Christine XVII: The Battle

As they went on with all the official stuff that opens a court session, I glanced around the room. It was full. Gail was there, along with her parents. The whole Reynolds family were there, as were Adam and his mother. Two or three staff members from the computer store were there, and I saw several of the doctors I’d been seeing over the past two years. Mr. Marks and Mr. Rollins were both there, along with three or four members of the orchestra. Mr. Morgan from the school board was there, as were Miss Anthony and Miss Banks, my third and fourth grade teachers. Now I knew where the report had come from and I told my parents as soon as I got a chance. Miss Banks, it seemed, was trying once more to have the last word. I saw a few other people whom I didn’t know. I supposed that they must be there just to watch the fun, although I failed to see where there would be any fun involved.

I smiled and nodded at those that I knew, exchanged a few looks with Josh that could only be described as... well, special. He had a look on his face that seemed to me almost like a fear. Well, why not? I had been feeling that same fear until I saw all those friends behind me. But then my attention was drawn back to the front of the room.

“This is a family court,” the judge said to everyone. “That means we don’t stand on ceremony here. Anyone who has something to say will be heard, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be order. According to these documents, this case concerns the custody of one minor child named Christopher Gerald Elliot. Mr. Bagely, are you ready to proceed?”
“Yes, your honor,” Bagely answered. “Mr Asher will be speaking on behalf of Child Protection.”
“An attorney?” the judge questioned. “Is that really necessary?”
“This is a complex case,” Bagely said. “The Child Protection Agency decided it would be best to have an attorney handle this case.”
“Very well,” the judge said. “Mr. Asher, proceed.”

Mr. Asher got up and described how “the child known as Christopher Elliot” had been apprehended from his home on Thursday evening and placed in foster care. The reason, he said, was that “the child” was being prepared for experimental surgery after having been forced to live as a girl for the past two years. He went on and on about how I had been totally brainwashed into believing that I had always been a girl, and that I needed to have surgery to alter what I’d been told was a birth defect to correct the obvious mistake that had been made when I’d been born. He made it sound so convincing, I knew that if I hadn’t lived it, I would have believed the story myself. My heart, and my hope, sank deeper the more Mr. Asher talked. But I should have known my dad would be ready. My dad was always ready. My dad wasn’t one to be walked on or picked on. My dad had never let me down, and if I had only stopped to think I should have known I had nothing to fear.

“Mr. Elliot,” the judge said, “are you prepared to answer these accusations?”
“I am, your honor,” My dad said. “But the future of my daughter is far too important for me to trust to myself. I am no lawyer, so I have engaged the services of Mr. Stevens to represent me, my wife, and Christine.”
“I was afraid of this,” the judge said. “In looking over the documents I have here I see repeated referrals to him, her, he, she, Christopher, Christine. For the purposes of this hearing, there is only one child and it’s a male. His name is Christopher. That’s what the documents say, and that’s what the birth certificate says. Are we all clear on that point?”
“Yes, your Honor,” Mr. Stevens said. Great! I thought to myself. My own lawyer just sold me down the river. Wonderful!

Mr. Stevens got up and asked to interview Mr.Bagely. Mr. Asher protested. “I have already explained that this is family court,” the judge said. “It seems reasonable to me that the accused face his accuser. Please take the stand, Mr. Bagely.”

“May I ask where you got your information, Mr. Bagely?” Mr. Stevens asked.
“I’m sorry,” he answered. “The source of our information is confidential. I am not at liberty to divulge my sources, and I am protected by law on that point.”
“Then I’ll ask a sightly different question. Can you tell the court the precise details of exactly what the accusations are?”
“I’m afraid I cannot. The social worker who did the research on this case has taken suddenly ill and is not available.”
“Not even to turn over her records?”
“That’s correct, sir.”

“Then may I ask, to your knowledge, has there been any sexual abuse?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Physical abuse?”
“No, sir, not if by physical abuse you mean beatings.”
“Might I ask how Christopher got the black eye? My client tells me he didn’t have it when he was apprehended last Thursday night.”
“No, sir, I’m not sure how he got it. I asked him about it but he wouldn’t tell me.”
“Where has Christopher been since Thursday night? I understand that there was no effort to obtain a court date last Friday.”
“He was placed in an emergency foster home Thursday night.”
“And the rest of the weekend? Did he remain in that foster home?”
“No, he did not. In light of his... er... sexual confusion, the foster mother could not really accommodate him, so he was moved.”
“To another foster home?”
“No, sir. He was hospitalized. We placed him in the psychiatric ward where he would be more comfortable and we could observe him.”
“Observe him? For what?”
“We were anxious to obtain any information we could about his psychological condition.”
“And what did you observe?”
“Nothing worth mentioning.”

