Christine XVI: The System

Author’s Note: In a previous chapter I quoted a song I’d heard sung by Michael Junior and Helmut Lotti. In giving credit for the song I mistakenly stated that Helmut Lotti is German. A kind reader pointed out to me that Helmut is NOT German, but Belgian, and is very popular there. So, my humble apologies to Belgian people everywhere, and a big THANK YOU to the one who pointed out my error. As I told him in a reply, in my ignorance I thought the name SOUNDED German, and I should never have made such an assumption.

...Charlie

It happened on a Thursday evening in March, at about 8 PM. I’d had a busy day between school and music instruction and I was tired. I had just had a bath and got into my nightie, and was enjoying a rare evening in front of the TV. The doorbell rang, and when Mom answered it she was greeted by two cops and a social worker. “We have a warrant to take custody of one Christopher Elliot, nine year old male child.” one of the cops announced.

“A warrant?” Dad said as his face reddened. “On what grounds?”
“Child abuse and endangerment,” the social worker said. She told us her name, but I can’t remember it. I suspect it’s some kind of mental block, because I never could remember that name.
“You’re not going anywhere with anyone until I contact my attorney,” my dad said.
“Sir, I advise you to step aside,” one of the cops said. “Any resistance on your part will end up with you spending the night in jail.”
“You mean to tell me you can just take my child, and not tell me where you’re taking her?” Dad demanded.
“State law states that we have to have a court hearing within 48 hours,” the social worker said. “We will inform you by noon tomorrow when that hearing will take place. Until then I have authority to apprehend the child. Is this he?” she asked, looking at me.
“It’s SHE,” my mom said indignantly, “and HER name’s Christine.”
“Please get him dressed,” she said. “I suggest you pack a few of his things as well.”
“Mom, what’s happening?” I said. I was terrified. I thought I was going to jail.

“Christine, come here, honey,” Dad said as gently as I had ever heard him speak. I was bordering on hysteria and was screaming. His soft voice had a somewhat calming effect on me, but it didn’t change the fact that I was scared to death.

“What did I do, Dad?” I pleaded. “Why are they taking me to jail?”
“They’re not taking you to jail,” he said as he put his hands on my shoulder. “Just calm down and listen to me very carefully. You are going to have to go with them tonight. For some reason they think we’ve been mistreating you, and the law says when that happens they have a right to take a child away from where they think he or she is in danger. We’ll get it all straightened out, but for now you have to go with them. You’ll be ok, so just go get dressed and I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?”

“I’m scared, Dad,” I sobbed. “Why can’t they just ask me?”
“I know you’re scared, Christine. But you’ve got to trust me. Have I ever let you down?”
“No, sir.”
“I won’t this time either. No go upstairs with your mother and get dressed while I try and make some sense out of all this. You’re gonna be fine.”

I did as Dad said. “Call Robert,” Mom ordered over her shoulder as we started up the stairs. Mom had to practically carry me I was so weak, and once in the familiarity of my room I was bawling again. Would I ever see this room again? Why was this happening? Wasn’t this America, where things like this aren’t supposed to happen?

Mom got me dressed in one of my school outfits - a pleated skirt and white blouse, white knee socks and penny loafers. She brushed my hair and gave me a hair band to wear, then put two changes of clothes into a small suitcase along with my toothbrush, hair brush and a few other essentials. She didn’t say much - I could tell she was having some difficulty keeping from crying herself, but somehow she managed. “Ok Honey, she said, “time for you to go. Trust your father and just be on your best behavior. We haven’t done anything wrong, so you’ll be fine. We’ll have you home again by the week end.”

“I don’t want to go, Mom,” I said as I started to cry again. “I don’t understand why they can’t let me stay here while Dad straightens it out.”
“I know, dear, I don’t understand it either. But they’ll keep you safe, so you just show them what kind of stuff you’re made of.” As a last minute thought she scooped up my school bag and handed it to me. “You can always study to pass the time,” she said. “I know how important it is to you to keep up.”

As we descended the stairs the social worker looked at me with some surprise, not to mention the surprise on the policemen’s faces. “This court order stipulates a little boy named Christopher,” one of the cops said. “They keep calling this child Christine. What’s going on?”
“That’s Christopher,” the social worker said. Then to me she said “I’d appreciate it if you’d go back upstairs and put on some boys’ clothes.”
“I don’t have any boys’ clothes,” I said honestly.
“You don’t have any? None at all?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“Well, hopefully your foster mother will have something you can wear.”
“What I’ve got on is fine,” I said. I knew exactly what this lady was thinking, but I wasn’t going to let her know that.

“Robert’s on his way,” Dad said. “You might want to wait until her psychologist gets here,” he said to the social worker.
“It’s already late,” she said in reply. “We still have the business of his clothes to sort out, and no one is going to convince me tonight to leave him in this house. We have to go.”
“Go if you must,” my Dad said. “But I suggest very strongly that you think long and hard before you force that child to dress in anything but her own clothes.”
“Are you threatening me, sir?” the social worker said.
“Call it what you want,” my Dad replied. “I am just pointing out to you that I will not take it sitting down if you meddle with a very delicate situation.”

