Lost in Translation
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Lost in Translation
Prologue – A Walk in the Park |
Sometimes going through transition can feel like you're walking through a minefield. And sometimes you actually are...
Author's Note: I hope that you find some small pleasure in this tale. As ever please be tolerant of my failings, and forthright with your criticism. ~Persephone
Helmand Province Afghanistan - 2014
In the back of the heavily armoured Mastiff personnel carrier Staff Sergeant Mick Farrell was trying to reach an itch between his shoulder blades but try as he might he couldn’t quite reach far enough under his body armour to get at it. He struggled against his restraining harness and squirmed around in the hope he could at least rub it against the hard seat back.
“Oof!”
The Mastiff hit yet another pothole jarring him back into his seat and snapping his head back with a hefty thunk as helmet met metal at speed. “Useless bloody driver! I swear the bastard aims for the bumps.”
A low chuckle sounded from the other side of the dusty and dimly lit interior. “We could ask him to slow down Staff. I’m sure the RAF will hold the flight back for us if we ask nicely.” The young second lieutenant’s drawled comment drew snickers from the rest of the reconstruction troop who were currently crammed cheek by jowl in the filthily hot compartment. Staff Sergeant Farrell’s ability to be uncomfortable in any vehicle, and his desire to make sure everyone else knew it, had become something of a troop joke so far during the tour and the guys were happy he was keeping it up right to the bitter end.
“What was the point of us building the buggers a new bridge if they don’t have any bloody roads leading to or from it anyway?” He complained as he now tried to slide the antenna of his personal radio down the back of his neck to reach that bloody itch.
The young officer grinned at his second in command. “Probably because we blew the old one up in the first place. Because the village elder managed to call in a favour from the district governor, and because the head of the provincial reconstruction team had some budget left over and knew how much you wanted to have a last ride travelling to the arse end of nowhere before we get to go on R&R.” He paused as the vehicle lurched again, causing yet more swearing from the Staff Sergeant.
“Fuck! I’m going to strangle that little shit of a driver when I get out. Last week the rest of the troop got a cushy thirty minute flight in a nice comfy Chinook to make the R&R flight, but us? Oh no, we’re stuck in this heap of shit. Boss, what happened to the privileges of rank?”
Within a few moments however the Royal Logistics Corps driver eased down through the gears and brought the heavily armoured truck to a halt whilst the top cover sentry, still swathed against the ever present dust in shemagh, helmet and goggles, ducked down inside. “Sir, there’s a choke point just ahead so the boss wants to take a quick shufti before going through. We’re going to de-bus here for about figures ten.”
“Thank you Private Eldridge.” Second Lieutenant Josh Wells smiled at the youngster who, at nineteen, was probably only a few months younger than himself before turning to his own team. “OK guys you heard the man, de-bus, usual drills, stay on the hard standing and five and twenty metre checks. Let’s move.”
Moments later the armoured rear doors were cracked open and the half dozen passengers gratefully claimed out into the brutal sunshine and choking arid dust of southern Helmand before spreading out to their positions. Still conscious of just how new and shiny the single rank pip on his body armour really was Josh anxiously checked that his guys had all spread out and were searching the area around them for possible IEDs before casting a quick glance to his Staff Sergeant.
“It’s all right Mister Wells. They’re fine” Staff Farrell murmured reassuringly to the young officer. “Remember what I told you, your own drills come first. That shiny pip doesn’t make you bullet or bomb proof.” He watched as the youngster flashed him a quick smile of gratitude, white teeth showing for a moment in sharp contrast to the dark grey layer of dust and sweat that caked his face before obediently starting to scan his immediate area. Mick shook his head at the sight. Even in the bulky body armour and helmet 2nd Lt Wells still looked like a schoolboy. Small hands, small feet (the Quartermaster had had real fun finding boots that fitted the lad) and a bobbing adams apple that seemed big enough to bounce on the front plate of his body armour. At least the lad wasn’t like most arrogant young Ruperts. He actually listened (most of the time) and more importantly understood the first rule of being a second lieutenant; he might be in command but his troop Staff Sergeant was in charge. Yep, Staff Farrell decided, the youngster had potential.
Unaware of the attention focussed on him Josh dutifully finished his checks then settled down into a fire position to scan his arcs. The only life he could see was a solitary child about a hundred metres away who was equally intent on the stopped convoy as he sat close to his small herd of goats foraging amongst the barren rocks and scrub. Josh grinned to himself. It was probably the most exciting thing the kid had seen all day. He let his attention move on, steadily quartering back and forth across the otherwise empty terrain whilst his mind returned to planning his R&R.
Back to the UK, back to his parents home, and back to his father’s certain desire to drag him down the the pub every night to show off his soldier son now that he’d lost the long hair and earrings and ‘made something of himself’. Visiting the relatives for Sunday lunch and seeing the look of relief barely overshadowing the strain in his mums eyes as the thought he was safe warred with the realisation that he was going back. Yeah, it would be a good break. The only thing he would definitely not be doing was seeing ‘her’ in the mirror. All that was definitely behind him once and for all. Instead he’d go to the pub with dad, maybe get a game of rugby in, and…
Josh’s attention was snatched back to the present as the dull crump of an explosion rent the air that caused everyones heads to snap up and the 50 cals on the two mastiffs to swing round to cover the dirty grey pillar of smoke and dust that now plumed out of the rocks and scrub. For an unutterably long moment a stillness hovered over the landscape. Then, the thin wailing cry of a child reached the convoy.
Josh scanned back and forth through the optics of his assault rifle hunting it’s source. His eyes passed over it twice before a dirty bundle of rags suddenly twitched and shifted where the little goatherd had been. Behind him the sound of running boots caused him to glance behind.
“What happened?” The para lieutenant commanding the convoy gasped out as he skidded to a halt beside Josh.
“There was a kid herding goats up there. It looks like he set off an IED or an old Russian anti-personnel mine.”
“OK stay firm and keep your eyes peeled to see if this is a come on.”
“What about the child?”
“We didn’t cause it. It’s a rag-head, so it’s not our problem. As soon as we clear the choke point we’re moving out.” Then, without waiting for a reply, the para officer scrambled to his feet and started to jog back to the lead Mastiff.
Josh stared at the retreating back in shock.
He looked back at the pathetic bundle of whimpering rags on the hillside, and stood up.
“Sir what are you doing?”
Silence greeted Staff Farrell’s question as his young officer walked over to the Mastiff and pulled out a Vallon mine detector.
“Sir?”
Josh glanced up at the top cover sentry manning the 50 cal “Private Eldridge cover me” he called as his hands remained busy assembling the Vallon unit.
“Sir, what the fuck are you doing?”
