"Injustice" by Cheyenne Harbison
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"Injustice" by Cheyenne Harbison
The following story has been selected as a featured runner-up in our 2015 short story contest (Contest Theme - "The Self-Destructiveness of Vengeance and Hate")
"Injustice" by Cheyenne Harbison
The date is January 20th, 2015. President Barack Obama is reciting his State of the Union Address. In this address, he states, “Condemn the persecution of women, or religious minorities, or people who are lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgender. We do these things not only because they’re right, but because they make us safer.” By making this statement, President Obama becomes the first president in U.S. history, not only to mention the homosexual/transgender minorities in his address, he included them with other at-risk divisions of Americans.
She sulks down the hallway, her cheeks flushed of their normal rosy color. Her backpack feels heavier than usual and her outfit appears to be thrown together. Everyone stares as she enters the classroom. Being the new girl, she doesn’t have many friends, so she finds a seat in the back. As the teacher, Mr. Hiddleston, calls roll, she opens her journal and begins to write.
“Mandy, Jessica, David,” He calls out. The students give a monotonous “here,” as he continues. “Justin.” There was no answer. He calls out again, this time a little impatient. “Justin?” Some of the students look up and around the classroom. “Justin Walker!” The girl looks up, embarrassed.
“It’s J-Justine.” Everyone stares at her.
Mr. Hiddleston checks his documents. “There’s no Justine in this class. Walker, Justin Eric. Male, sixteen,” he looks up from his papers. “That’s you.”
“No! I’m… not a boy!” she shrieks, and fearing her masculine voice, withdrawals into silence.
Someone begins to laugh. “Oh my God,” snickers a blonde in the front, “you’re transgender!”
In tears, she grabs her bag and dashes out of the room.
Whether or not they have parental support, trans kids know that for them, the world is going to be full of challenges, discrimination, and pain that few others can or will ever understand. –Terri Cook, Transgender Activist
She slams the thick mahogany door as she enters her house. Tears rushing down her face, she bounds up the marble stairway, stalks to her bedroom, and throws her things onto the floor. She runs to her personal bathroom and retrieves a brightly colored box from under the sink cabinet. She pulls out a few small clothes: a pair of tiny white socks with blue lace, a green striped onesie, and a small baby bib with “Justin Eric” engraved in cursive. She presses them to her face and uses them to wipe her tears away, along with some of her smeared mascara.
The front door bangs downstairs as Mr. Walker storms in, yelling over the phone. She gasps and stuffs everything back in the box; she hides it back under the sink. Peering into the mirror, she wipes away her remaining tears and makeup and presses her ear to the bathroom door. She waited until she heard the familiar thud of her father’s office door to make a break for her bedroom. She shuts the door and engages the lock. Sighing, she changes out of her feminine garb, removes her wraps, and pulls on a loose tee and boy’s shorts. She pushes her bangs back, sneaking downstairs to get a snack from the kitchen when she runs into her mother.
“Justin?” She gives her a hug. “Nice to see you, Honey,” Francine grabs her by both shoulders. “What’re you doing home so soon?”
She shoves her mother off and goes to the fridge. “Got out early.” She goes to the cabinet and begins gathering things for supper. “So,” she starts, “what’re you doing here? I thought you were on your way to Moscow for the presentation.”
“My flight was suspended. I’ll be on the next plane to Russia by tomorrow morning.” She retrieves the dishes from the cupboard and hands them to her daughter. “Set the table and let your father know that dinner will be ready soon, Justin.” She pauses a brief moment before striding into the dining room.
Once the table is set, she silently strolls down the hall to her father’s study, and grasps the door’s brass knob. She hesitates, but decides to knock first. She could hear him yelling through the door.
“No, the schedules are all wrong. The meeting discussing the merger is Tuesday of next week, you moron!” Silence, and then, “Then what the hell am I paying you for? Just fix it, God dammit!” She knocks again. “Hold on, I’ll have to call you back. Come in.” She slowly enters the lavish study. “Oh, Justin,” says her father. “What’s up, pal?” He sits up.
