Educating Simon (34 page)

As soon as I got home, I went upstairs, pulled out my tux and tried it on, and saw that Ned was right; I had grown taller. I'd have to get it altered for the dinner with Maddy. And . . . should I buy her a corsage? Do people still do that? I'll have to ask Dr. Metcalf.

I was in the cafeteria at school for lunch Thursday, having an impromptu meeting with a few of my City cohorts, when my phone vibrated. It was a number I'd seen before, but where?

“Simon. It's Mrs. Lloyd, Toby's mother.” Her voice was trembling, though she was obviously trying to stay in control. “I know you have a spelling session this afternoon. I just wanted to let you know not to come today.” Her voice stopped as though the breath had been cut off.

I knew something was wrong. “Is Toby all right?”

There was a long silence, and then, “No.” I heard a sharp intake of breath; there was a pause, and she said, “He tried to kill himself.”

I went ice-cold. “Where is he now?” Phone plastered to my ear, I reached with my free hand for my school bag.

“Deaconess.”

“Is that a hospital?”

“Sorry. Yes. Emergency room area.”

“Is Mr. Lloyd there?”

It was almost as though she were speaking through clenched teeth. “No. He doesn't know yet.”

“I'll be there as soon as I can.”

I ran down Marlborough Street until I reached Mass Ave, where I was more likely to get a taxi; good choice, and I was at the hospital in a few minutes that seemed to take forever.

Mrs. Lloyd was pacing the emergency room waiting area. She said, “He won't speak to me. Will you see if you can do anything?”

Time for a reality adjustment. I switched pronouns. “Has she seen a counsellor?”

There was a blank stare. “She . . . Oh. Not yet. They've called someone. No one I know.”

“What did she do?”

“Ran in front of a car. His . . . her injuries aren't bad, just a sprained ankle and some bruised ribs. Thank God the car wasn't going fast, and the driver was able to stop quickly.”

I went into the bay Mrs. Lloyd indicated, and in a wheelchair with her bare left foot propped on an extended shelf was a girl. Kay had on a bright pink dress with white lace across the bodice, and there was a pink fake-fur jacket on the floor. Her face, blotchy with makeup badly applied, was turned a little to one side, and her eyes were closed. I took the hand nearest me.

“Kay. It's Simon.”

She opened her eyes and immediately started crying. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just couldn't do it anymore.”

“Do what, Kay?” I was vaguely aware that Mrs. Lloyd had moved forwards to listen.

“If I can't be a girl, I don't want to live. My father won't let me get the treatments. I hate him! I hate him!” She nearly screamed with the sobs.

I leaned over and wrapped my arms around her as best I could. She cried and cried until my back was aching from holding that position, and as I stood up she clasped my hands so tightly it hurt.

Mrs. Lloyd had moved to the other side of the chair. To her, I said, “I think she wouldn't talk to you because you were calling her Toby. That's not her name anymore. Did you know her name is Kay?”

Mrs. Lloyd shook her head, one hand clutching a tissue to her mouth.

“I take it Mr. Lloyd laid down the law?”

She took a shuddering breath and nodded. “There was a discussion last night.”

A “discussion,” was it? And I thought the English were masters of understatement.

Almost immediately an orderly appeared and wheeled Kay's chair out of the bay, and Mrs. Lloyd and I followed around corridors and up to a private room. We sat with her until the counsellor, a Dr. Schaeffer, arrived and asked us to wait outside. Mrs. Lloyd and I found a waiting area and sat, side by side, silent and tense, until I couldn't take it any longer.

“Um, look, you can tell me this is none of my business, but what's going to happen now?”

She gazed across the room for a bit. Then, “I don't think I would ever tell you this is none of your business, Simon. Toby . . . Kay obviously trusts you. How long have you known?”

“She told me she was a girl the first time I came by. It was the second visit when she told me her girl's name. It means ‘rejoiced in' in Welsh. She made me promise not to tell anyone. And at the time, there was no apparent danger. Nothing like this.” I clamped my mouth shut before I could say more; I wasn't convinced I'd done the right thing, keeping that confidence.