Mom handed me my jacket as I was hurried out the door. We rode in the patrol car to an area of town I’d never been in before, and stopped in front of a large old house. “This is your foster home,” the social worker told me as we waited for someone to answer the doorbell. “Hello, Mrs. Nelson,” she said warmly to the woman who appeared. “This is Christopher, the boy I told you about.”
“Christine.” I corrected.

“You said a boy,” Mrs. Nelson said, ignoring me.
“It is a boy, believe it or not,” the social worker replied.
“You sure coulda fooled me,” Mrs. Nelson said with a none too friendly tone.
“I’m in no mood to play games with you tonight,” the social worker said sternly to me. “While you are in my custody there will be no funny business. Your name is Christopher.”
“If you say so, Ma’am,” I said as politely and deliberately as I could. “But I don’t answer to ‘Christopher’ any more. Just as long as you understand that.”
“That’s fine,” Mrs. Nelson said as she patted my head. “We’ll sort all that out, won’t we dear?”

“I’m afraid he doesn’t have a stitch of male clothing,” the social worker said in disgust. “I was hoping you would have something he could wear until the stores open tomorrow.”
“We’ll take care of it,” she answered as she ushered the social worker to the door.

I knew I hadn’t won, that it wasn’t over between me and Mrs. Nelson. I never cease to be amazed and how gullible social workers can be; or maybe they just want to pass problems off whenever they can. I know now what I didn’t know then: that most social workers are heavily overloaded with cases and don’t have the luxury of spending nearly enough time on any one individual case. Whatever the reason, she didn’t seem to notice the falsely “nice” attitude of Mrs. Nelson and left.

“Now, my little darling,” Mrs. Nelson said as the car drove off, “we have to get you ready for bed. You’ll be sleeping in the same room with Randy. He’s 12, and I don’t know how he’ll feel about sharing his room with a girl, so I’ll just tell him you’re masquerading and that your real name is Christopher. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” I said, “I can’t share a room with a strange boy.”
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, sweetheart. I don’t suppose you have any pajamas?”
“Yes, Ma’am, I do.”
“Good. Come on, I’ll take you to your room and you can change there. Randy is already in bed and I’m afraid he won’t like being awakened very much, but we don’t have much choice.”

“I already told you, I can’t sleep with a strange boy,” I said a little more firmly.
“And I said come on,” she said as she grabbed a handful of my hair and headed down the hall. I had little choice but to come along. I could have stood there and had her pull the hair out, but she had a big handful and I knew it wasn’t going to come out easily.

“Sorry to wake you,” Mrs. Nelson said as she snapped on the ceiling light and thumped my suitcase down on the floor. “You have a new roommate. This is Christopher, and he’ll be staying with us for a while.”
“Christopher?” a sleepy boy questioned as he opened his eyes. “Don’t look like no Christopher I ever saw.”
“Let’s just say he’s got a unique way of dressing. Now, get into your pajamas, Christopher. I’ll be back in ten minutes to turn out the light.”

“Well?” Randy said when I didn’t move, “you gonna get undressed, or what? Mrs. Nelson isn’t foolin’ around, ya know.”
“No, I’m not,” I said. “I already told her, I can’t sleep with a boy, especially a strange one.”
“Why not? There’s lots of room. This is a double bed.”
“Cause I don’t sleep with boys. And I don’t get undressed in front of boys.”
“What are ya doin’ in them clothes anyway? You always dress like a girl?”
“Course I do. I AM a girl.”
“The old lady says you’re a boy. Why would she say that?”
“Cause that’s what the social worker told her. But they’re wrong.”
“Well, why don’t we just solve this problem for ourselves?”

I shuddered as I watched Randy get out of bed. He was wearing a pair of white briefs - or they had been white at one time. Now they were rather gray and not looking or smelling very clean. “I don’t advise you to touch me,” I said, hoping I was showing more authority than I felt.
“What you gonna do, beat me up?”
“Probably not,” I said. “I don’t like to fight and I really don’t know how. But I will if I have to.”
“The way I see it,” he said as he reached for the bottom of my skirt, “you only got three choices. You can get undressed, or you can stand there and let me undress ya, or you can fight. Which is it gonna be?”
“Guess.” I said as I brought my knee up. It was stupid dumb beginner’s luck, but I connected dead on target. Randy crumpled to the floor and howled as he clutched his groin.

