CHAPTER 9: Meeting

 

How to Dress

The next morning, I found myself being woken up. On weekends, I liked to sleep in so I’d have my radio alarm off. So I was surprised someone was waking me up.

“Hey, champ,” Dad said as he shook my shoulder. Wake up! Sun is out. Birds are chirping.”

“… Dad… it’s a frigging Saturday… what are you doing?”

“We have a meeting at school for nine today. Remember.”

“Dammit…”

Dad pulled away my blanket and I curled up into a ball. “Get up, kid. Time for a shower.”

After I sat up in bed, Dad finally left.

Grumbling, I padded sleepily to my dresser and got a new towel and some clothes. And then I stopped. I went to Ma, who had already showered, and was in her terrycloth bathrobe and picking what to wear.

“Ma?” I knocked on her doorjamb.

She looked around. “Good morning, sweetie.”

“Hey, listen… I was thinking… can you help me get dressed?”

“Ummm… what do you mean?”

“Can you help me pick out what to wear?”

She looked at me. “You mean, like yesterday?”

“Yeah?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, Ma. Seriously. Yesterday seemed fine. Maybe I can get away with it again today.”

“Henry!” Ma called, and Dad came in.

“What’s up?”

“Val wants to try wearing girl clothes again today.”

Dad looked at me.

“Listen, son, …”

“Gotta do it, Dad. I’m biologically a girl now. So I should try and match things up. You know?”

“There’s no rush, you know…”

“I want to do it, Dad.”

“What’ll the kids at school say when they see you.”

“They’ll see me in girl clothes eventually, but for today, there won’t be any kids around. Just some school staff. And even those will just be the custodial staff.”

“But…”

“Henry,” Ma said. “She wants to do it, so let her do it.”

Dad looked at me. “… If he’s sure.”

“’She’ is sure. Val, you’re sure, right?”

“Yeah.”

“All right then.”

The School Clinic

After a quick shower (though I had a thorough shower again as per use, I only did a quick once-over down there: it was all I could bring myself to do), I brushed my teeth and then felt around for stubble. Finding none, I skipped shaving again. I dried myself, put on a thick, comfy bathrobe, and went to my room.

On my bed, I found a selection of clothes from Ma’s cabinet.

Though what she picked from her stuff looked a bit small, at least there was some stretch to them. Eventually, I’m gonna have to get my own stuff that would fit better. I was just an inch or so taller than Ma, but my measurements were larger than hers, of course – I was pretty slim for a guy, but compared to a girl, I was, like, the Hulk.

I didn’t want to put on any of Ma’s underwear ‘coz that felt creepy, so I dug through my clothes hamper and found the panties and bra from yesterday. I smelled them, and they still seemed to be okay.

So I thoughtfully put on my underwear and put her clothes over them.

What she had selected was what I would later find out was a white cap-sleeve poet’s blouse with lots of embroidery, a double-breasted pink blazer with big, gold buttons in two rows, and a pair of slim-fit faded jeans. There was also a pair of faded blue leggings. I wondered why the two pants but Ma explained that the jeans might be too tight, and if so, I should try the leggings because the leggings were almost like the tights from yesterday except these looked like they were made of faded denim, and with fake pockets on the back as well as belt loops.

There was a pair of flesh-tone nylon socks so I put them on first before the pants. Because of the color and the material, it made me look like I wasn’t wearing any socks. I asked Ma why I should wear these if they were just gonna make me look like I wasn’t wearing socks. She explained they were to make my feet feel more comfortable in the shoes.

I shrugged and left them on. I then tried to pull on the jeans, but it was a bit of a struggle – they wouldn’t go over my hips. But since there was an alternative, I switched to the leggings (Carla would explain to me later that these were actually “jeggings.” They weren’t exactly trendy anymore, but Celine, Tory Burch, and Prada were still into them. When she explained this, I didn’t really know these brand names so I didn’t care).

Yes, the “jeggings” were also tight, but because they were like what I wore yesterday, they stretched a lot so they were much more comfortable than the jeans although they were as form-fitting as could be.

I then transferred the narrow belt from the jeans to the leggings’ belt loops.

