Authenticity by Omission

My gaze locked in on her from across the room. I imagined how it would feel to run my hands through her thick black locks cascading down the back of her blue blazer. She reminded me of the illustrations of Eve in our Bible study workbooks. Because of her, I have come to understand why perfection and sin are oxymorons. Her forehead held a slight wrinkle as she concentrated on the reading our sociology professor had assigned for class discussion. She would never hesitate to provide some thought--provoking comment during these discussions, which appeared two or three levels beyond what we had read. Professor Jenkins showed her appreciation by instructing the rest of us to “consider further. “Jenkins enthusiasm was always followed by an uncomfortable silence because collectively, the girl’s insight was viewed by most of the sophomore class as irritating.

First of all, it remains a mystery how someone so young knew more than we did. She was only 12. She had this heightened awareness that generated discomfort and envy. Since her arrival the gossip line circulated that she had lived in Europe most of her life because her parents are military. That would also explain her fluency in French, another class that we shared. When she recited a French lesson, her voice sounded like the Slow Jam channel I listened to when mom went to Bible Study. Whatever the reason for her academic prowess, it resulted in an unspoken mandate around campus that no one was permitted to help or befriend her. Envy is cruel. Secretly I found her fascinating. Besides, she didn’t appear to need our help with anything. She had been labelled a suck up and teacher’s pet. Her name is Tess,

Tess’s uniform was always military neat, not one piece of it out of place unlike those of us scolded daily for a loosened ie or shirt not tucked in. Five minutes before the final bell we would begin loosening our elts and when that final bell rang, we dashed to the parking lot, pulling off our blazers and sweater vests before we reached our parents’ cars. I always looked back at Tess when I passed her in the hall, her saddle shoes gliding effortlessly towards her father’s truck. She smiles, “Hi Daddy.” as she climbs in the front seat.

I wondered how she was able to lift herself on to the elevated front seat without any rise o her knee length pleated skirt. Mom had parked right next to their truck and I acknowledged her with a head nod before mom pulled off. Tess nodded in back and I didn't assume what the slight smile meant.

“What’s going on with you?” Mom noticed. “You look like you are going to faint.” She reached over and felt my forehead. “Are you coming down with something? You don’t have a fever.”

“I’m fine.” As I moved her hand from my forehead. “My final class is just a pain. We started calculus today and you know math is not my thing.”

“Well do the best you can. We can always get a tutor before finals. We don’t want your GPA to take a hit. Just let me know if you start feeling overwhelmed.”

“Yeah, okay,” and I chuckled to myself as I closed my eyes and let my head fall back on the head rest. I was already overwhelmed and it had nothing to do with my GPA. I didn’t need a tutor in calculus but a life coach to teach me how to navigate my life and all the decisions no tenth grader should have to consider. The weight was getting too heavy. There was no one I trusted enough to talk to about all the feelings I was experiencing. I tried to talk to Dad but couldn’t put my words together enough for him to understand. And definitely not Mom. She seems so stressed lately. She had started her own design studio and was always emphasizing to me how good relationships will equal more business for her store...

“That Holland girl is so pretty. With her parents having lived in Europe and all, I bet her mother has some excellent design ideas. I should call her. Do you and that girl ever talk, Sydney? Remember, it never hurts to network.”

I knew how important being accepted by the other parents was to Mom and my behavior academically and socially played a huge role in that need. It has taken me a long time to be accepted by my classmates. When I got here last year, I was the nerdy one moving from the county named after a confederate general. I was viewed as an oddball who talked like a white person. Mom told me that I needed to expand my involvement in the activities and opportunities available, so I ran for sophomore student council. Much to my surprise and Mom’s delight I was elected. Within a week, I was included in meetings regarding ideas for the upcoming sophomore year and received invitations from tight knit cliches that had shunned me just months before. I was still a misfit of sorts, even with all the distractions, but it was worth the smile on Mom’s face. Besides, I now felt a level of validation and I wasn’t going to risk being shut out again.

I also wrestled with my feelings for Tess because they elt like betrayal on so many levels even though I knew the sophomore shun was based in jealousy. I felt like a hypocrite; much like Peter did I assume when he denied Christ three times. I can relate to Peter because he could have chosen to remain silent like I have, but he in turn was bold with his denial. Besides, Jesus forgave Peter even before his betrayal occurred and I know as long as I continue to repent, I will be forgiven too.

It was midterms and calculus was kicking my uniformed behind. I was going to fail the class if I didn’t get some help. Mom told me to handle it. She had her hands full with a holiday open house for her design company. We hardly saw one another except when she picked me up from school. She would drop me off at the house and then dash off to meet a potential vendor or run another errand. So here I am, standing in line outside the guidance department waiting to sign up for a math tutor.

Mr. Chase is my guidance counselor. He is a retired pro basketball player from Georgetown and the female students held a raffle each semester for who was going to get Mr. Chase for guidance or be stuck with Ms. Daniels. She had a more rigid perspective regarding life choices. Mr. Chase is okay, but I wasn’t motivated by his good looks, just his experience in Georgetown. I had my sites on one of the several nationally rated universities in the Washington DC area and I knew acceptance could be difficult without the best references and grades. “Have a seat., Tolman. ”

Mr. Chase always addressed us by our last name stating that it is important to demand respect from the start of any human exchange. “Let’s see. So, you need a tutor for calculus?”

“Yes, Sir. I want to start tutoring immediately so I will perform well on my mid-term.”

“OK. I will see who is available. Meet in library this afternoon @ 3:45.”

“Thanks Mr. Chase.

“Not a problem, Ms. Tolman. Always glad to assist.”

Ah, the truth. Being female with an unspoken gender identity attending parochial school When I was younger, I dismissed my feelings on the daily, attributing my attractions to confusion and a sinful nature, but this year, my preferences are even more of a burden. In middle school, I had been so depressed, Mom thought I needed psychiatric counseling because her and Daddy had separated. She scheduled an appointment. I was hopeful that I would finally be able to get this pressure off my chest, but I only went once. Mom and Dad got divorced soon after and we moved North. She left her job and lost her medical insurance so illnesses beyond COVID or a broken extremity were monitored from the web. Dad wanted me to live with him, but Mom wouldn’t have it.

“Teen girls need their mothers,” I heard her tell Daddy, so why is it so difficult for me to share my truth with her. My feelings for Tess compounded my silence with physical frustration and I begin to realize that I can no longer continue to dismiss my sexuality because in actuality, I am dismissing me Now, I just fear it.

Walking to the library, I play different scenarios in my head on how Mom will react to my truth and how it will impact my relationships at school and church. None of the visualizations were encouraging. I keep reciting a paraphrased version of an adage Mom taught me in the 6th grade when my best friend all of a sudden, stopped being my best friend. I still don’t know what happened, but Mom told me that if someone really loves for you, he or she will not care what others say about you. An assurance that takes a level of faith I have yet to cultivate.

I remember one day in health class, Brother Gibson pulling out his King James and reciting a scripture regarding God’s rules and roles for men and women. We all looked at one another in bewilderment, and I lowered my head. Brother Gibson somehow felt it necessary to address my truth in general terms implying that while my condition was not directly addressed in the Word, it was still absolutely unacceptable. Did he know? Again, I repent within myself as Mr. Chase comes around the corner with someone in tow.

“Ms. Tolman. Let me introduce you to Ms. Holland. She will be helping you with your calculus for the next few weeks. You two sit down and decide on a schedule that works for both of you and get back with me.

“Thanks, Mr. Chase.”

She holds out her slim hand for me to shake, “Hi, my name is Tess.”