Unfortunately I had no earthly idea what to do as a follow-up, and I had no place to run. “I’ll get ya for that one,” Randy moaned. “You got me right in the balls.” He got slowly to his feet, still clutching his crotch with both hands. He limped around the room twice, then straightened up and looked me in the eye. Somehow I was managing to hold back the tears. “You little bitch,” he hissed as one of his fists came from nowhere and hit my left eye. I staggered but stayed on my feet. Now I was too mad to cry. I flailed my arms widely but missed. Another fist connected with my nose bringing a torrent of blood just as the door opened and Mrs. Nelson walked in.

“What the hell...” she said as she grabbed Randy and held him. “You’ve only been in this house ten minutes and already you’re fighting. Now get out of those clothes before I take them off you.”
“No, Ma’am.” I said. “I don’t want to cause any trouble, but I am not getting undressed with Randy in the room. And I won’t sleep in the same bed with him either.”
“We’ll see about that,” she said as she released Randy and grabbed me.

“I don’t advise you to take my clothes off,” I said as evenly as I could. “That’s called child abuse, and I know what to do about that.”
“You wouldn’t,” she said as she fumbled with the buttons on the back of my blouse.
“Try me,” I said defiantly. “There’s a certain school principal who would disagree with you, and she isn’t a school principal any more.”

Evidently Mrs. Nelson knew the system at least as well as I did. She released me and stood glaring. “Ok,” she said, “you won’t get undressed, and you’ll scream child abuse if I undress you. What am I supposed to do with you?”
“Send me home,” I said without hesitation.
“God knows I would if I could, but I can’t and I think you know it,” she shot back.
“Then tell me the way and I’ll go myself. Or let me call my dad. He’ll come get me.”
“Forget it, you little trouble maker. You’re not goin’ home and that’s final.”
“Leave her here with me,” Randy offered. “I’ll take care of her.”

A cold chill went down my back as I thought of spending the night locked in a room with Randy. That was not exactly my idea of a good time. “It’s not HER, Randy,” Mrs. Nelson said. “It’s HIM. HIM. H-I-M!”
“Whatever. You said yourself you don’t know what to do with her, so leave her here with me. We’ll be ok.”
“What’re you gonna do, beat the crap outa him?”
“We’ll be ok. She’s scared, that’s all. I can take care of her.”
“Fine, you just do that. And don’t be late gettin’ up for school. I don’t plan to come in to wake you.”
“I won’t. G’night.”

Mrs. Nelson snapped off the light and closed the door. We could hear her heavy footsteps as she went down the hall. “Bitch,” Randy muttered. “Man, you really got her pissed.”
“Not on purpose,” I answered. “This hasn’t exactly been the best day of my life either.”
“So what’s the deal, anyway? Does anyone know for sure if you’re a boy or a girl?”
“I do,” I answered. I noticed that Randy’s tone had softened considerably.
“No one else seems to agree with you,” he countered.
“I can’t help that. I know what I am and no one’s gonna push me around.”
“You can say that again. My balls still hurt. So what’re you doin’ here anyway? What’s goin’ on?”

“It’s a long story,” I said as I finally gave way to the tears.
“I got all night,” he said. “I’m gonna get back in bed ‘cause I’m cold. I promise not to touch ya, and I won’t look if you wanna get undressed. So why don’t you come to bed too?”
“Not gonna happen, Randy.”
“Ok then, you take the bed and I’ll wrap up in a blanket on the floor. You can’t just stand there all night.”
“You’re already undressed and in bed. You stay there and I’ll lie on the floor. I don’t guess I’ll sleep much tonight anyway.” I didn’t want to tell him, but the thoughts of getting into that bed, after he’d been in it with his dirty underwear, made my skin crawl. He finally agreed provided I take one of his blankets, so we settled down and I told him my story.

“WOW!” Randy exclaimed when I had finished. “You figured out when you were only eight that you were supposed to be a girl? But how did you know?”
“I guess I didn’t know,” I said. “I only knew how I felt. And after that first day as a girl, and I mean I was completely a girl in every way, I just felt... well, I dunno, it just felt right. I was never comfortable as a boy, but I guess I didn’t even know myself what was wrong, just that I didn’t like myself very much, and I didn’t fit in with the other boys.”
“But I still don’t understand why you’re here,” he said. “I’m here ‘cause I don’t have any other place to go, but you’ve got a family, an’ they must love you a lot ‘cause I know that operation that they’re gonna do has got to cost a bunch of money. So why are you here and not at home?”
“I don’t really know,” I said. “That’s what makes it so hard. That social worker just showed up with two policemen and said she had a court order to take me, and here I am. She said they were gonna charge my parents with child abuse.”

Randy looked at me with a strange look on his face. “Abuse?” he said. “You mean sexual abuse?”
“I dunno,” I said.
“Has your father ever... you know... touched you or anything... you know...”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. My dad would never do anything like that and neither would my mom. They have told me about it though, and they told me that no one had the right to do that. No one ever has until last August when my new school principal tried to make me undress. I told my parents what she tried to do and they got her fired. That’s why I gave you the knee tonight. My parents both told me that I had a right to do anything I could to keep anyone from touching me or making me undress. I’m sorry, Randy, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“It’s ok. I guess I had it coming.”
“But you still haven’t told me why you’re here,” I questioned.

