I quickened my walk and within seconds was lost in her soft embrace. “Don’t worry now, sweetie, everything’s going to be fine,” she said, as she gently caressed my face and brushed her fingers through my hair. The Price To Pay - Vol. 5.01 - Setbacks by Alys

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Vol. 5.01
 

“Bloody stupid newspaper!” I said as a threw the latest copy of the ‘Western Mail’¹ across the breakfast table.

“Now, Celyn, don’t over react; it says some nice things about you,” my Mum responded, as she sipped her coffee and retrieved the page with the article ‘Gender Confusion in Welsh Football’.

“Listen to this,” she continued, “‘The executive committee of the Football Association of Wales was yesterday in emergency session to resolve the gender confusion after the school football match which preceded the Welsh Cup Final last month. The controversial award of the ‘man of the match’ trophy to Celyn Morus, the stunningly attractive girl who played centre forward for Ysgol Cwm Wysg², had already led to a number of protests from the officials of the losing Ysgol Uwchradd Casnewydd³ team about a girl playing in a schoolboys’ team. However the scandal deepened when it emerged that the ‘girl’ was actually a boy who had––’”

“–Mum, that’s enough!” I interrupted crossly. “I’ve read the stupid article.”

“Yes, dear, I know it’s not a very interesting story but what do you think about this; ‘Mr Jones, the coach of the losing team further commented that in his opinion Celyn Morus would be better off pursuing a career as a model than being in a football team since she definitely has the figure’–” she paused before continuing a little dreamily, “I bet a lot of your friends will be jealous when they read that.”

“Mum, I don’t care if it says I’m the sexiest girl in the universe, which by the way is a sexist comment in a football report,” I retorted, beginning to lose patience with her, “but anyway don’t you see what they’re really saying?”

“What’s that, Celyn?” she asked.

“Read the first paragraph again. What do you think ‘resolve’ means?” I sasked angrily.

“Celyn, I’m not stupid, I know the meaning of the word. There were schools when I was young, you know,” she responded with a trace of sarcasm.

“Sorry,” I replied, a little chastened by the rebuke, “what I meant was how do you think they might resolve this with only the slightest possibility of them being criticised?”

“I’m not sure if I do, Celyn. Oh, look at the time; I have to get to work. See you later, have a good day in school and don’t worry, dear, it’s just a local issue for the press, it must be a slow news day.”

She gulped down the rest of her coffee, picked up her handbag and with a final wave made her way out of the house, got in her car and drove off.

I looked at the headline on the sports page one more time, hoping my Mother was right about it being a local issue and a slow news day, before making my way upstairs, with a sense of foreboding, to get ready for school.

Some twenty minutes later I reached the bus-stop after a brisk walk in the damp, cold November early morning darkness. A familiar car went past among the busy traffic. I raised my hand in response to Seren’s smile and greeting. Despite my break up with Sion and my preference for catching the bus in the morning I was glad that at least he had continued to give a lift to our twelve-year-old transgendered friend.

A sudden gust of cold air carried rust brown autumn leaves past where I was standing. The chill on my legs made me regret not choosing a warm pair of trousers instead of the skirt and tights I was wearing.

I looked around at my fellow pupils waiting for the bus and nodded a greeting at a few. There was an assortment of younger ones and a few of the upper years in the school. I was conscious of being at least a year or more older and being unusual in not having a lift to school. I also knew that everyone there knew about my former male identity.

I noticed a group of three 14-15 year-old boys sharing a copy of the Western Mail and I guessed, from the occasional glances in my direction, that they were engrossed in the article.

“Damn,” I muttered to myself, “everyone in school will have heard about it.”

I pulled my fleece tighter around my body and took out my iPod. I thought I might as well find some place to escape to for the rest of the journey to school.

‘Beep, beep,’

I was so engrossed in trying to decipher the lyrics of Rammstein’s ‘Ohne Dich’, using my limited knowledge of German, that I failed to notice a familiar car pulling up.

I felt a tug on my arm. I looked up to see one of the boys who had been reading the article about me trying to get my attention.

I pulled one of the ear buds out, “What’s up?”

“It’s your friends,” he replied pointing at Sion’s car parked in the bus bay about five metres away from where I was standing.

“Hey, Celyn,” said Seren through the open passenger window, “Sion wondered if you’d like a lift, you know with the stuff in the paper and everything.”