I called Ma, and she came in and made a few adjustments, like unbuttoning one of the top buttons of the blouse and then loosening the belt: she put the buckle’s prong on the last hole on the belt, and I breathed easier: the belt wasn’t really acting like a belt since it just hung loosely around my waist. I wondered why I wore the belt at all anymore, but she explained: “the way those fit you,” she said, referring to the leggings, “you don’t really need the belt, but it looks good as an accessory.”

She ran a hand over my butt and I jumped. “Ma!”

“Hmmm,” she said. “Panty line. Hold on a second.” She left and came back with what looked like a handful of strings, and handed it to me.

“What’s this?” I asked and shook it out. It looked like panties made of string. “Oh, no! No, no, no, no, no!”

“They’re called a g-string. They should have enough cover in the front for you… you know… but the rest won’t show. It’s so that you won’t have any visible panty line.”

She shooed me to the bathroom to change into them. “If there’s not enough material for your you-know-what,” she called through the door, “you can tuck yourself between your legs. If it doesn’t work, I’ll borrow a pair of your dad’s thongs…”

“No!” I said. “Um, these’ll do fine…”

“Okay, dear.” And then she left.

It felt like someone was giving me a wedgie or something. But I’ll live. I put on the “jeggings, stepped out of my bathroom, and then picked up my almost-unused tennis shoes, which Ma brought out. She said her shoes were far too small for me, and my sneakers were the only pair that could conceivably go with my outfit. I sat, put them on (they slid on very easily because of the nylon “bootie-socks”), did the strings up, and then I stood.

Ma came back. She looked at my chest. “You didn’t wear my bra,” she commented.

“Uh, no, I didn’t.” I forgot to put in any tissue as padding.

She looked at the bed and noticed her bra and bikini panties on top. She picked them up, went to her room, and came back.

“Here,” she said and handed me something. “Those are shoulder pads,” she explained. “Put them in your bra.”

I opened my borrowed blouse and gingerly slipped the pads into the bra cups. Ma adjusted the fit, and I buttoned up the blouse. Ma again undid the top button.

“Turn around?” she said, and I slowly spun around, and she nodded her approval.

“Looking good, Val,” Ma said. She ran her hand over my butt again, but I didn’t yelp this time.

I went with the well-scrubbed look again. Which was just as well because Ma didn’t want me to wear makeup yet until I knew how. She did relent a bit and put on some shiny neutral chapstick on my lips to make them shinier than normal.

Though she didn’t want me to wear makeup yet, she thought some jewelry might help offset that – like earrings. But I didn’t have pierced earlobes and she didn’t have any clip-on earrings. What I ended up wearing was pair of gold barrettes in my hair, one of Ma’s gold chain necklaces, and Ma’s thin gold watch.

I turned around in front of Ma’s dresser mirror, and I think I was able to do it again – look like a real girl, I mean. Not too many curves, but I think I was thin enough and my face was more than passable. Also, I think, because the clothes were pretty tight, I was looking halfway sexy.

Ma then combed my somewhat damp hair from the forehead straight back, like I did before, but, using a brush and my blow-dryer, she was able to give my hair more volume and make it shinier. She then went back to her room, came back with a spritzer thing, and spritzed my hair lightly with hair spray. She then put the barrettes back. “There. That’ll keep your hair from getting messed up,” she said.

“Wow, Val,” Dad said as he came in. “You look very pretty.”

“Thanks, Dad… I guess…”

After a quick breakfast, we were on our way. We all rode in Dad’s BMW, Ma in front with Dad, and me in the back. In less than thirty minutes, we were in the school clinic-infirmary.

I remember reading about the infirmary in the brochure for the school when we were still thinking of accepting the scholarship. They boasted they had a very advanced and fully equipped infirmary, and seeing it up front, the infirmary looked the part – a new x-ray machine, shiny cabinets full of medical instruments, tools and supplies, several neat and tidy beds, an examination table with overhead lights like in a hospital surgery, what looked like a dentist’s chair, a couple of big machines that looked to me like cat-scan machines (although I’m sure they weren’t - why would they have cat-scan machines in a school clinic), a Nurse’s desk by the door, and to the side at the end of the room was Dr. Griffin’s desk. Around it were several chairs that were presumably for us.