“I'm not blaming you, Simon. I don't think you could have predicted this.” She heaved a breath. “Well, she—I'm going to have to get used to that, but I will—has already done all the research about this course of drug treatments. I confess I had a hard time taking it seriously; it seems so radical, and of course after a certain point it's irreversible. And the fact that it must be done when the child is so young—before puberty. I just . . . I just couldn't believe we had to face it, I guess. But Kay has convinced me.”

“And her father?”

Mrs. Lloyd's jaw hardened. “He will not have anything to say about it.” Her tone was so final; I didn't dare ask anything more.

We were silent again. It felt as though this woman beside me was a different person to the one who'd come to the two bees at St. Boniface. That woman had looked like the professional counsellor she is, but her demeanour had been tempered by love for her child and pride in “his” achievements. This woman, today, was somewhere between killer attorney and an enraged mother tiger protecting her cub.

“Thank you, Simon. For all you've done.” She reached out and took my hand in hers. “This is so unfair to you, pulling you into the middle of this mess. But I allow it because it's for the sake of my baby.” She shook her head gently and smiled. “My daughter. And I would do anything for her.”

“Well, as soon as she's feeling better, I think you might take her out and get her some decent clothes.”

She looked at me, puzzled, and then threw back her head and laughed. “You are so right! That dress is hideous, isn't it? And that jacket! That's a brilliant idea. I can't think of a better way to cheer her up than to take her on a shopping spree.”

I waited with Kay whilst Dr. Schaeffer spoke with Mrs. Lloyd in the hall, and when Mrs. Lloyd came in she was all smiles.

“Kay, darling, they're going to let me take you home Saturday morning. I know that seems like a long time”—and she held up a hand to discourage Kay's protests—“but you were hit by a car. They need to be really sure there's nothing wrong they haven't found yet. Dr. Schaeffer will come and talk with you a few more times. And, sweetheart, I'm going to see about that treatment. We'll look into it together. How does that sound?”

“Really? You really mean it?” Kay didn't look like she quite dared to believe it. “What about Father?”

“You leave your father to me. And here's more good news. To help cheer you up while you're recovering from this sprained ankle, I'm going out to buy you some new clothes. Girl clothes. And then, when you're up and about, we'll go on a real shopping spree. How does that sound?”

Kay's face broke into a huge smile, and although her eyes dripped tears it was obvious they were from joy. Then Mrs. Lloyd said, “Simon, can you stay for a little while longer?”

“It's Thursday afternoon. This is my time with Kay.” And I wanted some time alone with her, anyway. As soon as Mrs. Lloyd was gone, I pulled a chair closer to the bed. “Kay, in confidence, did you really intend to kill yourself by stepping in front of that car, or was it more that you were trying to prove how serious you are about this problem with your father?”

“I wanted to die, Simon.” Her voice was soft, no histrionics to it, which made me believe her. “I even left you my dictionary. There's a note on my desk.”

Oh, child
. . . “Then I need you to promise me you won't ever do that again.”

“If Mommy can't really fix things with Father, I can't promise anything. I can't be a boy anymore, Simon. I can't. I just can't!”

“Listen to me now, because I know what I'm talking about. It will get better. Your mother will help you, and even if it gets bad again, you're going to be all right. You'll get through it, and you'll still be you. This is a very difficult time; I know that. But it won't last. It's just a short span in the long line of the rest of your life.” Where have I heard
that
before?

“How can you say it will be all right?” Now there was some anger, a challenge.

“Because things can change so quickly, in ways we can't predict. Look, our first session was 30 August. If anyone had asked me on 28 August if I'd be working on spelling with an eleven-year-old transgender girl before the week was out, what do you think I would have said? I didn't even know then that I'd be working with
anyone
on spelling. And if that same person had told
you
on 28 August that before the week was out you would tell a complete stranger that you were really a girl, what would
you
have said?” I was warming to my subject. “And before that day I told you there were lots of other transgender people, you thought you were the only one! How long did it take you to feel vastly different, once you knew you weren't alone?”

She looked hard at me for a moment. “That doesn't mean things will keep getting better.”

