Out There
Bren Eldrid Bera
=============
It was Saturday; another day in the guidance councilor's office.
The only reason I was even there was because they made me come. They had said that they were concerned about me. ~ More likely embarrassed. ~ They couldn't accept the fact that I was different. Different then what they had expected. ~ Oh-fucking-well. ~
"So... T-Tif-Tiffany... Do you understand why you are here?" The counselor asked me, finally looking up from his oh-so-precious clipboard. It was pathetic. He always had his clipboard with him. HE was pathetic. I can't recall a single time I've ever seen him without it.
But that wasn't bothering me right now. What was absolutely _killing_ me was the fact that he had stumbled over my name. Sure, a lot of people do; I don't look like a Tiffany.
Tiffany was my chosen name. Not my goddamn birth name. ~ Yeah well, screw my parents. They think they can just run my life? I'm eighteen years old! No. Fuck no. I will not stand for that kind of shit. ~
But the consoler had that damn name scribble in with the rest of his notes on the front of his clipboard. I had told him at the beginning of this session to only call me by that name, and he still managed to get it wrong. He was a disgusting creature.
"Well...?" asked the guidance counselor, Mr. Fields. I still hadn't answered the question. ~ What _was_ the question? Oh yeah. Why am I such a freak? ~ I stared at the man, trying to survey the "competition". Fields was wearing -of all things- a brown tweed suit with a little bow tie fixed around his neck. His mouse brown hair was plastered down onto his head with a styling product that smelled like dog urine to me. His nails were manicured down to little stubs. Mr. Fields gave off the impression that everything in his life was perfectly scheduled and coordinated and the man had never been late for anything in his life.
Mr. Fields was staring right back at me. If there was a person who I ever despised, this man was it. Everything just _had_ to be perfect with him; he always followed the straight and narrow path. I had noticed a collection of miniature glass animals on a shelf on one of his wall when I had walked in for this delightful and meaningful session. They were all lined up pretty little row, not a single creature was out of line. It was disgusting.
I wanted to smack this man across the head. He was nauseating for me to look at. Everything about him made angry, _everything_. I had a rage in me that only developed when I was around Mr. Fields, and I think he knew it too.
So as I continued to stare at him, he gave a little grin, showing off perfect ivory teeth. I couldn't take it. I choose to look at a framed picture of a fruit basket that was hanging on a wall instead of that disgusting man. The picture was a much more pleasant sight to behold. We both knew my opinion of the tones and shading of the grapes and apples wouldn't answer his damn question, but at least it would stall time.
My eyes wavered from the picture to a windup clock that stood ticking away between a telephone and another clipboard on Field's desk. ~ Damnit! ~ Only forty-five strenuous minutes had past since I had first entered his office. I had another thirty to go. I choose to look down at the ground now, but I crossed my arms in a symbol of defiance. This bastard wasn't going to get to me _this_ easily.
I heard Mr. Fields sigh, but I didn't bother to look up. I heard him click off the tape recorder -I'd never wanted these pathetic conversations recorded anyway, they could be used against me in a court of law or some sort of embarrassing situation.
"Tiffany, do you _understand_ why you are here?" he said again, this time more strongly.
I choose not to answer again. After all, I had better things to do than sit around in this damn office on a Saturday afternoon. I could see the sun beams splayed across the carpeted floor. A little part of me died, just then. There was so much I could be doing right then.
Hell, I was eighteen years old! These were supposed to be the happiest moments of my life. I was going to graduate in a few months, I had gotten a letter of acceptance to that med school I had been praying I'd get into, AND I had a new boyfriend who was probably very worried as to my whereabouts right now...
...I hadn't told anybody outside of my family that I was in counseling, not even my boyfriend. It was just too damn embarrassing that my parents could be so controlling over my life. We had had plans too, for a hot date in the park-
-but no, I had had to break that engagement off. On this perfect April Saturday - the first remotely nice day since last August - I was stuck in school in this damn pleather chair talking to that foul creature Mr. Fields.
"I dunno." I finally mumbled, trying to hold up the pretense of utter naivety.
I knew perfectly well why I was at the guidance counselor's on a Saturday afternoon. I just didn't want to give the counselor the satisfaction of knowing I was different. That I was a freak.
