A Field trip

By Lynda Shermer

Chapter 4 - After the dance

Play prep, and study sessions in the library as finals approached made the time fly for the rest of the semester.

Working in the scenery shop was proving ... different. Where Barb had been a part of the repartee, Dave was the new guy, of unknown quality, and a bit of an outsider, coming on at the last minute. I had to painfully try to rebuild the friendships, and it was proving hard going, particularly with the other girls.

After a particularly unsuccessful attempt, Mrs. Phelps took me to her office.

"You know how some teachers have multiple positions on the faculty? Well, in addition to being the entire drama and media production departments, I'm on the counseling staff. Some of the faculty have expressed concern. When I originally met you as Barb, you were outgoing; you made friends amongst the other stage hands fairly readily, and even with some of the actors. Your "acne" was a nice touch, by the way. I'd see you talking to the others in the lunchroom, despite the fact that you didn't have any classes together. In fact, I checked the database, and I couldn't find you in any classes. I could tell you were wearing a wig, and I eventually realized it went deeper than a mere bad hair day. It puzzled me that you were trying so aggressively to go unnoticed. I figured out Barb was Dave only by observing Sally at lunch with you, dressed both ways, on different days."

"Was, Mrs. Phelps, was Barb. But Barb is over, now."

"Now, You are exhibiting some classic signs of dysphoria, and I'm worried. Barb may be over, but your other side isn't; it's repressed for now, and that is depressing you."

"You're a counselor, but you aren't MY counselor," I said; a stab in the dark. I had no idea who (if anyone) might be assigned as my counselor.

"Actually, I've put in a request to be assigned to you; while your grades haven't suffered, some of your teachers have noticed you're becoming withdrawn. I can also recommend a good specialist to see, one who deals with this sort of thing all the time, and isn't going to tell the school district anything they find out, if that worries you. I hope you'll take advantage of it, Dave, you are such a creative talent, and just now you seem so muted..."

Ten days later, and I still had to work studying for my finals.

It was a rainy Saturday. Mom was off doing some overtime at work again, and would be out all day. So I had nothing to do but study. I'd checked with Sally, but she didn't seem to be home today. And everyone else I studied with (in the library, for example) seemed to be occupied with their own worries.

Putting my school materials out on the dining room table, I was struck by an odd urge. After I set everything out, I changed into my dress from the dance. I didn't have the Barb wig anymore, so I wrapped one of the school color scarves around my head and did my makeup. I went into mom's room and looked at her shoes. There was one pair of heels that looked they would be just a little tight on me, so I tried them on. They barely fit, but I wore them anyway.

It really wasn't the same, but I felt the urge to do it anyway. When I was dressed, I set a timer so I be reminded to change back before mom got home for supper. It seemed easier to concentrate than it had in weeks, somehow. The time flew by as I worked through the essay I had to write for english. Between paragraphs, I got up to walk. The feel of the hosiery on my legs when they rubbed together was quite enjoyable, and I worried still more that I was developing a fetish.

When the alarm went off, going to clean off my makeup, I felt an odd reluctance. But I had to change back before mom got home, didn't I?

I was careful to leave everything looking untouched in mom's room.

Time was passing at school, though it had gotten to the point where I only looked forward to lunch, and even then, I sort of resented that I had to go as Dave; even scenery crew was becoming an obligation I had agreed to do; I missed Barb's friends amongst the stage crew. I was gradually getting some of them as friends myself, but I came to realize that somehow, most of Dave's friends had been left behind in Minneapolis and here, I'd mostly made friends as Barb.

For some reason, the only person that seemed to be glad to see Dave was Doug (and I was dodging him, to avoid disciplinary actions); even Sally seemed to be disappointed when Dave showed up instead of Barb. But Barb was over, as I kept reminding myself.

Finally, I accepted the inevitable and took Mrs. Phelps' recommendation to see that therapist. My mother made the appointment and waited with me during my first visit.

"Mrs. Walsh?"

