Deserted

 This entry will be short.

Last Saturday, I received a letter from my daughter (15) saying she no longer wishes contact with me- at all.  She gave some reasons some of which just don't... make sense.  She made me sound like I'm a horrible person.  And I can't defend myself.

And what if she's right?  Maybe I am horrible.

In any case, I've joined the sad sorority of transgender women who have been cut off from their children.

As you can imagine, I'm a mess.

I won't give many details as it is a family matter, but if I don't write for a bit, you now know why.

Summer's here and the time is wrong

Memorial Day passed yesterday, so now it's unofficially summer.  My fave season, because I hate being cold, and I love the freedom it used to represent.  

I really don't have much to write today, as I'm not feeling it.  I finished my dissertation proposal and turned it in last Friday, so now I wait for the next step (which will be defending it.)  After that, I can start the IRB process, as I will be using human subjects in my research.  Once I get through that, I can begin my actual research.  

Florida has become a fascist state under the GQP.  The HRC and NAACP as well as other organizations have issued travel warning to LGBTQ and people of color, warning that travel to Florida could be dangerous.  

https://www.tampabay.com/news/health/2022/11/12/florida-bans-transgender-care-minors-whats-next/

I found two articles in a Pensacola newspaper (actually, the amazing Sabrina Pandora found them, and I read them.)

The first is about Florida now able to legally kidnap children,

https://www.pnj.com/story/news/politics/2023/05/17/florida-sb-254-florida-abduction-transgender-bill-now-law-what-it-does/70206291007/

The second is what to do if you're transgender and living in Florida.

https://www.pnj.com/story/news/politics/2023/04/25/floridas-trans-people-parents-of-trans-kids-see-options-steadily-banned/70132161007/

In other words, if you're trans, they GQP is coming for you, and this is what they want for ALL of the US.  Remember, the GQP has said out loud that they want us eradicated.  Or parents who allow their transgender kids to live should be shot in the head.  

So, yeah, I'm feeling a bit down.  I wonder if my research is too little too late against the tide of right wing Hate.  They lie, and people believe the lies.  We have science on our side, but the GQP has a propaganda machine that stokes anger and fear.  

Why hasn't the federal government stepped in?  HRC?  Lambda Legal?  Anyone?  (Answer: because we're transgender.)

Sigh.

Stay safe and be well.

Mid May Musings

 Spring sprung, with its pollen and leafiness.  Here in the mountains, the leaves are in their raw green coats and flowers are beginning to show themselves.  The spring semester ended, and a whole crop of fresh graduates are unleashed upon the world.  

This group is a little special to me as they arrived on campus when I returned four years ago- they in pursuit of their first degree and I looking for my third.  I remember that first day of class, a cool, dewy morning as I arrived early and went to the little store that is among the East halls dorm complex.  I was startled to learn that they didn't take cash- card only- as I bought a coke (I needed caffeine).  I looked around at all the freshmen (East halls are mostly freshmen) and felt so old.  These students were young enough to be my children.  I received some odd looks.  Were they due to my age or my being trans... or both?  In any case, for many of them, their college days are now behind them, and they will re-live those stories they made for the rest of their lives... just probably not to their children.  

Parents are funny that way.

Still working on my dissertation proposal, but now I have a deadline: May 26.  

Now 11 US states have anti-trans laws in place, with many more coming.  Texas has the lead with over 60 proposed bills and several passed into law.  Florida is doing its best to out-crazy them though.  How long before we're wearing pink triangles?

In any case, summer's here and the time is right... for doing whatever you do during the summer.  

Stay safe and be well.

Mutants, Devils, and Imps

The words of Webster Barnaby, Republican state representative from Florida, on April 10, 2023:

“I’m looking at society today and it’s like I’m watching an X-Men movie with people that when you watch the X-Men movies or Marvel Comics — it’s like we mutants living among us on planet Earth. And, you know, some people don’t like that, but that’s a fact. We have people that live among us today on planet Earth that are happy to display themselves as if they were mutants from another planet.

“This is the planet Earth, where God created men male and women female. I’m a proud Christian, conservative, Republican. I’m not on the fence. There is so much darkness in our world today, so much evil in our world today, and so many people who are free to address the evil, the dysphoria, the dysfunction. I’m not afraid to address the dysphoria or the dysfunction.