Only then did the young engineer officer turn to his second in command, his eyes wide and his nostrils flaring with barely concealed anger. “Staff, we have a casualty to deal with, break out the stretcher and follow my path.”
“But…”
Josh cut him off abruptly, “that’s an order Staff” he snarled before returning his attention to the Vallon, waiting for the ready tone. A small chirp finally came from the unit and without a backward look he stepped of the road sweeping steadily from side to side as he headed into the rocks and scrub.
“Fuck.“ Staff Farrell swore to himself as he watched his officers retreating back. “Fuck.” Then he turned to the rest of the team around him. “Smiffy, dig out the stretcher and trauma pack. Roach, get me the lane marking kit. Move it!”
Alone in the scrub Josh put all his focus into clearing his route to the bundle of rags. Steady overlapping sweeps, parallel to the ground, eyes constantly scanning for disturbed earth and other indicators. He didn’t even hear the irate shouts of the Para officer demanding he return. Josh barely paused, and then only to blink clear the sweat from his eyes before moving on. Ahead the softly mewling cries of the child tugged him forward.
“Steady, boss, steady, don’t rush.” Staff Farrell murmured from a few metres behind, his rifle sweeping left and right as he covered his officers back.
With that reassurance Josh calmed himself. It’s a minefield, I’m trained for this. I have the kit. It’s just like the training. I can handle this. Follow the drills, slow and steady, he reminded himself over and over as the child’s position inched closer until at last he stood over the whimpering child, the ever-present dust already staining dark beneath the rags.
“Boss, keep going and clear the immediate area. I’ll deal with the casualty.” Even as he spoke Staff Farrell dropped to his knees and with practiced ease ran his hands over the boy. He took in the shattered leg, the hoarse gasping breaths from lips turning blue and the wide pleading eyes in a white face. “It’s ok little one, it’s ok” the seasoned old veteran murmured gently, incongruously reminding Josh of the way his second in command also spoke to him.
At last Josh too was able to drop down on the other side of the kid. Still calm and professional Staff Farrell started to brief him. “OK, boss we’ve got a T1 casualty. Multiple puncture wounds to the chest and arms, possible sucking chest wound so if you can start with that? Major trauma left leg. Shit! I need to get a tourniquet on that right now. Smiffy where’s that fucking trauma pack….”
Lieutenant Colonel Alex Molyneux, the Commanding Officer, or CO, of 19 Engineer Regiment steepled his fingers and stared at the young man standing to attention across the trestle table that served as his desk. Second Lieutenant Wells had only been with the regiment for a couple of weeks before the pre tour training package had started. As a result the CO didn’t know the boy as well as his other subalterns, and ‘boy’ young Josh Wells certainly was. He had yet to grow beyond that gangly stage of being a teenager and looked almost… ’unfinished’ Alex decided. However, despite young Wells’ appearance, both his squadron commander and Staff Farrell had spoken well of him, and Alex had good cause to trust Staff Sergeant Farrell’s judgement.
“The CO of the Paras is furious.” Alex caught and held the youngster’s gaze when he finally spoke. “His exact words, spoken with, I might add, a fair degree of vehemence, included ’recklessly putting the convoy at risk’, ‘almost making his toms miss their R&R flight’, ‘blatant failure to follow orders’ and he wrapped it up by calling you ‘a childish bloody outlaw with no common sense who should still be in school.’ So, young Wells, what have you got to say for yourself?”
Alex noted with approval that the boy’s eyes held his steadily. “We don’t leave children to die sir.” The youngster stated simply. “I’d rather be thought to have no sense than no honour or humanity.”
Alex sighed as he silently agreed with the young officer’s sentiment. “Well, you’re lucky young man. Firstly, you were out of reach on R&R until the Para CO calmed down, and secondly, as a result of your and Staff Farrell’s actions, the boy survived and just happened to be the son of the village headman in Chah-e-Anjir. That led to a discreet little chat with a HUMINT team whilst you were away, which in turn led to the discovery of a significant bomb making factory over in 40 Commando’s operational area. So basically, well done, but don’t do it again.”
“What? Save a child's life sir?”
“No. Piss off the Paras.” The CO tried to glare before grinning and relaxing his pose. “Now, bollocking over, how did you find your first time of deliberately walking into a minefield?”
“I didn’t really think about it like that at the time sir. I just followed the drills. It was only when I got back to the UK that it hit me.”
“Yes, it does tend to get you like that, and I’m sure that if you decide to make a full career in the Royal Engineers you will undoubtedly be called to do it again. You did well.”
“Staff Farrell was there to help me sir.”
“And that’s the job of senior NCOs. Making sure brash young officers grow into wise old ones. As I said you did well, now get yourself off young man.”
Unsure if he was expected to reply Josh merely nodded to his commanding officer, saluted and turned to leave before the CO added a final word. “Oh, and by the way, you may be interested in the new nickname the boys have coined for you given how loud the Para CO was in sharing his opinions.”
“Sir?” For the first time a slight frown creased the youngster’s brow.
“The Outlaw Josie Wells.” His Commanding Officer chuckled, not noticing the sudden start the name caused the young officer.
Lost in Translation - Part 1
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Lost in Translation
Part 1 – The Therapist |
Author's Note: I hope that you find some small pleasure in this tale. As ever please be tolerant of my failings, and forthright with your criticism. ~Persephone
Sometimes going through transition can feel like you're walking through a minefield. And sometimes you actually are...
Leamington Spa – England - 2019
“I’m sorry Josie but you really need to try harder.”
Doctor Beecher smiled sadly as he delivered the bad news to the forlorn young woman sitting before him. She barely reacted to his pronouncement as she sat, shoulders hunched and her eyes avoiding his. “You started your real life experience, your RLE, what? Two months ago?”
“Nine and a half weeks.” Her voice was a husky contralto which pleased him. At least she had worked hard on that.
“Nine and a half weeks,” he allowed graciously, “but I still need to see more evidence that you are getting out and about, that you are mixing with people. That’s what the RLE is all about, finding out you can cope.”
“I’ve been working hard!”
“Yes, but from what you tell me It’s from home most of the time. You go into the office only when you have to collect or drop off physical documents. The rest of the time you send it back and forth by email.”
At last she lifted her eyes to meet his. “I was there all day today,” she all but pleaded. “Anyway I work better without distractions. You try translating a legal letter from Turkish to English whilst someone is yammering away on the phone in Romanian and the boss is demanding your time sheets every time he walks past.”
“But what about outside of work? You are still in the Army Reserve aren’t you? You told me that the unit was being really supportive and the MoD now has a formal policy for managing transgendered personnel. When was the last time you were with them?”
