Page 8 of Precise Justice

Both men stood and shook hands while Stewart said, “I need to get back to work. Then I’ll have to meet with a couple of people. They’re going to try to talk you out of it.”

“Tell them not to bother. I’m already happier and relieved. It’s not the people here, Stew. They’re fine. It’s the job. It’s not me. I can’t do it anymore.”

FOUR

Priscilla parked her BMW in the school’s lot located on the north side of the building. Robbie’s new school was located in the home built for a 19thcentury Robber Barron. Phinneas Comer was a friend of James J. Hill, the builder of the Great Northern Railway connecting Chicago with Seattle, Portland and California. Phinneas invested with Hill and became fabulously wealthy. Hill himself built a forty-two room mansion at the east end of Summit Avenue in St. Paul that became a museum and popular tourist attraction.

Phinneas Comer, born in 1848, was a drummer in the Civil War. His statue, complete with a bronze American flag and drum, still stands in front of his one-time home. The great tragedy of his life occurred when a ferocious fever wiped out his wife and five children when the first Roosevelt was president. Comer never recovered and never remarried. Except for servants, he spent the rest of his life as a recluse living alone in the thirty two room mansion on Park Avenue in Minneapolis. Upon his death at the age of 97 in 1944 when the second Roosevelt was president, he left the big house to a small, private school in Minneapolis. He also left, in a Trust, the remainder of his money. Thanks to a miserly lifestyle, the Trust began with over a hundred-million-dollars in it. Even with generous scholarships bestowed annually, the Trust was worth in excess of two hundred million today.

The sign out front read: the Horatio Wheaton Academy. The long since dead Horatio Wheaton had been a driving force for education around the time of Minnesota’s statehood, 1858. The Wheaton Academy was a K through 12 school and extremely difficult to be accepted into. Over two thousand applied each year. Fewer than forty were selected. The school’s curriculum heavily emphasized liberal arts.Preparing Young Minds to Serve Humanity was their creed.

Robbie’s public school grades were a source of pride for Priscilla, but they were barely adequate for The Wheaton Academy. What got him in, and Chancellor Sebastian Warner admitted this to them personally, was Robbie’s transitioning.

Over the summer months, Robbie had begun his transformation. Puberty blockers to prevent the natural passage to manhood replaced by hormone therapy to faze him into becoming a her.

Robbie had made weekly visits to Professor Friedman to monitor his progress with Priscilla administering the pills. When his father found out, he came very close to almost standing up to Priscilla. Blake questioned the necessity then quickly backed down.

During the meeting with Chancellor Warner, Blake, of course, was not invited. Warner informed them there were 33 transitioning students at Wheaton, a fact of which Warner and the staff were quite proud. They were all accepted and fully integrated into The Wheaton Academy family.

Priscilla, who already knew this, could not have been more comforting. Robbie was, to say the least, ambivalent. Unable to admit it, even to himself, he was still clouded with significant doubt about this. Being told that 5% of the school student body was trans, his initial thought was to flee.

Many, many sleepless nights followed. The word flee was constantly creeping into his head. But, to where? To do what? Most importantly, how? Robbie had neither the means nor the courage to do it.

Staring at the granite prison, fifteen minutes before his first class was to begin the day after Labor Day, Robbie felt crushed. The weight was too much to bear. Yet he knew he could not run; he knew his mother would not listen and his father was a coward. Robbie’s doubt level had skyrocketed. Robbie could not flee and if he walked through the door, entered that prison without bars, he would never be able to go back.

Robbie flipped down the passenger seat visor to check himself. His hair, a very light brown, almost blonde, had grown out. In back, it was over the collar of his white blouse and below his ears with a diamond stud in each. His makeup and lipstick––Priscilla had tutored him––was, he had to admit, lovely. Around the eyes even quite attractive. The hormone therapy was making his face thinner and his cheeks had a soft glow.

Priscilla had watchedhim check himself out, then said, “You know, you make a very pretty girl.”

“I know,” Robbie said with an odd smile. “That’s what I was thinking.”

“How are you feeling?” Priscilla asked Robbie.

“The place looks like a prison,” Robbie said.

The imposing building did not generate an image of welcome and warmth. Thirty-two thousand square feet with an exterior spouting six chimneys and a dark, granite, façade.

“There are no bars on the windows. You can escape,” Priscilla said making a joke.

The 7:50 bell rang warning students they had ten minutes to get to homeroom. Robbie knew where his seventh grade homeroom was. He had even met his homeroom teacher. An obviously gay man in his late twenties and already going bald, his name was Thomas Lester.

The Wheaton Academy did not only have a dress code, they had mandatory uniforms. Every student, male, female or in-between, wore a specific white shirt or blouse. They all wore, even the girls, a navy blue tie and four-button vest. The boys wore navy blue slacks, the girls a navy blue skirt. The skirt, and they would check, had a hemline two inches below the knees. For the girls, modesty required Navy blue, over the calf socks worn with black dress shoes. The shoes had better be polished.

There was a code of conduct with a demerit system. Each student had a booklet for it and were tested. Too many demerits could get you detention, suspension or even expulsion.

“Okay,” Robbie said flipping the visor back up. “Here I go. Bye, Mom.”

“Four o’clock. I’ll he here.”

“Okay.”

The rain was starting to come down in small droplets splattering on Priscilla’s windshield. She checked the dashboard clock then realized the engine was shut off. With the engine off, the clock was not lit up. Instead, she checked her watch. Four-ten and still no Robbie.

Less than a minute later Priscilla saw Robbie come out of the side, parking lot door. The rain was starting to come down harder. Priscilla watched while Robbie ran. All of the kids were running now. Some toward chauffeured cars. She noticed that ofthose running toward her car, Robbie was faster than all of them.Worrisome, she thought.

When Robbie reached the car door, he turned, waved and yelled at two girls who ran past. They both waved back and yelled, “See you tomorrow,” as Robbie got in.

“So, how was it?” Priscilla asked.

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