CLOSE TO YOU

Our senior year was difficult for the both of us. From day one, Highland Academy was against us from spending any time together and mom made it a rule that we were to study in the kitchen, den or living room and Michael was not allowed upstairs. Dad was oblivious to the situation as mom told him she caught me smoking in my room—anything to avoid telling him that his son was sexually active.
“Everyone tries it, Elizabeth,” he said one night at dinner.
Michael sat across from me and avoided confirming or denying my father’s observation.
We also swore that we would never mention our attempts at trying chewing tobacco.
“I still don’t think it’s right. Very unhealthy. It makes you think you can move onto other adult things that cause distress to your life.” Mom looked at me and then turned back to dad.
“Of course, dear, it’s a terrible habit. Very unbecoming and leaves your clothes a mess. The proper gentlemen won’t smoke or chew, not even gum. You handle yourself in a calm manner; be respectful and reserved to hear what the next man has to say.” Dad looked at Michael. “Do you agree, Mr. Nelson?”
“Yes, sir,” Michael replied.
“Kristopher?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied. My hair was cut shorter- it had some length but looked ‘boyish’. I had not drunk the Kool-Aid or been brain-washed but it was just that if I kept up the appearance and played my part as expected then I could look forward to the days when I left the house, either by going to college, catching a plane to California or eloping with Michael to some undisclosed place. My mind was always on the third option.
“I’m thinking of going to Mississippi State” Mike said one day while we sat in the living room. “My parents went there. Grandparents too.”
He had a large envelope in his hand from the college filled with cards, pamphlets and a book that screamed “Come! To! Our! School! NOW!”
“What about your uncle?”
“No, he never cared about college. Said he didn't need it. Once said ‘show me a teacher who can load a shotgun and land a ten-point buck and I’ll think about it.’”
I nodded as Michael leafed through the book.
“I don’t know if I’ll go to school.”
“Why not?”
“Well, if I do then the fun gets to start all over again. The social awkwardness. Which restroom will I get to use? What dorm do I stay in?”
“We should get a dorm room together, wherever we go.”
“Do I really want to be in a guy’s dorm?”
“A room for two?”
“I still love how you think.” I said with a slight smile.
We agreed that we would attend the first school that accepted one of us. The issue of me going to school was paying for it: I never submitted scholarship applications, nor did I ever do extra work to embellish my academic resume. It didn’t really matter to me if I went because I knew I wouldn’t be able to go for the major I wanted.
In the spring of my senior year, a big envelope came back stating that The University of Tennessee accepted me. I submitted applications to various schools across the country: UCLA, Gonzaga, MSU and the University of Tennessee. I hoped for UCLA.
“Theatre? You will major in business and you can’t do that at some art school in California.” Dad said as he shifted his eyes into his I’m so disappointed expression.
“I don't want to work in a cubicle.”
I hated desk and classrooms and going to college meant four more years of desks and classrooms. Then, if Dad had his way, I would find myself sitting at still another desk in an office or in all day meetings which would make me want to take a running leap out a window. Also, Michael would never wear a three-piece suit to anything; not his own wedding or funeral.
“Business is not about where you work, it's what you do to support your family.”
“Like I can have one in Tennessee,” I muttered.
“What about that girl at to school? You should get in touch with her.”
“Karen Anne?”
“Yes.”
I shook my head.
“Even better. You'll be able to keep your mind on your studies without any distractions.”
Oh, there would be a distraction.

♦♦♦

I woke up with Michael’s arm draped over my head.
Not exactly the most fragrant wakeup call but I felt safe.
I moved his arm out of the way and got out of bed to take a shower.
I already had my wardrobe set it for the day, knowing full well that while Monday could be seen to others as a fluke: a nice joke, or a subtle nod to Tim Curry; a second day would cause a few eyebrows to go up, the ice caps to melt and the seas to boil.
Good.
It would cause more whispering amongst the crowds.
Bring it on.
Mrs. Peterson would have a conniption fit.
Let's get ready to rumble!
“Michael, wake up.”
“Prefer to sleep” he moaned.
“There are some things I'd prefer to do this morning too.”
“I'm open to that,” he replied with his eyes closed.
“Come on, time to wake up. You have an algebra test today.”
“Tell me when I will ever use algebra in real life?”
“When you have to get down and dirty with the numbers in Windows or something.”
“Is that a youth-anism?”
“No, it’s not a euphemism, but again, I do like how you think when you’re half asleep.” I leaned over and kissed him on the lips. “Feel free to grab a hold of me, we can skip breakfast if you like.”