Her eyes dropped to the carpet once again. “About two months ago.”
“Before you started living as Josie full time. Have they even met Josie?” He paused, allowing the moment to stretch until he was sure no answer was forthcoming before asking his next question. “Do you even go out to do the shopping?” Again he paused, watching the young woman closely. “Or do you order it online?”
Her guilty start told him everything he needed to know. He could almost predict the next words out of her mouth.
“Of course I go out and shop!” He kept his face blank even as the lie spilled unconvincingly from her lips and she tried to muster a facade of outraged indignation.
Doctor Beecher sighed. He really didn’t like having to do this. It was better to find out now than later, but this was not a message he particularly enjoyed giving. “Josie, If you want me to write a letter supporting you for gender reassignment surgery I really need to know you are getting out and about. For the whole year. I need to be convinced you are leading a full life as Josie. As full, if not fuller, than you had as Josh. Meeting new people, facing new situations and challenges, and dealing with them effectively. I have to be honest with you Josie, right now I can’t.”
He watched as her shoulders slumped further and his heart went out her. When Josie put the effort in she could actually be quite pretty, especially since her facial feminization surgery, although when he told her that she never seemed to really believe him. “Josie, it’s still early days and I understand that this is hard and new for you. You need to make a plan. Find a friend who can go shopping with you. Go out on the town with some colleagues. Get back to your unit and do some training nights. I know you can do it Josie, just allow yourself to try.”
She gave a brittle little smile at his encouragement. “Thank you Doctor.”
“You’ll be all right Josie, get out there and find you can fly. You never know what opportunities are awaiting you.”
With that he glanced quickly at his watch before starting to wrap up the session and arrange a date for their next meeting and within ten minutes he was sitting alone and writing up his notes. ‘If no improvement by next month’ he scrawled at the end of the page, ‘consider delaying approval for reassignment by six months.’
Josie slammed the car door behind her and savagely jammed her keys into the ignition. “Get out there and fly.” She mimicked Doctor Beecher’s encouraging tone whilst the engine squealed for a moment until she let go of the keys. “Face new challenges.” Her voice now a singsong parody. “Lead a full life.” She yanked the steering wheel even as she slipped into reverse and the battered old land rover jumped backwards. “What the hell does he think I’ve been doing for the last nine weeks?”
In the background the land rover’s radio burbled on in counterpoint to the revving engine, and occasionally squealing rubber, with the latest news and, of course, every so called ‘expert’s’ view, of the UN brokered Kurdish safe haven in Northern Iraq and Syria in an attempt to fill the power vacuum left after the collapse of the so called Islamic State. Not that Josephine Alexandra Wells heard a word of it.
Josie was angry. Angry with Doctor Beecher for rubbing her nose in her shortcomings. Angry at herself for having them. Definitely angry for being such a mouse during the session, and worst of all angry that Doctor Beecher held the key to her goal. Something only he could grant or deny as he saw fit and there was nothing she could do about it except play the game. Around her the evening rush hour traffic crawled and honked its way homewards while she fumed at the session and her helplessness. At one set of lights Josie smacked her fist hard against the steering wheel in bitter frustration. She’d been a serving officer hadn’t she? An engineer able to solve any problem under any conditions. Even in the shit hole of Afghanistan she’d managed, more than managed, and now she couldn’t even get a psychologist she was paying to understand.
The businessman waiting at the lights next to Josie in his shiny BMW saw the scratched and dented bumpers on a vehicle that would have looked more at home in a farmyard, being driven by a scowling and rather plain young woman and slowly eased fifty thousand pounds of gleaming metal as far away as possible. Josie didn’t notice. In fact she barely noticed anything as she drove through Leamington Spa until at last she had to laboriously reverse into the, almost too small, parking place she had been allocated outside her block of flats.
Grabbing her shoulder bag and the shopping she had picked up before her appointment. “I should have taken it in with me,” she grumbled, “that would have shown him.” She kicked the door closed behind her and tried to juggle with car keys, flat keys and bags until at last the alarm tooted to let her know she had finally hit the right button.
Still encumbered, she turned to be met by a scowling silent stare from behind the window of the nearby ground floor flat. Josie braced her shoulders and stared coolly back until the curtain twitched again and the old man’s face finally disappeared. Every time she went in or out he was there at his window, scowling and glaring. Josie knew that he did it to everyone who used this entrance, but it still left her uneasy. As Josh she had cheerfully ignored it. Now…well now was a different matter. She felt vulnerable and slightly dirty from the intensity of the old man’s stare and wondered yet again if this was how all women felt. She’d rather have talked to Doctor Beecher about that but… She shook her head dismissing the thought and pushed through the security door and trudged up the ill lit stairwell to her flat.
With a sigh of relief Josie kicked her front door to Chez Wells closed behind her. It wasn’t much, a small one bedroom flat that the landlord had decorated from floor to ceiling in magnolia and fitted out exclusively from Ikea, but it was her safe place. She puttered around the kitchen are putting away her shopping, making a cup of tea and chucking a sausage and mash frozen ready meal in the oven; not exactly haut cuisine but after today Josie really didn’t feel up to trying to prove she was a domestic goddess. Forty-five minutes to cook. OK, enough time to do a bit more work.
Taking her cup of tea with her Josie fired up her laptop to find her boss had dropped two commercial contract translation tasks in her email, English to Turkish and Russian to English. Oh, and he needed both done within forty eight hours. Deep joy. Josie settled down to skim through the first to discover that whilst the author apparently spoke English they had mangled the language of Shakespeare with the willful abandon only a lawyer can aspire to. Who on earth actually used words like ‘heretofore’, ‘aforementioned’ and ‘concomitant’ in the real world in any language? Josie snorted to herself.
When the oven pinged Josie arched her back and glanced down with a smile. Yep, her puppies were definitely growing. Doctor Beecher had warned her that it would take at least two years on hormones for her breasts to reach their full size so she had another year to go; just in time for her surgery. At that thought her little smile vanished. That is, if he allows me to have my surgery then.
Josie plated up her sausage and mash then plopped down in front of the TV. As usual these days the news was still burbling on about the situation in Syria and Iraq but Josie tuned it out with practiced ease as her thoughts once again returned to the session with Doctor Beecher.
She ate absent-mindedly, staring into the distance as her thoughts skittered around inside her head. What does he want me to do? I thought everything was going so well and nothing could stop me when he approved me for hormones. Has he seen something I’ve missed? Am I making a big mistake? Was Dad right all along?
That thought hurt more than most. All the way through school she had tried to become everything Dad had wanted her to be. Studying science and maths rather than the languages she loved so she could be an engineer like him. Playing rugby. Joining the Army. Serving in Afghanistan. Getting a place at Uni.
