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EIGHTEEN

Dear Diary:September 4 th

Day 2 of the new school year. I’m a senior this year and I will turn 18 next month. As I have told you many times, I am still very ambivalent about my gender surgery. Most of the kids know and seem to be quite accepting. Everyone but me.

Wheaton insists on having phy. ed. for students. Of course, I have mentioned this to you many times. Today in gym class, we played volleyball. I am the tallest girl in my class, five feet, nine inches. I was very surprised at how well I did. In fact, our teacher is also the volleyball coach. She knows I am trans but still asked me to try out for the varsity girls’ volleyball team. There are three girls in my gym class who are on the team. They all encouraged me to play. I guess there is one more place for a player. I have decided to do it. Other schools in Minnesota have trans girls on their teams. The governor had a law made to make them do it.

The Wheaton Academy is a class AA school for high school sports. The classifications are based on school size. AA is, of course, for smaller schools. The majority of these schools are located outside the Twin Cities Metro area.

For their third game, The Wheaton girls volleyball team was bussed an hour west of Minneapolis. Robbie not only made the team but was the third best player. Because of her size, leg strength and jumping ability, she was instrumental in helping Wheaton win their first two games, an unusual occurrence. Wheaton was known for its academics. Starting off any season with two wins had created a buzz of enthusiasm through the building. Robbie was having a conscience problem dealing with her new found celebrity.

They were playing a best-of-five-set contest with the Afton Lake High School. Having won the first set by the lopsided score of 25 to 7, there was a timeout. Robbie had been the main difference. She not only won nine points by spiking the ball, but she also defended at least ten more. The uncoordinated middle school boy was becoming a star. Of course, Robbie’s growth was a significant factor.

It happened during the second set. Afton Lake was serving. Unfortunately, their smallest player was at the net directly opposite Robbie. A pretty but tiny little girl. She was a sophomore who excelled at gymnastics, not volleyball. Still, she was very athletic.

The serve went to one of the girls in the back line. She tapped it up front to the girl next to Robbie. That girl then tapped the ball to Robbie for a perfect setup for a spike. Robbie jumped, slammed the ball as hard as he could and hit the Afton Lake girl square on top of her head. The poor kid dropped like she had been shot. When she landed on her back, her neck snapped back, her head hit so hard it sounded like a crack and she was out cold.

The girl’s mother was in attendance. She came down off the bleachers in two steps and beat everyone to her daughter. A man in the stands called for an ambulance then went to the girl. The two coaches were also there. She was breathing and alive but not coming out of her unconscious state.

A horrified Robbie, standing alone across the net, could only watch. Even her teammates avoided her. The girl’s name was Amber and her Afton Lake teammates were standing around her.

Fortunately, the small, local medical center was only a block away. The ambulance, carrying a doctor and a nurse arrived within a few minutes. The doctor recognized her need for a hospital immediately. They were at the gym less than ten minutes when she was wheeled out.

As they were hustling her toward the ambulance, two of her teammates walked to the net. While angrily staring at the still terrified Robbie, knowing she was a trans male, they started on her.

“You fucking freak! Look what you did,” one of the girls snarled.

“I hope you die, freak,” the other one said.

By now, the rest of the team had joined them. All of them started chanting, “Freak, freak, freak…” over and over.

In fear of her life, Robbie turned and ran to the locker room. Once inside, she went into the shower room, sat in a corner and cried.

Priscilla, a little inebriated after an evening with a male lover, parked in the garage without hitting anything. She cautiously entered the house through the kitchen. On her way upstairs she dropped off her coat and purse on a dining room chair.

Blake heard Priscilla drive into the garage. He was lying in bed in his bedroom. Another night of wondering where his wife was and with whom, also wondering what happened to his manhood and why he put up with it.

There was a time when he convinced himself he stayed for Robbie. Since Priscilla pushed Robbie into this gender mutilation, Blake realized he was only kidding himself. He had only bothered to bring the subject up once. Any decision about Robbie was none of his business.

On her way upstairs, Priscilla, in her current state, convinced herself she was as quiet as a cat. Even when she stumbled twice and fell face down on the stairs, she merely giggled. At the top of the stairs, she took a deep breath and went into her bathroom.

After flushing the toilet, Priscilla opened her medicine cabinet. As wound up as she was from the sex, Priscilla would need a sleeping pill. One of the brown prescription bottles, the one she wanted, was missing. Priscilla, uncertain but calm, checked the other bottles. Apparently, she had misplaced the barbiturates.