Mr. Stevens was obviously getting frustrated. “Your Honor,” he complained, “I am trying to lay all the facts on the table here, but there simply don’t seem to be any facts. I must admit that in twenty years of practicing law, this is the first time I have had to represent a client whom I have never interviewed. I have never even met the child. I request a short recess so that Christopher can tell his parents and me his version of what happened to him since he was taken from his home last Thursday evening.”
“You should have made those arrangements before we all got here,” the judge said.
“We tried, your honor, but we were told that he simply was not available. He appeared in the courtroom only minutes before the hearing was to start.”
“All right,” the judge sighed. “Will fifteen minutes be enough?”
“Thirty would be better, your honor.”
“Very well. Court is adjourned for thirty minutes.”

“Your honor,” Mr. Bagely said, “I must protest under the circumstances. The reason for apprehending the child in the first place was to protect him from his parents. We have made every effort to keep them separated.”
“So it seems,” the judge answered. “The problem is, I see no reason for that isolation. I see no harm in allowing the parents to determine precisely what their child has experienced in the past three days. Court will resume in thirty minutes.”

Before anyone had a chance to stop me, I bolted again and this time made it across the room and into my mom’s waiting arms. “We’ve been so worried.” Mom said as I hugged her. “We had no idea where you were.”
“Didn’t Carol call you?” I asked.
“Who’s Carol?” Mom said. “There were no calls at all, except for all the people wishing you well and offering their support. You have a lot of friends, honey.”
“Time’s a-wasting,” Dad said as he stroked my hair. “Let’s get into the interview room and find out what’s going on.”

I told them about the foster home and how they had tried to get me undressed; how I’d got my black eye and how I didn’t want to get Randy in any trouble. I told of the hospital and of Carol, who Mr. Stevens said had obviously been given the job of interrogating me without letting me know that’s what she was doing. By the time the half hour was up I had pretty well filled them in on what had happened during the weekend.

When the hearing was resumed, Mr. Asher called a witness whose name I didn’t know. It turned out to be my “friend” Carol. “You were the admitting nurse who processed Christopher Elliot on Friday evening, is that correct?” Mr. Asher said.
“That’s correct,” Carol answered. “I was asked to make him comfortable, gain his confidence and learn all I could about his situation.”
“And what did you learn?”
“Not much, really, except that he is absolutely sure that he’s a girl. I didn’t see his genitals because he refused to undress in front of me, but in going through his things I saw no evidence of other than a young girl.”
“Did you observe anything else?”
“Yes, sir. I was off Friday at 11 PM. I was asked to observe Christopher for the remainder of the weekend without his knowledge. He exhibited some very strange behavior under the circumstances.”
“Could you please describe that behavior?”

Carol went on to describe how I would sit and read or write for an hour or so, then I appeared to be talking to myself, but in what seemed like a foreign language of some sort. Then I would start singing, sometimes dancing at the same time, all the time with a broad smile on my face as if I didn’t have a care in the world. “He seemed to have totally lost touch with reality,” Carol said in authoritative tone. “For a child to suddenly be removed from his home and spend two days singing and dancing, would suggest some pretty severe emotional problems.”

“She doesn’t understand.” I jumped up and yelled. “She’s twisting everything all around.”
“You’ll get your chance, Christopher,” the judge said. “For now please just sit quietly and listen.”
“He’d be more comfortable if he could sit with me,” Mom offered. “He’s only nine years old, your honor. I can’t see why he’s being isolated like some sort of criminal.”
“I agree,” the judge said. “Would you prefer to sit with your mother, son?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered in a shaky voice. “May I, please?”
“Of course you may.” he answered. I bolted across the room and curled up with my head on Mom’s breast.

