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“So Olivia, when do I get the full story? This must have been going on for a while. Your student ID says Olivia Martin, but your driver’s license still says Owen Horton.”
“How much time do you have?”
“I’ve got all day, sweetheart.”
Admin Note: This story was originally published on Monday December 2, 2016 at 11:18:34 am. This story has a slight sardonic twist in the second chapter that plays out into the third that I think most readers will pick up on. Leila is never a straight writer so be prepared for the twist. ~ Sephrena.
Why is there snoring? There’s a low rumbling snore to the left of me. The warmth from the lump next to me also grabs my attention enough to turn my head. Moonlight peeks through the vertical blinds. My head is throbbing as everything has that slow drag. I must have been drinking. As things slowly come into focus, I’m hoping this is just a nightmare. Nausea overtakes me, and I roll off the bed. The pain of the impact on my knees and wrists as they hit the floor clues me in that this is real. No time to think. I see a doorway, I crawl through it on my hands and knees. I hope it’s the bathroom. I navigate through dirty laundry strewn over the floor, realizing that I’m nowhere that is familiar to me. As I grope my way through the dimly lit bathroom, I reach the porcelain pot and wretch my insides into it. My hair slides down the side of my face as I steady myself placing my hands on the cold rim. I’m convulsing again as I hear footsteps behind me, and then a pair of hands grabbing my hair holding it out of the bowl.
“Ugh!” The voice behind me is familiar, but I’m too hungover to recognize it. My heart is racing and can’t or won’t open my eyes. I’m just thankful that someone is holding my hair out of the toilet. I hear the flush. “Yup! No more drinks for the party girl!”
It’s only then I realize I’m only wearing my bra and panty. “Was it worth it?” The voice from the darkness mocks me. I back away from the bowl; the rim is sticky. The hand releases my hair as I lean back. “I’m not sure. Where are we?”
The voice answers, “my place, you were in no shape to go anywhere else.” Everything is spinning, though, it’s starting to slow. The lights in the bathroom flick on. My eyes close on their own as the light triggers a throbbing in my head. The intensity of it begins to wane as my eyes adjust to the light. The blurred figure of a man that towers over me becomes more distinct. “David?” my one-time roommate stands there smiling at me. “What were you thinking going out to the bar alone, like that?” His admonishment rings of concern.
“I had to.”
“That’s not an answer. Look, you don’t owe me an answer, but I think you owe me thanks.” he pauses, shakes his head and begins to chuckle, “Oh and if I knew you could look like that, I might not-‘ve moved.”
David was a ladies man, though I do know he wasn't one to take advantage of one. I lean backward resting my head against the wall. “Where are my clothes?”
“Your dress is on the floor in the living room.”
“You took off my clothes?”
“You took off your clothes. I was getting a blanket and a pillow from the closet for you when disappeared into my bedroom. You’re lucky I recognized your tattoo. You were a mess.”
“We slept together?”
“I was going sleep on the couch and let you have the bed, but you wouldn’t stop whining about not wanting to be alone, I got into bed, and you finally fell asleep.”
He grabs a robe from the door hook and covers me with it. “Whatever you are going through right now, it’s definitely more than I can handle. Though, I'm in a bit of a shock; to be honest. I mean, given how you reacted to Ally, years ago.”
I cringed. Back then I was deeply in denial. “I’m… I’m sorry…” The smell of coffee begins to fill the air. David loved coffee in the morning. I just never developed a taste for it. “Is that coffee?”
“Yup! like some?”
“I can’t be 5:00 am already; is it?” He always had his coffee pot set to brew at 5:00 am.
“It’s 5:30 am, and you still haven’t answered a single question.”
I close my eyes and pull the robe closer into me. “Sure, just let me get cleaned up first.”
David laughs, “One coffee, coming right up! How do you take it?”
The cackle sends pain through my head. “I don’t know, how ever it comes.” I pull my knees towards my chest and try to drive the pain away.
David’s feet slap the tile floor as he walks out of the bathroom. A few minutes later a warm mug is pressed against my bare shoulder right next to my tattoo, a black clover leaf, a joke, I was to be the ‘king of clubs.' The thought of the image now makes me cringe. David was there when I got it, in fact, it was his idea. The tattoo was a bit of a reminder to the old me, to have the confidence David exudes. I needed to be the ‘king of clubs’; the clover leaf was all the pain I could handle before running out the door. Now, I’m grateful that the rest of the image was not there.
