Squirrel Cage

by Cindi Jones

  That little fact would some how make it back to my church leaders. I never begrudged her “leaking” this information. Had I asked her to keep something confidential, she would have done so.

  My work load was practically nonexistent. I had nothing to do all day. I would immediately finish up any little task that I was assigned. The big computer company that bought us had little use for our in house marketing team. The writing was on the wall that we had better find new jobs within the company or find something else outside. I also realized that given a choice, management would rather have me work on the crap tasks instead of putting me in front of potential customers. My transition was now my real job.

  I started boning up on my programming skills. I brought in some books for the languages I learned and installed compilers on my machine. The computer that had served to write collateral materials, communicate with sales people, prepare forecasts, marketing requirements, and engineering requirements would now be utilized to help Cindi brush up on her engineering. I didn’t know how long I had. No matter how I looked at it, time was short. It was fairly distressing to know I was in an empty job. It was going nowhere and it would soon be eliminated.

  For a week or so, things were peaceful as I kept myself occupied. I went to my office every day and with rare exceptions never left it. Every morning, Dan would poke his head in my office door and say

  “Good Morning Cindi Anna Jones” in a sing song fashion ala Robin Williams in the movie Good Morning Vietnam.

  The entire floor would get together every morning at ten to socialize and eat a donut. That was the way of the large company who purchased us. I was able to socialize some.

  In the beginning, people would talk to me to be courteous or to show that they were unbiased in their opinion. Some showed great support. But after a while, the newness of it all wore off and everything settled in to normalcy. I would socialize at ten every morning. I would have several very pleasant discussions. It didn’t matter what any individual thought, as a whole, they seemed very accepting.

  But everything was about to change.

  “How dare you send me a check with the name “Cindi Jones” on it,” she demanded. Charlene had just received the child support and alimony check I sent her. “I can’t have a check coming to me in that name,” she went on.

  “Look Charlene, that is my legal name. If you wish to get money from me, you’ll have to cash my checks. I can not maintain a bank account under David’s name. It is not legal.”

  Charlene was furious. This was the first time she would have to acknowledge Cindi. She needed the money. She had to countersign the checks from Cindi.

  I attended church that weekend beaming from ear to ear. I had finally “come out of the closet” as they would say. From their perspective I was as different to them as they were to the straight people that dished out the gay bashing. They had never known a transgender person. My friends were all very happy for me and very supportive. Pastor Bruce even acknowledged me from the pulpit. During refreshments, everyone came to me and told me how proud they were. Many had a keen knowledge of what I had been going through. Some had become dear friends. They were all so polite around me. I stayed until the end as I always did. And Pastor Bruce (as he always did) asked me to take home any refreshments that I wanted. I collected up the rest of the pound cake and cookies in a sack and took them home.

  I sized up my food inventory. I was good for another few days, I concluded. I had several potatoes left and a dozen eggs. I portioned out the pound cake and cookies for each day of the coming week. Food was a real concern now. I knew that there would be no more traveling. I would miss the few extra dollars I was able to get by padding an expense report. And I would not be able to collect dinner rolls, fruit, and airplane snacks to supplement my diet. I didn’t realize it, but I was malnourished. The food ran out that week. And I had no money to buy more.

  Sandy, who I had met at church the first time, came over to my place to hang out. We were going to listen to some records and watch some TV. I enjoyed Sandy’s company. She was brilliant and Squirrel loved brilliant people. Squirrel always wanted to learn things. She thought that if I hung out with smart people, some of it might rub off on me.

  “Do you have something to drink Cindi?” Sandy asked. “I’m sorry Sandy, I only have water.”

  “Oh that’s okay; I’ll just have some water then,” she said as she rummaged through the cabinets for a glass. She secured a glass but then resumed opening up the remaining cupboards for a peek. I paid no mind to it at the time.

  “Do you have any ice Cindi?” she asked as she opened up the freezer door.

  “Sure, it’s in the freezer.”

  She pulled out the ice tray and filled her glass. After she replaced the ice tray in the freezer, she took a look inside the fridge.

  “Cindi, you don’t have any food here do you?” She demanded.

