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Dear Diary:November 5 th

Marc Kadella’s a great lawyer! He got my case dismissed! I am so relieved. If that is true, and it is, I am relieved I’m not going to jail. Why am I still so scared?

I met with the trans girl mentor Dr. Friedman introduced me to. She’s nice and supportive. I thought she would be more understanding. She talks to me like my mother and barely listens to my concerns.

At different times, I feel like one of three things. I am either falling without a parachute; drowning without a life jacket or stuck on a runaway train. I even have dreams of these. I wake up and bury my face in my pillow weeping. When will this stop? I have told Dr. Friedman. He just brushes them aside as ‘normal. ’

Priscilla heard her name being called when she reached the door of the restaurant. There was a mild, but steady rain coming down. Priscilla always carried an umbrella in the car for these times. She turned and saw two members of her little group hurrying toward her. Barbara Bivens and Ella Gibson, neither of whom had an umbrella.

The rainy day had left puddles in the parking lot. Ella, the smartass of the group, jumped one foot into a puddle and splashed water on Barbara’s raincoat and legs. While laughing at the schoolgirl prank, Barbara called Ella a bitch and picked up her pace.

When they reached Priscilla, Ella, at forty, with the same adorable blonde high school cheerleader looks, gave Priscilla a hug.

“Don’t grow up,” Priscilla said with a big smile.

“Never. Let’s go in.”

“Here they are,” Sophia Doyle said when she saw the three women walking toward them,

“Hello everyone,” Priscilla said. After hanging up their coats and Priscilla’s umbrella, they found chairs waiting for them. Priscilla took the one next to her best buddy, Rebecca Forrest.

“What’s this?” Priscilla asked of a cloudy drink in a martini glass in front of her.

“Try it,” Sophia said.

The three women who arrived earlier and were waiting had one in front of them. None had tasted the contents.

Priscilla picked up the glass, looked it over, sniffed it and again asked about it.

“It’s a pistachio martini,” Rebecca said. “Try it!”

Priscilla took a tiny sip then a much larger one. “That’s amazing,” she said.

The waiter arrived and Sophia ordered six more. Priscilla handed the drink to Ella who tasted it and passed it on to Barbara.

“Okay,” Rebecca said. “Who has some juicy gossip? ”

In less than a minute there were at least three, maybe four, different conversations at the table. Eventually their second round of martinis arrived. While they were being served, Barbara asked Priscilla about Robbie.

“She’s calmed down now that the dreadful business is over,” Priscilla answered.

“What dreadful business? Not about his transference, I hope,” Mia Pinter, the sixth member of their little once-a-week girl’s time group asked.

“No, no, that’s fine. That’s right you don’t know,” Priscilla said. “Well, I’m certainly not very proud of Robbie…”

“Why?” Barbara asked. “From what you told me, the little bitch had it coming.”

“Robbie punched a girl who is transitioning to a boy. It happened at school.”

“Robbie?” Sophia said holding in a laugh.

“He broke the girl’s nose and gave her two black eyes. She/he looked awful. There were witnesses that saw it and gave statements to the lawyer Barbara recommended,” Priscilla said.

“This Kadella person convinced the judge it was self-defense,” Priscilla said.

“Kadella did a good job for Robbie,” Barbara said.

“Actually, it was his investigator who got the witness statements. I think I hate her more than him. My God, you should see her,” Priscilla said. “I mean, well, gorgeous. Anyway, she did the work.

“I don’t think I like Kadella,” Priscilla said.

“Really, why?” Barbara asked.

“He’s pushy. Acts like he’s the boss and what he tells Robbie is none of my business. The nerve…”

“He’s right. It is none of your business. Didn’t he explain attorney-client privilege to you?” Barbara asked.

“Yes, I guess he said something about it, but that shouldn’t apply to the client’s mother,” Priscilla responded with a petty tone.

“Well, it does,” Barbara replied.

“It’s stupid. I have every right to know what is going on. And the lawyer has no business making decisions without my approval. ”

“Priscilla,” Sophia said, “get over yourself. Sounds like he knew what he was doing.”

“I don’t like it,” Priscilla said.

“I’m hungry. Let’s order some food,” Rebecca said, for as much as anything, to change the subject.

“Speaking of Robbie,” Ella eagerly asked. “How’s he doing?”

“Since last week, she is doing fine,” Priscilla answered. “You ask about it every time we get together.”