Instinctively, I grab for the coffee and place the rim towards my lips. It’s bitter and sweet, I can taste the milk in it. It warms me from the inside, and I smile behind the mug.
“Wow, I thought you hated coffee.” A grin… He must have caught me smiling. Was it the coffee I was smiling about or that he took the time to make it for me?
My eyes open to see what is inside the mug. A latte, his skills as a coffeehouse barista must be well polished by now. My eyes are drawn to the unmistakable lipstick imprint on the rim draws a memory from last night. The wine glass with the same lip print pattern, the stranger who offered to buy me a drink. He definitely wasn’t David. I don’t even recall David there at all.
“Hey, you still with me?”
I’m shaken from my reverie. I rest my head back on the wall behind me. “Yeah, just a flashback from last night. I think I had wine.”
“As I recall, you only had half a glass. So, do you mind telling me how my old roommate end up as the hottest chick in the bar?”
I smile as he takes the mug from my hand and places it on the bathroom counter. His hand reaches out to pull me to my feet. I’m up, but dizzy, as I fall into his arms. David steadies me as I place my hand on the wall for support. He collects the robe from the floor and set it on my shoulders. My hands find their way through the arm holes, and he wraps it tight around me. I draw my cinnamon hair out from the inside of the robe letting it settle on my back and shoulders. It must have been the coffee, but I can now smell cologne, his cologne on the robe. I can’t help but smile more as he leads me down the hall. The robe drags behind me like a train. He’s about a foot taller than my 5’2” frame. I’m absolutely enveloped by his robe. He leads me by my hand to country style table in the small dining room. “Don’t you have to get to the coffeehouse?”
He chuckles, “Nope, as much as I loved the discount coffee, I work for Addison now.” His eyes search my face for any sign of recognition. He doesn’t find any. “They make custom prosthetics,” he says with that infectious smile that made him popular and most women warm up to him. I can feel the corners of my mouth creep up as well.
“So Olivia, when do I get the full story? This must have been going on for a while. Your student ID says Olivia Martin, but your driver’s license still says, Owen Horton.”
“How much time do you have?”
“I’ve got all day, sweetheart.” Oh that smile again, it just melts me.
2016-12-02 11:18:34 -0500
3 Years earlier…
“You must be Owen… I’ll take the room on the left, and you’ve got the one on the right. I’m David by the way.” The apartments on the campus of Northern Coastal University offered a bit more privacy than the dormitories, but you were still assigned your roommate.
“Alright sweetheart, if you need anything just give us a call.” Mom gives me a hug. Dad had already walked back to the car to relax before the long drive back down home. He wouldn’t have me to share the drive back, and Mom hated to drive on the roads that snaked around the cliffs along the coast. If they left now, they would be home just in time for them to go to bed. Mom takes one more look at me and sighs. She did the exact same thing last year. Fortunately, she didn’t make a scene in front of David.
The apartment was amazing, the room on the right, overlooked the water. Actually the Pacific Ocean and what can only meagerly be called a beach. The left room overlooked the campus. David chooses the year long view of the coeds, knowing that rarely would there be anyone at the beach in the fall and winter months. I didn’t care my room offered a bit more in the way of privacy. I was glad to be out of the dormitories and the antics that infested those places. Besides, cafeteria food was about as appetizing anything else mass produced and boiled in a bag.
“So Owen, how do you want to handle the apartment? Free-for-all or do you wanna share the cooking and cleaning duties?” That worried me. Though I didn’t know anything about my new roommate, and I didn’t want to seem pushy.
“I could go either way on it.”
“How about this? You get Monday and Tuesday, I’ll take Wednesday/Thursday, on Fridays and Weekends we fend for ourselves. Swap when we have to entertain?”
“Fair warning, I’m horrible in the kitchen.” I looked over to David with a smirk.
“If I’m doing all the cooking you’re doing all the cleaning…”
Knowing what I know now about David’s cooking. I would have cleaned the apartment, did the laundry, shined David’s shoes, and anything else if he would agree to do all the cooking, “Monday-Tuesday it is.”