“Let me see,” Mr. Stevens said, “if I understand correctly, you went through Christopher’s suitcase, is that correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“What exactly were you looking for?”
“Nothing in particular. It’s standard procedure when we admit a new patient.”
“Isn’t it also standard procedure to obtain consent before going through a patient’s private things?”
“Yes, sir, it is. But in this case...”
“Who signed the consent forms for Christopher Elliot?”
“I’m... I’m not sure...”
“But didn’t you process his admission?”
“Yes, sir. But this was a special case...”
“You also interrogated him, is that correct?”
“I interviewed him, yes.”
“And did you inform Christopher that he was being interrogated?”
“It wasn’t like a police interrogation. I was just trying to find out what I could about Christopher’s abusive home life.”
“And how is that different from an interrogation in a police station, other than your failure to inform the subject of your intentions?”

Mr. Stevens proceeded to tear Carol apart, hinting very strongly that she could well face legal action for invading my privacy by going through my things, questioning me and spying on me all weekend without benefit of consent from anyone, nor the necessary qualifications to question a child about his abusive situation. I was beginning to think that this guy knew what he was talking about after all. The hearing went on into the afternoon. The judge said that he had other cases to hear, but that he wanted to complete this one because my rights had already been violated enough. “The child has already been held two days longer than the law provides for,” he said. “Consequently no one leaves this courtroom until this matter is settled.”

Mr. Stevens called Dr. Reynolds, who testified that my two years of therapy had convinced him that on some level I was right: that I was more girl than boy in spite of the physical evidence. He referred to all the other doctors who had seen me and confirmed his findings. Now I understood his reasons for all those doctors. He had overwhelming evidence to support what I was beginning to learn was a pretty radical procedure for a young child.

Mr. Asher tried to make an issue of my having been withdrawn from school, but Mr. Stevens had my teachers and tutors, past and present, to confirm my claim that I was being well schooled. Miss Atkinson told what a charming little girl I was, that in the year she’d taught me she had seen no evidence that I was abused or coerced, nor did she see any evidence whatsoever that underneath the pretty clothes there was a boy. “If I hadn’t been forewarned,” she stated, “I never would have known that she was anything but a happy little girl.” Her testimony was pretty well negated by Miss Banks, who described me as spoiled and trying very hard to act a lot older than I actually was. Her version of my having left school was that I’d found her, my teacher, difficult to deal with so I had left to get away from her.

Mr. Marks explained my behavior in the hospital room as something that we could all benefit from, rather than writing it off as the rantings of an emotionally disturbed little child. Finally at 4:30, the judge was totally confused and frustrated. “I fail to see any justifiable reason for taking this child from his home,” he said as he ordered everyone to sit down. “We have a whole courtroom of experts, all with their own opinion about a pretty young child. If I had to make a decision right now I would have to rule in favor of sending the child home, but I wouldn’t feel right about it. Expert opinions are one thing, but when they disagree they serve to confuse more than help. At this moment I would be uncomfortable with whatever decision I make, so I’m going to try something else. Christopher, I would like to see you in my chambers; just you and me. Is that ok with you?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. Actually I was looking forward to telling my side of things, without all the interruptions and “I object’s” and legalese. The lawyers both objected strenuously, but the judge ordered then to shut up and sit down, and he escorted me into his private chambers.

I was totally blown away by the huge office, the wood paneling, the walls lined with thousands of books. I gawked about the room with my eyes and mouth wide open. “Perhaps you’ll have an office like this some day,” the judge said when he saw my admiration.
“No, sir,” I answered. “It’s very nice, but it seems awfully wasteful when lots of people don’t have an office at all.”
“Who do you know that doesn’t have an office?” he asked.
“My dad,” I replied. “He and my uncle own a computer store, but my dad had to give up his office to make more room ‘cause the business is growing so well.”
“Yes, I’m well aware of the business. You don’t recognize me, do you Christine?”
“Yes, sir, I do. You’re Judge Bennet, the man I built a computer for last fall. Is it working ok for you?”

The judge looked at me with a big smile on his face. I just realized that he had called me “Christine.” Had it been a slip? What in the world’s going on?
“You did an excellent job on that computer,” he answered. “I knew that you would, you seemed so conscientious. You are such an intelligent young lady. But what is all this business about you being a boy? Is someone trying to turn you into something you’re not?”
“No, sir. Well, yes, I guess so. I don’t know, sir. I’m so confused. All I know for sure is that I don’t feel right unless I’m a girl. I never did. But now no matter what I am, there’s always someone telling me I don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“How’s about you tell me in your own words how it all happened? Do you think you could do that?”
“Yes, sir. I think you might understand better, but it’s a very long story.”
“I’ll just bet it is. But I have as much time as it takes. Would you like a drink or something?”
“No thank you, sir. I’d rather just get this all over with.”