Randy told all once I got him talking. He said he’d had parents, but they were into drugs and alcohol, and never did much parenting. He said as he got older and his parents realized what a valuable resource a child could be, he had become their sex slave for sale. He told me he had been sexually active since he was six, with both men and women. He had finally been picked up by an undercover cop when he was ten and placed in foster care. His parents had been arrested, but their case was thrown out on a technicality and they had skipped town. He had no idea where they were and didn’t really care.

I guess I knew a lot more about what he was talking about because of all the research I’d done about transgenders and the associated community. I had learned long ago that there were genuine transgenders who felt that their gender was wrong, but there were also plenty of others who simply had erotic fantasies about what they could do sexually if they were the opposite sex. There were some gay boys and men who dressed as females to justify their attraction to other males, and there were even cross-dressers who had no desire to change anything except the clothes they wore. I had learned to accept all of these different people, but I couldn’t understand for the life of me how anyone could take their own child and force him or her into this type of behavior. In my mind I pictured Josh, the picture of a well-adjusted, comfortable boy, being forced to do some of the things Randy had done. I knew it would kill him, or he would kill someone else to get away.

“I’ve gotta say, you’ve got a lot of guts, Christine,” Randy said after we’d talked a while. “The way you stood up to me even though you knew I could beat the crap outa ya, and then you stood up to Mrs. Nelson the same way... shoot, I’ve never stood up to her like that. Isn’t there anything you’re afraid of?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “I’m afraid of all sorts of things, including you tonight when you came after me. But just ‘cause I’m afraid don’t mean I’m gonna just wilt like some undernourished flower. My dad taught me that I’ve got rights and it’s up to me to stand up for them and demand them. No one is gonna hand them to me. I guess I learned that earlier than most kids do because I’m a transgender.”
“Makes sense,” Randy said. “Your dad sounds like the kind of dad I always wished I had. I hope I get to meet him someday.” Then before I could answer I heard his breathing become slower and heavier, and I knew he was asleep.

“Maybe you will meet him,” I whispered to myself as I settled down for sleep. I had started to get this crazy idea in my head. I had taken my father’s son away from him... maybe, just maybe...

I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I must have slept more soundly than I expected because the next thing I knew the room was bright with sunlight, and Randy was gone. Evidently he had got out of bed and gone to school. I got up and folded my blanket on the foot of Randy’s bed, gathered my toothbrush and clean underwear from my suitcase, then slowly and carefully opened the bedroom door. I had no desire whatsoever to come face to face with Mrs. Nelson if I could avoid it. I had no idea what time it was, but judging by the brightness of the sun it was later than my usual wakeup time. As I stuck my head out the crack in the door, I heard voices coming from somewhere in the front of the house.

“That’s not my problem,” I heard Mrs. Nelson say. “Whether he’s a boy or a girl is of no consequence. He’s pure trouble and I want him out of here. When I suggested that I undress him last night he made it very clear he would scream child abuse if I touched him. I don’t need that, Mr. Bagely.”
“Mrs. Nelson,” I heard a man’s voice say, “I have no other place for him. If he can’t stay here, he’ll have to go to the detention center, or possibly a group home.”
“I don’t give a flip if he goes straight to hell! I told you, he’s trouble and I don’t want him here. If you don’t take him with you I’ll let him call his precious mommy and daddy and have them come get him.”
“You can’t do that,” Mr. Bagely said. “He is under my protection and not allowed to return home until the court hearing.”
“Watch me!” she returned. “It’s a well known fact that I have no accommodation for girls, and from all outward appearances it could be said that Christopher Elliot is a girl. He will NOT stay in this house another night.”

I heard Mr. Bagely sigh loudly. “Very well,” he said. “I can’t take him now because I have another meeting. But I promise I’ll pick him up right after lunch.”
“No you don’t,” she countered. “If you leave here without him, he won’t be here when you get back. I’ll go get the little creep out of bed now... it’s high time he was awake anyway.”

I quickly closed the door again and grabbed a paper and pencil from Randy’s messy dresser top, then hastily scribbled a note just as Mrs. Nelson knocked on the door. “You awake yet?” she yelled.
“Yes, Ma’am,” I replied. “I just have to go to the bathroom and I’ll be out.”
“Fine, but hurry up. There’s someone here to take you off my hands and he’s got his shorts in a knot to get going.”
“Where am I going?” I asked.
“I have no idea. But you’re going out of here and that’s all I care. Now hurry up.”