“Agreed” he replied with a pull on my arm.
We did miss breakfast, so it was a pop-tart moment as we walked out of our room and walked down the stairs. As promised, I wore the camisole and skirt, but with a blouse over it—at least until Mrs. Peterson’s class.
“I forgot to tell you that I talked with Amanda Marks yesterday.”
“Who?”
“She’s in my math class.”
We walked into the stairwell.
“Okay, so what did you talk about?”
“Well, she said I was being brave for dressing like this and I just said I was being truthful to myself. But then, she’s in the auditorium watching us perform. Oh, and I got to be on stage, Michael. Heather wasn’t there, so-”
“Heather as in ‘yo baby’ Heather?”
“Yeah, so I was playing her part and-”
“Is this a permanent thing? Are you going to be in the show?”
“I don’t know, maybe.”
“Your parents are coming to see the play, right?”
“Oh crap, I-” I stopped and turned to face Mike; my face filled with dread. He picked up on it.
“It’s a good way to come out to them. It’s a big deal, you might as well be on-stage to show it.”
“Yeah, and why should I be afraid of them? I mean I told Amanda not to be afraid of her boyfriend.”
“Why would she be afraid?”
“He beats her up, a least that’s what she told me.”
“Sounds like a coward.” Michael snorted. “A little, sniveling coward.”
“I know, right? So, I told her to picture him across the room and yell at him, yell to Jacob Alderson.”
“Wait a second. She said Jacob Alderson?”
We stopped shy of the door leading to the first floor.
“Maybe Anderson. I’m not sure, why?”
“Jacob’s a running back on the team.”
“Okay.” I was waiting to hear if his uncle was a local mafia boss or something.
“He stands about six-foot six.”
“Probably has a puny brain.”
“Weighs about 280-mostly muscle.”
“Small penis too, most likely,” I replied.
“What did you tell her to do?”
“To tell him to get out of her life. I didn't tell her to bash his semi-small manhood.”
“Kristi.”
“No, I mean I said just that. No sarcasm, just helpful advice like how she should get away from people who hurt her. I could see the hurt there Michael. I didn't see any physical scars, but she had a lot of mental anguish.”
“Okay,” Michael replied with a sigh, “I’m thinking you may want to change your major to psychology or something.”
“That has been on my mind,” I replied as I opened the door into the main hall.
We turned the corner into the main area to see, like clockwork, Richard’s face looking at us for a moment.
“I’ve received another complaint about the two of you.”
“What about?” Michael asked.
“Some loud activity from your room?”
“Yet, no one ever hears the rock concert coming from the end of the hall.” I said without looking at Rick.
“I’m aware of the music and it’s being dealt with. But now, we need to deal with this situation.” Dick pointed directly at me, but he still didn't have my attention. “Here is the summons to a dorm disciplinary meeting. It is scheduled for today at three.”
Prick, I mean, Richard held out two envelopes. I took both.
“I love the short notice, Richard,” I said with dripping sarcasm, “but we all know that there cannot be a disciplinary hearing until we know what we’ve been accused of and then there is the meeting of the floor guard monitors who would then speak to you. So, unless the rules have changed since we paid our tuition and they revised the handbook after the fact, you know where you can stick these.”
I slammed the envelopes on the counter, took Michael’s hand and we walked out.
“I’ll see the two of you later then. Three o’clock.”
I really wanted to give him the finger.
My first class was uneventful with Mr. Andrews nodding in my general direction instead of calling out my name. It was okay, I didn't care too much. I also didn't mind the whispering around me-I didn't ask if it was about me and no one pointed at me so I thought it was a win-win situation for my mental health.
My math class was much like the day before with some people eying me but not the instructor. I looked to see if Amanda would show up, but she never did and that worried me. I wanted to believe that she broke ties with Jacob but that would mean that she would be in class the next day, not absent. Perhaps she was sick or upset from having to break up with him knowing full well that he wouldn't change--as sad as it is to think about.
I had to come to the same conclusion about my dad. He would never accept me for who I really was, and I had the genetic markers to prove it if I could afford to have them gone over and corrected on every single document. If they could overrule every doctor that wrote "boy" or "gender male" on everything then everything would fine; well, after I had a certain something removed because, well, I didn't want it there. Hopefully, Andrea could accomplish the same with her issue and she was just absent, and something had not happened to her.
I jogged across campus to one of the girls' dorm and walked up to the, I hope, was not the exact equivalent to Richard, manager.