That was the point it had all come crashing down. Josie remembered the screaming arguments when she had come home a week after the start of her second term and told her parents she couldn’t live a lie anymore. She didn’t want to be an engineer, she didn’t want to play rugger and she certainly didn’t want to pretend to be a boy anymore. She just wanted, more than anything in the world, to be Josephine, their daughter. At the support group at Uni Josie had been told that sometimes parents can be wonderfully accepting, but to prepare for the worst just in case. At the time she had no idea just how bad the worst could be.
She still vividly remembered her father staring silently from the front door as she packed up her battered old land rover for the last time whilst mummy hid in the kitchen to avoid hearing the two of them shouting at each other. It was only when she was about to drive away that her father finally spoke, his voice tight with suppressed emotion and anger. “Go on and run away again Joshua. You weren’t good enough to be an engineer so you gave up on that and decided to do some poncy modern language degree. You weren’t good enough to be a soldier so you ran away from that too. You can’t even make it as a real man so you may as well fuck off and live out your squalid little fantasy that you’re a woman.” He paused for a long moment before adding the cruelest thing he could possibly say. “Just don’t bother coming back.” Then he turned away and quietly shut the front door behind him.
Tears ran unheeded down Josie’s cheeks. Was he right? She asked herself for the hundredth time. Am I making a big mistake? Was I just rebelling and it went too far? Is that what Doctor Beecher was saying? Am I really sure that this is what I want? Josie dabbed her eyes and sniffed. I just wish it was all over and done, she told herself, life will be better then.
With a last sniff Josie finally uncurled from the sofa, dropped her plate in the sink and got ready for bed with her mind still in a whirl.
Soldiering was so much easier than this. At least minefields were simple and understandable. I was trained to deal with them. Perhaps I should have stayed in?
Lost in Translation - Part 2
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Lost in Translation
Part 2 – Working Girl |
Author's Note: I hope that you find some small pleasure in this tale. As ever please be tolerant of my failings, and forthright with your criticism. ~Persephone
Sometimes going through transition can feel like you're walking through a minefield. And sometimes you actually are...
Coventry – England - 2019
Despite a lousy night’s sleep Josie managed to drag herself into the office by nine o’clock the next morning, getting some surprised looks as she self-consciously hunted for a vacant hot desk.
With Doctor Beecher’s words still ringing in her mind Josie had actually been up since before seven and had spent quite a bit of time making the effort to get herself ready. Despite not exactly having a large wardrobe of suitable work attire to choose from she was happy enough with the grey trouser suit, cream blouse and black pumps she had finally selected. Equally, at least after the second attempt, she decided her make-up was appropriately restrained and appropriate, and once again thanked god that her electrolysis was pretty much complete. The early autumn weather was still warm so even the thought of working in a stuffy office all day under the pancake layer of foundation needed to hide a five o’clock shadow made her shudder.
At length she finally found a free desk away from the noisy area where the duty phone interpreters were already busy and had started to set up her laptop when an arrogant braying voice interrupted.
“Ahh! Josh. I mean Josie, umm… Miss Wells!” Mister Dwyer (and it was always ‘Mister’ Dwyer, never ‘Eric’ and certainly never just ‘Boss’) strode across the office as he spoke and shoved his hand forward in greeting whilst maintaining a rigidly straight arm to keep her at a distance. Jeez, it’s as if he thinks I have some bloody infection. Josie tried to assemble a neutral smile for her boss as he quickly dropped her hand.
“We don’t often see you in. As you can see we’re quite tight on space. Have you managed to get yourself a hot desk?”
Josie glanced down, taking in her laptop, notebooks, handbag and jacket all arranged over the desk and chair before replying. “Umm… yes thank you Mister Dwyer.”
“Good, good. And did you manage to finish up the two Gazolec contracts yet?”
“Pretty much. I just need to get back to the author of the English contract to check a few things. That’s why I came into the office today.”
At Josie’s explanation a frown appeared on Mister Dwyer’s face. “Is that really necessary? I’m sure we could arrange for another translator to review your work rather than bother the client if you’re not confident.”
“It’s nothing like that.” Josie was damned if she would call him sir. “It’s just that some of the legal terminology the author used either doesn’t have a direct translation, or, as it is currently phrased, would be open to interpretation. So rather than me taking a guess I imagine the client would welcome the chance to ensure that the intent and language is exactly what they want.”
Mister Dwyer stared at Josie for a long moment and she could almost see the cogs whirring, rather slowly, behind his eyes. “Um OK Josh…ie,” he stumbled over the name, “but don’t do anything to upset them. As a new customer that last thing we want is to come across as always needing our hand held.”
“Very good Mister Dwyer.” Josie waited to see if any other pearls of wisdom were forthcoming. “If there’s nothing else then….”
He stared at Josie for a moment, his frown still in place. “Oh, yes, Carol from HR will be dropping by to see you later on. Something about ‘equality and diversity’ she said, and of course we want to make sure we are all doing everything we can to support you.” He managed to pick out the two words with the care of a housewife picking up a dead mouse.
“OK, I’ll look forward to that.” Josie replied with a bright little smile, determined that she wasn’t going to be the only one lying through their teeth. “If that’s everything I better get on then hadn’t I?”
Over the next hour the office continued to fill up and the noise levels rose with the competing babble of Romanian, Polish, Pashtu and Urdu conversations as her co-workers on the telephone lines acted as interpreters for social services, legal aid, immigration and the police. Fortunately for her Josie’s corner remained relatively quiet and she was able to discuss her contract with one of the lawyers from the client much to the individual’s relief when he realised exactly what he had been in danger of offering. Finally satisfied that she had translated what he actually meant rather than what he had written Josie saved the file and went in search of a cup of tea.
As she self-consciously wended her way between the busy work pods her inbuilt antenna twitched.
“… hijra…”
She picked out the word from a stream of Urdu and unthinkingly turned towards the source. Standing by the water cooler she quickly noticed two of the Indian interpreters glancing at her as they tried to mask their snickers. She knew both of them. Both born and raised in the UK and educated to degree level. Each had been friendly to Josh when he had first started work and had helped him get settled in. Obviously from their attitude now, that acceptance is very much a thing of the past. Josie paused and gave them a long calculating stare until they dropped their heads and turned away. She sighed, had she really expected anything else?
Josie finally got to make herself a mug of tea and was making her way back to her desk when a rather earnest young woman appeared at her side.
“Josie? Josie Wells?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Carol Hennessy. I was on the interview board when you joined?” She paused, looking expectantly up at Josie. “From HR?”
“Oh, Carol… of course!” Josie lied through her teeth. “Mister Dwyer mentioned that you wanted to talk with me.”