“Mom told me to tell you dinner is almost ready.”
“Oh, all right.” He becomes preoccupied by the paperwork in front of him. She stands awkwardly by the door until he notices and says, “You’re dismissed.”
Proceeding to her room, she locks the door and lies on her sizeable daybed, trying to imagine what life would be like if she were normal. If only she were in the right body. If only people could understand. Her best friend had told her to come out to her parents; maybe they would understand. But she knows they won’t, just like everyone else. Her secret could destroy the Walker family prestige. Society’s idea of ‘The Perfect Family Unit’ would capsize. It is a move she has to make eventually; she decides it can wait.
But as she sits up and looks at the façade around her, the less convinced she is that hiding from her parents is the right thing to do. The sports awards she has received over the years, the men’s name brand clothing, pictures of sports cars and women in bikinis are all a hoax. She is tired of hiding her feminine clothes and makeup, and waiting until her father left to leave for school. She wants to be herself. She wants people to see her for who and what she is on the inside. She is a girl. She knows she is. She is supposed to be, anyways.
She doesn’t bother checking her email. The hate already began pouring in before she even got home. Instead, she heads downstairs for dinner.
Trans people are treated as though being trans carries with it an obligation to accept intrusive, highly personal questions about their bodies- questions that are never posed to or asked about cisgender folk… The sense of entitlement with which these questions are asked implies that anyone and everyone has the right to know what is going on underneath a transgender person’s clothing, and this includes transgender teenagers and children. –Liz Hanssen, Huffington Post
Dinner is quiet as per usual. No one talks for a long time until Mr. Walker pushes his seat back and makes a reserved gesture to his wife. As he clears his throat, she looks up from her food. “Honey,” her mother starts, “we received a call from your school this afternoon.”
“I’m not going back there.” She mutters.
“Now son, don’t be ridiculous. You’ve transferred from two schools already.”
“Just tell us what the problem is,” her mother interrupts, “we can get you help, Justin.”
“It’s Justine.” She whispers.
Her mother struggles to hear her. ”What was that, Justin?”
She stands up. “It’s Justine!” She backs up towards the stairway. “And I’m a girl.”
Imagine resigning yourself to not ever using the bathroom in a public place. For trans people this is often a reality. Those who are in transition or do not pass on the outside as clearly male or clearly female are thrown out of both men’s and women’s restrooms on a daily basis. Some places provide unisex or family bathrooms, but the majority does not. If a trans person wants to go out and enjoy a concert, sporting event, or simply a day outside the home, he or she must make concessions that most people never have to think about. -Nicholas Teich, Huffington post
Her mother looks to her husband, horrified. “Ryan?” He just stares at the both of them. “Honey, say something!”
Finally, he answered, “Justin, or Justine, just tell us what the problem is. We can find someone to help you.”
“It’s me,” She cries, “I’m the problem! I don’t fit in my body! I’m a girl on the inside, where it really counts. I know I’m physically a boy, but I didn’t choose this! I don’t want you to hate me, too.”
Francine began to protest, then faltered. “Sweetie, are you a homosexual?”
“It’s transgender, Mom. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” She turns away, anticipating disaster. Instead, her mother embraces her.
“We love you, Justine, and, although I don’t understand what you’re going through, we will find help for you in any way you need. You don’t have to run away or hurt yourself.” She kisses her forehead.
“Lies and secrets destroy families.” her father says, walking over to them. “You are family. Blood doesn’t discriminate.” They all embrace, and begin to tidy up the dining room table, together.
