Page 15

Dear Diary:March 5 th

I don’t know why, but I have kept track of how many entries I have made in you, my Diary friend and conscience. Tonight is entry number five hundred. Not all of them certainly, but most of them were me writing about this transgendering to a girl.

I still have my boy parts, but am I feeling more and more like a girl? At times, I think so. But then, I must be a lesbian.

I have told you, Dear Diary, that I can’t help it. I am attracted to girls. No matter how hard I try not to be, I can’t help myself.

One of my trans friends, Erin Christianson, is ready for the surgery. He/she is having serious second thoughts. Up to now, he (even I’m not sure what to call someone transitioning) was quite sure. Having your boy parts cut off is a big deal. No turning back.

My other transitioning friend, Stephanie, is all for it. She even says she can’t wait. I almost wish I was that certain. At least the anxiety and doubts would go away.

More news. It’s final. Remember, about a month ago, my mentor friend, Joan, told me she is getting married. It’s really happening. Today she told me they have set a date, June 14, a week after she graduates. Remember, she will have a degree in psychology, she has been accepted to the psychology department at Northwestern in Chicago to study for her post grad degrees. Her parents are rich so money is not a problem. I’ll miss her.

Joan and her trans boyfriend are going to get married by a gay judge. Trans woman marrying a trans man in front of a gay judge.

Will I fall in love with a trans boy? It’s all too weird for me to understand. But I like Joan (I haven’t met her fiancée) and wish her happiness.

“How are you feeling, Robbie? Are you becoming more comfortable as your feminine side takes over?” Dr Friedman asked.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Robbie answered telling Friedman what he wants to hear .

Over the past four or five sessions, for the past seven or eight months the appointments were monthly, Freidman had moved his chair closer to Robbie. By now, Friedman’s left knee was almost touching Robbie’s right knee.

Robbie no longer sat on the couch. Instead, since Priscilla was not sitting in, Robbie was using a more comfortable club chair. When Friedman first began moving closer, Robbie assumed it was part of the therapy. Today, it was becoming a little creepy.

Friedman placed his left hand on Robbie’s knee and said, “I could sense your concern, which, of course, is quite natural. I’m delighted to hear you are becoming more comfortable, more accepting.”

Robbie licked his lips to deal with his nerves. He glanced down at Friedman’s hand and tried to smile. The good doctor was practically leering at him.

“We’ll see, I’m still, a little nervous,” Robbie said. “A little uncertain.”

“Again, perfectly natural,” Friedman replied while removing his hand.

Friedman sat back, crossed his legs and said, “Let’s talk about the surgery. Have you thought about it at all?”

“Some, yeah, I guess. Oh, I almost forgot, I have a question,” Robbie said.

“Go ahead.”

“I thought the puberty blockers would reduce my growth, my height. I’m about as tall as any of the other boys my age,” Robbie said.

“The puberty blockers usually inhibit some height growth,” Friedman replied. “Not always. Your mother is about five foot seven, I would guess. How tall is your father?” Friedman asked never having met Blake.

“Um, I don’t know” Robbie said. “Not real tall. Probably not quite six feet. Maybe five-ten, five-eleven. I don’t want to be a six-foot girl.”

“Why not? You would be beautiful,” Friedman said placing his hand on Robbie’s knee again. “Robbie, we can’t control everything. I doubt you’ll reach six feet. Probably around five-eight or nine. You’ll be a little taller than most girls but not an Amazon either, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“How big will my feet get?”

Friedman, normally quite stoic, actually smiled and chuckled a little bit.

“Everyone asks that question. Probably not much bigger, if at all, than what they are now,” Friedman answered.

“What about facial hair?”

“The estrogen you’ve been taking should take care of that. There are other drugs we can give you to reduce that, if necessary.”

Friedman then crossed his legs, leaned toward Robbie and ran the back of his hand over Robbie’s face. Robbie stopped breathing while he did this.

“Relax, I won’t hurt you. You’ll be fine. I don’t believe a beard will be a problem.

“Now, back to the surgery,” Friedman said sitting back again.

“You’re seventeen now. You’ve made excellent progress in your transformation and, you’re ready, in fact, you’re way overdue, for the surgery.

“I have spoken to your mother about it and she agrees. With summer coming up, you’ll have plenty of recovery time. I’ll give you a brochure to take home…”

“I’ve already seen it,” Robbie said. “I looked it up on Google.”

“Okay and what do you think?” Friedman asked.

“I know a couple of girls at school who had it done and they’re very happy. And, of course, there’s Joan,” Robbie answered.

“I’ll still give you a brochure to take home. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to call.”

“There’s a girl at school, a natural girl, that I’m attracted to. Is this normal?”

“Yes, of course. Or, if you were finding yourself attracted to boys, that would be normal, too. You feel what you feel. But, be careful with girls. They may not feel the same as you,” Freidman said.

“Sure, I understand. ”

“We need to decide soon about doing the surgery this summer. I know an excellent surgeon but he is very busy. We will need to get it scheduled soon.”

Friedman stood and went to his desk. He picked up a brochure, returned to his seat and gave it to Robbie. He then took ahold of Robbie’s hands.

“I want to tell you something,” Friedman said while Robbie nervously looked at him. “I have spoken at length with your mother and with Joan and we all agree. You have made remarkable progress. We also believe you are ready for this and your life will be immeasurably better. You’ll see.”

As usual, following a session with Friedman, Priscilla and Robbie did not speak for most of the drive home. Eventually, as usual, Priscilla broke the silence.

“What did you talk about?” she asked Robbie.

“Don’t be coy, Mother. I’m sure you knew ahead of time what we would talk about,” Robbie replied without looking at her.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Priscilla said.

“We talked about the surgery. You’ve decided it’s time to do it this summer. So, I suppose I’ll do it.

“Frankenstein is getting creepy,” Robbie said.

“What are you talking about?” Priscilla asked. “And don’t call him that.”

“He has moved his chair so he is practically sitting with me and he is putting his hand on my knee. Creepy.”

“I’m sure he was simply trying to be comforting. It was during the time he brought up the surgery, wasn’t it?” Priscilla asked.

“Just before it.”

“Well, see, there you have it,” Priscilla replied.

Priscilla had driven onto their driveway by now. She put the car in park, turned to Robbie and said, “I have no doubt you’ll be in a much better place. What you have done has already helped you be your true self.”

Without a word, Robbie opened his door and got out of the car.

“I’m seeing some friends. I’ll be home later,” Priscilla said .

“Hello, all,” Priscilla joyously said to her clique of gossipy friends.

They had a table at their usual weekly place. Priscilla was the last one to arrive. The only remaining chair was next to Sophia Doyle, across from Priscilla’s plaything, Rebecca Forrest.

“I am so excited,” Priscilla announced. “Friedman had the talk with Robbie about the surgery today.”

“How thrilling,” Sophia said.

“And?” Ella Gibson asked.

“Well, she’s thinking it over, but I’m confident. It’s so exciting. I’m going to have a daughter without the pregnancy and all of that horror. We’ll be the best of friends. I can hardly wait.”

“What does Blake have to say about this? You’ve never said,” Barbara Bivens asked.

“Who?” Priscilla asked after a solid swallow of the plain vodka martini Rebecca ordered for her.

“Your husband,” Barbara said. “Remember him? Robbie’s father”

“Oh, sure. I didn’t ask,” Priscilla said.

“Well, congratulations,” Mia Pinter said holding up her glass. “Here’s to daughters, even manufactured ones.”