“Hey, we’re all pulling for her, for Robbie,” Mia said. “It is so cool. So…”

“Trendy,” Barbara said. It was no secret among those around the table that Barbara harbored doubts.

“It is not trendy, Barb,” Priscilla replied. “It is correcting a flaw in nature.”

“So you keep telling me,” Barbara said.

“Ssssh,” Ella said. “The waiter is coming.

“I know what’s best for Roberta,” Priscilla told Barbara.

“I hope so, Priscilla. I really do.”

“Thank God for our governor. The man’s a genius making Minnesota a sanctuary state for trans kids,” Ella said.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to give the government the right to come into your home and take your children away if you, their parents, object to putting them through trans surgery?” Barbara asked.

“Someone has to protect children from abusive parents,” Ella replied.

“Is that what we’re doing? Protecting children from their abusive parents?” Barbara asked.

“Yes!” Mia answered.

“Be careful how much power you give the government. Some day they are likely to use it against you for something you don’t agree with,” Barbara said.

“Lawyers, you worry too much,” Priscilla said. “He’s the elected governor. He knows what he’s doing.”

That’s open to debate , Barbara Bivens thought to herself .

The women around Priscilla were ordering their dinner while the subject of their discussion was still at his desk. Kadella was concerned about two things. One was Robbie Craig-Powell, the other was a domestic murder case.

There was a single knock on his door and his landlord came in. Connie Mickelson was a tough old girl, as she liked to call herself. Sixty-something and a lawyer for forty plus years. Since renting space from her, she had become landlord, friend and one of two surrogate mothers for everyone in the office, but she had a special fondness for Marc.

“Did Cramer dismiss the domestic murder as self-defense?”

“You were right, she did not,” Marc said.

They were referring to a homicide case Marc had been retained to handle; a husband killed his wife during a domestic fight. Marc had asked for it to be dismissed as self-defense. The judge, Phyllis Cramer, had turned it down. The case was going to trial.

“The wife stabs your guy three times, he smashes a vase over her head while bleeding and Phyllis said he should have retreated,” Connie said.

“Yep,” Marc answered.

“Is she even going to let you plead self-defense?” Connie asked.

“She hasn’t ruled on it yet. She’s waiting for the medical examiner’s report on the stab wounds. Cramer thinks they may be self-inflicted after the wife was dead,” Marc said.

“Are they?”

“My pathologist says no. They are all too deep. Right up to the handle of the knife.”

“Good luck. How’s things with you and Margaret?”

Margaret was Judge Margaret Tennant; a woman Marc was dating.

“Good. She’s a nice lady. I gotta make a call,” Marc said.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Robbie? It’s Marc Kadella,” Marc said into his phone.

“Mr. Kadella, I can’t thank you enough… ”

“Robbie, that’s not why I called. I’ve been meaning to ask you something. It’s probably none of my business and feel free to say so if you want to, okay?”

“Okay,” Robbie replied.

“Are you happy with the transgendering thing you’re going through? Are you sure this is what you want?” Marc asked.

There was a long, silent pause between them that lasted longer than a minute.

Finally, Marc broke the pause. “Robbie, you still there?

“Yes, Mr. Kadella. I was thinking. I’m a little worried, but everyone, all the people who know me, tell me it’s fine and I’m doing better.”

“What do you think? What does Robbie think about this? Not your mother or anyone else. What do you think and feel about it?”

Another long pause even though much shorter. Then Robbie answered, “I’m adapting. I have to go, Mr. Kadella. Thank you so much, again.”

Later that night, while preparing for bed, fourteen-year-old Robert Craig-Powell found himself looking in the mirror. Like he had done dozens of times before, Robbie lifted his shirt and pulled it over his head. His breasts were forming. That night, once again, Robbie fell asleep on a pillow made wet with his tears.

The next morning, while she sat in her car in The Wheaton Academy parking lot, Priscilla made a phone call. Robbie had told her about Marc’s phone call the previous evening.

“Mr. Kadella, this is Priscilla, Robbie’s mother. If you ever contact my child again to question my decision making, I will have you disbarred. In Minnesota, our governor has made interfering in a transgender of a child a crime and I’ll see that you are prosecuted.”

“Good morning, Priscilla. How are you?”

“Leave my daughter alone,” Priscilla said then hung up.

“Trouble ahead,” Marc said to himself.