Hell, anyone could figure that out if they just looked at me. Of course I goddamn knew why I was here. The counselor knew that too. He was just a twisted bastard out to get me.
~ No, that is just paranoid thinking. Damn drugs acting up on me. Again. But then... You have to be paranoid about everything when... ~
"Well... Tiffany..."
~ Again with the stumbling. It's fucking Tiffany you bastard. ~
"It seems that since you started here three years ago, you seemed to have lost every single one of your friends, your grades have slipped even farther, and you seem to be picked upon. Quite a lot." ~ He doesn't know the half of it. ~ "Could you please tell me why you think this is?"
~ Is he fucking stupid?!? Everyone in the goddamn school knows the answer to that question and he is fucking asking me? ~
I stared at him for a bit. He looked bored. He was gripping his notepad. I don't think I have ever seen Mr. Fields without his notepad. He was fucking pathetic.
"This is bullshit." I muttered.
"What was that? Asked Mr. Fields sharply.
I didn't say anything.
"That is what I thought. Now, tell me. Why have you changed so much in the last three years at Degrassi Community High School in such a... negative way?"
~ Three years? It has only been three years? Woah. It seems like it has been much longer then that. Again, with the drugs. Damnit. Why did you have to leave me Andrew? ~
I shifted in my seat. The skirt was riding up on me again. I hate it when it does that. Although, it probably would help if I got them longer. This one barely covered my ass, but I liked it that way.
I crossed my legs, and looked down at my feet. I remembered when high heels had given me trouble. Two years ago that had been. ~ Now I can almost run in them. Damn you Andrew. ~
Mr. Fields glanced up from his notepad. "Well Gavin?"
"Don't call me that!" I shrieked. I jumped up from my chair.
"My name is Tiffany! The reason I am here is because my parents can't seem to accept the fact that their son is a cross-dresser! But you know what?!? I don't fucking care about them or anybody else! Now leave me the fuck alone!"
=============
Disclaimer: I do not own Degrassi. Obviously. Otherwise, I would be bragging about it, and you would never hear the end of how magnificent I was for this feat!
Rated: PG-13 (Language, violence, and general discontent!)
Bren Eldrid Bera
=============
It was Saturday; another day in the guidance councilor's office.
The only reason I was even there was because they made me come. They had said that they were concerned about me. ~ More likely embarrassed. ~ They couldn't accept the fact that I was different. Different then what they had expected. ~ Oh-fucking-well. ~
"So... T-Tif-Tiffany... Do you understand why you are here?" The counselor asked me, finally looking up from his oh-so-precious clipboard. It was pathetic. He always had his clipboard with him. HE was pathetic. I can't recall a single time I've ever seen him without it.
But that wasn't bothering me right now. What was absolutely _killing_ me was the fact that he had stumbled over my name. Sure, a lot of people do; I don't look like a Tiffany.
Tiffany was my chosen name. Not my goddamn birth name. ~ Yeah well, screw my parents. They think they can just run my life? I'm eighteen years old! No. Fuck no. I will not stand for that kind of shit. ~
But the consoler had that damn name scribble in with the rest of his notes on the front of his clipboard. I had told him at the beginning of this session to only call me by that name, and he still managed to get it wrong. He was a disgusting creature.
"Well...?" asked the guidance counselor, Mr. Fields. I still hadn't answered the question. ~ What _was_ the question? Oh yeah. Why am I such a freak? ~ I stared at the man, trying to survey the "competition". Fields was wearing -of all things- a brown tweed suit with a little bow tie fixed around his neck. His mouse brown hair was plastered down onto his head with a styling product that smelled like dog urine to me. His nails were manicured down to little stubs. Mr. Fields gave off the impression that everything in his life was perfectly scheduled and coordinated and the man had never been late for anything in his life.
Mr. Fields was staring right back at me. If there was a person who I ever despised, this man was it. Everything just _had_ to be perfect with him; he always followed the straight and narrow path. I had noticed a collection of miniature glass animals on a shelf on one of his wall when I had walked in for this delightful and meaningful session. They were all lined up pretty little row, not a single creature was out of line. It was disgusting.
I wanted to smack this man across the head. He was nauseating for me to look at. Everything about him made angry, _everything_. I had a rage in me that only developed when I was around Mr. Fields, and I think he knew it too.