Dr. Griffin ushered us to the chairs in front of her desk – Ma, Dad, and me, and Mr. Daimon took the one to the right of her desk.

Dr. Griffin had a pile of what looked like X-rays and some printouts on her otherwise pristine desk. She picked up the pile and began our little tete-a-tete.

“So,” Dr. Griffin started. “I’m glad you folks could come and talk with us. Anyway, let’s start with some explanations, and then you can ask Mr. Daimon and me any questions you like, and then we can talk about what we should do for Val. First, though, I need to give kudos to Val. You are looking quite fetching in that pink blazer, Val.”

That was a little awkward, slightly creepy thing to say. “Ummm, thanks, I guess?”

“Sorry, Val,” Dr. Griffin said, noticing my tone. “Let me explain. I’m glad you’ve decided to embrace your new side, or maybe you’re just trying it out? In any case, I’m glad. It’s a mistake to be in denial. So whatever happens – good for you.”

My folks and I looked at each other. Ma reached out and hugged me.

“All right,” Dr. Griffin said. “Now, as I’ve told you over the phone, Mr. and Mrs. Goodchilde, we have just found out that Val is intersex…”

The Cover

“Intersex is an umbrella term that describes bodies that fall outside the strict male/female binary,” Dr. Griffin said. “There are lots of ways someone can be intersex. Val’s kind is called ‘46 XX Intersex.’ His particular version is the most fortunate kind. Val’s DNA is full XX, and is fully female, except he, or, rather, ‘she’ has a blind or closed vagina, labia that looks like a scrotum, and his penis is actually an enlarged clitoris. But other than that, his internals are fully functional female.”

Of course, that’s all a lie.

“Fully functional?” Ma asked.

“Yes,” Dr. Griffin said. “With the proper operation, Val could even get pregnant and give birth.”

Ma looked at Dr. Griffin with large eyes.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh…”

From Ma’s expression, she was sold, and it was something she wanted for me.

“Anyway,” Dr. Griffin said, “it’s a general term that covers a variety of situations where someone is born with sexual anatomy that doesn’t fit the traditional ‘female’ or ‘male’ anatomy. Sometimes doctors perform surgeries on intersex babies to make their bodies fit the traditional ideas of male and female. Some remain undiagnosed though and go through their entire life without knowing.”

“Exactly, Doctor Griffin,” Dad said, “Beth and I have been doing research on the net, and we read that being intersex is a naturally occurring thing, so it isn’t a medical problem, so medical interventions, like surgeries or hormone therapy on children, aren’t medically necessary. Being intersex is also more common than most realize. So we have to ask…”

“Yes?”

“Is intervention even necessary?”

Dr. Griffin and Mr. Daimon looked at each other chagrined because they hadn’t anticipated the question. I had to laugh (silently, of course) since their fake cover story was in danger of crashing and burning. I was interested in seeing how they’ll dig themselves out of this, however.

“Well, that’s true, Mr. Goodchilde,” Mr. Daimon answered, “but we recommend that Val push through with it…”

“Mr. Goodchilde,” Dr. Griffin said, cutting in, “you are absolutely right, of course – Val can just remain as he is now, I mean ‘she.’ However some problems would be solved if Val undergoes the operation, and this would significantly improve her quality of life. For example, her periods will be so much more easy and less painful.”

“Val doesn’t have periods, Dr. Griffin.”

“Well, in some other intersex people with conditions like hers, they would have periods that would have gone unnoticed, and the little discharge that there was would just be re-absorbed and metabolized by their bodies.”

Dad looked at me. “Have you had periods?”

I shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

“Doctor?” Dad said, turning back to Dr. Griffin.

Dr. Griffin shrugged. “She might not have known she was having periods. Like I said, there are kids with intersex conditions like hers who’ve had periods but didn’t know they were having periods.”

Dad turned back to me. “Well, have you felt bad before?”

“What do you mean, Dad?”

“Like once a month - do you have cramps or things like that?”

“Um, sometimes? Like when I ate too much or ate something bad?”

“Headaches? Feeling out of sorts?”

“Sometimes?”

Dad looked nonplussed at my answers.

“Or maybe she hasn’t had a period yet,” Dr. Griffin said. “How old is she?”