“No, but sometimes when they get worse, there's a reaction to that and everything swings back in the right direction. Last night, your father took a firm stand and denied you exactly what you need. Until that point, your mother had argued with him, but she hadn't taken a firm stand. As of today,
she's
taking a firm stand, too, and she's fully on your side. Didn't she just tell you you'll be getting a new wardrobe? One that fits who you are?”

“You don't know what it's like, Simon! Having your whole world fall apart before your eyes!”

I clenched and unclenched my hands, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and looked at Kay. I'd never told anyone what I was about to say. “You're wrong. I do know. Because I tried to kill myself. Like you, I felt as though my whole world had crashed and burned. There was no reason to go on, and all kinds of reasons to end things. And, Kay, I am so glad I failed. I can't even tell you how glad. You are a wonderful, wonderful girl who's going to have a wonderful life. Don't you want to know what you're going to look like as a woman? Don't you want to go to college, maybe pledge a sorority, have boyfriends? Maybe learn to put on makeup well?”

She glared at me, annoyed. That was good; annoyed was good. Annoyed people aren't likely to kill themselves.

I laughed. “Don't look at me like that. Everybody needs lessons in that kind of thing. I had to have people tell me how to style my hair, and that was just a few months ago. And then I had to have someone tell me what clothes look good on me.” Which made me think of a good way to change the subject. “Do you want to hear about my trip to Oxford?”

“All right.” She sounded a little sulky. But then, “Was it wonderful?”

“It was. It was brilliant.” I winked at her and gave her every detail I could remember. She ate it up.

I stayed with her until Mrs. Lloyd appeared again at around ten after six. To Kay, she said, “You're looking more cheerful! Simon is good for you, isn't he?” Then she asked me out into the hall.

“Just so I don't leave you hanging, my husband and I have come to an agreement. He will be moving out. In fact, I need to leave to be there while he packs, and I have a locksmith coming, but I'll be back. Why don't you go home, now? It's way past your scheduled time with her. She should probably rest, anyway.”

I was just thinking how quickly the lady was making use of female pronouns towards a child she'd always considered her son when she added, “In case you'd like to know, I've fired Colleen.” So she'd known. She watched my face, and she must have seen something. “George asked me if you had told me anything. I assured him you had not. Sometime I'd like to know what that's all about.”

I caught a taxi at the front entrance, and it seemed to take forever to get home. Once there, I slid into my chair with about three seconds to spare. Persie was watching for me. She said, “You're not late. But it's all right if you are.”

I blinked stupidly at her. So did everyone else. “Thank you.” It was all I could think of to say.

Halfway through her food calculations, Persie set her silverware down. In my memory, she had never done this before finishing what was on her plate. She turned towards Brian.

“Would it be all right if I get a cat tomorrow?”

Everyone set their silverware down.

Brian said, “A cat?”

“Yes. Please.” She smiled as sweetly as she knew how.

I covered my mouth with my napkin and burst into laughter. Maxine was next, giggling nearly silently into her own napkin. Before long, Mum was nearly helpless, and I could tell Brian was trying to smother laughter. Only Persie was unmoved by the humour of what she'd said. Ned came to the door, nothing in his hands, and stared into the room. The perplexed look on his face sent me into new gales of belly-deep laughter. Maxine laughed so hard she snorted.

Slowly, person by person, the laughter abated, with the occasional upsurge of giggles and snorts. Persie must have been waiting for things to quiet down, because as soon as they did she smiled at Brian again. “Please?”

Brian had to cough and clear his throat before he could reply. “Not tomorrow, no.”

Persie looked at me for a microsecond, her eyes telling me that she knew just what to do. She would ask again Monday.

 

After dinner, when Persie headed up to her rooms, I followed and knocked on the open door. “May I come in for a few minutes ?”

Without a word, she sat on a chair, and I sat on a nearby one after turning it to face her. “Sorry this is out of position. I'll move it back before I leave.” No response. Persie wasn't likely to benefit from preamble, so I plunged in. “You asked your father for a cat. Can you tell me why?”