“Well, as you’re free now we could have a quick chat in my office?” Again Josie was subjected to that expectant look. “It will only take a few minutes.” Then, without waiting for a reply, she headed off towards the lifts and the rarefied heights of the fourth floor. Josie rolled her eyes and, still clutching her precious mug of tea, followed obediently.
“Now Josie, I want you to know that here at LingServ we take equality and diversity exceptionally seriously. In fact this year we were even nominated for the Stonewall supportive employers award!” Carol chirped before Josie had even had a chance to sit down across the table from her. “So we are all here for you should you need us and anything we can do please don’t hesitate to ask.”
At that Josie perked up. It was the first she had heard of the company having any form of support for transgendered employees in place. “That’s really kind, thank you Carol. Have there been any other transgendered staff here?”
“Oh no. You’re our first!” She made it sound to Josie as if she had become some sort of corporate trophy. She could just see herself being crowed about at the next board meeting. ‘Oh yes we now have our token transgender employee. Played right we should be up for a couple more awards and it will look great in our annual corporate responsibility statement.’
“So what support exactly is in place?” Josie asked. “I only wonder as I’ve been paying in to the corporate private health insurance programme and some of the treatments are quite expensive.” Josie already knew the answer. The company’s health cover very specifically excluded transgender medical treatments.
Carol’s bright smile slipped a bit. “I’m not entirely sure, however let me take an action to investigate and I’ll get back to you OK?”
“That would be lovely. Thank you.” Josie chewed her lip to hide a smirk.
“Anyway, there are a few details we need to run through if you don’t mind. Just routine stuff to update our records and to make sure we have everything in place to support your choice.”
Josie was barely able to bite back a snarled comment that it wasn’t a fucking choice but Carol had already ploughed on regardless. “So, are you currently pre op or post op? Are those the right terms?”
Josie stared at her in shock. “Are you sure you should be asking that?”
“Oh yes. Head Office put a questionnaire together for us to use and everything. It’s so we can plan for future sick leave and the like. Now, where were we? Oh yes, did you say you were pre op or post op?”
Fifteen minutes later Josie almost stumbled out of the meeting room with Carol’s cheery promise that her door was always open ringing in her ears. The interview had been one of the most ham fisted and intrusive interrogations Josie had ever experienced. All delivered in Carol’s syrupy sweet tone as if it would be unthinkably rude not to answer as, of course, it was all being done just for Josie’s benefit. As soon as the lift doors closed behind her Josie slumped in relief at having escaped. Sheesh, that woman would have made an evil interrogator. If she hadn’t been banned for cruel and inhuman use of a sickly sweet voice. Josie finally decided.
When the lift finally released her Josie realized her desperately needed cuppa was now barely lukewarm so she retraced her steps to the kitchen area for a refill.
“You’ve escaped ‘Little Miss Muffett’ then?”
“Oh, hi Amrita.” Josie acknowledged one of the few female interpreters who had actually gone out of her way to support Josie since she had appeared. Amrita Deepak looked like a typically cosy Indian Amma. An impression that hid a razor sharp mind and a wicked sense of humour. She finished squeezing out her teabag and adding a splash of milk before Amrita’s comment caught up with her. “‘Little Miss Muffett’?”
“Carol from HR. Sweet as pie to your face and a poisonous spider as soon as your back is turned. What did she want you for, other than the obvious?”
Still smarting from the interrogation Josie gave a cynical snort. “Apparently I’m their latest equality and diversity mascot.”
“Lucky you. Did she mention how many equality and diversity brownie points it was worth at Head Office?”
Josie laughed. “I didn’t realize it was about scoring points for Head Office.”
“It pays to know the game dear. If I had known she was after you I’d have given you a few hints to get a better score.”
“How?”
“Well, if you’d cut off a leg, painted yourself black and called yourself a lesbian she could have got the full set!”
Josie sprayed tea halfway across the kitchen. “Amrita you are utterly outrageous. Bloody funny, but a walking politically correct free zone!”
“That’s me dear.” She chuckled. “Oh, and by the way, young Sandeep and Srini?”
Josie frowned as she recalled their snickering comments about Hijra. “Oh, what about them?”
“One of the girls mentioned their behaviour to me. Let’s just say that I know both their mothers. They both have an interesting discussion awaiting them when the get home tonight!”
Josie stared open mouthed. “Umm… thank you. But why?”
“One of my cousins was Hijra dear. She was such a lovely happy girl who we always called on for wedding blessings.” Amrita’s face fell slightly. “Well, at least until they found her body dumped in the canal.”
That evening Josie went to bed early. She felt emotionally drained by everything that had happened and also humbled, both by Amrita’s support, and by her confession. She tried to imagine herself living in the poverty and squalor she knew to be too often the lot of Indian Hijra and failed. In comparison transitioning in England was a breeze.
With that thought in mind Josie made herself a promise. She would push on and she would achieve her goal. And the first step was tomorrow and a training night at her squadron’s reserves centre. It was time she went back to war.
Lost in Translation - Part 3
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Lost in Translation
Part 3 – Drill Night |
Author's Note: I hope that you find some small pleasure in this tale. As ever please be tolerant of my failings, and forthright with your criticism. ~Persephone
Sometimes going through transition can feel like you're walking through a minefield. And sometimes you actually are...
Coventry England - 2019
“Parade! To your duties… dis…miss!”
The old victorian drill hall echoed to the sound of three dozen pairs of combat boots being stomped into the concrete, to be followed instantly by the competing shouts of the NCOs trying to sort out their respective sections getting ready for the evening’s training programme and work details.
“Not a bad turn out this evening Josie,” Major Ed Slattery, the officer commanding, or OC, of 274 Field Engineer Squadron, remarked to his second in command as he watched the last of his squadron scattering to their duties, “of course the last couple of months have been quiet with it being the summer holidays and such.”
Josie winced internally as she herself had been one of the defaulters for those two months. “Yes sir, I’m sorry about that. I should have…” but she was cut off before she could apologise any further.
“I wasn’t talking about you Josie.” Major Slattery grinned disarmingly, “I know you’ve had an awful lot going on. Nor was I complaining. It’s pretty much normal for the time of year. I’m just happy to see the boys and girls turning up tonight when we have the MATTs package coming up in a couple of months. It will be good to shake some cobwebs loose before then.“
With the wind taken out of her sails somewhat all Josie could do was agree before the boss continued.