“The Lord rebuke you Satan, and all of your demons and all of your imps who come and parade before us. That’s right, I called you demons and imps who come and parade before us and pretend that you are part of this world. So I’m saying my righteous indignation is stirred. I’m sick and tired of this.”

(Source: Los Angeles Blade)

Oh, then he apologized... AFTER they passed yet another anti-trans bathroom bill.  Like that will make it all better.  

So he invokes comic books AND the Bible while degrading transgender people as less than human.  Insert your own joke here.

Hey Rep. Barnaby, you said you're not afraid to address the dysphoria and dysfunction, but you missed one.  Because you yourself are PART of the evil, and you know it.  You just wrap it in a flag and stamp a cross on it like that will make it all better. 

Keystone Conference 2023 briefly

 Last week (March 22- 25) was the 13th Keystone Conference, held for the first time at the Hilton Harrisburg downtown near the action on Second Street.  The Conference outgrew its home of twelve years, the Sheraton, where so many wonderful memories were made.  

Thanks again to Krystin King who gave me her spare hotel room, so I could be there for two days instead of just popping in for a few hours.  So I drove to Harrisburg from State College, a ninety minute rain soaked drive.  My roomie/bestie Linda had to work, so couldn't come.  It was just me, my overnight bag, and makeup box.  Turns out, one of those wasn't needed.  

My first stop was over by the aforementioned Sheraton.  Lee nails is right behind it, and they are TG friendly.  I wanted a mani-pedi as my nails looked like a train wreck.  I spent a pleasant if quiet two hours there- quiet as my tech didn't speak much English and my hearing is bad anyway.  She did a fine job though!  

I arrived at the Hilton around two pm, and, after spiraling up a claustrophobic parking garage, finally found a spot near the top.  Eventually, I found my way to the front desk, where check in was fast and efficient.  I was given room 423, which was at the end of a long hallway.  As I was to learn, the bank of three elevators were slow and unreliable, one of which got stuck and people had to be rescued through the roof of the car.  That didn't inspire confidence.  

After picking up my name tag and conference packet, which included a Hershey bar since nearby Hersheys was a conference sponsor, I headed for the ground level where I figured most people would be- after all, that's where the bar was located.  In the lobby, I saw one of my Vanity Club (VC) little sisters, Gina, and stopped to say hi to her.  I saw her in passing as I was checking in.  She said she knew that I'd eventually be at the bar, so she waited to greet me near there.  Great- so my reputation as a drunkard still holds over a decade after I stopped heavy drinking.  Joy joy.

In any case, I saw my other VC little sister in the bar, Samantha.  I sat with her for a while, drinking wine on an empty stomach (I didn't have lunch.)  Gina later joined us.  I saw Sandy Empanada (Lisa's wife) at the bar, and arraigned to have dinner with her, which, after a nap, I did.  Sandy and I caught up on each others' lives in between people coming over to say hi to her- she is still a rock star in the community.  She also gave me a very belated Xmas gift: a Michael Kors handbag.  Thanks again Sandy!

Gina, me, Samantha

After dinner, I wasn't feeling well (go figure).  I was also very tired so I retired early- in bed by 9:30.  So much for seeing everyone after dinner!  I saw a few dear friends earlier though.

I didn't sleep well- kept waking up.  At one point I gave up and stayed awake.  The restaurant was serving breakfast, so I went down to eat.  It was a small buffet, but good.  After breakfast I bumped into friends, and chatted with them for a bit, then went back to the room for a bit.  I had a meeting to attend at 10:30, which lasted until 12:15.  I went to the lunch banquet, and found a seat at a table marked "Veterans/First Responders."  The tables were labeled by hobbies and other things to encourage conversation.  As I'm not "Outdoorsy type" and there were no seats at "Creative endeavors," I asked if "former paramedic" was good enough to sit at their table.  At the table was the amazing Joanne Carroll, who is one of the founders of Keystone, as well as writer extraordinaire Bree Fam.  As the room was loud, I didn't participate much in conversation (trouble hearing).  That's one of the troubles with hearing loss- the feeling of isolation in a crowded room. The food was ok... or so I thought.