In America we have seen that teenage suicide because of bullying has reached epidemic proportions. Many of these kids are LGBT, and most of them are tainted due to some component of their gender expression… No one should have to suffer because of who he or she is, but we know that reality tells us differently. People have been bullied and persecuted for who they are since the dawn of time. But we are not defenseless. The more education that is out there about what it means to be different, the better. –Nicholas Teich, Huffington Post
"Injustice" by Cheyenne Harbison
The date is January 20th, 2015. President Barack Obama is reciting his State of the Union Address. In this address, he states, “Condemn the persecution of women, or religious minorities, or people who are lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgender. We do these things not only because they’re right, but because they make us safer.” By making this statement, President Obama becomes the first president in U.S. history, not only to mention the homosexual/transgender minorities in his address, he included them with other at-risk divisions of Americans.
She sulks down the hallway, her cheeks flushed of their normal rosy color. Her backpack feels heavier than usual and her outfit appears to be thrown together. Everyone stares as she enters the classroom. Being the new girl, she doesn’t have many friends, so she finds a seat in the back. As the teacher, Mr. Hiddleston, calls roll, she opens her journal and begins to write.
“Mandy, Jessica, David,” He calls out. The students give a monotonous “here,” as he continues. “Justin.” There was no answer. He calls out again, this time a little impatient. “Justin?” Some of the students look up and around the classroom. “Justin Walker!” The girl looks up, embarrassed.
“It’s J-Justine.” Everyone stares at her.
Mr. Hiddleston checks his documents. “There’s no Justine in this class. Walker, Justin Eric. Male, sixteen,” he looks up from his papers. “That’s you.”
“No! I’m… not a boy!” she shrieks, and fearing her masculine voice, withdrawals into silence.
Someone begins to laugh. “Oh my God,” snickers a blonde in the front, “you’re transgender!”
In tears, she grabs her bag and dashes out of the room.
Whether or not they have parental support, trans kids know that for them, the world is going to be full of challenges, discrimination, and pain that few others can or will ever understand. –Terri Cook, Transgender Activist
She slams the thick mahogany door as she enters her house. Tears rushing down her face, she bounds up the marble stairway, stalks to her bedroom, and throws her things onto the floor. She runs to her personal bathroom and retrieves a brightly colored box from under the sink cabinet. She pulls out a few small clothes: a pair of tiny white socks with blue lace, a green striped onesie, and a small baby bib with “Justin Eric” engraved in cursive. She presses them to her face and uses them to wipe her tears away, along with some of her smeared mascara.
The front door bangs downstairs as Mr. Walker storms in, yelling over the phone. She gasps and stuffs everything back in the box; she hides it back under the sink. Peering into the mirror, she wipes away her remaining tears and makeup and presses her ear to the bathroom door. She waited until she heard the familiar thud of her father’s office door to make a break for her bedroom. She shuts the door and engages the lock. Sighing, she changes out of her feminine garb, removes her wraps, and pulls on a loose tee and boy’s shorts. She pushes her bangs back, sneaking downstairs to get a snack from the kitchen when she runs into her mother.
“Justin?” She gives her a hug. “Nice to see you, Honey,” Francine grabs her by both shoulders. “What’re you doing home so soon?”
She shoves her mother off and goes to the fridge. “Got out early.” She goes to the cabinet and begins gathering things for supper. “So,” she starts, “what’re you doing here? I thought you were on your way to Moscow for the presentation.”
“My flight was suspended. I’ll be on the next plane to Russia by tomorrow morning.” She retrieves the dishes from the cupboard and hands them to her daughter. “Set the table and let your father know that dinner will be ready soon, Justin.” She pauses a brief moment before striding into the dining room.
Once the table is set, she silently strolls down the hall to her father’s study, and grasps the door’s brass knob. She hesitates, but decides to knock first. She could hear him yelling through the door.
“No, the schedules are all wrong. The meeting discussing the merger is Tuesday of next week, you moron!” Silence, and then, “Then what the hell am I paying you for? Just fix it, God dammit!” She knocks again. “Hold on, I’ll have to call you back. Come in.” She slowly enters the lavish study. “Oh, Justin,” says her father. “What’s up, pal?” He sits up.