“I notice young Mister Faraday hasn’t turned up again. Bugger! He was supposed to give the Values and Standards lecture this evening. At least the lecture pack is in the Squadron Sergeant Major’s office. Josie can you pick it up and run with that? It’s just the usual refresher on the ‘Super Six’”
Josie laughed. “God! I’m not sure I even need the pack for that anymore.” She started to quote back to him in a sing song voice. “Courage, Discipline, Respect, Integrity, Loyalty and Selfless commitment. You can remember these values by using the mnemonic C-DRILS.”
“Excellent! Don’t tell anyone but I can never remember the damn things.” Major Slattery chuckled. “Anyway I’ll leave you to it then. You’re on in the main lecture room at twenty hundred hours OK? Oh, and the Chief Clerk muttered something about a pile of paperwork for you to do. He left it in your in-tray, so if you can get it sorted out tonight I’d be grateful. I don’t need him giving me grief again tomorrow.”
“Certainly sir.” Josie saluted and turned to head upstairs to the squadron office and the joys awaiting her in her in tray.
“Ma’am?” An assured voice called from across the drill hall.
Josie continued heading for the stairs, wondering if she had time to grab a brew before getting immersed in paperwork.
“Captain Wells ma’am?”
Finally the words sunk in. God, I’m going to have to get used to being called that now.
Rather embarrassedly Josie turned back to come face to face with warrant officer second class Claire Paddocks, the newly appointed squadron sergeant major. “I’m sorry Sar’major. My mind was miles away.”
“No worries ma’am.” The Sergeant Major assured Josie even as her eyes sent a rather different message. “I wonder if you could spare me a few moments in my office ma’am? It will only take a minute or two and you can pick up the ‘Values and Standards’ lecture pack whilst you’re there.”
With a feeling of dread, and all thoughts of a cup of tea vanishing, Josie followed the immaculately turned out figure into her inner sanctum and watched the door being carefully closed.
“Ma’am, I don’t want to be indelicate but I’m conscious you didn’t follow the usual commissioning course through Sandhurst that other female officers went through.”
Josie gave a little chuckle. “Sar’major if you mean I went through as a bloke then yes.”
“Just so ma’am. As a result there are certain lessons you unfortunately missed out on.”
With a sigh Josie recognised what was coming. “What did I do wrong Sar’major? And can you help me get it right?”
A big grin lit up the sergeant major’s face. “I’d be delighted to ma’am. Have you got any bobby pins with you? You need to lose that fringe when in uniform. And might I suggest some practice in putting your hair up in a bun before the next drill night? You also need to buy some hairnets and things. Oh, and I’ll warn off the squadron quarter master sergeant that you will be coming in if you don’t mind? Your combats may have fitted a few months ago but might I suggest they are looking rather too snug around the hips now.”
With a start Josie realised that her combat trousers really were straining less than appropriately at the hips and seat. God! Had she been giving the squaddies a free ogle? “I’ll make sure I pop in next week for ‘diffies and exchanges’ and get measured up Sar’major.” She promised vehemently as a blush did its best to sprint from her neck to her eyebrows.
“Very good ma’am. You’ll get the hang of it all in no time I’m sure. Now all you need to do is get used to being treated as a second class citizen, and I know from bitter experience that will come without any need to practice.”
With her head full of good advice and the start of a sizeable shopping list Josie eventually made it to her desk in the squadron office, and looked in horror at the mountain of paperwork in her in-tray. “Corporal Penney, has the Chief Clerk got it in for me?” She asked the pay clerk who was busily sorting out the evening’s attendance registers on the other side of the room.
“No more than usual ma’am. It’s just that we haven’t seen you for a bit.”
“Thank you Corporal Penney, rub it in why don’t you?” Josie grumbled theatrically. “I see I am going to have to do a cream bun run for the office next week to get back in his good books aren’t I?”
“I couldn’t possibly say ma’am.” The irrepressibly chirpy Corporal Penney opined. “However he does seem to have lost some weight over the last couple of months… and he didn’t say anything about being on a diet.”
Shaking her head with amusement Josie buckled down to the joyful task of reviewing and countersigning two months backlog of travel claims, attendance registers, ammunition returns and all the other administrative chaff demanded by regimental headquarters. By the time she reached the bottom of the pile and her fingers were beginning to cramp she found two envelopes marked ‘For attention Capt Wells’.
“Sneaky sod,” Josie muttered under her breath as she tore the first open. “He knew I wouldn’t get to them until I’d finished with all the dross.” In the first was a print out of her personal record, complete with a signature sheet to confirm she had reviewed it for the year. Her eyes immediately scanned the record, checking her first names and gender marker were correct. Bless him, Josie grinned, the Chief may be a grumpy sod at times but he certainly was efficient. She skimmed through the rest of the printout then happily signed before turning to the second envelope.
‘HQ Army - Army Reserve personnel language skills audit’ was blazoned across the covering letter.
As part of the Armed Forces’ continuous programme to make the best use of our reserve personnel’s specialist skills and experience you are requested to complete and return the enclosed questionnaire identifying your language proficiencies in both written and spoken forms. Please tick all of the languages with which you are familiar indicating your level of proficiency (1 = basic, 3 = colloquial, 5 = fluent) for both the written and spoken language. Once you have completed the survey please return it to SO2 G5 Specialist Training (Foreign Languages), HQ Army, using the enclosed prepaid envelope.’
Josie glanced at her watch, Sugar! I need to get ready for that lecture, then quickly rattled down the list. Russian, tick, fluent. Turkish, tick, fluent. French, tick, colloquial. Arabic, tick, colloquial. Pashto, tick, basic. At that Josie snickered. It was only basic if you excluded swear words and curses. In Helmand her Afghan National Army interpreter had taken great delight in teaching all of her construction troop as much truly foul language as he could think of. She then scanned the rest of the list, nope, nope, nope, why the heck would the Army be interested in someone speaking Navajo? Finally done, she signed then stuffed the questionnaire into the envelope provided, dropped it in the mail-out box, grabbed the lecture pack and dashed for the door before Corporal Penney could find anything else for her to sign.
“Right ladies and gentlemen.” Josie wrapped up the final lecture for the night’s training. “To recap, you need to know and apply the six core values of the Army. You can remember them by using the mnemonic ‘C-DRILS’. Now, are there any questions on anything I have covered?”
Josie waited until she was sure that no one was going to be brave enough to ask a question that got in the way of their mates escaping to the squadron bar before deciding that a bit of humour at her own expense wouldn’t go amiss. “OK. A final point. As you know there is an equality and diversity element to the Values and Standards test during the MATTS weekend. So, as none of you have snickered or made any dumb comments I’m delighted to inform you that you have all already passed the practical. That’s it. Sergeant Cameron please carry on.”
“Ma’am.” The senior NCO barked out from the back of the lecture room stilling the chuckles from her audience. “Room… room ’shun.” Whereupon Josie made her escape to drop off the lecture pack before joining the OC in the bar.