Soon after lunch, I went back to the room as I was experiencing, um, lower gastro-intestinal distress, and spent the next eternity waiting for the Imodium to kick in.  I was worn out and not feeling the whole "put on makeup and dress up" for the gala that night.  I decided to leave early.  (So I didn't need to bring my makeup kit, as I didn't use it.)  This was a hard decision, as there were friends I hadn't yet seen, and some I hadn't really spoken to (like Alexandra or Christy), and I'd paid for the dinner.  However, I knew I'd feel isolated by the din of conversation, and I really didn't want that feeling either.  Or another bout in the bathroom.  

In the end, my sour digestive system (and laziness) won out, and, after saying goodbye to my dear friend Jenny North (who saw me with my bag), I worked my way back to my car.  From there, it was out into the low-cloud rainy afternoon.  

Going to State College from Harrisburg involves going through several mountain passes and driving the length of valleys, making rte 322 look like a strange set of stairs.  That is, except that last valley: to get into Happy Valley, one must ascend Seven Mountains and go over the top, as there is no pass.  That's where the low clouds came into play- the top of the mountain was covered in very thick fog; so thick that I could barely see three car lengths ahead of me, even with fog lights on.  It made for a white knuckle few minutes before I descended down the other side into the valley enough to get under those clouds and back into the rain for the last leg of the trip to State College.  I arrived back at the apartment before the attendees of keystone sat down to dinner.  

I've never missed a Keystone conference, but this was the shortest time I've ever spent at one, thanks to my depression and my digestive tract.  I wanted to see friends; I wanted to have fun, but I seemed incapable of doing it.  For the most part, I wandered the convention area alone, or stayed in my room feeling sick.  I was so glad to see friends when I did, and the time I spent with them was beyond precious.  

Hopefully better next year.

Be well.

Random Thoughts on Nine Years "Out"

 March 25th marks nine years full time as Sophie.  Sometimes it seems like an eternity, and other times it feels like a heartbeat.  In any case, I'm still here, still breathing.  

A dear friend (Hi Jill!) asked me what is the biggest difference from now until then.  That's a good question.  On the surface, I've moved several times, done classes for a PhD, gained weight (too much), sold more than I bought, and a partridge in a pear tree.

Still, on a deeper level, am I better off than I was nine years ago?  Nine years ago, I was living in a room by the grace and charity of a dear friend.  I was working as a head cashier at a chain bookstore.  I saw my Wife and Daughter pretty much every weekend and occasionally during the week.  It still felt like we were a family, despite my living thirty minutes away.  Still, that uprooting, sudden and swift, tore me apart (especially as it was closely followed by Lisa's death.)  I was still very much recovering from those traumas when I declared my Truth to the world.  

Should I have waited?  

Now, I live at Penn State, just outside of town.  I'm no longer employed by the book store.  In that time, I've worked for a chain grocery store for a year, and part time for an LGBT Center for two years  I've completed my classes for my PhD and stalled out working on the dissertation proposal.  I'd argue that my depression is as deep, if not deeper than ever.  Now I spend days sleeping or staring at the ceiling when I should be working on my school stuff.  

In the end, what's changed?  I get to wear dresses and people mostly keep their comments to themselves.  I have boobs.  That's really about it.  Not very deep, is it?

Do I ever regret my decision?  Well, it's a bit too late for that, isn't it?  I regret all that I lost, and what could have been.  Remember, my choice was either transition or death.  In the end, no matter which I decided, I lost everything.  

So to answer my earlier question: am I better off?  Jury's still out on that one.

RANDOM THOUGHTS

Baseball season is almost here.  Japan just won the WBC over the USA, despite the efforts of several Philadelphia Phillies in the US lineup.  Soon I'll be able to listen to (or watch) baseball on sultry summer evenings.  Heaven!

The Keystone Conference is underway in Harrisburg, PA.  I'll be there Saturday to see old friends and maybe meet new ones.  I'm not doing my class this year.  It's at a new hotel, which we've booked solid.  I wonder how the staff will react to hundreds of transgender women at the same time?

My brain isn't braining too well today, so I can't even come up with random thoughts, never mind thoughts worth typing, so I'll end this here.

Be well.

Long Covid?