“Mom told me to tell you dinner is almost ready.”
“Oh, all right.” He becomes preoccupied by the paperwork in front of him. She stands awkwardly by the door until he notices and says, “You’re dismissed.”
Proceeding to her room, she locks the door and lies on her sizeable daybed, trying to imagine what life would be like if she were normal. If only she were in the right body. If only people could understand. Her best friend had told her to come out to her parents; maybe they would understand. But she knows they won’t, just like everyone else. Her secret could destroy the Walker family prestige. Society’s idea of ‘The Perfect Family Unit’ would capsize. It is a move she has to make eventually; she decides it can wait.
But as she sits up and looks at the façade around her, the less convinced she is that hiding from her parents is the right thing to do. The sports awards she has received over the years, the men’s name brand clothing, pictures of sports cars and women in bikinis are all a hoax. She is tired of hiding her feminine clothes and makeup, and waiting until her father left to leave for school. She wants to be herself. She wants people to see her for who and what she is on the inside. She is a girl. She knows she is. She is supposed to be, anyways.
She doesn’t bother checking her email. The hate already began pouring in before she even got home. Instead, she heads downstairs for dinner.
Trans people are treated as though being trans carries with it an obligation to accept intrusive, highly personal questions about their bodies- questions that are never posed to or asked about cisgender folk… The sense of entitlement with which these questions are asked implies that anyone and everyone has the right to know what is going on underneath a transgender person’s clothing, and this includes transgender teenagers and children. –Liz Hanssen, Huffington Post
Dinner is quiet as per usual. No one talks for a long time until Mr. Walker pushes his seat back and makes a reserved gesture to his wife. As he clears his throat, she looks up from her food. “Honey,” her mother starts, “we received a call from your school this afternoon.”
“I’m not going back there.” She mutters.
“Now son, don’t be ridiculous. You’ve transferred from two schools already.”
“Just tell us what the problem is,” her mother interrupts, “we can get you help, Justin.”
“It’s Justine.” She whispers.
Her mother struggles to hear her. ”What was that, Justin?”
She stands up. “It’s Justine!” She backs up towards the stairway. “And I’m a girl.”
Imagine resigning yourself to not ever using the bathroom in a public place. For trans people this is often a reality. Those who are in transition or do not pass on the outside as clearly male or clearly female are thrown out of both men’s and women’s restrooms on a daily basis. Some places provide unisex or family bathrooms, but the majority does not. If a trans person wants to go out and enjoy a concert, sporting event, or simply a day outside the home, he or she must make concessions that most people never have to think about. -Nicholas Teich, Huffington post
Her mother looks to her husband, horrified. “Ryan?” He just stares at the both of them. “Honey, say something!”
Finally, he answered, “Justin, or Justine, just tell us what the problem is. We can find someone to help you.”
“It’s me,” She cries, “I’m the problem! I don’t fit in my body! I’m a girl on the inside, where it really counts. I know I’m physically a boy, but I didn’t choose this! I don’t want you to hate me, too.”
Francine began to protest, then faltered. “Sweetie, are you a homosexual?”
“It’s transgender, Mom. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” She turns away, anticipating disaster. Instead, her mother embraces her.
“We love you, Justine, and, although I don’t understand what you’re going through, we will find help for you in any way you need. You don’t have to run away or hurt yourself.” She kisses her forehead.
“Lies and secrets destroy families.” her father says, walking over to them. “You are family. Blood doesn’t discriminate.” They all embrace, and begin to tidy up the dining room table, together.
In America we have seen that teenage suicide because of bullying has reached epidemic proportions. Many of these kids are LGBT, and most of them are tainted due to some component of their gender expression… No one should have to suffer because of who he or she is, but we know that reality tells us differently. People have been bullied and persecuted for who they are since the dawn of time. But we are not defenseless. The more education that is out there about what it means to be different, the better. –Nicholas Teich, Huffington Post