“So Josie how did it go?” Major Slattery enquired as he dropped a gin and tonic in front of her and took a long pull from his pint.
“Oh, the lecture went fine sir, although I swear the Chief Clerk has it in for me. My hand is still aching from the number of signatures he required.”
Edward Slattery dropped his voice a little. “That’s not quite what I meant Josie. I meant how are you coping and has anyone given you any grief or anything?”
Josie glanced up about to make a polite denial, and then stopped herself. When she really thought about it she realised that absolutely no one had said anything untoward, or even looked at her oddly. “Actually sir…”
The OC interrupted her. “It’s Ed, or Edward off duty Josie. I’ve told you often enough.”
“Sorry… Edward. Well to be honest I’m most surprised by the complete lack of comments and the like. It’s nothing like where I work in my day job. In fact quite a few of the sergeants mess, who I thought would be the most hidebound and difficult, have gone out of their way to be supportive, whilst the Army has treated the whole thing as if it is utterly commonplace.”
Edward chuckled. “That’s probably because in the grand scheme of things it is exactly that; commonplace, boring and largely irrelevant.”
“How do you mean Sir? Sorry… Edward?”
“I’ll tell you a story. Probably back before you finished Sandhurst I was deployed out to Afghanistan as a squadron second in command at the main base at Bastion. One evening in the EFI bar I found myself chatting to a female major who was something to do with the IT networks. It dawned on me after a while that she too was transgendered. Anyway, to cut a long story short, she had been just as surprised about how she was accepted; just as you are now. Then, when she had time to think about it she came up with an explanation that made a lot of sense.”
“Really? What was it?” Josie was intrigued and pleasantly surprised that she wasn’t the first transgendered officer her boss had come across.
“She called it ‘The four questions rule.’ “ Edward took another long sup of his pint to lubricate his throat before continuing. “So, as you know, everyone is mad busy on operations right? You’ve hardly got time to take a dump.”
“Right.” Josie nodded.
“So, when someone new turns up to join the team you only have time for three questions. The first is can they do their job? The second is can they shoot straight, apply a field dressing and use a tourniquet effectively? The third is, when the excrement hits the air-con unit and rounds are coming down range will they do all of the above to save me? You really haven’t got time for a fourth question about colour, gender or who they prefer to sleep with or whatever. You just get on with the job.”
“So what did you think of that?”
“Well, it made sense to me. So now you can understand why I say that, as long as you can do your job, the whole thing about gender and gender identity is a non issue as far as both I, and the Army, is concerned.” Edward reached for his pint again, “and of course, as you’re a commissioned officer, if someone was stupid enough to give you grief, even if you didn’t deal with them yourself the sergeant major would definitely tear them a new one. She’s very protective of her girls is our Claire. Even the commissioned ones.”
It was well past ten o’clock by the time Josie got home. Shattered after the long day she merely threw her uniform into the laundry basket, brushed her teeth and crawled into bed. She lay in the dark and stared up at the ceiling, reliving everything that had happened, and equally everything that hadn’t happened despite her fears, that evening.
I can actually do this! was her last thought before slipping off into the land of nod.
Lost in Translation - Part 4
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Lost in Translation
Part 4 - Red Letter Day |
Author's Note: It's been a long time since I started this story. I'm sorry for the delay. I was probably too close to some of what I was writing so had to give it a healthy pause. However now I'm up and running again I hope that you find some small pleasure in this tale. As ever please be tolerant of my failings, and forthright with your criticism. ~Persephone
Sometimes going through transition can feel like you're walking through a minefield. And sometimes you actually are...
Leamington Spa - 2019
From that drill night onwards Josie found things slowly starting to get better. There were still good days and bad. Snickers behind the hands of some of her work colleagues were balanced by a kindly smile at her local corner shop, ‘Good morning miss. How can I help you today?’.
To her surprise Josie found herself spending more time in the office as the snide comments and sidelong looks became easier to ignore. She grinned to herself, perhaps the hormones were making her skin thicker rather than softer?
A fortnight later, and under the watchful eye of Sergeant Major Paddocks, Josie finally managed to get her uniform reissued in sizes that didn’t suggest lycra might be a better option.
“Better Ma’am. Definitely better.” Claire Paddocks nodded her approval. “If you recall ma’am I mentioned some of the other items you would need?”
Josie winced guiltily. “Sorry Sarn’t major. I didn’t get a chance to go shopping last weekend.” She fibbed.
“That’s alright ma’am, I know how busy you are. However with the upcoming mandatory MATTs weekend for the whole squadron at the end of the month, you might wish to have everything squared away beforehand?” Sergeant Major Paddock gently suggested.
Well, it might have sounded like a suggestion, but Josie knew damn well that her Sergeant Major’s ‘suggestion’ carried the weight of a couple of carved stone tablets. Josie suppressed a sigh. “Absolutely Sarn’t major. I have some time on Friday. Could you help me with a list of what I might….”, her words tailed off as she saw Sergeant Major Paddocks holding up a neatly typed list, complete with quantities and where to buy them.
With a rueful grin Josie accepted the list. “Thank you Sar’nt major. I won’t let you down.”
Claire Paddocks smiled as her newest duckling got it. “Of course you won’t ma’am. None of my girls ever do.”
So it was that, two days later, Josie found herself locking her car door with list firmly in hand and handbag over her shoulder. She was already stressed with the ‘fun’ of manoeuvring a Landrover in a multi storey car park apparently designed for motorised skateboards and then squeezing her beast into a slot narrower than an anaemic supermodel.
Shopping was not something Josie had ever considered a relaxing recreation and accordingly she had planned this operation with suitably military precision. First stop was at Boots the chemists for the cosmetics and hair care stuff. Then through the shopping centre to Marks and Spencer's for sports bras’ and sensible knickers. A quick pass down the High Street on the way back to the car park. Have a look in Waterstone’s book store to browse for a bit and then back to the car and home. One hour and thirty minutes max, no worries.
Yeah… right.
It all started so well.
Into Boots, grab a shopping basket, locate hair accessories.
‘Bobby pins - check’.
‘Hair grips - check’.
‘Donut?’ Thankfully Josie spotted the offending item, checked it was sort of the right colour, stuffed it in her basket and then realised her hair might be too short. Two minutes of humming and aahing and she grabbed a smaller version as well, just in case. Phew, no problem.
‘Wet wipes - check’.
‘Pocket tissues - check’.
‘Panty liners - check’. Hang on, why do I need panty liners? Josie quickly stifled that thought, it was on the list and they would come in useful… eventually. With a mental shrug Josie continued.
‘Cotton wool pads - check’.