“Val’s sixteen,” Dad answered for me.

“Well, for some intersex kids that’re fertile, they won’t get periods until they start getting their secondary sexual characteristics, like breasts and such. And Val hasn’t had that happen to her yet.”

“Yes, she’s pretty flat-chested.”

“Dad!” Then I paused. Why would I be offended by that?

“Sorry,” he said, smiling faintly.

“In any case,” Dr. Griffin said, “if she hasn’t been getting periods yet, she’ll be getting them soon. I guarantee it.”

“Doctor,” Ma said. “What kind of operation would be appropriate for her?”

“Surprisingly few operations and fairly simple ones. We’d open up her vulva, create a vagina and other things to make her look more normal and give her a functional organ. We’d shorten her clitoris, making sure to minimize any loss of sensation there, and then do a more comprehensive check of her ovaries and et cetera – rule out any cancer possibilities - and to check the functionality of her sexual organs, and fix any problems we find. And then, that’s it. She may need hormones and other medications for a while, and then she’ll be okay if she’s very lucky. After a course or two of hormones, she’ll start developing more normally, I think.”

All a lie, of course. No intersex condition was that lucky.

“Will she be…” Ma looked worried.

“She will be totally normal. Just like any girl. Judging by what we saw, I think she already has a jump on that.”

Ma looked at her gratefully and then turned to Dad. “Henry?”

“It’s not up to us, Beth,” Dad replied. “Val?”

“Sounds, good, Dad,” I said. Of course, this was just a cover after all. I’ve already switched sides, and this is just to get my folks comfortable about it and give them a plausible story. But I had to go through the motions for their sake. “Will you be okay with a girl instead of a boy?”

Dad looked at me and then hugged me. “I’ll be happy with a daughter, so long as she’ll be okay.”

“I think I’ll be okay.” I gave him a big smile.

ABBA

Dr. Griffin laid out a plan, which was just a tissue of lies, of course: firstly, on Monday, I’d be going to Saint John, New Brunswick Canada, where Troy House - one of the schools of the Aristotle Endowment – was located. Dr. Griffin said that, beside the school, the Endowment ran a high-tech clinic and laboratory there called Archimedes Genomics, which I looked up later and found it was a research facility that does work on genetics and genomics.

The “plan” was for me to check into a hotel there, and for the rest of the week, I’ll be undergoing tests and whatever operations were necessary at the clinic. And I should be back by the weekend.

Ma and Dad looked at each other.

“I don’t know if I can take the week off,” Dad told Beth.

“Me, too. But I’ll talk to my boss. And if I can’t, then I’ll just…”

“Ma!” I said. “You’re not gonna quit your job or anything like that just to go with me!”

“Sweetie, it’s all right…”

Mr. Daimon cleared his throat. “Mr. and Mrs. Goodchilde,” he said, “it’s not necessary for you to travel to Canada with Val. Dr. Griffin will accompany her, and I promise you, we’ll take care of your daughter.”

Ma smiled at the word “daughter.”

They then asked Dr. Griffin a series of questions, and based on the depth of their questions, it was obvious that my folks had been researching intersex conditions on the internet.

Mr. Daimon, but mostly Dr. Griffin, answered them all, and Ma and Dad seemed to be satisfied with their answers.

- - - -

“Such a drastic thing, what we’re thinking of doing,” Dad said after a couple of hours or so of questions. “Can we go over the pros and the cons again?”

“Not at all,” Dr. Griffin said.

“So if she goes through with the operations…”

“If she goes through with them,” Dr. Griffin responded, “she’ll look and feel like any other girl. And from what I’ve seen of her internals, she’ll have a fully functional set of ovaries and a uterus, so if she’s sexually active, she can have babies, just like any other girl. And with the supplementary hormones and medication she will be taking, she will look fully feminine, with curves and breasts and everything. In fact, she’s looking quite feminine even now – she’s on her way already. I think she’s going to be a very pretty girl a couple of months from now.”

That made me blush – whether because of shyness or shame or whatever, I couldn’t say.

“And what about the shortening of the…”

“The clitoris, yes. There has been some reported decrease in sensation after such procedures, but the people over at Archimedes Genomics are specialists, so I don’t think there will be problems, not enough to affect her quality of life.”