 Today is the final day of February.  

What have I accomplished?  Well, I finished that literature review that I was stuck on for all that time.  I won't say it was my best work, but it was finished.  Now I'm working on my overall dissertation proposal.  I'm 18 pages into it, and moving slowly.

I've been reading about a condition called "Long covid."  It's like the after effects of having it, but they stick around.  I had covid in June.

The following is from the CDC website: (Italic ones are ones I have).  If you're interested, they also link to the actual science behind this, which I tried reading, but was over my head.

General symptoms (Not a Comprehensive List)

• Tiredness or fatigue that interferes with daily life
• Symptoms that get worse after physical or mental effort (also known as “post-exertional malaise”)
• Fever

Respiratory and heart symptoms

• Difficulty breathing or shortness of breath
• Cough
• Chest pain
• Fast-beating or pounding heart (also known as heart palpitations)

Neurological symptoms

• Difficulty thinking or concentrating (sometimes referred to as “brain fog”)
• Headache
• Sleep problems
• Dizziness when you stand up (lightheadedness)
• Pins-and-needles feelings
• Change in smell or taste
• Depression or anxiety

Digestive symptoms

• Diarrhea
• Stomach pain

Other symptoms

• Joint or muscle pain
• Rash
• Changes in menstrual cycles

Some of these, like depression, I had previously.  However, the "brain fog" fits like a wet glove.  I don't feel as 'sharp' as I used to, and working through standard tasks (like writing) seem like monumental feats.  

I've made an appointment with my doctor at the University health center to discuss it, and what (if anything) can be done.  If I'm not working on a given day, I'll sleep 18 hours either in bed or on the couch- dozing off while trying so hard to write something; anything.  I missed my column deadline for TG Forum a couple weeks back, and have been trying to put together the next column since.  Oh, and to write this entry.  And the dissertation proposal.   

At this point, the speed of my academic program is on me, and I stalled out at the gate.  I should be finished the first draft of the proposal by now, and working on the next step.  Instead, I have an entire section still to be written, then revisions.  

I'll keep plugging along I guess.  What else can I do?  

Oh, I signed up for the Keystone Conference in late March.  It's in a new location in downtown Harrisburg.  I'll be there on Saturday only to see old friends and maybe meet new people.  If you're a reader, please say "hi" if you see me.  

Is there such thing as Early February?

 February is here, short as it is.  It's so short that we're already almost at mid February.  Time flies.

Or it doesn't.  I don't know if it's the meds or what, but I could sleep 24/7 these days.  I spend over 12 hours in bed if I'm not working, then lay on the couch, enduring the day.  I have lots to do- my dissertation proposal, cleaning, and, if I wish, hobbies.  All I want to do is sleep.   It's not like hard labor, which many people do for a living, but its definitely the Darkness having its way.  And when I sleep, that's when the nightmares return.  At least I wake up from them.  

Lately the nightmares have been along a similar vein.  I have a destination, but no matter how much I travel, it keeps getting further away.  But not last night- last night was a Fridays dream.  I was doing a table shift at TGI Fridays, in the upstairs section (I worked at Fridays 1989-91).  All four of my tables were seated at the same time, and things just fell apart.  I was glad to wake up from that one, despite seeing old friends in the dream that I hadn't seen in decades: my coworkers, exactly as they were then, even if I wasn't.  I was as I am now: old, slow, and tired.  

Then I read the news about devastating earthquakes in Turkey and Syria, and I have no reason to complain.  1800 dead- crushed.  Horrible.  Helpless.

Be well.  

Men of the Skull Part 1, Chapter 27: Sucking Chest Wounds

For the most part, I've confined myself to posting chapters of my book, Men of the Skull, from Part II, which concerns Penn State.  Part I was about my time at Drexel leading up to my transferring universities.  To that point (2004 when I wrote that chapter, and until 2014) transferring schools was the most radical thing I'd ever done in my life.  I couldn't believe I had the guts to actually take initiative and do something that seemed so drastic.

Like climbing into wrecked school buses was ordinary, but I digress.