David plants himself on the couch “What’s your story?” He’s not unpacking. I look over at the stack of boxes in my room. That’s going to take me hours to unpack. I kick-slide a few boxes marked living room out of the way to make a pseudo walkway between the front door and the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. The boxes slide towards the countertop island that separates the kitchen from the living room.
“Psych major, second year, but I’m still trying to get into some of the intro classes. Who would have thought it would be impossible to get classes?”
He staring at his fingernails checking for dirt. He’s using the small pocket knife on his key ring to as a pick. “Do you work?” He begins to file away his freshly cleaned fingernails.
“No,” I walk over from entryway to the love seat catty-corner to the couch and collapse from exhaustion. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.” I begin to pull off my boots.
He stows away the file and places his keychain on the coffee table. “You’re having problems getting to classes, right?” He looks up at me. The wheels are turning in his head.
“Yeah, what does a job have to do with anything?” He’s peaked my curiosity. I prop my legs up on the arm of the love seat and relax lacing my fingers behind my head, leaning back against the other arm of the love seat.
“Simple, if your work for the campus, you get priority for registration of classes.” A Cheshire cat grin is shone on his face. His grin is kind of creepy.
I turn in the love seat and plant my socks on the floor and stare at him. “You’re kidding…” I smile and let out a chuckle. I’m skeptical, but he has my attention.
“How about I hook you up with Ally in the research department? They needed someone to man the front desk at the clinic.” David shifts his legs from the floor to lounge on the couch. “You get hired, and you get early registration.”
“Awesome… what do you get out if it?” My suspicions grow.
“The apartment to myself on the weekends,” he says with a smile. “Win-Win!”
I shake my head. “Alright, let your friend know I’m interested and ask her when I start.”
“Oh, you still need to interview.”
“Why would I need to interview. The clinic needs to fill the position right?”
“This is a university position, they have to go through the process to make sure that you are not a psycho. They’ll probably need references, and you probably should have your suit cleaned and pressed.”
“You’re making this sound like anything but a slam dunk.” I worry that this may not be as easy as I thought.
“Well, you do need to know the alphabet too… They’ll probably need you to file and answer phones. You’re a psych major… I hope you have some of those skills.” He says with a laugh. “You still interested?”
“Yeah, but I need to buy a suit.”
“How do you not have a suit?” There's incredulous look on his face.
“Old one doesn’t fit, and I left it at home. Mom was going to donate it to charity.“
“Oh, you can get a great deal on suits at the second-hand store down the road from campus.”
The clinic is to the north of campus, it's a fairly long walk from the apartments which are to the south of campus. It’s early September just after Labor Day, we get a bit of fog in the mornings which burns off about midday. I walk in the fog making my way to through campus. Dorms are to the east, further inland. Most of the students have moved back to campus by now, but with classes starting in 2 weeks, none are really up before noon. The campus is pretty empty.
The clinic is an ice box, the thermostat must either be broken, or they’re keeping experiments cold. The chill even invades the layers of my ‘new to me’ navy blue suit I picked up at the thrift store that David suggested. Slacks and coat my size are generally difficult to come by without a ton of alterations. I was excited when I found this suit for $40.00. The tags were missing so I had to try it on for size. Everything was just about the right length. It was a bit odd to find pants that were lined.
A blonde, statuesque woman in a lab coat comes through the door into the lobby, her heel click on the linoleum floors. She paused in front of me with a pensive look then smiles. She whispers to me, “Are you, Laura?”
It must be the hair. My dark brown hair reaches just above my collar. I really should have got it cut, but I spent too much time looking for a suit that would fit. “No, are you expecting a guy named ‘Laura’?”
“Um…” I just made her uncomfortable.
“I’m Owen, are you Ally?”
“Oh right! You’re David’s friend. Yes, I’m Ally, but we’ll go over all the introductions in the interview. You’ll be meeting with Professor Bishop. She’s running late, I’ll come get you when she’s ready to start.”
“The interview is not with you?”
“It’s not, why? Did David tell you that I am interviewing you?
“I guess I just assumed.” I look up at her with slight embarrassment. A change of topics would be good right about now. “Can I ask why you are expecting a guy named Laura.”