“What about the cons?”

“Well, her ovaries, uterus, and other internal structures – they might not become fully functional and there is a possibility of cancer. But if she decides to remain as she is, we’ll have to take them out anyway. In any case, whether she undergoes any corrective procedures or not, the risk is the same.

“Also, another ‘con’ is that she might not be too masculine if she decides not to undergo the operation, and even if she does, we still might not help her achieve full feminization. There are cons on both sides, but in our analysis and judgment, I think we’re almost assured of full feminization if she pushes through with things.”

Dr. Griffin shrugged. “Anyway, it’s your family’s decision.”

“So it still ends up as our decision…”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Val?” Ma and Dad looked at me.

I looked down. Weighing what I knew, and what I could become, in my heart of hearts, I knew I wanted to be special - an avatar of a god… that was special. And if becoming a girl was the price, then so be it. I think I can get used to it. And, besides, it’s not as if I can change things. This intersex bullshit cover story – it’s just complicating things for me. There really is no “decision” to be made, actually. Coz I was a girl already.

Ma and Dad took my behavior and silence as indecision, reluctance and fear, and gave me a hug. Truth be told, what I was feeling was more a kind of resignation. It’s already done, after all. Oh, god, it’s already done…

“Let’s do it,” Dad said to me. “I’ll be there for you. You know that, right?” He hugged me close. I nodded against his chest.

“I guess we’ll do it, then,” Dad said to Mr. Daimon.

Mr. Daimon nodded. “All right, then… Can I ask you to go with me to my office?” he asked. “I need you to sign some papers.”

“You and Mrs. Goodchilde go on with Mr. Daimon,” Dr. Griffin said. “I’ll keep Val here for a bit. I have some tests and x-rays that I want to run her through.”

Ma and Dad kissed me and went with Mr. Daimon.

When the three of them had stepped out, I turned to Dr. Griffin.

“Tests?” I asked

“Just a few. Blood tests and maybe a couple of X-rays, and that’s it. I just said that so I could keep you here. I need to talk with you about some things.”

I nodded. “I thought as much.”

She led me to a scale near the nurse’s desk and proceeded to get my weight and height. She even took a picture.

“C’mon! You can do better than that.” So I obliged and gave her a smile.

“Better. Hope you don’t mind – just for the records.”

She then went over what we’ll be doing. “So, yes, we are indeed going out to Canada, and yes, we are indeed going to Archimedes Genomics, and yes we’re going to do tests on you. But no operations, of course – that’s just for the benefit of your folks. This spontaneous change you’ve undergone – we don’t understand it, and we’re worried. We want to figure it out. The people at the clinic might be able to help.”

“Okay.”

“But I guess what I really wanted to ask was, how do you feel about all this?”

“Was everything you guys were saying true?” I asked.

“About intersex? Yes, they were.”

“It makes me think that maybe I’m intersex.”

“No. Whatever you are, you’re not intersex.”

“What am I, then?”

“You’re just a person who just simply happens to have DNA that’s very similar to those of the gods of ancient mythology.”

“Simply that, huh?” I said sarcastically. “I still can’t believe it. Also – how am I supposed to reconcile all this with my religion?”

“What’s your religion? Wait! Forget I asked that. None of my business. But this doesn’t have to mess up your religious beliefs. Dr. Castellanos – she runs the lab in Saint John – has a theory, and actually, most of us subscribe to her theory.

“A long, long time ago, she believes there was a… sub-race or a subspecies of humans that the people of the time thought were gods because they could do things that regular humans couldn’t. They were ‘gods’ – but gods with a lowercase ‘G.’ If you know what I mean. So it doesn’t have to conflict with your beliefs, and your belief of a god – a god with a big ‘G.’

“Dr. Castellanos’ theory goes - these ancient superior humans capitalized on the people’s belief that they were literally gods and established their kingdoms and beliefs and rules and mythology, accepting the obeisance and tributes of the people. Maybe, over time, these ‘gods’ eventually believed their own lies, but because of whatever – maybe because their bloodline was dying away from, I don’t know, maybe it was being diluted due to intermarriages with regular humans, or maybe what made them what they were was recessive in nature, and newer generations became less and less like gods - they faded away from the history of the world, leaving behind their statues, their cities, their mythology, their civilization. Who knows, really? Dr. Castellanos and her team are trying to see if this theory, of recessive ‘god genes,’ could be it, and if she’s right, then the reason for the Golden Theory and the Kodikos could be explained.