When I heard the footsteps of Mrs. Nelson leaving, I slipped my note under Randy’s pillow, hurried into the bathroom and did my business, washed up quickly and brushed my teeth, changed my panties and socks, then gathered myself together and presented myself in the living room. “You must be Christopher,” the man who I assumed was Mr. Bagely said. “My God, what happened to your eye?”
“Christine,” I corrected. “I sorta had a little accident.”
“See what I mean?” Mrs. Nelson said triumphantly. “He got himself into a fight, that’s what happened to his eye.”
“Mrs. Nelson,” he said, “I thought you understood that this is an emergency situation and that he will have to appear in court. Now I’ve got to try and figure out how to explain a black eye.”
“Don’t you try and put this on me,” she said angrily. “You told me you were bringing a boy, and I end up with... with... I don’t know what. It went downhill from there. I do my best but I’m not gonna get into refereeing a fight.”
“Well, Christopher, you certainly haven’t made my life any easier,” he said to me.
“Christine,” I said again.
“Call yourself whatever you like,” the man said. “My paperwork says ‘Christopher’ and that’s what you’ll be called as long as you’re in my custody.”

I didn’t answer. We left the Nelson household and got into the car without another word. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you,” Mr. Bagely said. “I have another meeting in fifteen minutes, and I don’t have time to drop you at the office. Can I trust you to stay in the car while I’m in my meeting?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered. I knew my father would have no problem with my insisting on my name and gender, but I also knew he would be very upset if I gave these people any trouble. Running away simply was not an option, unless I was in some sort of danger. Besides, I had just realized that this was Friday and that Mrs. Social Worker had said that I had to appear in court within 48 hours. That meant today, because I was pretty sure there would be no court on Saturday.

When we pulled to the curb of a rather shabby two story house, Mr. Bagley said he would be about an hour inside, after which he would take me to get some lunch. “Take your time,” I said cheerily. “I’ve got lots of homework to do.” That got a strange look from my escort, but he cracked the windows and locked the doors, telling me it was to keep others out, not me in, and then he left. I got out my school books and went to work, content in the knowledge that I would sleep in my own bed tonight.

Mr. Bagely was almost two hours inside the house. When he came out I was busy practicing my German aloud and didn’t notice him approach. “What’s that?” he asked when he heard me speaking.
“What’s what, sir?” I questioned.
“You were muttering some sort of gibberish when I walked up. Some kind of hocus pocus?”
“No, sir. I was just practicing my German. Mr. Rollins says that I can’t possibly learn to speak German properly unless I practice out loud and listen to myself.”
“Who’s Mr. Rollins?”
“My tutor.”
“He’s teaching you German? What about your other studies?”
“He’s teaching me everything. He says I’m already finished fourth grade work and halfway through fifth grade.”

“You have a private tutor, and he has you performing above grade level? Does the school board know this?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve been taking standard school board tests ever since I was taken out of school in January.”

“Dammit!” I heard Mr. Bagely say to himself. “Next you’re going to tell me you were withdrawn from school officially, and that Mr. Rollins is an accredited tutor.”
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘accredited,’” I answered, “but I was taken out of school officially for the rest of the year, and they do know who’s tutoring me.”
“Then I’ve got to ask, why in the world are you in foster care? Just what kind of abuse have you been suffering? Is it the transgender thing?”
“I don’t know, sir. That lady who took me wouldn’t tell us anything, just that I was being abused and in danger. That’s all she would say. But I don’t know how they can say it’s because of my gender. Dr. Reynolds has been doing tests for two years, and he’s had a lot of other doctors involved and they all say the same thing: that I am a girl who was born with boy parts.”
“Dr. Reynolds? The pediatrician? He’s your doctor?”
“Yes, sir.”

“Double dammit!” Mr. Bagely said. This time he made no effort to say it under his breath. It was very clear to me that I had just ruined his whole day.

He took me to lunch at Burger King - not one of my favorites but I wasn’t very hungry anyway, and I could eat french fries about anywhere. While we were eating he asked me some more questions, which I answered as honestly as I could. He asked me some pretty personal questions, like had I ever been sexually involved with anyone, how often did I play with myself, did I sit down to pee when I was alone. These I answered by telling him that Dr. Reynolds had told me I didn’t have to answer if I didn’t want to, and I certainly didn’t want to. “Ok, then,” he said patiently, “I’ll ask you the big one. You’ll be asked in court, so you might as well answer it now. Have you ever been... er... touched inappropriately by an adult?”
“You mean have I ever been molested,” I said. “Mr. Bagely, I know a lot more than most nine year old’s. In May I’m supposed to have surgery to correct my... my defect. I’ve done a lot of research so you don’t have to pussy foot around. I got a pretty good idea what you’re talking about. You want to know if anyone’s messed around with me or did sex things, right?”