I hesitated before replying. The prospect of being in the car with its memories of the happy times I had had with my former boyfriend was quite a barrier. I glanced around and noticed I was the centre of every-one’s attention.

I decided that Sion’s car was a much better option than a potentially unsettling journey on the school bus.

“Okay,” I replied before climbing into the front seat vacated by Seren who had generously moved to the back.

“Thanks, Sion,” I said as I sat down and plugged in my seat belt, “I wasn’t looking forward to the bus at all.”

He engaged gear and slowly pulled out into the rush hour traffic, “I had the same thought. Shit article.”

“Yes, let’s not talk about it. How was your weekend, then?”

The rest of the journey to school was a pleasant escape from my worry about the consequences of the piece in the paper as Sion amused me and Seren with his account of him and his mates on a pub crawl in Cardiff. While I gave them a heavily edited report of my weekend with Amarjit, who had stayed over after our LGBT awareness day.

“See you later, Seren,” said Sion, as our young friend jumped out of the car and went off to registration⁴ as we pulled into the student car park some twenty minutes later.

“Yes, thanks for the lift, good luck today, Celyn,” Seren replied before disappearing into the throng of younger school children moving through the main entrance.

I felt a little strange waiting for Sion to fetch his school bag before locking the car. Only a few weeks before we would have walked into school hand in hand, our declaration of our relationship clear to everyone. Now with the changed situation between us I had to suppress my strong urge to avoid the embarrassment of making our way together into the building.

“Did you get to finish your stats assignment,” I asked trying to distract myself from my unease, as we waited a few moments for the crush of pupils to clear.

“I got stuck on question three, what about you?” Sion replied.

“I was okay with that one but the second part of question four was a bit tricky, did you get it?” I asked.

“Yes, you had to integrate and then……….”

We forgot the awkwardness as we walked into school and lost ourselves in analysing our assignment.

An hour later, I was sitting outside the headteacher’s office after being summoned from my first lesson.

After a few minutes of waiting looking around the very familiar pictures on the wall Mr Jones, the head of games, walked past. He gave me a strange smile before going in to see the Mrs Williams.

After a little while longer, during which time there were the sounds of an argument going on between the headteacher and the games teacher, I was given the nod by Mrs Nyree Thomas, the school secretary, to enter.

“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting, Celyn, please sit down,” said the headteacher with a strange expression on her face.

I lowered myself into the indicated chair in front of her desk next to Mr Jones.

“Is there a problem, Mrs Williams?” I asked, expecting the worse while hoping against hope that this meeting was unrelated to the newspaper article.

There was a pause as she looked through some papers on her desk obviously searching for the right words to begin. Eventually she looked up and I noticed what seemed to be a tear forming in her left eye.

“Yes, I’m afraid there is and I’m so sorry that this has come up, especially after the success of our LGBT event,” said Mrs Williams, “ I’m sure you’ve seen the Western Mail today.”

I nodded as my heart sank.

“Well unfortunately the bigots of the Welsh FA saw it too and it seems on some issues they are able to make decisions ultra quick. The school received a fax this morning,” she replied, “While I don’t know how many phone calls myself and Mr Jones have made to them over the last two months to get them to make a decision about letting you play for the school team in the first place”

“What did it say?”

“I’m so sorry, Celyn,” said Mr Jones, “but their fax says you can’t play either boy’s or girl’s football until they decide on your gender status.”

“That’s crazy, you and I know I am legally female, so where’s the uncertainty,” I responded angrily.

“Yes, of course, Celyn,” said Mrs Williams, “and you may have heard myself and Mr Jones disagreeing earlier about the proper course of action.”

“There’s no choice, I’m sorry, Celyn,” added Mr Jones, “If we don’t agree then they have the powers to stop us competing in any competitions for as long as they want.”

We were interrupted by the Mrs Thomas, “Excuse me, we’ve just had a fax from the Welsh Netball Association.”

Mr Jones took the piece of paper and quickly scanned it before announcing, “It’s almost word for word of the one from the FA. I’m sorry, Celyn it looks like you’re excused from games completely for a while.”

Some twenty minutes later I was walking aimlessly in the general direction of the sixth form common room. The meeting had lasted another ten minutes of fruitless discussions and argument and in the end I had left feeling despondent. The prospect of weeks or months without any sport in school was a depressing one.