“I’m not supposed to say. I could get in a lot of trouble.” A man walks through the entryway looking nervous. Ally spies him and walks towards him. They speak quietly for the moment, and he takes a seat on the chair opposite me. I can tell he’s very self-conscious. He alternates between fidgeting with his fingers and drying his palms on his slightly faded jeans and bouncing his knee.
He’s got a medium build to him, the ball cap on his head covering the short crop of hair that peeks from under the brim. I raise my gaze to him. His eyes meet mine. He gives me a nervous smile. “You know, you’re lucky.” He says with an uneasy grin. “Being so petite.”
I give him a puzzled look. I’m not sure whether the comment was an insult, but it had a twinge of both earnest sincerity and jealousy. “I’m not sure that I could say that I’m lucky for being short.”
“No, really. A ton of girls would love to have your frame.”
“I’m a guy, so that doesn’t seem to work in my favor.”
“But that’s why you’re here, right?”
“I’m here for the receptionist position.”
The color drains from his face. “You’re not a patient?”
“No…” I say drawing the word out trying to figure what to say next…
“Oh…” he says as color returns to his cheeks. “That’s a shame, you would be the envy of a ton of girls.” His gaze shifts from me to the floor.
Ally returns, “Mr. Horton, please come with me.” I rise from my chair and follow her through the door. “I’m sorry about the error earlier. I would appreciate some - discretion about what we chatted about earlier.”
“No problem Ally.” I stand, button my suit coat. Ally looks me over and says, “I love your suit.” She grins. “You know, I think you’ll fit in pretty well here. Come on. Professor Bishop is waiting for us.”
I’m seated for the interview. Professor Bishop, a woman in her late 40's, is seated in a conference room. She’s wearing a skirt suit, it’s navy similar in color to my suit. Underneath is a cotton tip which is partially obstructed by her blue, green and orange scarf. She rises to greet me, extending her hand. “Welcome Mr. Horton, I’m Professor Bishop. I’m glad you were able to sit for this interview with such short notice.” I can see her look me over before I sit. “I understand you are a psychology major?”
“Yes, Professor Bishop. I…”
The interview goes for about an hour. I’ve established quite a rapport with Dr. Bishop. She begins to tell me about the clinic and its clientele. It’s only then it is explained to me that the Clinic is one that specializes in ‘Gender-Related Issues.'
I was ready to kill David.
“Was that some kind of a joke!?!?!” I’m hopping mad as David stand there calmly dicing an onion.
“Dude, probably not a good idea to yell at a guy holding a knife.” David puts the knife down on the cutting board and wipes his hand with a kitchen rag. “What’s this all about?”
“You hooked me up with an interview for a gender clinic!”
“Oh right! Ally’s great isn't she? She was mentioning that she was having problems trying to fill the receptionist position. I thought I could solve her problem and yours. Win-Win, remember?”
“So you conveniently neglected the part where I’d be ringmaster at the gender circus?”
“That’s pretty insensitive… As a psych major, I thought you would be more open-minded.”
“Open minded? Have you actually been down to the clinic? You let me walk it the ‘pitch room’ for the Jerry Springer show!”
“Dude, so don’t take the job! But you’re making me look like an ass by turning it down. Ally thought you would be perfect for the job. She called me after the interview to thank me. We’re going out Saturday night. Seriously, what’s the big deal anyway?”
“Oh, you don’t see a problem?”
“No, and if you do that’s YOUR problem. Look, Ally is coming over in a bit; she was going to tell you in person that you’ve got the job. You can give her the bad news yourself.” David resumes his culinary duties for the evening.
I head off to my room and begin to look for other campus jobs online. The doorbell rings, and after a brief interlude, there's a soft knock on my doorframe. “Owen?” Ally says softly. “David said you were having some second thoughts about taking the position at the clinic?”
“Yeah, I don’t think it would be a good fit for me.”
“I’m sure you have your reasons for turning down the Chair of the psych department.”
“She won’t hold it against me, would she? I just don’t think it would be a good fit for me.”
“So was all that in the interview about wanting to take your psychology career seriously - just BS?”
“No, I really want to help people.”
“Just not ‘some people,' is that it?”
“No, I just want to take my career seriously.”