This chapter was the second to last of Part I, and, upon editing, will probably conclude Part I.  It's one of the best written chapters of Part I, and that's because I had some help.  A few years back, I posted an old story I'd written called "Disorganized Light."  I mentioned that a dear friend of mine liked it, and threatened to re-write it.  Well, he never did, but he DID re-write this chapter.  He read it as one of my reviewers once I finished the book in 2007.  Out of nowhere I received this chapter, re-written to the form you see now.  

Chris is an amazing writer, especially detective stories.  He introduced the 'dummy family' motif to the piece which I'd use while rewriting Part II.  In any case, his rewrite was far superior to the original (which I'd titled "It's Over") so I kept it this way.  Yes, I'll give him credit for that bit.  

However, none of that has to do with why I'm posting it now.  The piece concerns my final breakup with my first girlfriend, whom I call Julianne.  After this, I'd see her a few times before PSU took me in other directions.  I saw her once after college, and once at the bookstore pre-transition (She didn't recognize me.)  Well, I saw her again this past weekend.  I was visiting Wife and Daughter, and was in a grocery store, and there she was.  She'd aged, obviously, but still had her classic beauty and tiny nose.  She didn't recognize me (go figure) and I didn't say anything to her.  Even if nothing else has, that old wound has healed.  

***********************************************************************

Chapter 1.27 Sucking Chest Wounds

 Saturday, June 28, 1986 World Court: Aid to contras illegal

           “The doors are blocked.  We won’t get them open until the towing equipment arrives, and we’re losing time!”  Don shouted from in front of the crippled school bus.

            “Let’s cut in from the roof,” suggested Allen.

            “OK.  You and Lance do it.”

            Don, our captain, had sent me with Allen to the roof of the bus, because we were the thinnest, so the initial hole could be smaller.  It was an advantage of speed that we needed, but a disadvantage when it came to handling the massive hydraulic K-saw.  I steadied Allen as he pulled the big buzz saw across the yellow roof.  Sparks were still flying as he finished his third cut and I worked to pry back the metal of our make shift entry… revealing two steel struts and another layer of sheet metal blocking our path.

Modern K-12 Saw 

(https://www.thefirestore.com/Partner-K-12FD-Fire-Rescue-Saw)

“What the hell is taking you so long?”  Don called up.  He had a couple of other guys using the Jaws of Life on a wrecked car nearby.

            “We’ve encountered some roof struts and a second layer of metal.  Five more minutes, I’m guessing” answered Allen.

            “People inside may be bleeding to death.  Cut between the struts and have Lance climb through without his gear.  He’s scrawny enough!”

            “You just wish you were still so thin!”  I yelled back at him as I stripped off my jacket and tossed it down to Mike, who was tending the saw’s hydraulic line. 

Three minutes later, I kicked open a flap into the school bus.

            “Watch it!  That cut metal will be sharp and hot!”  Don warned from the ground. 

I put my gloves back on, but could still feel the metal’s heat through them as I lowered myself through the narrow hole and jumped down into the bus.  A bit of the metal cut my arm.

            “Ouch!  Sonafabitch!”  I yelled.

            “Watch your language with those kids!”  Allen called down, smiling.

            I quickly triaged the injuries of the four people in the bus—one with a broken arm, two with head injuries, one of those unconscious, and one… shit.

            Allen dropped a first aid kit down to me, then lowered himself through hole.  As we worked on the unconscious head trauma, our priority, Don and some of the other guys were finally making headway on removing the emergency exit in the back of the bus.

“Julianne comes home from the shore today” I mentioned to Allen as I held the victim’s head while he put on a cervical collar.

            “How long has she been gone?”

            “A week.”

Allen finished with the collar, and we started strapping the victim to a short back board to immobilize the spine.  “Are you going to keep dating when you go up to PSU?” he asked.

            “I don’t know.  I guess it wouldn’t make sense really.”

            “Especially when it’s been in and out of the toilet so much with you being close,” Allen added.

            “Straps are tight.”

            “OK.  Let’s move her from the seat” Allen said.

            The door in the back popped open with a large bang as the Hurst tool did its job.

            ‘We need another short board, two long boards and two more people in here!” Allen called to the back.

            “Take care of that person, there, next” I said, pointing at the other head injury.

            Mike and another guy jumped in and started caring for the victim I’d indicated.  Don brought in the two long boards and a short board.  Allen and I strapped our patient to a long board and carried her out the back.