But where and how? she thought.

Suddenly a clear thought flashed through her head with the awful truth. It both awakened her and sobered her.

“Oh my God, Robbie,” she said out loud.

Blake’s bedroom was adjacent to Priscilla’s bathroom, the largest master bathroom. Wide awake, he heard her use the toilet and rummage around in her medicine cabinet.

“Junkie, bitch,” Blake whispered to himself as she searched for her pills.

A moment later he heard her say, “Oh, my God, Robbie.”

Why would she say that? Blake thought.

The next thing he heard was Priscilla flinging the hallway bathroom door open banging it against the wall. She ran down the hall, past Blake’s bedroom to Robbie’s. That was when the light went on in Blake’s head. Priscilla’s sleeping pills.

Fortunately, Robbie had neglected to lock his door. Priscilla threw it open, turned on the light screamed Robbie’s name and went to the bed.

“Robbie! Robbie! Robbie, wake up, please dear God, wake her up,” Priscilla was screaming.

Robbie was lying on her left side facing the wall. Priscilla grabbed her right side and rolled her over. She placed two fingers on her neck to look for a pulse. While doing this, Blake, in a T-shirt and pajama bottoms entered the room.

“There’s a pulse,” Priscilla said.

“Move,” Blake told her.

“What?”

“Get out of the way!” Blake ordered her.

Shocked that Blake would speak to her this way, Priscilla complied and moved.

“Come on, buddy,” Blake said while lifting Robbie up. “Get up, get up, get up. Come on, start walking!”

Robbie groaned and rolled her head. Blake, holding her up, started moving her around the bedroom.

“Shouldn’t we make her vomit or throw up what… ”

“No! What is that?” Blake asked referring to the small brown plastic bottle Priscilla had picked up.

“Um, nothing,” Priscilla said and tried to hide it.

“Give it to me, right now!” Blake barked at her.

“Why, it’s nothing,” Priscilla tried to say.

“It’s the pill bottle. Now give it to me,” Blake yelled at her again while he continued to walk Robbie around. Priscilla gave him the bottle and he stuffed it in a pocket while continuing to walk Robbie.

“Get your car. We need to get him to the hospital now! Get going.”

Blake carried Robbie down the stairs over his shoulder. Barefoot and with no coat, Blake carried her out the front door and placed her onto the back seat of Priscilla’s car.

Holding Robbie up and bouncing her to keep her awake, Blake told Priscilla, “Fairview Edina. Are you sober enough to drive?”

“Yes,” Priscilla replied.

“Then get us there, now!” he almost barked at Priscilla.

Blake looked up at the emergency room clock for, at least, the fifteenth time. Three minutes had gone by since the last time. The two of them were sitting with an empty chair between them. It had been a few minutes longer than an hour without a word spoken between them.

Blake leaned forward, still in his pajama bottoms and barefoot with his elbows on his knees. He held his face in his hands, silently praying. When he finished asking God to spare Robbie’s life, he sat up, leaned back and looked at Priscilla.

“If the doctor comes out and tells us Robbie has died, you better start running because I’m going to kill you,” he calmly told Priscilla.

Startled, she said, “You can’t blame me…”

“Yes, I can and I do,” Blake replied.

“But…” Priscilla was truly frightened of the man she had emotionally abused for years.

“You stupid, stupid bitch, you pushed him into this. You made him do this. ”

“It was for the best. It was what he needed.”

“It was what you wanted. Do you know what happened today? If you paid attention, you’d know. Robbie hurt another girl in a volleyball game. She’s in a coma and may die because of him. The girls on the other team called him a freak. Where were you? Screwing another man. Did you even get his name?”

Before Priscilla could answer, the emergency room doctor walked up to them. Blake stood to greet him.

“She’s going to be all right. We have her stomach pumped and cleaned out. It was touchy, but she’ll be okay.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Blake said.

The relief Priscilla felt was more for herself than Robbie. She also realized her marriage was over. Blake taking charge and acting like a man ended it. Not for Priscilla, but for Blake himself.

Dear Diary:September 10th

My first day back home after three days in a mental hospital lockup. I tried to kill myself last week. Or did I? I’m no longer sure I really wanted to die. The psychiatrist who talked to me at the nut house was a woman, Dr. Walsh. She’s pretty sure it was both a real attempted suicide and a cry for help. I must admit I’m glad I didn’t die.