“Of course you do, you just don’t want to bother with those people who really need help with lifelong personal struggles. I get it.”
“That’s not fair! I want to help people with real problems. Not some fetish or some compulsion to be something they're not!”
She’s stunned into silence. Tears begin to pool in Ally’s eyes. “If that’s what you think, then you’re probably not a good fit for this job or this major for that matter.” She turns and walks slowly back to the kitchen.
Now I feel like crap… I get up from my chair and chase after her. She’s crying into David's shoulder. This can’t be just about the job. It was like I had insulted her. David tries to console her. He looks up at me, “you know, you may want to consider another place to live.”
“Now wait a minute, I have as much right to this place as anyone else!” I start to panic. “Look, I’m sorry alright. Ally? I’m sure you have a lot of sympathy for the patients there.” Ally turns from David, walks over to the couch, grabs her purse and hugs David and walks out the door.
“Is she going to be okay?”
“What’s it to you? I mean, I never pegged you as an ass.”
“She was baiting me. What was I supposed to do?”
“Learn, you’re a student, you’re supposed to learn or didn’t they teach you that?” He closes the front door and heads back to the kitchen.
I head back to my room and close the door. I relax on my bed for a bit before dinner.
I must have fallen asleep as I am awakened by my cell phone. It’s Ms. Bishop calling to offer me the position. Ally must not have spoken with her. “I’m having some reservations about taking the position.”
“You did seem a bit nervous though I’m surprised to hear that you’re having second thoughts. Would you mind sharing those with me?”
“Ally was just here, and I mentioned some of my concerns to her. She didn’t react well to what I saying.”
“I’m sure you didn’t mean to cause her any distress, but I wanted to talk about your misgivings.”
“It’s just… I don’t know.”
“I’m not here to coddle you or convince you to take a position you are not comfortable with. I suggest you research your ‘thoughts,' find out what you ‘don’t know’ and give me a call Friday. If you decline my offer of employment, that is your choice. But to aid you, I suggest you study up on Gender dysphoria or Gender Identity Disorder and not the euphemisms commonly associated with those with gender-related struggles.”
“Thank you, Dr. Bishop, I’ll give you a call on Friday. If you see Ally, please tell her, I’m sorry.”
“I think she’ll find it more meaningful if you were to apologize when you know more of your transgression. I hope to hear from you Friday.” I put down my phone and head to the dining room.
What David prepared is already sitting in the kitchen with a portion missing from the casserole dish. David must be out for the evening. I plate my portion for dinner, wash the everything that was left in the sink. I take Dr. Bishop’s advice and research what she outlined. The internet is great, but the amount of explicit material online is distracting. There is a remarkable difference between the material that comes up when you look up “Tranny” than “Gender Identity Disorder.” Much of the research related to GID is very technical and well beyond what a 2nd-year psych student could really meaningfully absorb.
I called Dr. Bishop Friday morning. In truth, I still had nothing to convince me that any of this was more that just what I had thought. Separating fact from fiction was difficult with what was out there. I’m still not sure why I said I would take the position. Curiosity or quid-pro-quo at least there would be something there that would give me a peek at what a career in psychology would be like.
Still, 3 years earlier...
“I like your hair,” the patient at my counter says to me sheepishly. I’ve learned to smile and accept the compliment as best as I could. The patients over the last month have been ‘colorful.' I try not to laugh when I see a guy in something feminine, and it’s just so obvious. I mean how could anyone really think that they can go through life with such an obvious schism. There were others, I guess ‘they’ were the lucky ones, that were ‘passable.'
Ally, kept her distance. She saw through my pretense, but I was at least competent. I kept the office running as best as I could. She was warm and friendly with the patients and with the rest of the staff. Me? I was the guest who overstayed his welcome. The guy that took the job with no real respect for the patients and their plight.
“Good afternoon, Michelle, just sign in and Dr. Rice will be with you in a bit.” I greet the broad-shouldered blonde patient wearing a plum peplum and matte black leggings with my usual fake smile. Michelle's and Jennifer's seem to be the overwhelming favorite name among the patients. Weird how many of them gravitate to those names.