            “Why did you direct Mike to Victim One?”  Don asked us after we put Annie on the ground.

            “Victim Three was dead, so I thought number One took priority after this one.”

            “What do you mean Victim Three was dead?!  Victim Three wasn’t dead, but she probably is now!”

            “There was no card, so I did a quick exam and checked for a pulse… there wasn’t one, so I figured she was dead or uninjured.  Either way, it put her at the bottom of the list.”

            “No pulse, huh?  You think that’s funny?  Well, just so you know, you’re still wrong—you’re not a doctor, so you can’t pronounce people dead.  If that person’s family sued…”

            “The dummy has a family?  I didn’t know…  I’m really sorry.”

            “That’s why we practice” Don smiled.  “Are you sure there wasn’t a card that said ‘sucking chest wound’ on her?”

            “Not that I saw.  Besides, wouldn’t I hear a sucking chest wound?”

             “Sucking chest wounds might make a wheezing sound that you can hear, but accident sites tend to make a lot of noise of their own.  If you come across someone with a sucking chest wound that‘s louder than a siren, you can pronounce that person dead.  Now, get back in there!”

            Allen and I went back in the bus to take care of the driver.  We still couldn’t find a card detailing what her injuries were supposed to be, but this time I did notice a gear shift lever sticking out of the side of her coveralls.  “Still no pulse,” Allen called out to Don, “Is she dead, now?”

            “No, damn it, she has sucking chest wound, but she’ll be awfully damn lucky to be alive after you two guys are done with her!”

            “He can sure say that again,” Allen said quietly as we began to minister to another Resuci-Annie dummy.

            We spent the rest of the morning training in the junk yard.  We saved a lot of dummies that day; I felt even better about it than I had in the past, now that I knew they all had dummy-families waiting for them at home.

            After a shower, I sat around watching MTV while I waited for Julianne to call back.  Lenny was having a party tonight and I was hoping she would come along.  Julianne had never met Lenny—nor anyone else that I worked with for that matter, except Chrissy, who she knew from the Springsteen show.  Chrissy’d be there tonight.  She and Lenny were a couple now.

            I hadn’t spoken to Julianne in over a week.  Part of me wondered why she hadn’t bothered to call while she was down the shore.  Another part already knew the answer.  All of me didn’t want to hear it.  The phone rang as Phil Collins was singing to his drumstick “She reaches in, and grabs right hold of your heart.”

            “What’s up?” she asked as if we’d just spoken to each other this morning.

            “Lenny—the guy I work with—is having a party tonight.  Want to go?”

            “Sure.  What time?”

            “Seven?”

            “OK.  I’ll see you then.”

            “OK.”

            “OK, bye.”

            She sounded happy enough.

            It was a few minutes after seven when I got to her house.  She must have been waiting.  She came right out of the house and jumped in the car.  The trip to Lenny’s house was filled with hearing about how great Sea Isle City was and how much fun she had, but she seemed a bit cautious again, like she was editing and measuring her words.  Eventually, we pulled into Lenny’s front yard; his driveway was packed with cars.

            We followed the music into the open garage where we found Lenny pulling a beer from a nicely iced keg.  “Hey!  You made it!” he said, turning toward us.

            “Told you we would.  Lenny, this is Julianne.”

            “Pleased to meet you Julianne!  I’ve heard a lot about you.  Want a beer?”

            “No, thanks.  My parents would kill me if I came home with beer breath.”

            “Well, dating this guy has to make them suspicious, doesn’t it?” he said, nudging me. 

            I got myself a beer and followed him into the living room.  It was wood paneled and had a gold colored shag rug.  Several bookshelves full of knick knacks and a few books lined one wall.  Chrissy played with a high-speed stereo, which had a CD player and four huge speakers.  The cutting edge electronics clashed with the 70’s décor… but then what doesn’t?

            “Hi Lance!”  Chrissy cheered as she came over to hug me.

            “Chrissy!  You remember Julianne?”

            “Yeah.  Hi!” she said smiling.

 

            The stereo began to blast the new Peter Gabriel record.

            “This CD is awesome!” Lenny shouted above the music.

            “So’s the tape.”  I replied.

