Just Passing

26. Bathrooms

Blake and I walk down the hallway and into the main office. "I'm just going to use the bathroom first," he tells me. It's not even a question; not a request. It's habitual.

"Yup," I respond casually and go take a seat in the tutorial room. But as I wait for Blake, I start to get a little annoyed. He doesn't usually take super long. Only around three minutes. But, when you only have thirty minutes to work with a kid, those few minutes represent ten percent of the whole work period. And that time adds up. I start to do the math. Three minutes per session, two sessions per week, and approximately thirty weeks that we'll meet this year. That's 180 minutes! If he does this every time we meet, then that's three whole hours of work time literally flushed away.

I finish up my calculations right as Blake makes it back into the room. My face must be giving my agitation away, because as soon as he sits down he asks, "What's wrong?"

"Blake, I was just thinking about how every session you start by spending three of our minutes in the bathroom. That's precious time. We don't have that long to work together. Do you think that maybe you could plan things out and go before math on the days we work together?"

It seems like a reasonable ask.

But the way Blake shifts in his chair, I realize that I've missed something. Something important.

Oh shit. How stupid am I?

I've been passing as a man almost my entire adult life, yet I still take pause before entering a men's room. Could that be what's going on?

"Okay, okay, let me backup here. Is there a reason why you wait to go to the bathroom until we meet?"

"I don't know," he mumbles, looking down at his shoes.

Fuck, is he going to cry? There's nothing worse than putting your foot in your mouth and making a kid go to tears. But, this is also where Ms. Reid might have been right. As a trans guy myself, maybe I have insight that an ally wouldn't have.

I try to confirm my suspicions by getting a little personal. "I've always hated public restrooms. Even after I came out and started to be myself all the time. So much so that in college I knew where every single-occupancy bathroom was on campus, and I would plan accordingly. Sometimes I would be late to a class because I had to go so far out of my way to use a restroom where I was comfortable."

Finally, he looks up at me. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. And I still prefer a single-occupancy restroom. They just feel more..."

"Safe," he finishes my sentence for me.

It's only been –what?– nine days since I came out to Blake, but in some ways that feels like forever ago. And in this moment I am so grateful that I did.

"Yes, safe." We make eye contact. He no longer seems on the verge of crumbling. "Is that why you wait to go to the bathroom until it's time to come to my office? Because I let you use the single-occupancy restroom?"

He nods, his face serious.

I nod back in return. "You can come here to use the bathroom anytime. And, you know there is a private bathroom in the nurse's office too, right?"

"On days that I don't see you, I wait until lunch to use her bathroom because it's closer to the cafeteria," he admits.

A few more pieces fall into place.

"You wait?"

"Mm-hmm," he nods again.

Maybe that's why he is so fidgety during math, because it's an hour after snack and just before lunch. He's not nervous, he doesn't have performance anxiety: the kid's just gotta go. I guess I need to float this theory past Ms. Dunn.

Is he embarrassed to walk down to a single-occupancy restroom when there is a boy's room so close to his class? Does he not want to be gone from class for so long? Or, maybe he doesn't realize that he's allowed to use the single-occupancy restrooms whenever he wants.

"Blake, can I ask you why you don't feel comfortable using the boy's room that's right down the hall from your class?"

"I don't know. It's not like a big deal or anything." His eyes fall back onto his shoes.

Well, that's a sure sign that he does in fact know.

Someone who is an ally might say that they understand, but I've actually been in these situations. I do understand, and therefore, I can share my wisdom. Right?

Wisdom. That's funny. What wisdom? I just started T, got hairy, and never got questioned about whether or not I belonged in the men's restroom. Honestly, I'm not sure I've never been harangued in a men's room. Guys are oblivious to other guys. No one looks at each other. It's women's rooms where I got harassed back when I identified as butch.

The silence between us stretches as I try to come up with an adequate response. An appropriate next question or anecdotal story. But before I can muster up the words, Blake asks, "Is it true that boys have to pee in the urinals?"

"What? No. Lots of guys use the stalls." This is starting to feel a little too personal. Is talking about where to pee crossing a boundary? If not, it's starting to get close. But at the same time, is this a question he is only comfortable asking me because he knows that I am trans?

"There's only two stalls in the boy's room."

"Yeah, the layout of boy's bathrooms is different from girl's bathrooms. But there are still stalls. Did someone say something to you?" Just because Ms. Dunn has made sure that Blake isn't getting bullied in class doesn't mean things aren't happening in other places around the school.

"Well..." he hesitates. "A fifth grader told me that stalls were reserved for, um, you know, not just peeing, and if I couldn't use a urinal then I shouldn't be using the boy's room at all." His ears have turned redder than hot coals by the time he is done. But I'm glad he suffered through the embarrassment to tell me about this exchange.

"Blake, thank you for letting me know this. What that kid said is not correct. You have every right to use the boy's room whenever you need to. And stalls are for whatever business you need them for. When did this happen?"

"On the first day of school."

Jesus. Why didn't he say anything earlier? "Do you know the name of the fifth grader?"

"Yeah." He lets out a long exhale, obviously not happy about naming names. "Danny."

"Danny Sumpter?" I could see it. Smug kid, thinks he's slick.

"I think that's his last name."

"Okay, Blake. I think we need to let Ms. Reid know what happened. It's important that you feel safe."

"I don't want Danny to get in trouble." His eyes widen. "He'll know I said something."

"This isn't about Danny getting in trouble. It's about making sure you feel supported." I insist.

"I do feel supported. It's just that some people, like Danny, are ... are ... jerks."

"Some people just need to learn. Most people don't know anyone who's trans, so they can say mean stuff out of ignorance. This won't be about getting Danny in trouble, it will be about educating him."

"But you're trans, and Danny has known who you are since kindergarten," he retorts.

It stings, but he is right. Because I outed myself to Blake, I can share stories of my own struggle. But because I'm not out to anyone else, he's still the first and only trans person most of his peers and teachers will have known that they know. Even though they knew me first. And by publicly only being an ally, and not a fellow-trans-person, that's a burden that I'm forcing him to carry all on his own.