"It's Ms, actually."

"Dr. Wilson will see your son now. Could you fill out these forms while you're waiting for him?"

And with that, I was ushered into a comfortable book lined office, with two armchairs. Despite the stereotype, there was no couch. Shortly, Dr. Wilson came out from an inner office; she was nicely dressed.

Taking a seat in one of the chairs (was which one I'd choose a test, I wondered?), she started off by telling me that she had responsibilities to the courts if I confessed a crime, to my parents whose insurance was paying for these sessions, and then to me and that was it; NOT to the school. Then we started in on general background as this was our first session.

Initially, I avoided the subject of Barb, not wanting to be seen as weird. The story of my life took most of the session, it seemed

When I got to recent times, I described more of my feelings, and she kept saying she didn't see any reason I should be unhappy. I was trying to find a way to explain things when I got annoyed and burst out that it used to be much better and I just wanted it to go back the way it was.

"And when was that; what did you do to your friends that changed it?"

As though it was MY fault!

"I stopped being Barb!" I blurted out, infuriated by her inability to understand this, And realizing what I'd said, I slumped in the chair; I'd brought up the weirdness myself, instead of hoping she's miss it.

But she immediately softened her manner, saying "I was wondering when you'd tell me about Barb. Mrs. Phelps mentioned her, but I thought I shouldn't mention her until you brought her up. So tell me about her, or rather, yourself, Barb."

So I told her about the field trip, the football game, and the lunches with Sally, which cheered me up somewhat, but that led to me telling her about Doug, and the dance.

That, of course, led to me explaining why Barb was no more, which depressed me all over again.

I did feel a sense of relief in being able to talk about it, finally, and yet...
"Barb doesn't exist anymore, she's a part of my past and I'm having problems NOW."

"Yes; You abandoned your wig for Doug to find. But that doesn't make Barb any less a part of you then when you discovered her. Tell me again about the beginning?"

And so I recounted the story of the resale shop, again.

"And that was the first time you dressed this way?"

"Yes, once I got it home. Well, except..."

That led to a discussion of past halloween costumes, and how I snuck into my mother's dresser when I was 10.

"But that's just normal curiosity, isn't it?," I asked, thinking of the rainy Saturday, so much more recent.

"Not necessarily," she replied, "But at least we're getting somewhere now. I see our time is up for this session, Barb. I'd like to see you in two weeks, instead of Dave, if you don't mind."

"But my hair..."

"Oh, I'm sure you can find a way around that. Come next session as you would prepare yourself for lunch. I think it will be most illuminating. And I see here in you file that you have a birthday coming up before our next session. Happy Birthday."

And on that cheery note, I gathered up my things and left. I was humming, thinking about things I might do to prepare for our next session, when I realized that she'd addressed me as Barb. And I'd just accepted it as normal.

But I also discovered I was looking forward to something for the first time in some time.

The next day, finals being over, was the distribution of yearbooks at school. I had a few friends due to stage crew, studying, my classmates, and Sally of course, so we all milled around signing each other's books. But there was one surprise waiting for me...

In english class, Doug asked me if I'd permit him to sign my yearbook. I was puzzled; we hadn't interacted much in class, but I said sure. He scribbled his signature on a page inside, and returned it to me with thanks.

At lunch, I mentioned the incident to Sally. She asked to see. I paged through the book, and found the page he's signed, which concerned scenery shop.

Most of the photos showed me as Dave, so I thought nothing of it. But Sally noticed that one photo showed Barb. Doug had written a message next to that one, which read: "To Dave; Thanks for an enthralling chase, and giving me much to think about; see you next year."

Sally told me, "I think he's got you mostly figured out."

"What do you mean?"

"Boy, are you dense..."

Actually, digging through the yearbook in more detail, I discovered another picture of Barb in the yearbook, this one while dancing with Doug, during her last night. They were both smiling, and didn't seem awkward at all. It seemed a proper memorial for her, somehow. I wondered if I could get a print of that photo in the fall.