So as I continued to stare at him, he gave a little grin, showing off perfect ivory teeth. I couldn't take it. I choose to look at a framed picture of a fruit basket that was hanging on a wall instead of that disgusting man. The picture was a much more pleasant sight to behold. We both knew my opinion of the tones and shading of the grapes and apples wouldn't answer his damn question, but at least it would stall time.
My eyes wavered from the picture to a windup clock that stood ticking away between a telephone and another clipboard on Field's desk. ~ Damnit! ~ Only forty-five strenuous minutes had past since I had first entered his office. I had another thirty to go. I choose to look down at the ground now, but I crossed my arms in a symbol of defiance. This bastard wasn't going to get to me _this_ easily.
I heard Mr. Fields sigh, but I didn't bother to look up. I heard him click off the tape recorder -I'd never wanted these pathetic conversations recorded anyway, they could be used against me in a court of law or some sort of embarrassing situation.
"Tiffany, do you _understand_ why you are here?" he said again, this time more strongly.
I choose not to answer again. After all, I had better things to do than sit around in this damn office on a Saturday afternoon. I could see the sun beams splayed across the carpeted floor. A little part of me died, just then. There was so much I could be doing right then.
Hell, I was eighteen years old! These were supposed to be the happiest moments of my life. I was going to graduate in a few months, I had gotten a letter of acceptance to that med school I had been praying I'd get into, AND I had a new boyfriend who was probably very worried as to my whereabouts right now...
...I hadn't told anybody outside of my family that I was in counseling, not even my boyfriend. It was just too damn embarrassing that my parents could be so controlling over my life. We had had plans too, for a hot date in the park-
-but no, I had had to break that engagement off. On this perfect April Saturday - the first remotely nice day since last August - I was stuck in school in this damn pleather chair talking to that foul creature Mr. Fields.
"I dunno." I finally mumbled, trying to hold up the pretense of utter naivety.
I knew perfectly well why I was at the guidance counselor's on a Saturday afternoon. I just didn't want to give the counselor the satisfaction of knowing I was different. That I was a freak.
Hell, anyone could figure that out if they just looked at me. Of course I goddamn knew why I was here. The counselor knew that too. He was just a twisted bastard out to get me.
~ No, that is just paranoid thinking. Damn drugs acting up on me. Again. But then... You have to be paranoid about everything when... ~
"Well... Tiffany..."
~ Again with the stumbling. It's fucking Tiffany you bastard. ~
"It seems that since you started here three years ago, you seemed to have lost every single one of your friends, your grades have slipped even farther, and you seem to be picked upon. Quite a lot." ~ He doesn't know the half of it. ~ "Could you please tell me why you think this is?"
~ Is he fucking stupid?!? Everyone in the goddamn school knows the answer to that question and he is fucking asking me? ~
I stared at him for a bit. He looked bored. He was gripping his notepad. I don't think I have ever seen Mr. Fields without his notepad. He was fucking pathetic.
"This is bullshit." I muttered.
"What was that? Asked Mr. Fields sharply.
I didn't say anything.
"That is what I thought. Now, tell me. Why have you changed so much in the last three years at Degrassi Community High School in such a... negative way?"
~ Three years? It has only been three years? Woah. It seems like it has been much longer then that. Again, with the drugs. Damnit. Why did you have to leave me Andrew? ~
I shifted in my seat. The skirt was riding up on me again. I hate it when it does that. Although, it probably would help if I got them longer. This one barely covered my ass, but I liked it that way.
I crossed my legs, and looked down at my feet. I remembered when high heels had given me trouble. Two years ago that had been. ~ Now I can almost run in them. Damn you Andrew. ~
Mr. Fields glanced up from his notepad. "Well Gavin?"
"Don't call me that!" I shrieked. I jumped up from my chair.
"My name is Tiffany! The reason I am here is because my parents can't seem to accept the fact that their son is a cross-dresser! But you know what?!? I don't fucking care about them or anybody else! Now leave me the fuck alone!"
=============
Disclaimer: I do not own Degrassi. Obviously. Otherwise, I would be bragging about it, and you would never hear the end of how magnificent I was for this feat!
Rated: PG-13 (Language, violence, and general discontent!)