I pull the patient file “Hicks, Michelle” for Dr. Margaret Rice, our volunteer MD and head over to her office. I knock softly, Dr. Rice?” She slightly nods her head, her silver hair moves just slightly with her gesture. I know to stay quiet until she turns towards me. Waiting patiently, I notice her office is unlike any of the others. There are no family photos, no childhood mementos, it’s almost—sterile. Her cup is even a plain, unadorned black mug. She’s reading something on her computer screen, and her arthritic ridden fingers are typing frantically. Without turning her head, she reaches out to her right and retrieves the mug of tea from her desk. She sips from it and places the mug back on the desk and turns towards me. “Owen, is Ms. Hicks here for her appointment?”
“Your patient is a bit early, You could probably start ahead of schedule and take an early lunch? You have 3 appointments in the afternoon. Did you want me to order takeout for you?”
“Yes, Owen that would be great. It has been such a delight to have you working here. If you don’t mind, I had a few things I’d like to discuss with you over lunch. Are you available?”
“Is there anything wrong?”
“Not, ‘wrong’ per say, just a few things that have become a— concern.”
“Oh. I… I think Michelle is ready anytime you are.” I nervously retreat from her office. I leave the file in the wooden basket on the table just outside her door. I walk back over to the receptionist counter check off a few more names and continue filing away the morning appointments.
Dr. Rice is a creature of habit. A chef salad on Tuesdays, every Tuesday. It’s on special on Wednesdays. The owners of “Garden Delight,” a small farm to fork restaurant down the street, know the order when I say I’m calling for Dr. Rice, they give her the ‘Wednesday’ discount. Her lunch arrives just as Dr. Rice is bidding Michelle goodbye. She hands me Michelle’s file complete with her notes and asks me to set up an appointment in two weeks. She asks if I’ve confirmed her afternoon appointments. “Your 1:30 pm canceled, 3:00 pm confirmed and the 4:00 pm confirmed as well.”
“Owen, would you please join me in my office?” A sense of dread washes over me. What could I have possibly done wrong?
“Have a seat, Owen.” She shows me to a chair, closes her door and sits at her desk across from me. “Owen, I’ve noticed some tension between you and Ally. Is there anything you would like to share about that?”
“I don’t want to get either of us in trouble.”
“I need for both of you to be able to work together. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“To be fair to Ally, I had a conversation with her before I was hired on. I may have mentioned a few things that made her upset. I apologized, but I think we’ve tried to steer clear of each other since I accepted the job offer.”
“I see. Well, you have to find a way to work together…”
“I’ll try to work on that.” I start to rise from my seat.
“There is one other ‘concern,’ it involves your demeanor towards our patients. Please sit down.” I comply. That feeling of dread hasn’t subsided; now it’s growing. “I’ve been observing your interaction with some of our patients.” I can feel the cold sweat forming just under my hairline. “It would appear that you are not really referring to them with their appropriate pronouns and gender. Rather, it has been by name or simply ‘the patient.' ” I can feel my heart leaping from my chest. “We try to make our patients here as comfortable as possible. That includes respecting who they are as a person. When you deny them that, you deny who they are. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Doctor. I… I’ll make more of an effort to make our patients comfortable.”
“You seem uncomfortable yourself, is there anything I can help you with?”
“Ummm. No Doctor, I’ll take your advice and make more of an effort. Is that all, Doctor?”
She sighs “Yes Owen, that will be all for now. Please remember what I said and if there is anything on your mind, please know that you can talk to me. Okay?” Her generally stoic face creeps to a smile.
I rise from the chair and make my way out to the reception area. Ally passes me in the hallway, and I can feel the icy stare from her as I walk to my station.
An hour later, Ally approaches my desk. Before I can say anything, she chimes in, “I had a ‘lovely’ chat with Dr. Rice, thank you for that by the way.”
I look at her. “I was about to say the same thing to you,” I say with a catty smile.
“Why did you take the job anyway? I mean, it sure sounded like this was the last place you'd want to work.”
“I had a conversation with Professor Bishop. She made a few suggestions on things that I should look into before I made my decision on the position. I took her advice, called her the next day and accepted the position.”
“You expect me to believe that whatever you found was enough to make you change your mind that quickly?”
“I’m not saying anything either way. I considered what an opportunity this would be, and how it would look on my resume. The positives outweighed the negatives, and I took the job.”