“Excuse me?”
“Hello.”
“Is Amanda Marks in this dorm? If you can't tell me because of security, I understand.”
“She's here, I think. Let me buzz her room.”
She was not like Richard. For one, she didn't stare at me or answer my questions with more questions.
“Amanda, you have a visitor.” She spoke into the phone and then turned to me. “Name?”
“Kristi.”
“Kristi,” said into the phone. “I'll send her up. Thank you.” She hung the phone up and then looked at me.
“May I see you ID, please?”
“Sure.”
I handed my ID over and she looked at it for a moment, blinked, and then looked at me. “It says your name is Kristopher.”
“We're working on getting that changed. One day at a time, you know?”
“Yeah, okay,” she replied as she handed my ID back to me. She was becoming more like Richard as the seconds went by. “I can't let you go in.”
“Why is that?”
“I think it would be a risk. Now, please leave.”
I bit my lip, shook my head and walked out of the dormitory.
I really wanted to tell her off but how would that have helped me? I looked at my ID and wondered if I could damage the area around "sex" just to the point that it would be hard to tell what it was and then they would just accept me for how I looked. I found it irritating that while in high school I wasn't considered boy enough and in college I wasn't considered girl enough.
I sat on the bench in the quad area and, once again, pondered my existence. The two-fold way of it. I existed, me, Kristi, in body, mind and spirit but Kris was the one that everyone knew. It didn't matter about my hair or clothes--most people saw the boy and my ID and registration paperwork didn't help. Mrs. Peterson, 'Richardette' and Dick at the dorms--even my parents for the love of God!
I was already fighting a losing battle, but I had a few people in my corner. It would be a losing battle, at least at the college, but I was not going to let people give me the proverbial gun and tell me to shoot myself. I stood up from the bench and took off my outer shirt to reveal the camisole. It was time to go to Miss Peterson's class.
The lecture hall was half-filled. The ones who were there didn't look at me; they seldom did anyway except for what happened the previous day. I sat in the middle of the fourth row--and true to my word, I had on the camisole--which allowed the bruising on my arm to shine like the sunrise. No one asked about it, but I wasn't expecting them to, nor was I going to tell anyone how I got it.
Mrs. Peterson walked into class and looked at me for a brief second before she scoffed and walked to the podium. I avoided looking straight at her, seeing her only through my peripheral vision, a la Perseus versus Medusa.
Mrs. Peterson called roll and took a pause when she said my name. “Kristopher Novoselic.”
I knew she did it in spite and as much as I wanted to throw it back in her face--it would come back at me in spades, so I just kept on reading my textbook, hoping that her animosity would tone down a bit. I mean, it wasn't like I brought an army into class with me, had a banner or a flag unfurled in protest.
It took Mrs. Peterson less than half of the period to bring me into the conversation:
“Class,” Mrs. Peterson returned to the lectern and pointed at me. “What was said about the fall of the Roman Empire and what would befall nations all over the world, including our own when we allow people to do whatever they want without considering the social construct.”
My face was burning in anger and I couldn't hide it. She had the nerve to use me as an object lesson.
“When societies gave in to hedonism, they gave a blank check out to the leaders of those nations to not care about lawfulness. One day in America we will see men wearing dresses and proclaiming ‘I'm a woman! You. Must. Respect. Me.’”
“Everyone should be given respect, regardless of how you feel about them,” I answered.
“Should I respect, say, Charles Manson, a mass murderer?”
“He is a person, even if he committed a crime.”
“Shouldn’t he be punished for his crime?”
“You're equivocating me with a murderer?”
“I am saying there are rules that a society must follow and the ones who cannot follow that, should be dealt with.”
I picked my books up and placed them into my bag. I didn't look at anyone, not even at Mrs. Peterson as I stepped up onto the platform. “Excuse me, I forgot to wear my pink triangle today.”
I left the lecture hall and walked across campus, back to the quad area in front of the dorm.
I wanted to scream, lift the bench from its concrete supports, and throw it in anger. It was like how I had to deal with a child psychologist who insisted that I act like my assigned-self, a young man.
A young man with a rather conspicuous part of his anatomy that did not match anything on any other boy. To look at the world as a male. I couldn't do it. I didn't really understand what the doctors meant by that. I always wanted to ask if my treatment had anything to do with the extra payments he received from my parents? Was there something extra in all the medications they gave me? Some of the ones I ceased taking years before or in such small doses the effects were hampered by my already out of control hormones?