For the next two hours, I related to Judge Bennet the events beginning with my falling into the sewage pond and my resulting discovery, and all the things that had happened since that day. I cried a little as I re-lived some of those days, and we laughed together at some of the confusing situations I’d gotten myself into. “There’s one thing that concerns me,” the judge said when I had finished. “This hasn’t come out in the hearing, but it was included in the brief that Mr. Asher submitted. He stated that there is a concern that maybe your parents are pushing you towards surgery to preserve your young boy’s voice. I understand that your friend Mr. Marks believes you have a very bright future as a singer. Christine, have you ever heard of the castrati of Italy?”
“Yes, sir,” I responded. “Two hundred years ago in Italy there was a law that women were not allowed to sing in public, so they started castrating young boys so they could play women’s parts in operas and sing soprano in church choirs. They were usually castrated by the time they were eight years old, but they had to be done before their voice started to change at about twelve.”

The judge looked at me with a look that seemed to be boring holes into my head, as if to pull the information out. “This is very important, Christine,” he said. “Is that why you’re being scheduled for surgery this spring? You will be ten when they plan to do it, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “It’s supposed to be sort of a birthday present.”
“So please, Christine, help me out here. Is that the reason everyone is so gung ho to cut off your boy parts?”
“Not exactly, sir,” I said after giving it some thought. “Dr. Reynolds told me that most transgenders are operated on when they’re in their 20's or older. But they don’t cut off everything, only the testicles. Everything else is still there, but it’s sorta rearranged to form girl parts. My doctors all said they would rather wait until I’m older because sometimes a child can’t really make a decision like that. But there are certain advantages to doing it before puberty.

“Once my voice changes, they will have to do more surgery to make my voice higher again. Once I start to grow body hair, they will have to do a painful procedure called electrolysis to remove it. But if they do it now and start giving me girl hormones right away, they think I will develop a girl’s body naturally. But they’re not pushing me, sir. I’m the one that’s pushing to have it done before all those things happen. It just seems to me it’s kinda silly to let all those things change when they’re just gonna have to be changed back later. I love my voice and how I can sing so high, but that’s not the reason. I just get so tired of always having to be careful where I undress. I get so tired of wearing my special underwear all the time. I just wanna be normal, like all the other kids.”

“Special underwear?” the judge questioned. “What sort of special underwear?”
“My mom made it for me,” I answered. “I can show it to you if you like.”

The judge eyed me curiously. Had I just blown the whole thing? Why in the world had I offered to show him my underwear? What had I been thinking? “Christine,” he said after a long pause, “I’ve heard of several incidents where someone in authority: a teacher, social worker, foster mother, has tried to get you undressed and failed. As I recall, that’s how you got that black eye, isn’t it?”
“Y-yes sir, it is.”
“Then why in the world would you offer to show me your private area? It must be terribly embarrassing for you.”
“I... I dunno, sir. I guess I remembered something my mom said. She told me one time that I had to trust someone in my life, and my biggest job was to choose who I can trust and who I can’t. I think I can trust you, sir. And besides, my dad told me I had nothing to hide and I should tell you everything and be totally honest. He told me that you would be fair and honest, otherwise you wouldn’t be a judge in the first place. I have had to undress dozens of times so a doctor can examine and poke and probe, and I guess you’re kind of like a doctor. You need the information so you can make a good decision. So if it’ll help you make a decision, I have no problem showing you anything including my underwear.”

The judge said that if I didn’t mind, he would love to see my personal areas and the special underwear my mother had made for me. So after apologizing for it being less than clean because I hadn’t packed enough clean things for four days, I lifted my skirt and pulled down my panties, revealing my jockstrap looking device, designed to hold my boy parts tight against my body. I pulled down the restraint, showing how there was an indentation in the padding which had the effect of making my penis almost disappear to all but the closest scrutiny. The judge thanked me and I put myself back together.