I recognised two familiar voices around the corner of the corridor and quickened my pace to greet my friends. Suddenly I was stopped in my tracks by a completely unexpected comment.

“–I think I realise now that I wanted a real girl,” said the voice I recognised as being that of Sion, my former lover and best friend.

I stood still and a second later Sion and Meryl had turned the corner and were facing me.

I felt a terrible pain through my whole being, worse than the one of being rejected emotionally only a few short weeks before.

I turned and ran.

I ran along the corridor, away from the hurt, but even as I tried to escape it I could feel it burning hotter and hotter inside, consuming me with its horrific intensity.

I ran, oblivious to the startled looks on the faces I passed.

I ran, ignoring the sound of the voices shouting after me.

I ran, almost blinded by the tears welling up uncontrollably.

I ran, unaware of the heavy rain quickly thoroughly soaking me, until I couldn’t run any longer, until all the energy I had for the day and all the feelings I had for anything were completely dissipated. I ran until I didn’t care if I lived or died.

I reached the town park and threw myself down on a wet bench and let the floodgates open.

“Are you alright, Miss?” asked an unfamiliar female voice.

I looked up and recognised one of the community policewomen who patrolled the town during the day.

I felt too drained to reply.

“Come on, dear, you look like you’re soaked through. What’s your name?” she asked.

“Celyn…Celyn Morus,” I replied in almost a whisper.

“Celyn Morus–are you Haf’s daughter?” she responded.

“Yes, do you know her?”

“We went to Cwm Wysg together, although she was always in top sets,” she replied, “Come on Celyn, I think I know where you live, let me give you life home before you catch the flu. I’ve probably got a blanket in my car. I’m Pauline by the way.”

Half an hour later I was getting out of the car of the community policewoman, who to my relief had been the first person I’d met that day who hadn’t read the moronic newspaper article.

I had concocted a story about splitting with my boyfriend, in response to her questioning, as a reason for being so upset and in a way I felt I was telling the truth.

“Remember me to your Mum,” Pauline as she prepared to drive away.

“Of course and thanks again,” I replied, raising my hand in acknowledgement.

I quickly opened the door and made my way up to my bedroom.

I felt completely numb as I almost robot-like removed my sodden clothes. I dried myself and then wrapped myself in my dressing gown. I sat down in my bedroom chair and stared at the wall.

My mobile rang.

I ignored it.

The was a buzz and the opening phrase of a Rammstein song ‘We’re all living in America, America ist wunderbar. We’re all living in America, Amerika–’ to indicate a new text message.

I looked at it. It was from Amarjit,

‘You OK? Meryl told me, please phone me’

I thought about phoning and then before I could decide my own mobile rang again.

“Hey, Amarjit.”

“How are you, Celyn?”

I told her about the football and netball exclusions.

“Oh, Meryl didn’t know about that, you’ve had a baaaad day,” she replied.

“I haven’t had many worse,” I said tonelessly.

There was a pause for a few seconds.

“Listen, Celyn, I’ve got a great idea why don’t you come to London, you need time away after all these disappointments. You know my parents would love to see you again,” urged Amarjit on the phone.

“I’m not sure, I’ve got exams and––”

Ten minutes later she had persuaded me and I quickly phoned my Mum to see if she could give me lift to the station.

Three and a half hours later the train came to a halt in Paddington station in West London. I waited in my seat until the majority of the passengers on the crowded Inter City train had flowed out onto the platform and swept towards the crush of humanity waiting on the concourse.

A couple of minutes later I was walking with the last of the stragglers towards the platform exit.

I surveyed the line of waiting friends and relatives. A familiar face beamed back at me as she caught my attention.

“Hey, Celyn!” Amarjit yelled.

I quickened my walk and within seconds was lost in her soft embrace.

“Don’t worry now, sweetie, everything’s going to be fine,” she said as she gently caressed my face and brushed her fingers through my hair.

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¹ Western Mail– A daily newspaper in Wales
² Ysgol Cwm Wysg = Usk Valley School
³ Ysgol Uwchradd Casnewydd = Newport High School
⁴ Registration = roughly equivalent to Homeroom

~~ ‘Tweaked’ by Gabi ~~

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To Be Continued…
 
End of Vol. 5.01