Mr. Bagely looked at me suspiciously. “Yes,” he said, “that’s what I want to know.”
“No, sir,” I said. “Never. Not my mom or dad or anyone else. I’ve been examined by a dozen doctors, but that’s all it was - examinations.”
“Why so many examinations?” Bagely asked.
“Gettin’ ready for my surgery. Dr. Reynolds wanted to be sure everything’s ok. And all the doctors that’ll be helping wanted to see what they’re gonna be doing.”
“Dr. Reynolds is very thorough,” Bagely observed. “He’s done a lot of work for us. I guess that’s why I don’t understand why you’re in emergency foster care, if you’re Reynolds’ patient.”
“I told you, I don’t understand either. And that social worker wouldn’t tell us anything.”
“Ok,” he said, “I guess there’s nothing we can do about it now. Hopefully it’ll all come out in court. But right now I have to find a place for you to sleep tonight.”
“That’s ok,” I said, “I’ll be home, soon as we go to court.”
“There’ll be no court today,” Mr. Bagely said. “I got the court schedule before I left my office, and you weren’t on it. You’ll be our guest at least for the weekend.”

I eyed this man as evenly as was in my power. “She told me the law said I have to be in court within 48 hours.” I argued. “She promised.”
“I can’t help what she said, I have already seen the court docket and you’re not on it. So let’s go. I’ll go back to the office and make a few calls, just to see what’s going on.”

I had started to warm to Mr. Bagely when he took me inside the Child Protection offices, then put me in a room with two crying babies and an armed guard, and left me there. The guard wouldn’t let me out of his sight, even to go to the bathroom. So I just opened my pack and got out a book to study. I certainly got lots of studying done that day - I was in that room with those crying babies for almost three hours. “Ok, let’s go,” Mr. Bagely said when he finally reappeared. “I’ve got you a place for the weekend.”
“But what about court?” I demanded. “What about my parents? They don’t even know where I am.”
“I told you, forget about court. It’s not gonna happen till Monday.”
“But, can’t I call my folks and at least let them know where I am?”
“No, you can’t. You’re not supposed to have any contact with them till your court date.”
“But...”
“Come on. I haven’t got all day.”

Mr. Bagely apologized as we drove, telling me that he simply couldn’t find a foster home, or a group home for that matter, that would have me once they found out that he wasn’t even sure if I was a boy or a girl. “We’re gonna have to check you into the hospital, psychiatric ward,” he told me.
“Psychiatric ward? You think I’m crazy?”
“No, I don’t think you’re crazy, but we’ve got to put you somewhere. But think of it this way: at least you won’t get beat up again. I can’t guarantee that in any of the other facilities I tried.”
“My dad is gonna be awful mad,” I warned. I dunno if I’d do that if I were you.”
“Well, you’re not me. We’ve got to do what we’ ve got to do, Christopher.”
“Christine,” I corrected stubbornly.

Of course I didn’t know it at the time, but it was no accident that they put me in the psych ward at the hospital. That was the only way they could be assured that I wouldn’t get to a phone, and they were determined to keep me isolated until they could do some serious damage control. I didn’t think I’d mind, because there was always a good chance I’d see one of the doctors who knew me, and then I was sure things would get better. But of course it was the weekend and the only thing that was going to get one of my doctors wandering the halls of a hospital would be an emergency, and even then they wouldn’t be wandering the halls.

“I don’t think he’s dangerous to himself or anyone else,” Mr. Bagely told the admitting nurse. “This is an unusual case, and we just need to keep him quiet until a professional can see him next week.”
“Him?” she questioned.
“It’s a long story, and I don’t think you want to hear it all. But my paperwork all says this is a male child, nine years old, whose name is Christopher.
“If you say so. We have an on-call psychiatrist,” the nurse offered. “I can call him and have the child seen tonight or tomorrow.”
“Please don’t,” Bagely said. “There’ve been too many mistakes made with this kid already, and I’m not about to make any more if I can avoid it. Just take care of him if you will. I’ll be in touch the first of the week.”

“Well, now,” the nurse said after Mr. Bagely had left, “I’m incredibly confused. He insists that your name is Christopher, and you are just as adamant that it’s Christine. Can you help me out here?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I said, “I’d love to. I guess we’re both right. My birth certificate still says I’m a boy and my name is Christopher, but I’ve been using the name Christine for two years. They’re gonna change my birth certificate as soon as I have my operation.”
“Your operation? You’re having surgery?”
“Yes, Ma’am. My doctor is trying to get it set up for May.”
“So why are you here?”

That was too much. I started to cry again. “Everybody keeps asking why I’m here,” I managed to say. “If no one knows why I’m here, why can’t I go home?”
“Ok,” the nurse said as she hugged me. “I’m sorry, that was a stupid question. Let’s get you settled in a room, and you can tell me all about it.”
“It’s a long story,” I said as I tried in vain to get control of myself.
“I’ve got nothing but time,” she said. “I’m a psychiatric nurse, so it’s my job to listen, and I’ll be here till eleven. I’m trained to listen to long stories, Christine. So how’s about we get you into a room, and I’ll let you get settled in and have a shower if you like, then get into your pajamas and I’ll come in and we’ll talk. How’s that sound?”
“The shower part sounds fantastic,” I said. “I feel pretty dirty.”
“Great. Have you had any supper?”
“No, Ma’am. But I’m not hungry, thank you.”
“Nonsense. I’ve never seen a nine year old yet that couldn’t eat. By the way, my name’s Carol. I’ll get you something to eat while you’re in the shower.”