I always had some adult tell me that something was wrong with me and it was like, “thanks, that so explains why I slice at my arms and wish to throw myself off a building.” I could fool the students and teachers at school; I acted out my part with my parents and the rest of the world, but I could always see my crappy performance and would heckle myself that it wasn't working out.
Why shouldn’t I be happy in whatever I did?
Why was I trying to wedge myself into some mold that wasn’t me—I was different, and I liked being that way. The rest of the world could think less of me.
Fine, people do that to all the time to others.
They could pretend I didn’t exist and I’d just raise my voice louder
They could try and harm me, extend the trial out past college and into forever or kill me.
Yeah, that did scare me a little.
Fear times ignorance squared.
I decided to put it all to the apex—and maybe get some direction on where I would be for the rest of my academic career at UT: I would go and have that “meeting” with Richard even though it was pointless, and I didn’t give a damn on what he had to say.
I walked into the front room of the dorm and hoped that this would only take a few minutes. I walked to the office and saw that, for the first time since ever, it was closed. Dicky wasn’t keeping his watchful eye over all that he surveyed.
I knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
I took a deep breath and opened the door, expecting to find Rick along with some school officer, or at least our floor monitor—who never seemed to be around—but it was just Richard. I didn’t feel perturbed, at least I didn’t want to give off that vibe, but I felt this fear, like a shark underneath the waves, just below the surface, ready to break the glassy waters.
I closed the door.
“Please, have a seat.” Richard said as he held his hand out over his desk to one of the two chairs set in front.
I declined to sit,
“Thank you for coming to this meeting, Kris.”
“Kristi.”
“So, you say.”
“I do.”
“As dormitory master, I have to abide by the rules set forth by the school administration regarding the health and safety of the students within--”
“So, they finally fixed the central elevator?” I asked.
“As dormitory master, I have to abide by the rules set forth by the school administration regarding the health and safety of the students within the confines of the building. Safety and well-being implies that we abide by the rules and to courteous and conscientious to our fellow dormitory persons.”
“You have that memorized so well.” I said as Richard handed the envelopes he tried to give to me earlier in the day.
“Kristopher Novoselic, you are in violation of behavior un-becoming of a University of Tennessee student and in accordance to the dormitory rules you are to be removed from student housing.”
“Show me the rule.”
“It’s in your handbook.”
“Show it to me, you have to have one to quote it.”
He nodded as he lifted a stapled pack of old photocopied papers and handed it to me.
“This is from 1960. Where is the current one?”
“I am able to use whatever information I have available to keep order in this hall.”
I leafed through the yellowed pages for a moment or two.
“According to this, we’re still segregated.”
“Good times,” Richard replied without missing a beat and with zero emotion.
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I’m the person who holds onto your chances of staying in this dorm.”
“Getting serious now. Do I need a lawyer?” I asked as I threw the pages on the floor,
“You just need to answer a few questions.”
“Fine, whatever. I have practice.”
“What are you trying to do, with the dress?”
“Besides pissing you off?”
“I’ll let you know if it’s working. Go on.”
“I don’t have to answer that question.”
“Not acceptable,” Richard replied with a tone that was almost a whine; like a pig or maybe Hitler.
“I don’t recall having to care what you think.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
“Because I know what you really are.”
I tried to look at anything else in the room EXCEPT at him but his eyes—those beady, soul-sucking eyes that made you feel like he could open your head and rip out your brain with just the power of his mind. I eventually locked eyes with him.
“Which. Is?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“You’re a deviant.”
“Coming from you, that’s sounds like a badge of honor.”
“And a perversion of nature.”
“Says the guy who wants to know about my sex life.”
“You deserve to die.”
“And now you’re threatening me? Get in line, Dick.”
“I don’t need to. I can pick up this phone and tell the administration everything I know.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you’re gay.”
“You know what, Richard? It doesn’t matter. I know there are a lot of people on this campus who are and. It. Doesn’t. Matter. They’re not bothering us, we shouldn’t bother them.”
“They’re not in my dormitory.”
“McCarthyism much?”
“He was on to something,” he replied.
“I’m a girl, Richard.”
“That’s the dress talking.”
“No, it’s me. My name is Kristina or Kristi if you like. And I have been in this hallowed dorm as you call it for the past few months. Now, that being stated, you are now in violation of the rules of not having a female administrator or representative in the room with you. Now, if you excuse me I have a rehearsal to attend.”
Richard pushed his chair away from the desk as I got up and walked out the door.
I again fought back the urge to flip him off.