‘Nail polish remover - check’.
‘Clear nail varnish…’.
That’s when things started to go wrong.
“Hi there, I’m Sammi. Can I help you with anything today?” The sales assistant’s question, backed up with a bright bubble gum smile, knocked Josie off track. “Umm…no, not really. I just needed some nail polish.”
“Ohh wonderful! I always feel better when I’ve done mine. Are you looking for a particular shade? We have some lovely new shades here in the Jessica range. What do you normally wear?” Sammi’s verbal steamroller continued to ride straight over Josie’s excuses before they could even reach her lips. “With your colouring I think you’d look great with with this one. What do you think? Would you like to try it? It’s called ‘Raspberry Bombshell’”.
By this time Josie had been manoeuvred onto a stool with her right hand pinned to the counter top. “Your nails are rather short. You really should get them shaped to make the most of them.” Sammi chattered on even as she reached for an emery board.
“I need them short.” Josie finally got a word in edgeways, “to handle an assault rifle.”
There! That will shut her up.
“Oh, cool! Well you probably need some nail conditioner and hardener then. Don’t worry, we’ve got it in stock. My sister swears by it. She says she hasn’t had a broken nail once since she started using it. As soon as we’ve done here I’ll get some out for you.”
Twenty minutes later and ninety pounds poorer a stunned Josie finally managed to win free of the evil sales machine that was Sammi before escaping and evading her way out of the store. Ninety quid! And those bottles are tiny! Josie breathed out a sigh of relief and checked her list for the next target. Right, Marks and Sparks, perhaps she could make up some time there.
Josie found her way to the lingerie department and managed to suppress the anticipated twinge of embarrassment and guilt, sternly reminding herself Yes I belong here. I’m entitled to buy underwear just like every other woman. It’s no big deal. With that she rechecked her list and forged ahead.
Knickers cotton multipack white, 2 of - check.
Sports bra 36A, 3 of…
Josie hunted through the rails and displays muttering to herself as she did. “36C…. 36C…. 36B, getting warmer, 34D. Hang on, where did 36A go?”
She retraced her steps and scoured through the display again until at last forced to admit defeat. “Where the heck are the 36A’s? They have to have them.” Josie looked around to spot one of the store assistants trying to stay out of sight in case a customer might actually need help.
“Excuse me?” No reaction. “Excuse me? I wonder if you could help please?”
The sales lady flashed Josie a brittle smile. “Yes madam?”
“Urmm, I need a couple of sports bras but I can’t find my size.”
“And what size do you need madam?” Her eyes flicked briefly to Josie’s top.
Josie lowered her voice embarrassedly “Umm, I usually have a little ‘help’. I’m actually only a 36A.”
“Have you looked on the rails? We normally have all our stock out.” She gave Josie a pitying look for a moment, “and 36A isn’t a size we usually carry many units for.”
Josie blushed and was about to thank the assistant when a spark of anger grabbed her. She had her list, her timetable and damn well wasn’t going to give up that easily. “Do you think you could check your stockroom please? I’m not worried about colours, just the size.”
The assistant’s brittle smile returned. “Its unlikely we will have…”
“But you could just take a quick look?” Josie interjected. “I’d be very grateful.”
It was five minutes before a rather surprised assistant returned clutching a handful of various neon shades of lycra. “We only had these three…”
“I’ll take them.” Josie swiftly relieved the woman of her load and triumphantly headed for the checkout. She’d be out of here in no time.
Ten minutes later…
The queue shuffled forward another small pace.
In front of Josie a harried mother was being attacked by her two screaming brats who had no intention a sitting calmly in their buggy. Josie checked her watch again as she saw her self imposed extraction time heading off into the sunset; along with her temper. The queue shuffled forwards again.
A thought hit Josie causing her to chuckle. Every bloody TG story has the ’shopping is wonderful’ trope. If life was like fiction she’d be here with her best friend loaded down with frillies and having a ball. Instead she was stuck in a queue clutching two packs of granny knickers and three bras that looked like a cross between body armour and a scaffolding set. She decided she was definitely going to write a letter of complaint to Tanya Allan about setting false expectations on the ‘joys’ of retail therapy.
By the time Josie finally got home her nerves were frazzled and her temper frayed. If the grumpy old git downstairs had even poked his nose out of his curtains she would have happily snapped it off. Of course, as a result he was nowhere in sight and therefore annoyed Josie further by depriving her of the pleasure.
After juggling with keys and bags Josie finally got her front door unlocked and pushed it open against the usual pile of mail shots and pizza takeaway menus. Ignoring them she dumped her bags on the side and flipped the switch on the kettle before plonking herself down on the sofa as she waited for the kettle to boil, her mind spinning from her afternoon.
Josie glanced down to admire her nails. She still wasn’t sure about the colour but it was growing on her.
Do I pass? She asked herself, certain that everyone else could see her too strong jawline, her adam’s apple and make the obvious connection. But no one said anything. Were they just being kind? Embarrassed? Maybe I really do pass. Maybe RLE won’t be the nightmare I thought it was going to be.
A memory surfaced from an old friend at university. Whilst Josie had hung around the edges of the TG group, dressing occasionally and feeling self-conscious every time she went out, there was one girl, Sarah, who had thrown herself body and soul into her own transition. One evening after a glass too many of wine Sarah had shared her wisdom. “You gotta ‘member Josie. Simple rule of passing. You start passing when you stop trying.”
Maybe I’m getting there.
Eventually the kettle bubbled and shut down and with a sigh Josie pulled herself to her feet and made herself a cup of tea. Mug in hand Josie turned to deal with the pile of crap behind her letterbox.
The first was a bright yellow glossy advertising a pizza delivery service. Ugh! Josie had tried it once and swore never again. Recycle bin.
Do I have enough life insurance? Recycle bin.
Bank statement. Damn, still addressed to Joshua. I thought I’d written to them. Josie sighed with relief when she scanned her current balance, she had enough to pay her rent and avoid going overdrawn… again. Perhaps she might set a bit more aside towards her surgery. Although at this rate it would still be four or five years before she could afford it.
Finally she turned to the fattest brown envelope. The lip wasn’t just stuck down, someone had taken the time to carefully stick Sellotape along it to make absolutely sure, A wedge of folded sheets resisted her attempt to pull them free and in frustration Josie ended up tearing the envelope apart. When they were finally free the bundle sprung open to reveal a photocopied crest.
Dear Captain Wells
I am directed to inform you that under the provisions of the Reserve Forces Act 1996 you are hereby being compulsorily mobilised for military service. You are to report to the Reserves Training and Mobilisation Centre (RTMC) at Coldhale (see attached joining instruction) no later than…
Oh shit!