He asked me about school. I told him that Josh and I were thoroughly enjoying Mr. Rollins, that we had finished the year as far as the school board was concerned, but that we were continuing to study and were well on the way to mastering basic German, as well as advanced music, stage presence, voice projection, all that sort of thing. I told him that I would love to return to public school before graduation, but not until I could be just a normal girl and change, shower, and participate in everything that all the other girls do. “I’m just so tired of being a girl that looks like a boy,” I said as I began to cry again. “Mr. Marks wants Josh and me to make a music CD and maybe even a video, and I think that’s really exciting. But what’s even more important to me is that everyone in the band, and Mr. Rollins, all just accept me as I am. They all know that I have boy parts, but they don’t care. They all just accept me as Christine. It’s kinda my chance to be normal, all the time, without always being afraid of getting into some situation where I’ll be embarrassed or teased.”
“You get a lot of teasing at school?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, at least I did in public school. I don’t get any now.”

“One more thing I have to cover with you, Christine,” the judge said. “You’re only nine years old. That’s very young, you know. You realize that if you have this surgery, it’s forever. You can’t change your mind in a year or two, when you see teenage boys doing things you want to do, like play football or go out with girls. If you go ahead with that surgery, it’s forever. Is that what you want?”
“Yes, sir, that’s what I want,” I said firmly. “But it really doesn’t matter what I want. It’s what I am. I would be glad to live my life as a boy if I could be a boy, but I can’t. Even before I started being Christine I wasn’t happy as a boy. I didn’t know why, I only knew that things just didn’t seem right. Now things are right. That’s what I want, sir: to be normal and feel that I belong. I never belonged when I was a boy.”
“Ok, thank you for being honest with me, honey,” the judge said. “Is there anything else you want to say before we go back?”

“Yes, sir, there is,” I answered. “I still don’t know exactly why we’re all here, but it seems to me that everybody is trying to tell me how I feel. I may be just a kid, but I KNOW how I feel. I KNOW I’ll never be happy as Christopher. So you can take me away from my parents if you like, and you can stop them from operating on me, but you can’t change how I feel. I’m not a boy, and I know I never can be, an’ I don’t care what kinda parts I’ve got. So please don’t make me live my life as a freak. Please?”
“You’re not a freak,” the judge said. “From all I’ve seen, you’re a very intelligent young lady. But it’s after six and I think I have all I need now, so let’s go back in, shall we?”

After the court was re-convened, the judge sat on his bench and shuffled through papers, made a few notes, then shuffled again for almost a half hour. Mr. Stevens asked me what had happened, but I just shrugged. I honestly didn’t know what the judge’s decision was going to be. He had certainly been nicer and more kind to me than I’d expected, but I was still in the dark about what he was thinking. But just in case, I began going over in my mind all the options I had in case his decision went against me. If he took me away from my parents, I would simply run away first chance I got. If he blocked the surgery, I would find a way to do it myself. Silly perhaps, but to a very desperate nine year old these things made perfect sense.

“I have been judging family law for fifteen years,” the judge began. “There aren’t very many cases in which I haven’t learned something, but I’ve learned more in this case than in any other I have ever heard. This is the first time I’ve encountered such a thing as this. Here we have a young boy who is absolutely convinced that he’s not a boy at all, but a girl. I’ve learned something about human nature, and I’ve learned more than I can ever express about children. I can only hope that everyone else has learned something.

“As I said at the beginning of this hearing, the documents in front of me discuss a male child named Christopher, not a girl named Christine. For that reason, and that reason alone, I am legally obligated to refer to the child in question as a boy named Christopher. My instincts are to discuss, and refer to, a very pretty, confident young lady named Christine. But I want to leave no doubt as to my ruling, so I will restrict myself to the legal definition and reference, which is Christopher, a nine year old boy.

“This is a very complex case with several issues involved. I shall try to deal with each of these issues one at a time. Incidentally, I apologize to all present for keeping you so late. I considered continuing the case until tomorrow, but young Christopher has been held in limbo far too long already. Everyone present has an axe to grind, and it’s high time we considered the reason we are here today: a very distressed young person who needs above all else a sense of stability. Christopher, you have my personal guarantee: We shall stay here as long as it takes to settle this matter once and for all.

“The first issue I wish to deal with is the manner in which Christopher was apprehended. The law provides a fair bit of latitude for child care professionals so that any child abuse can be stopped immediately, without the burden of the normal paperwork or bureaucracy. But as in all things, a degree of freedom is not totally free. With that freedom comes some responsibility. In exercising that freedom, the spirit of the law expects the professionals involved to use some responsibility and judgment. I see no evidence that there was any judgment at all in this case. I see no justification for having removed a perfectly happy child from his loving parents. You have shown me no evidence that any investigation was done other than the feeling or instincts of a social worker who is now unavailable. We don’t even know what was in her mind.