“Some of us have another theory, though. We also think these so-called gods really did believe that they were literal gods, so they thought they could do as they pleased. But as Lord John Emerich Acton, the nineteenth-century historian, once said, ‘Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.’ We think that the humans of that day eventually rose against their tyrannical gods, and the humans eventually wiped them out.”

I looked at her wide-eyed. “Wow. That’s like the plot from a Marvel movie.”

Dr. Griffin laughed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Is it true, though?”

“No one knows. We can ask Dr. Castellanos when we get to Canada.”

“Yeah… Scary…”

She looked at me. “You’re scared that you might be like those ‘gods,’ I guess?”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

“And well you should be. Your score – 100 percent match. Maybe you really are just like those ‘gods.’ But it’s one thing to have godlike powers. But if a god doesn’t have a mind and a heart worthy of a god, well… absolute power and all that…”

“Yeah.” I shivered, but Dr. Griffin reached out and held my hand.

“But, you know, Val,” Dr. Griffin said, “somehow, I don’t think you’ll be like that. If you are one of those ‘gods,’ that is. But that’s one thing we need to find out – if you are indeed, one of those gods. We don’t know that yet.”

At that point, Mr. Daimon and my folks came back.

“Everything’s set,” Mr. Daimon said, but we have a problem. I have a question, Val.”

“Yes?”

“Phoebe, my assistant, said that there are only two airlines that fly from Chicago to Saint John – Air Canada and United. And all of their flights to Saint John are fully booked for a week. They’re having a week-long music concert and festival in Saint John called the Riverbay Festival. It’s a new one Saint John is organizing and trying to make a yearly thing. There are rumors that ABBA will be showing up - a rumor that I wouldn’t surprised was probably started by the organizers. ABBA fans from all over are flying to Saint John now. So, the few flights from Chicago to Saint John are all booked.”

“Oh, no! So, what’ll we do?”

“Phoebe says there are two options – we can take the bus, for example, and that would be about a two-and-a-half-day road trip, or…”

“Two and half days on a bus? Yuck…”

“Well, we’ll be transferring buses on the way, with the last leg via train.”

“Yuck,” I repeated.

“Well, the other option is we rent a car.”

“How long will a trip like that be?”

“Phoebe says it’ll be a twenty-hour ride, or we can postpone this until that concert’s over and there’ll be more flights.”

“No!” Ma reacted. “Oh. Sorry… I just think we shouldn’t postpone…”

“What do you say, Val?” Mr. Daimon asked me.

Looking at Ma’s anxious face, I knew she wanted this to push through as soon as possible, so… “I don’t think that we should postpone,” I said. “So, I guess road trip?”

“All right,” he said. “Dr. Griffin will be accompanying you, so it won’t be a lonely ride, and neither your mom nor your dad needs to accompany you and disrupt their work schedules. Also, since it will be a long trip, you and Dr. Griffin will probably want to stop somewhere for the night. Phoebe will take care of that. And then you should be at Archimedes Genomics the following day. Sound good?”

I nodded.

“There is another slight problem… There are about forty or so hotels in Saint John, but because of the music festival, all of them are fully booked. Phoebe is still looking for something, maybe a nice motel nearby. But while she’s still looking, she has you billeted in one of the dorm rooms in Troy House. But once we find a nice place, we can move you.”

I shrugged. I didn’t mind one way or the other.

“Good.” Mr. Daimon brought out his phone. “Phoebe? I’m with Val and the Goodchildes. Yes. Please arrange for the van and driver, and the dorm room accommodations. Yes, like we talked about earlier. Yes... Yes… Thank you.”

He hung up and turned to us. “There! All set. Just be sure to be in school, near the Delos High admin entrance by the parking area before eight AM Monday morning. And to dress appropriately. It’s pretty cold there compared to Chicago, although not freezing cold by any means. At least not yet.”

“Thanks, Mr. Daimon.”

 

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