret of their opinions in the
after-work sessions. I found myself agreeing with them at times; Ken's
presence *was* disruptive. On the other hand, the youngster was at
least as productive as last year; there was no job-related reason to do
anything to him.
"Matt, you know as well as I do that what Ken's doing is unnatural. He
may still be a good worker, but isn't there more to being a good
employee than just how much money you bring in? Shouldn't it be just as
important what kind of example you set?
"The guys in the print shop downstairs keep a close eye on him when he
comes down their way, and they keep seeing him chatting up the girls.
They say he's just trying to get into their skirts." He paused for a
minute. "And you know they're trying to start rumors about you and
him."
I shook my head at him. "Jack, if I'm pissing off the trolls on the
first floor then I must be doing something right. Words are bad
enough, but beating on someone is wrong no matter how they dress. They
hurt the kid, and it could have been serious. I don't know why he's
doing what he's doing, but the way he's put up with the abuse means it
has to be awfully important to him."
"Matt, you're my friend. I just worry that you'll lose your friends if
you keep sticking up for the weirdo."
*****
June - Day 6:
~Well that really didn't help anything at ALL!~
I cursed myself for losing my temper as I dropped back into my chair. I
still didn't understand how it all came apart, but one minute I was
sitting there trying to ask Margaret a question, the next she was
reaming me out for being as bad a bigot as the rest of them. I knew I
had been pushing hard, but she hadn't ever gotten around to explaining
why and how this all had started. She said she wasn't ready, yet, and I
... lost my temper. I didn't quiet yell, but was using that intense
whisper that's one step below hollering.
I'd tried to run interference for her within the department since no one
else knew what was really going on, and I was getting tired of fighting
blind after six months.
She wound up storming away from the table with tears of rage running
down her face.
*****
July - Day 7:
"Matt?"
The soft voice, and softer touch, made me jump as Margaret had come up
behind me. I'd been so focused on work that I hadn't heard her. Any
biting remark I had intended to make was stillborn as I saw the pleading
look on her face. We hadn't spoken much during the last month; I was
really irked at her refusal to explain and had determined to wait until
*she* started a conversation.
I couldn't completely suppress the sigh, and she winced as she heard it,
but it didn't deter her from her mission.
"Matt," she began, hesitantly, "I'm sorry. I know I haven't been
helping you understand what I'm doing -- or why -- but I think I'm able
to talk about it now, if you aren't too upset with me to listen."
She looked afraid and hopeful as she waited for my response; I really
couldn't say no.
"Margaret, I'm still bugged about it, but I'll give you your chance. Do
we meet at lunch, or after work?"
We finally agreed that lunch was most convenient, and there was a fairly
quiet, secluded table in the office park where we could talk
undisturbed.
I swung through the cafeteria for a sandwich combo, and sipped on the
sweet tea as I walked out to the picnic table. Margaret was there
already, watching patiently for my arrival.
I sat on the bench opposite her, and we talked as we ate.
"Why, Margaret? Why all this?" I waved at the person Ken had become.
She had a bittersweet smile on her face as she sat back. "Do you know
you sound just like my father right now? All I can say is that I had
to." She paused. "As long as I can remember, I've known something was
wrong, Matt. I was a tolerable soccer player as I grew up, but I just
had no interest in most guy things. Football was a bore -- almost a sin
in Georgia -- and baseball wasn't much better.
"My parents didn't help; they kept pushing for me to get more involved
with team sports. 'It'll help you get over your shyness,' they said. I
spent most of high school riding one bench or another, never getting
into the games, and never caring.
"When I got to college, it was better for the most part. I wasn't at
home, and no one paid attention to me in the dorms. In a way it was
worse, though, because I finally had time to think without
distractions." Margaret's voice trembled with stress, or hurt, or both.
"Have you ever wondered why I always wear long sleeves, Matt?"
I admitted that I did, especially in Hot-lanta in the summer.
She carefully unbuttoned her cuffs and pulled back both sleeves to the
elbow. Her wrists had nasty looking scars across their width.