“Unfortunately that social worker was working within her power, so there is little we can do legally. However the Child Protection Agency is legally obligated to present its case before a judge within forty-eight hours to justify its actions. In this case it was more than 84 hours. Yes, it can be said there was an intervening weekend which complicated things, but there are ways around this problem. My very strong suspicion is that the extra time was used to find justification for what should never have happened in the first place. Well, unless you haven’t already guessed, Mr. Bagely, you failed!

“When I hear Christopher’s parents speak, and when I interviewed Christopher himself, I see a child who is loved and cherished by his parents. I see a child who has suffered a great deal of abuse; but that abuse has come not from his parents as Child Protection suggests, but from the very system that should be protecting him: his school, his peers, and the Agency itself. Even the church, which I always thought of as a refuge from all the turmoil of life, told a very eager and trusting eight year old that he, or she, wasn’t good enough to worship her God. There is no evidence whatsoever of the brainwashing that is suggested by the Agency. On the contrary, Mr. And Mrs. Elliot have done everything humanly possible to get to the truth in this matter. And the truth is, as nearly as anyone can determine, that Christopher is correct: he is really a girl who was unfortunate in having been born in a boy’s body. So your petition to remove the child from his parents, Mr. Bagely, is denied.

“I have heard testimony from several experts, none of whom have ever examined nor even met Christopher, saying that it is impossible for a nine year old to make any kind of realistic judgment about his gender. I have also heard testimony and read reports from experts who have examined and interviewed Christopher. They all agree that Christopher is indeed a girl in every sense except her physical appearance. Therefore the court has no alternative but to support the Elliot’s in their quest to seek corrective surgery to right a wrong that was done at birth. With the innocence and logic that can only come from a child, Christopher has suggested that his situation is a simple birth defect. I am in no position to judge such a claim, but four doctors have taken the position that his explanation is as good as any. Hopefully, with my support added to those of the doctors involved, Mr. Elliot can obtain some financial assistance from his insurance company.

“The suggestion has also been made that the fact that Christopher’s abuse includes depriving him from his right and obligation to attend school. As I understand it he was removed from public school in January and declared a home schooler. Well, I have been given documents, confirmed by Christopher himself, that he has already finished the school year scholastically, and it’s only March. But Christopher isn’t about to stop there. He continues to study not only his curriculum, but also his music, and he is fast becoming very fluent in one foreign language and looking forward to learning two more. So your suggestion that Christopher is suffering in any way from being taken out of the public school system is pure nonsense, Mr. Bagely.

“Finally, we come to the subject of this lengthy hearing: the child known as Christopher himself. We spent two hours together alone in my chambers, and I found him, or her, an absolutely delightful child. She is dedicated and committed; she is focused and motivated. She has found herself in a rather difficult situation, but rather than fold into a weeping blob who waits for her parents to solve the problem for her, she has busied herself in doing considerable research both on the Internet and in the public library. There were times I had to remind myself that I was talking to a nine year old; she seemed more like nineteen. But then something would tickle her funny bone and I would hear the delightful, musical, enchanting sound of a small girl’s laughter. I would give anything in the world to hear that charming giggle every day as you undoubtedly do, Mr. and Mrs. Elliot. Christopher is in a great deal of distress bordering on severe depression, but I believe that her distress will vanish once she is reunited with her loving family.

“That was a whole lot of verbosity to express a very simple ruling: Your request to obtain custody of Christopher Elliot is denied, Mr. Bagely. Your request for a restraining order to prevent his upcoming surgery is denied. Furthermore I am issuing a restraining order against you and your agency, Mr. Bagely. You are not to interfere with this family in any way unless you have substantial evidence. Even then, your rights to apprehend the child in question without the benefit of a court hearing is revoked. In simple terms, you had better do your homework very thoroughly before you interfere with the Elliot’s in any way. This court is adjourned, and about time. It’s almost eight o’clock. Christine, God be with you as you face your surgery.”

