Page 9

“Well, Robbie, how do you feel about that?” Professor Friedman asked.

“About what?” Robbie asked.

Robbie was at his biweekly session with his trans doctor, Phillip Friedman, psychiatry professor at the University of Minnesota Medical school.

“Breaking that trans boy’s nose,” Friedman answered.

Since day one of his transition period, Robbie, being very nonconfrontational, learned quickly to tell the doctor what he wanted to hear. Before he came in today, he knew this subject would come up. Robbie paused for a moment as if thinking about his answer.

“Robbie?” his mother said to prod him into answering.

“Very bad,” Robbie said. “I’ve never done anything like that. To hurt someone like that, it almost made me sick.”

Priscilla, Robbie’s mother, was sitting in, as usual. Robbie did not want her there, but the aggravation of telling her was not worth it.

“What a relief,” Priscilla said. “It’s been two days since it happened and she hasn’t said a word about it.”

“Is that true, Robbie? You have not talked to your parents about your inexcusable act of aggression?” Friedman asked.

Robbie looked at his mother who was smiling her phony smile at him. He then turned to Friedman and decided enough was enough.

“I don’t feel bad about it all. The dyke bitch was bullying me like she does other kids. When she pulled my hair, it hurt. So, I punched the dyke bitch. She had it coming. In fact, I’ve never felt better.”

“Robbie!” Priscilla almost yelled.

Robbie turned to Priscilla to continue. “The only thing I feel bad about was I only got to punch her once. If I hadn’t knocked her on her fat ass, I would’ve kept hitting her.

“There, you happy now? I’m the school hero. Everybody hates her and her sickening little twat friend.”

“Watch your language!” Priscilla said .

“I stood up for myself for the first time in my life and it felt good. I’d do it again,” Robbie told Friedman.

“Relax, it’s okay,” Friedman said. “Robbie, I’d like you to step out and wait in the reception area. I’d like to talk to your mother, please.”

“Yeah, okay,” meek and obedient Robbie said.

Robbie left, closing the door behind him. He was tempted to press his ear against the door to listen. Friedman’s assistant was watching him, so he let it go.

“That was interesting,” Friedman told Priscilla.

“Interesting? It was appalling. Smashing that girl’s nose in like that? We’ll probably get sued,” Priscilla replied.

“I doubt that. From what the school told me, it was clearly self-defense,” Friedman said. “At least that’s what the school believes.

“Given the aggressiveness of it, I think we need to increase the dosages of both the estrogen drug and the anti-testosterone drug. Not much, but enough to move things along. Robbie’s breasts should be developing…”

“They are,” Priscilla said, “a little bit.”

“And we need to cut down on the testosterone. We don’t want her to go around punching people,” Friedman said.

“Okay.”

“One more thing. I’m sensing a lack of enthusiasm in Robbie. Has she made any comments to you lately?”

“No but then she seems neither happy nor sad. She’s always been that way,” Priscilla said.

Friedman began writing on his prescription pad. Increasing the dosage of the estrogen and testosterone inhibitor. He tore those off the prescription pad then wrote out a third one.

“I’m going to give you a prescription for a mild anti-depressant. It will help level her off.

“I also think I should go back to seeing her weekly for a while. Two or three weeks maybe, to see how she is handling the new drug regimen. Don’t tell her about it, just give them to her like you’ve been doing. The anti-depressant is a once a day.”

“Thank you, Doctor. ”

They were in Priscilla’s car going home. It was after three o’clock, too late to bother taking Robbie back to school. Ten minutes into the drive without a word being spoken, Priscilla finally said, “I can’t begin to tell you how disappointed I am that you punched that girl in the face and broke her nose. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I wanted her to let go of my hair and leave me alone,” Robbie said.

“I’m not amused, young lady,” Priscilla sharply said.

“I wasn’t trying to be amusing,” Robbie replied while thinking, how could you be amused with no personality or sense of humor.

Priscilla stopped for a traffic light. When she did, her phone buzzed. She retrieved it from her purse, checked the ID and answered it semi-formally.

“Priscilla Powell, may I help you?” she said dropping the Craig part of her last name.

“Please hold for Chancellor Warner of The Wheaton Academy,” she heard a pleasant, female voice say.

A moment later, Sebastian Warner said, “Mrs. Powell, we have had something come up. I understand you took Robbie out a bit early for a doctor’s appointment.”