I know I stared for a while, but she patiently waited for me to look
back up. Her eyes were calm, and unapologetic. She spoke again as she
pulled her sleeves back down and refastened the buttons.
"During the summer between my junior and senior years I finally
'flipped'. I woke up in a hospital with these," she raised her hands,
"and a vague memory of pills and a knife. My roommate had gotten back
early enough to call the paramedics and keep me from bleeding out
completely. My parents showed up the next afternoon and demanded I see
a shrink."
She giggled. "I think they came to regret the decision, but it was too
late by then. The shrink and I went through a couple of years of
therapy before we finally got to the root of the problem. It was the
first time I'd ever heard of Gender Identity Disorder, but it boils down
to having a mismatch between my body and mind. Some people call it
being transgendered or transsexual."
She shrugged. "The doc said I tested out as being a female between the
ears, so I had a choice: I could go through therapy to try to make my
mental workings more male, or go through mental therapy and surgery to
make my body match my mind." She gestured at herself in a deliberate
echo of my earlier gesture. "I think you can see what my choice was.
Just before Christmas last year, my therapist said I was ready to start
my real-life test. That's why I showed up looking like I did after New
Year's."
"Why couldn't you *tell* me what was going on? It would have helped me
know how to answer some of the guys who had questions."
She looked ashamed. "I ... was afraid. You were the one who'd trained
me when I first came to work, and I really respected you; then you stuck
up for me when the creeps started beating up on me, and I worried that
if I told you everything that you'd abandon me."
I snickered, and then laughed as she looked up with a startled and hurt
look. "Maggie, you really don't know me very well. My family is
Scottish, Irish, and German all the way back to my first ancestors who
came over three hundred years ago. We're stubborn, and we don't abandon
friends."
Her lips quivered and tears welled up in her eyes. I shook my head as I
pulled my handkerchief out and handed it over.
"Use that to catch those tears before your makeup runs."
*****
August - Day 8:
Margaret and I had a few more talks over the next month, and I tried to
get my head around the idea of what she was going through. The idea
that she'd tried to commit suicide left me with nightmares for days
afterward, and I found I was spending time at the Georgia Tech library
trying to figure out what Margaret was dealing with.
I found myself reading the newspaper with more attentiveness and began
to realize that Maggie was lucky -- she was still alive. People like
her were all too frequently beaten, maimed, and even murdered just
because they didn't fit the model.
I just didn't understand how anyone could *do* that.
It made it worse when some of the articles had statements from the
offender's pastor saying what a good person they were and how they had
to have been provoked.
I couldn't help wonder just how well the Pharisees would have gotten
along with them.
*****
September - Day 9:
"Freak lover!"
I had quit reacting to the little loving comments weeks ago. The last
two months had been a delightful, slowly rising tide of similar
statements from people I'd thought were friends, or at least not
enemies.
The guys in my department weren't a problem anymore. They were a little
more stand-offish, but not one had even made an inappropriate crack
after the first couple of weeks. Angus had made sure that he'd
circulated around the cubes a bit more, and a quiet word or two had
squelched the couple of jokers whose sense of humor needed work.
The Neanderthals on the first floor though were determined to make their
displeasure known. I'd been pegged as the prime target, since I had
made a point of watching over Maggie whenever I could on her excursions
to the other floors.
She'd become a fixture in the flock of women who gathered for lunch, and
it was good to see how animated and comfortable they all were. It was
apparent that the interaction was doing Maggie a lot of good in other
ways, too. Her clothing was a better fit, and her makeup was showing
marked improvement. I'd caught a couple of envious comments about her
runway model figure. It was all to the good as far as I was concerned.
The girl needed all the encouragement she could get.
*****
October - Day 10:
I kept looking back over the last few months and wondering how I got
here. I was looking for another church that didn't seem to be ready to
lynch people like Maggie and her friends, but Sundays seemed to keep
picking at a wound that didn't seem to want to heal.
It hurt to think that people I'd known for years would be that venomous,
but I'd gone from long time member to freak-loving heretic in their
eyes. The pastor had come by first, then two of the board of elders,
trying to make me 'turn from my sins.' I kept trying to tell them that
I just wanted to treat Maggie like I should, but....