I couldn’t help it. I knew better, but the child in me took over. As Judge Bennet started to leave his bench, I bolted out of my seat and ran to him and hugged him, tears streaming down my face. I was getting pretty good at this bolting business. Josh told me later that he saw tears in the judge’s eyes too, but things were far too blurry for me to see it. I thanked him profusely and promised that time would show him that he was right. He hugged me back and said something to the effect that he would appreciate that, and then he was gone into his chambers, and I was hugging all the allies that I’d had in the courtroom. I was going home!

“You scared me so bad when you disappeared,” Josh said when we were all back at our house.
“Me too,” Gail agreed. “I was beginning to think we were in Russia or something. They never tell us in school that the government can do things like that in America.”
“They can’t,” my dad said. “Some folks think they can do it and get away with it, but all it takes is a court hearing like we just had. I don’t think they’ll be trying something like that again any time soon.”

Things started happening pretty fast after that. Dad and Dr. Reynolds put their heads together and began planning. Dr. Reynolds had been talking with some of his doctor friends, and before I knew it I was scheduled for admission to the University Hospital one month after my tenth birthday. He long ago had decided that the full SRS surgery was far beyond Dr. Chalmers’ capability, and he wanted the best for, as he put it, his future daughter in law. And the best part of all was that Johnny wasn’t going to have to cancel his new Corvette. Mr. Marks presented Josh and me with a retainer, a check for more than enough to cover the surgery provided we agree to work with him one more year and make one CD. That was easy enough for Josh and me: doing what we loved, free private tutor, and a whole career if things worked out and we wanted it.

The next two months were a total blur for me. I was examined and probed, questioned and investigated more than a laboratory rat. I remember thinking that I should just go on TV so the whole world could watch as my private parts were examined, handled, squeezed and pricked with needles. I had blood tests and x-rays; there were sonograms and cardiographs. At least a dozen doctors and as many students had to see for themselves this young kid who was born with the wrong parts. But it was really beginning to look as if this was it. It was finally going to happen for me.

In between medical appointments and finishing up odds and ends of the school year, Josh, Gail and I were spending more and more of our time at the computer store, which was quickly becoming more than just a computer store. We three spent most of our time assembling new computers, but I had also been assigned one of our larger accounts, a company called Insurance International, which had hired our company to manage all their network and other computer activities. They had been somewhat dubious about having a ten year old girl handle their business, but Dad had assured them that I was quite capable, and would have plenty of backup if I ran into difficulties. Most of my work involved assisting at their help desk, which was in our building, and helping their users with simple problems. Obviously the backup was necessary because, for one thing, I couldn’t drive so I couldn’t get there quickly if the need arose, and I still had school and all those medical appointments. So about one week before the scheduled date of the surgery, I spent the day making sure all the projects I was involved in were up to date and documented.

I spent almost two hours going over various things I’d been involved in at Insurance International with Justin, my backup. He was one of the newer employees, a recent college graduate. He was very smart and extremely handsome, and from the day of his arrival had made no secret of his attraction to me. No, I don’t think he was attracted to me sexually or romantically, but more of a little sister. He knew about my situation, and he had told me how much he admired my courage in going forward with the feelings in my heart, to say nothing of my dedication to my job which was part time at best. I think I liked Justin every bit as much as he liked me... after all it wasn’t every new college grad that would allow himself to be told what to do by a ten year old girl; so a solid friendship had formed instantly.

At around 3:30 on Friday afternoon, the last day I was to work, I realized that Justin still had the computer he’d been assigned the day he arrived: one of the older, slower models. “That won’t do,” I said firmly. “I’ll go get you a new model out of the store room. Most of the software is already loaded, so I’ll just go get it and you can make the final adjustments Monday morning.” Justin protested, saying the one he had was fine for now, but I would not be denied. “Josh and Gail have been cranking out new computers all week,” I said. “One of ‘em might as well be on your desk as sitting back in the storage room.”

Being the boss’ daughter brought with it several perks, including a key to the store room and unlimited authority to hand out computer equipment. Other than Gail and me, only the senior managers had that kind of clout. So I quickly grabbed an equipment cart and headed for the store room where we kept about 100 computers, all assembled and loaded, ready to go. I was rushing now, because the afternoon was disappearing before my eyes. I ran to the door and quickly inserted my key, turned it, and called “I’ll just be a minute” over my shoulder as I pushed open the door. As it opened I reached in and flipped on the light. Then the sight before me caused me to freeze in my tracks.

To be continued...