“Yes, that’s correct. What is it, Mr. Warner?” Priscilla asked.

“I was wondering if you plan on bringing Robbie back?”

“Actually, no. The only thing she has left is study hall. Why?”

“It would be best to explain it here. Could you bring her back?”

“All right. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Priscilla turned around to get back to Park Avenue. While she did this, Robbie asked about the phone call.

“We’re needed back at The Wheaton Academy,” a displeased Priscilla said through clenched teeth.

“Why?”

“Because you attacked another student, I’m sure. Now be quiet. ”

The two of them walked into Chancellor Warner’s reception area. As soon as she saw them, Warner’s receptionist jumped up to get the door for them.

“Let me get the door. They’re waiting for you,” she told them. She knocked, then opened the door to let them in.

Before the two of them had completely entered the room, a well-dressed woman sitting next to Alex, the bully, jumped up.

“That’s him, right there. I want him locked up for mutilating my son,” she practically screamed while pointing at Robbie.

“What’s going on?” Priscilla asked Warner, who was seated behind his desk.

Sitting in a chair in front of Warner was a man wearing an inexpensive gray suit and a blonde woman in her late twenties. They both stood up, turned and faced Priscilla and Robbie.

On the couch, sitting quietly with the hysterical woman, was Alex, the transitioning girl. Her nose was bandaged up and both of her eyes were quite black. Instead of normal white pupils, his eyes were filled with blood.

Behind the hysterical woman, whom Priscilla realized must be Alex’s mother, was a bald man. He was at least twenty years older than the mother. Along with an expensive suit, he wore a hectored expression. He was Alex’s father, the hysterical woman’s husband.

“I want this creature locked up and the key thrown away,” the woman howled out again.

“Mrs. Lane, you’re here as a courtesy. If you don’t calm down, I will have the officer remove you. In handcuffs, if necessary,” the twenty-something blonde woman told her.

Hysterical mother turned to the bald man and said, “Are you going to let her talk to me that way?”

“She’s in charge, Valerie. I suggest you listen to her,” her husband said.

Valerie turned back to the calm woman, opened her mouth to let loose again and abruptly stopped.

“One more word out of you and I’ll have you arrested and charged with obstruction of justice,” the younger woman calmly said .

Finally, the last person in the room was a uniformed MPD patrol officer. While the woman lawyer, who was Jennifer Moore, from the county attorney’s office, was slamming Alex’s mother, the uniform cop and detective went to Priscilla and Robbie.

“Are you Robert Craig-Powell?” the suit wearing detective asked Robbie.

“Yes,” Robbie managed to say.

“I have a warrant for your arrest duly signed by a Hennepin County District Court judge. Turn around please.”

“Mom!” Robbie yelled.

“What are you doing?!” Priscilla almost screamed. “Stop that. You can’t be serious,” she said when the uniformed officer put handcuffs on Robbie.

“That’ll teach you to attack me, bitch. Punch me in the face when I’m not looking. You’ll get yours, bitch,” Alex said.

Jennifer Moore, the assistant county attorney, looked at the father, Harold Lane, and said, “Keep these two quiet or they both go to jail.”

“You heard her, Alex. Shut up. Sit down and be quiet, Valerie,” Harold said.

Valerie, not used to being talked to like that, gave him a nasty look as if to say you’ll be sleeping in your room for a while.

Harold, knowing the look, shook his head and said, “Don’t care. Just let them do their job.”

“Mom! Stop them!”

The handcuffs were on Robbie, the uniform cop was holding his arm, the detective was waiting for Jennifer Moore.

“Mrs. Powell,” Jennifer said to Priscilla. “We have to take him. I’ll make sure he is kept in segregation. We’ll bring him up before a judge at nine tomorrow morning.”

“I’m going to sue all of you!” Priscilla angrily yelled.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jennifer said. “You need to get a lawyer. If you can’t afford one, one will be appointed. There will be a public defender available at his appearance tomorrow morning. I’m sure bail will be set, then you can take him home.

“Here’s my card,” Jennifer said while writing something on the back of it .

“That’s my home number. If you retain a lawyer today, I’ll be home this evening. He or she can call me at the number on the back if he or she wishes.”

By now, because Jennifer had acted so professionally, Priscilla had calmed down. Robbie was crying and scared witless.

Jennifer turned to the detective and said, “Tony, read him his rights.”