I got the letter a week ago, now. I was 'under church discipline' it
said because I refused to acknowledge and repent of my sins. I had been
stricken from the membership roll and would be refused any further
pastoral care until I was ready to repudiate what I'd done.
Maggie had stopped during the morning and asked why I was looking glum.
I found myself choking up as I explained what had happened -- I
understood a bit more how she must have felt when trying to tell me
about her GID.
Her eyes shimmered with sympathetic tears. "I'm so sorry, Matt. I had
to do what I did, but I truly never wanted you to suffer for my choice."
She patted my arm sympathetically.
I forced as much of a smile as I could manage. "It wasn't your doing,
Maggie. I made my own choices along the way, too."
A little later, she stopped by and mentioned that some of her friends
attended a church that was open and welcoming.
"They're even pretty good about backsliders who have the gumption to
make friends with people like me."
"You attend there?"
She looked sad for a second as she shook her head.
"No, I have too many bad memories ... even for a place I know I'd be
welcome."
~So much for Christian love....~
*****
November - Day 11:
"I'm sorry, Matt, but with everything that's happened this year..."
Jack's voice trailed off, and he looked sheepish. He'd stopped by to
make sure I knew I wasn't invited this year to the football bash.
I stamped down, hard, on my impulse to take my feelings out on him -- it
wasn't just his fault -- but I still felt betrayed. Damn it, we'd been
friends since we hired in, but this last year had put a strain on
everyone. I guessed that some of the rumors from the first floor had
gotten around, and the wives and girlfriends didn't want to deal with a
weirdo, or even someone who stuck up for a weirdo.
My mother had extended her annual invitation, and it wasn't all that
unusual for me to accept. I had a feeling that the conversations could
be a lot different from the usual this year.
It was hard to feel too sorry for myself; at least I had a family to
spend time with. Maggie's family still wasn't happy with her, and she'd
mentioned that she was planning a quiet holiday for herself.
"You're resting up for the shopping mania on Friday?" I asked,
half-seriously.
"No. I'm cutting out almost all my Christmas shopping, so I can save up
for my surgery. It costs an awful lot, so it'll be a couple of years at
best before I can have the rest of my birth defect fixed."
I nodded and tried for a little levity. "It's not the sort of thing
that our insurance plan is just begging to cover, either, I suspect."
She stuck out her tongue at me, accepting the intended humor though she
was clearly unhappy with the situation.
*****
December - Day 12:
I looked at the lottery ticket in my hand, and then back at the web site
to double check.
I'd won one of the second prizes, and just in time for Christmas!
It might only be the prize for the five white balls in 'Mega Millions'
and a quarter of a million dollars -- before taxes, of course -- but it
was the first time I'd won more than a hundred and fifty dollars in any
of the games. I'd clear about hundred grand when all was said and done.
I couldn't quite wipe the grin on my face at the thought of getting away
from the hell-hole that Atlanta had become in the last few months and
taking that around the world cruise that I'd dreamed of. I was tired of
fighting every damn day with a bunch of brain-dead, slack-jawed....
I ground my teeth as I fought the anger down again.
Maggie's arrival, announced by a swish of fabric and tell-tale perfume,
interrupted my thoughts. It had been almost a year now since her first
appearance at work, and I shook my head at the pronoun I used in my
thoughts without even hesitating.
Maggie had said her real life test would be over just before the first
of the year, and if her doctor and therapist approved she'd be allowed
to schedule surgery -- if she could find the money.
I sighed, and looked at the ticket again -- and saw scarred wrists in
its place.
What else could I do?
I turned to the computer again....
A few minutes later, Maggie went to grab her morning coffee, and I
looked one more time at the folded paper in my hand. It was a small
fortune to me and would be the key to making some of my dreams come
true, but how much was a life worth?
I'd miss the travel, but there would be other tickets and other chances.
I left the ticket folded within the printout -- with the payout
highlighted in yellow -- on her desk with a small subscript:
Merry Christmas, Maggie.