Carol showed me into a private hospital room, which was as big as my room at home. It was clean of course, with a private shower and TV. It certainly beat anything they had to offer at Mrs. Nelson’s. “It wouldn’t do to put you in a ward with a bunch of adults,” she said. “Since you’re the only child on the ward, you might as well have our best room.”
“Thank you,” I said gratefully. “It’s very nice.”
“I’m gonna have to lock you in while I go get your supper,” Carol said. “Hospital rules. But I’ll be back before you know it. You just take your time in the shower. It’s specially rigged so you can’t burn yourself, so you just go ahead and enjoy yourself.”

Enjoy myself? Fat chance. I almost laughed to myself as I heard the lock click in the door. Right! Locked in a hospital room, can’t call home, don’t know how long I’ll be here, and I’m supposed to enjoy myself. Cool! Oh well, I thought, at least I’ll be clean. So I got undressed and into the shower. Carol was right: it felt incredible. It felt so good I even thought of staying in here all night, perhaps drowning myself. But I knew that would get Carol in trouble, and I couldn’t do that to the first person to be really nice to me since I’d been taken from home. And then there were my parents, and Josh, Gail, Dr. Reynolds, Adam, Johnny, Mr. Marks and the band... a lot of people that I knew loved me and would not understand if I killed myself. “Show them what you’re made of,” Mom had said. “Ok, Mom,” I said out loud. It was time to show them what Christine Elliot is made of.

I felt the weight of my wet hair pulling my head backwards; I yielded to it and let my head go back as far as it would, putting my face directly into the stream of hot water. It felt so good to feel the heat on my face, the water cascading down my body. I opened my mouth and just stood there, enjoying the sensation of heat and wetness. I remembered a song I’d been learning and I started to sing. The more I sang and felt the water cleanse me, the better I felt. Soon I was singing at the top of my voice. I took the soap and washed myself, all the time singing song after song. There was a little bottle of shampoo in the shower, so I emptied it over my hair and washed it thoroughly.

By the time I emerged from the shower I was feeling my old self again, tingling all over from the hot water and the sensation of being clean. I dried myself and wrapped the towel around my head the way my mom had taught me and pulled on a pair of panties, then slipped into a nightie - the same nightie I’d been wearing when I was home - and exited the shower.

“That sounded really nice,” Carol exclaimed when I opened the door. “Feeling better?”
Uh-huh,” I said. I was a little surprised that she was back so soon, but then I guess I’d been in the shower a lot longer than it took to just clean a small girl. Carol had brought me a large tray with two grilled cheese sandwiches, a carton of milk and two cartons of apple juice. I attacked them and found that once the first mouthful of food slid down my throat I was ravenous. So I ate both sandwiches in record time, drank the milk as I ate, and then finished it off with one of the cartons of juice. “Thank you for the dinner,” I said as I ate. “I guess I was hungry after all.”
“I thought so,” she said with a big smile. “Sorry it wasn’t more, but the kitchen staff has already left for the day and most of the food gets put away and locked up. So why don’t you tell me why they’ve taken you away from home, and on a week end?”

As I started to talk, the alarm bells started going off in my head. Who was this lady anyway? Why was she so interested in me? Was she trying to trick me in some way? But then I didn’t have anything to hide, did I? So I would just tell her the truth, but there was no need to go into a lot of detail. Just the facts, Ma’am, I thought to myself. And so I told her enough that I thought she’d be satisfied, but I soon learned that there was no satisfying this woman. The more I told, the more she asked.

When I finished eating and put everything back on the tray as neatly as I could, I took the towel off my head and started the lengthy task of brushing out my long hair as it dried. Carol kept pumping me for more information, and I began to get more and more wary of her motives. For over an hour I brushed and talked, all the time trying to second guess Carol and tell her as little as possible without appearing uncooperative.

When I declared I was tired and wanted to go to bed, Carol said that was fine, but she would have to go through my things first. Because this was a psych ward, I wasn’t allowed to be alone with anything that might be used as a suicide weapon. She went through my things and confiscated my hair brush and combs, pencils, a pair of nail clippers, and my toothbrush. “They’ll be in a basket at the nurses station,” she said. “You may have them any time you want them, but we can’t leave them in your room overnight. I’ll be off at 11 and I’m not working again till Monday, so you take care, ok?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I said as I settled down for sleep. “Could you please call my parents? I don’t think they know where I am and I’ve already been told I’m not allowed to call them. Would you please call them and tell them where I am? They’re gonna be pretty worried.”
“I don’t know if I can do that, Christine,” she said as she got up to leave.
Please?” I begged. “My dad gets so worried when he thinks I might be in trouble.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said as she left and locked the door. Right, I thought. “See what I can do” is adult/child talk for “no can do.” Everybody knows that.