While I was in the nut house, I got an idea. It probably won’t happen, but I need to try. I need to call Marc Kadella. He’s the only lawyer I know.

During the second day in the nut house, Dr. Frankenstein showed up. Mother Dear called him and told him what happened.

I got some really good news while I was there. The girl I hurt; Amber Jokinen is okay. She was in a coma for a couple of days. She’s home now and doing fine. My volleyball days are done. If I had known that could happen, I would never have agreed to play at all.

Back to school tomorrow. I have mixed feelings about that. I did get phone calls from two of the girls, friends, on the volleyball team. They told me everyone is sorry about what happened and they want me back. I don’t think so.

Blake moved out. I miss him or, maybe I just don’t like being stuck alone with Mother Dear. I’m sure they’ll get a divorce. Why did it take this long ?

Dear Diary:September 24th

I have been agonizing over something for several weeks. How many minors, children, have been pushed into this trans thing without wanting to? The more I read about it, the more I think it is being done for money and crazy parents. But what can I do about it?

I am writing this after I went to bed. While I was waiting to fall asleep, I came up with an idea. But I need a good lawyer. I know one but the last time he helped me Mother Dear threatened to have him disbarred. If he won’t help me, and who could blame him, maybe he will give me the name of someone who will?

Tomorrow, I’ll pretend to be sick and stay home from school. I will call Marc and see if he can help me .

Marc Kadella’s phone buzzed from an internal office call. It was Carolyn Lucas, the office den mother and de facto office manager.

“Marc,” she began when he answered, “there’s a Robbie Powell on line three for you. Do you know her or…”

“Her?” Marc asked.

“Sounds like a her,” Carolyn replied.

“Yeah, I know Robbie. I’ll take it. Thanks.”

Marc pushed the flashing red light for line three and gave his name.

“Mr. Kadella, this is Robbie Powell. Do you remember me?”

“I sure do, Robbie, how are you?” Marc said, while thinking Carolyn was right, he sounds like a girl.

“Not too good,” Robbie answered. “I need to see you, but I can’t leave the house. Would it be possible for you to come here?”

Marc replied with a mild laugh then said, “The last time I talked to you, your Mother threatened to have me disbarred.”

“Ah! That bitch! I’m so sorry, Mr. Kadella, I…”

“I’m not worried about that. How old are you now?” Marc asked.

“Seventeen, I’ll be eighteen in October, next month. Please, I need to see you. Someone I can trust.”

“I don’t mind coming there, Robbie, but your mother…”

“Isn’t here. She’s at work. She’ll be gone all day. Probably late tonight. Please.”

Marc hesitated for a brief moment before saying, “Sure, why not? I haven’t been out of the office for three days. Give me your address.”

Marc wrote the address down while Robbie told it to him.

“Don’t you have it in my file?”

“I’m sure I do, but that would require me to find it. Lazy lawyer,” Marc replied.

“You are not. You’re a great lawyer. Do you know where I live?”

“I’ll find it. Give me twenty minutes.”

“I’ll find a way to pay you,” Robbie said .

“Let’s worry about that later,” Marc replied.

Marc rang the doorbell then watched through the thick, tinted, beveled glass window of the solid oak door. He was about to ring it again when he saw Robbie slowly walking toward him.

He is a pretty girl , Marc thought while he waited for him. “Thank you, Mr. Kadella,” Robbie said, stepping aside to let Marc enter.

“Marc, is fine, remember?”

“Yeah, sure. Please come in and let’s use the front room.”

“You’ve had the surgery recently, I think,” Marc said.

“Yes, I’m still uncertain and trying to get used to it,” Robbie said.

They found seats and Marc asked, “Okay, why am I here?”

“I want to sue everyone involved with doing this to me. Especially my mother,” Robbie said.

“Difficult,” Marc said. “Your mother signed everything on your behalf. Did you protest? Did you tell them you didn’t want this?”

“Yes, many times but no one would listen. Everyone involved said it was the best thing for me. I finally gave up and went along with it.”

“I have to be honest, Robbie. I’m not sure that’s enough. Weren’t you seeing a shrink, a counselor, a psychiatrist who is supposedly some kind of expert in, what do they call it, gender affirming care?”