            “Huh?” Lenny asked unable to hear me.

            “SO IS THE TAPE.”  I tried again louder.

            Yeah, ‘So’.  This is it.”  He replied pointing to the stereo.

            I gave up.  The name of the new Peter Gabriel album we were listening to was ‘So’.  He must have thought I was asking about it.  Maybe he forgot that I worked in the record store with him where we played it to death every day.  In any case, my window for making a joke out of the fact that most people didn’t have a CD player was long gone, so I just smiled and nodded.

            We stayed for a couple of hours, but there wasn’t a lot of conversation.  When the party is at the guy-who-works-in-the-record-store-with-the-really-big-stereo’s house, music tends to dominate the evening.  Julianne followed me around and I introduced her to everyone, but she didn’t seem to be too interested in really getting to know these guys.  We said our goodbyes relatively early and started back to her house. 

            As the Rabbit sputtered down the road, Julianne stared out the window.  Finally, she spoke.                      “Lance, we, um, need to talk.”

            Uh oh.  Contrary to practical medical advice, I pushed my finger into my ear and wiggled it around in an attempt to reopen my auditory canal, so I could better hear that which I knew I didn’t want to.

            “I met some guys down the beach.  And it made me feel so… so wanted.  They made me feel sexy.”

            “And I don’t?”

            “You do, but this was different.  It was fun.”

            “Gee, thanks.”

            “That’s not what I meant.  It was fun playing the whole ‘chase’ thing with them.  It was fun flirting.  You know?  What I mean is…”

            “Well, we’ve been seeing other people for a while.  How is this different?”

            “It just is.  I don’t want to hurt you, but staying together would just hurt us both more.  And it wouldn’t be fair to me.  Or you.”

            “So, this is it?”

            “I think it is.  I’m 17, Lance - I think we both know this isn’t “it.”  I still love you, but I’m not ready to settle down right now.  I want to be fair to us both.”

             “Ok.”

            “I still want to be friends.”

            Oh shit – the “friends” line.  There wasn’t anything else to say.  No words can more quickly end a conversation between a man and a woman, leaving him dumfounded, than, “Let’s just be friends.”  I guess I should have been glad that she didn’t use them verbatim, but the familiar stabbing pain was back, stronger than ever.  I felt empty, and relieved, yet full of rage at the same time.  I knew I was just telling Allen this morning that it made no sense for us to keep dating when I went to Penn State, but somehow I didn’t expect it to end like this, with so much… ‘Fairness’.  I felt sick.

            The rest of the short ride was silent.  At some point, I thought I heard a faint wheezing sound.  I looked over at Julianne.  She looked fine… Too fine.  Oh, my God, it was coming from me!  Reflexively, I felt around my torso for a sucking chest wound.  She reaches in, and grabs right hold of your heart.

            As I pulled up in front of her house, she half-whispered, “Please don’t hate me.”

            Another cliché.

            She got out of the car and walked up her driveway. 

            I drove home to my dummy-family.

Next Chapter

 

 

 

Clog of Academia

 For the past few months, I've had writer's block.  More than a block- it's like a clog.  

Need me some academic Draino.  

My task is to write about anti-racism diversity trainings and relate them, if possible, to transgender trainings, y'know to reduce anti-transgender prejudice, which happens to be my dissertation topic.  What you thought I was writing about basket weaving or stamp collecting?  No, it's not about transgender osieric or philatelic tendencies.  (Look at me using the fancy words!  That's me book lernin'!)

As time has gone on, my fear of this particular piece has increased.  Anti-racism work is everyone's concern- I truly believe that, but I'm no expert on the topic, despite classes and papers.  Yes, I've felt the sting of prejudice and unreasoning hatred, but nothing like that experienced by people of color.  I don't feel adequately qualified to discuss the topic.  

I've been working on the piece little by little.  I started with an outline, and add a sentence of two daily, or double check a reference.  I actually fear working on it.  I guess I'm really screwed up.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1886_St._Croix_River_log_jam

In any case, I'll finish the damn thing sooner rather than later.  Today's NYT published an article on the subject that says clearly what I've been trying to write.  So, new reference and summary and then get it to my advisor.  If I get up the guts to brave that log jam and hopefully the flood that will follow.  

Be well.