“Are you even listening to yourself? I know it’s impossible to change your beliefs overnight, but it sounds like you learned nothing from what Professor Bishop asked you to look into.”
“Look, I’m trying to make an effort here. You seem to be taking this a bit personal. I can understand that you care for these people, and that you have a passion for this, but let’s face it. They are not going to be normal like you and me. Right?”
Here we go again with the waterworks. “Owen, I really hope you aren’t serious about that.”
“Look, I’m sorry, perhaps if I knew what they were going through it may be more ‘real’ to me. I mean, take you for instance. There is no way that any of them could possibly look as good as you, or even have your life. They won’t know what it would be like to grow up like you did, find a guy, fall in love, and start a family. Yet, that’s the life they chose. You? You have all of that ahead of you, because you’re a real woman.”
“I’m one of them, Owen.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha. You can’t expect me to believe that you were a guy.” I say dryly.
Her eyes narrow. “My life… is not a joke, Owen” a single tear, then the next.
“So my roommate is dating a… Does he know?”
She grabs a tissue from the box on my desk. “Of course David knows. I was the one that told him about the position here at the clinic.”
“So David is gay? Or does he, like, you know… Something extra to his girls?”
“You’ve really learned nothing in the last month, have you? You’re such a jerk!”
“Wait, you mentioned when we first met, that you thought I would be a good fit here. That was before the interview. Did you think I was…”
“I couldn’t tell, but wearing a woman’s suit in a gender clinic doesn’t exactly scream ‘intolerant asshole’, now does it.”
“Is that why you asked if I was… What was her name? Laura?”
“Yes, she was a new patient. You obviously looked like you could be a patient and I was trying to discretely greet you.”
“I was wearing a woman’s suit?”
“And the ground didn’t exactly open up and swallow you whole, now did it?”
“In fact,” I chuckle, “It may have gotten me the job!”
“Ugh, don’t remind me!”
“So you thought I was, a potential ‘patient’ and that sold you all on giving me the job?”
“David thought you were a good guy. Someone who could help us out. He didn’t say you were a homophobe and a dick.”
“Hey, there's no need throwing that around. Some of us like ours.”
The horrified look on her face sends her running off crying, locking herself in the file room.
“Oh, that did it.”
“Owen? What happened to Ally?” Dr. Rice approaches me after hearing the slam of the file room door.
“I… I said something… I shouldn't have.”
“I see… What did I tell you about being sensitive to our patients?”
“I’m… I’m sorry, I’ll go and apologize.”
Apparently, Ally forgot that I had a key to the file room. I unlock the door and slide into the room, carrying a box of tissues as a peace offering. She’s on the floor, bawling her eyes out. Before I could say anything.
“How could you? Did it make you feel better? More like a man to put me down like that?”
“Ally, I’m really sorry. I didn’t know this was something you really were going through. I mean…”
“It hurts you know? To be thought of as…”
“I was… I was trying to do, what I normally do, I guess the joke just went too far this time. I’m really sorry.” I reach for some tissues and hand them to her. “For what it’s worth, I never thought of you as anything other than a woman.”
A flash of incredulity, then a smile. “Thanks, Owen. But it’s more than that. Everyone that walks in here wants to feel like… How you made me feel right now. That you perceive them as such.”
“Look, all I can do is what I promised Dr. Rice that I would make an effort.”
“Perhaps, it would help if you met a few of the girls in a less… clinical… setting?”
“That may be a bit of a stretch.”
“Owen, you are going to have to start seeing us as real people, and not ‘freaks’ or ‘fetishists.' I think that was what you were telling David.”
“Fine. but I’d like to not be the third wheel on a date with you and David.”
“I can set you up with one of my friends…” She says with a smile.
It’s my turn to give her a derisive look.
“I do have ‘GG’ friends too you know. Or would you prefer one of my male friends, instead?” She says with a slight grin.
“Bring whoever you want. Just make sure that they know it’s not a ‘date’ just some friends getting together.”
“How does Friday night sound to you?”
“Sounds fine. I’ve got to get back to work okay?” I extend my hand to bring her to her feet.
She dries her tears. “Sure thing, Owen. I was hoping that you’d ‘come around.' ” She smiles and walks back to her station.
Great! At least things are thawing out between us.