I spent the rest of the week end studying, practicing my German, singing and going over various dance steps I’d been learning. I had no way of knowing, but the discipline that Josh and I had learned from Herman Marks was one of the best things that had ever happened to me. He, and our dance teachers before him, had taught us to concentrate totally on the task at hand. When we were singing or dancing, our entire consciousness was on the song that we were performing: we interpreted our dances because we were living the songs we were interpreting; when we sang we were not repeating the words someone else had written, we were living those words. So it was not at all uncommon for our facial expressions, tears, smiles, even laughter, to accompany our performances.

Because it was a weekend and there was minimal staff, plus the fact that as a new admittee on the psych unit, I was in a sort of isolation and therefore not allowed off the floor. So I spent most of my time locked in my room. Had it not been for my music, my studies, the fact that I could see and hear the music in my mind and perform to it, I think I would have gone crazy. As it was, Monday morning came almost before I knew it.

It was 10 AM before they came for me. I was up and ready to go at eight, but I heard nothing, no one had come into my room except to bring my breakfast. Finally Mr. Bagely himself showed up and walked into my room. “Are you ready to go, Christopher?” he said, a little more pleasantly than he’d been Friday night.
“All ready,” I answered. “And it’s Christine.”
“Whatever,” he said. “Come on, we’re due in court at 11.”

Mr. Bagely rushed me out to his car, then sped to the courthouse in record time. We were met in front of the building by a man who introduced himself as Mr. Asher, who whisked me out of the car and into a small room in the courthouse. “Don’t worry about that,” he said when I stopped to get my small overnight bag, “Bagely will bring it. We don’t have much time and I have to talk to you before we see the judge.”

In the interview room, Mr. Asher took a small tape recorder and put it on the table. “I’m going to record this interview,” he said as he pushed a button, “is that all right with you, Christopher?”
“Why?” I asked. “And it’s Christine, not Christopher.”
“It’s just standard procedure, nothing to worry about. Is it ok if I leave it on?”
“I guess so. But I still don’t understand why I’m here. Why do I have to go to court? Did I do something wrong? Am I gonna go to jail?”
“No, you’re not going to jail.”
“But I was locked up all weekend. Do they think I’m crazy?”
“No, Christopher,” he said with a sigh. “No one thinks you’re crazy. Now can we please get on with the interview?”
“I told you before, my name is Christine,” I said a little more animated. I was really beginning to get annoyed.

Mr. Asher eyed me curiously. “Where did you get that shiner?” he asked.
“I don’t see what that’s got to do with my being here,” I countered. “Why won’t anyone tell me anything? Why should I answer your questions when you won’t answer mine?”
“Because I’m your attorney, dammit.” Mr. Asher said as he slammed his fist on the table.
“You’re MY attorney? Did my dad hire you? Where is he? Why isn’t he here?”
“Your father didn’t hire me, Social Services did. Your father is the one we’re fighting here. We’re trying to stop the abuse. You’ve got to wake up, kid.”
“Then you’re not my lawyer,” I argued. “I’m not fighting my father, an’ I don’t want to. Unless you’ll tell me why I should fight my father I don’t see why I should answer your questions. I don’t fight anyone if I don’t even know why.”

I could see Mr. Asher’s face starting to get red, and I knew he was getting really mad. But that was ok by me because my own mood was less than great. I think Mr. Asher would have seriously thought about beating some information out of me, but there was a knock on the door and Mr. Bagely walked in. “Ten minutes,” he said to his lawyer, ignoring me. “You getting anywhere?”
“Ten minutes isn’t gonna cut it,” Asher replied.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I said. Believe it or not I really did have to go, and I knew somehow that I’d be in the courtroom for a long time.
“Can’t it wait?” Bagely said impatiently.
“I guess so,” I said, “that is if you don’t mind wiping up a puddle in the courtroom and washing out my clothes. I told you, I have to go to the bathroom.”

I was ushered unceremoniously to the men’s room where I refused to go in. Frustrated beyond belief, Bagely led me to the ladies room. “Hurry up,” he muttered. “It’s five to eleven.”
“It’s what?” I said innocently.
“It’s time to go in,” he screamed. “Hurry up!”

When I walked into the courtroom, I saw my mom and dad sitting at a table in the front of the room. It was as if there was no one else in the room; no one else on the planet. “Mom! Dad!” I yelled as I bolted for them. As they turned and stood, Bagely and Asher grabbed my arms and stopped me. “Over here,” Mr. Asher said.
“But, my parents...” I protested.
“Over here!” Mr. Asher said again as he pulled me to the other side of the room and pushed me into a chair. I started to argue, but just then the bailiff called the court to order. I was just a dumb kid, but I knew enough to shut up when the judge came into the room. So I shut up and waited to see what would happen next.

To be continued...