“Yes, a psychiatrist at the U, Dr. Friedman. He was in on it. He helped push me into this. Isn’t that some kind of medical malpractice? I’ve been researching it.”

“Maybe, I’m not sure. I don’t do those types of cases. Very, very few lawyers do. They are difficult, expensive and hard to win.”

“Oh, I see,” Robbie said with a disappointed attitude.

“Suing your mother would be just as difficult. She will say she relied on the advice of the professionals. Did people at your school get involved with this?”

“My former school, yes. The nurse, the school psychologist, the principal. They all insisted it was the right thing for me. I’m just a kid, Marc. What did I know?” Robbie said, pleading, her eyes filling with tears.

“I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll refer you to a firm that does med mal cases. They’re a big firm, lots of money and lawyers. Someone will call you and talk to you about it. They will check it out and see if it’s a viable case to take on…”

“Thank you!” Robbie perked up and said.

“Hold it, Robbie. Slow it down. Don’t get your hopes up. Like I said, these cases are difficult and expensive. We’ll see.”

“Okay, you’re right, I understand,” Robbie said.

“I’ll call them as soon as I get back to my office. I’ll explain what’s going on. Someone will call you and at least you’ll have some accurate information.”

“There’s something else. I’m a little ashamed of and I didn’t want to tell you this, but I better tell you.”

“What?” Marc asked, seeing the sad, serious look on Robbie’s face.

Robbie drew in a deep breath, hesitated then told him, “I tried to kill myself a few days ago.”

“Okay, let’s hear it,” Marc said.

Robbie told him everything, starting with the first time she went looking for Priscilla’s sleeping pills. All of it up to date. Especially the part about knocking the girl out and putting her in a coma while playing volleyball.

“While I was in the hospital my mother told me she was awake. Her name is Amber and she’s out of the hospital and is back in school. I called her and she wasn’t mad about it. She knew I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Her teammates called you a freak and that night, you took the pills,” Marc said, not a question.

“Yes.”

“Did you get it out of your system? Are you over it, now?” Marc asked.

“Yes, I think so. The psychiatrist in the nut house…”

“Hospital.”

“Okay, nut hospital,” Robbie said which made them both laugh, “doesn’t believe I really wanted to die.”

“I’m sorry,” Marc said. “I’m truly sorry you went through that. Anything else? ”

“No, that’s it.”

“If you think of anything, don’t hesitate to call me.

“I’m gonna go and call the other firm and tell them what you’ve told me. It may be a day or two, but I’ll call after I talk to her. Her name is Gail Payne. She is an RN, a nurse who handles the initial phone call. She’ll call you.”

“Thanks, Marc.”

* * *

Marc’s office door was closed. When Gail called back, it was Sandy, another legal assistant, who answered and buzzed Marc.

“Gail Payne is on line four for you,” Sandy told him.

“Thanks, Sandy,” Marc said then pressed the red light on four.

“That was quick, thanks Gail,” Marc said.

“We want to make the top gun criminal trial lawyer happy, in case we ever need one,” Gail said.

“Yes, with the money that firm has, remember me,” Marc said.

“Between you and me, a couple of these guys may need you any moment now.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Yes, but I won’t tattle. So, what do you have?”

“I have a transgender surgery case…”

“I’m hanging up now,” Gail said.

“No! What? Really? That bad?”

“Tell me,” Gail said.

When Marc finished explaining Robbie to her there was dead air between them for half a minute.

“Gail?” Marc asked.

“I’m here,” she replied. “God, I hate these people. Don’t tell me, let me guess. Dr. Phillip Friedman. Psychiatric professor at the U.”

“How did…”

“We had two of these that we took to trial before. Lost them both because of him. He helped push Robbie into this, didn’t he?” Gail asked.

“Yeah, number two on the list, right behind Priscilla, Robbie’s mother,” Marc replied. “Robbie calls him Dr. Frankenstein. ”

“Perfect. Listen, I don’t think we’ll take it. But I’ll talk to a couple of the lawyers before I call Robbie. God, I hate these things. There’s gonna be some screwed up adults when these kids grow up and realize what was done to them. Because they were pushed into this by adults who were supposed to be looking out for them. Then there’s our idiot governor.”

“Don’t remind me about the gov. There already are some screwed up kids because of this,” Marc agreed. “Give me a call after you talk to Robbie, please.”

“Of course.”