  It was Saturday and I had a couple of cookies left.

  “Sure I do, I have some cookies. Want one?” I asked. She nodded in the negative. “I’m doing fine” I said.

  “No you are not Cindi. Bruce let on that you were having a hard time buying food and I wanted to be sure. And now I am.”

  It was true. I wasn’t eating healthy. For the most part, the morning donut at the company on weekdays and the refreshments at church was all I had.

  “Let’s go get you some groceries.”

  Sandy didn’t have much money either so what I brought home was modest. But for the first time in quite a while, I had a chicken, some milk, bread, fresh vegetables and a few canned goods in addition to the good old standbys of potatoes, carrots, and eggs. I had learned to get everything off a chicken. The meat would last for a couple of weeks. I boiled the bones to provide me with soup for 10 additional meals.

  As I was directed by the court, I let Charlene know where I lived. She in turn passed it to anyone who asked for it. Thereafter, a steady stream of people came to my little apartment. They would not give up on me.

  Sometimes I could see them come through the gate outside. Instead of facing them, I preferred to run into my bedroom and hide behind the bed. I could see them from there if I peeked through the always closed blinds. They would knock, wait, knock, and wait. After several minutes, they would leave.

  My old missionary companion, Clark Sedgwick, visited me one night. I saw him come through the gate. What would I do?

  I had been in Chile, on my mission, only two months when my companion was reassigned. He would become a zone leader, a fairly significant assignment. He left in the morning knowing that my new companion was due to arrive any minute. He didn’t arrive. I could have called the mission office to see what was happening. But I did not want to get Clark in trouble for nothing. I figured that his bus was a bit late. He called in the early afternoon and let me know that he wouldn’t be getting in until very late that evening.

  He arrived with a big smile on his face and a big sunburn where he shouldn’t have one. He quickly shed his clothes to cool his skin. As he lay in a living room comfy chair he told me that he had spent the day at the beach. The members, some girls, had thrown a going away party for him. I knew that this was very taboo in missionary land. He had left me alone the entire day. He had spent time at the beach. He had removed his garments (the Mormon underwear that we promised to wear all of our lives) to get sunburned. This man was evil. I liked him.

  The 3 months or so that we spent together formed a friendship that would span decades. Yes he was “chueco”, or broken, as they would say in Chile. He wasn’t really a bad character, just likeable. He never let rules get in the way of having a good time.

  We would always devote extra lesson time with families that had pretty daughters. He would always spend time after services to talk to the teen aged girls. At a time when we were supposed to be chaste and celibate, he walked a thin line. And I liked him even more for it. Although, I had no sexual desires, I had walked a similar line. My thoughts were crowded constantly with Squirrel
’s scheming.

  After I returned to the states, I looked up Clark. He lived a couple hours drive away. We double dated with our wives. We got together every once in a while.

  I did let Clark in my home. He looked at me. “Where’s Elder Stud?” He asked. “Can Elder Stud come out and play?” he asked again jokingly.

  “What you see is what you get, Clark.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Clark, let me introduce myself. I am Cindi Jones.”

  I held out my arms and he gave me a big hug as I hugged him back.

  As he entered my apartment, he quickly picked out one of the small chairs and threw himself at it. Clunk. Thud.

  “Man this is an uncomfortable chair,” he said. “I hardly fit in it,” he continued.

  “Only the best will do for my distinguished guest” I replied.

  “Cindi,” he said. “Cindi Jones,” he said repeating himself. I could see that he was trying to get used to the name.

  “You know why I’m here.”

  “Yup.”

  “It’s the same reason guests always come to visit. It seems like it’s three or four times a week.” I said, “They all want to talk about the same stuff. Only the faces are different.”

  “I’d like to talk you out of this…. Ah… Cindi,” he started. “Am I going to be able to talk you out of this?” he asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Okay then, what’s new?” he asked.

  The question was actually funny. Here was an old friend dressed as a girl returning his stare. I smiled at him. He laughed.

  “I suppose that’s a pretty stupid question,” he said.

  “Yup,” I volleyed.

  “You’re pretty short on words tonight arentchya Cindi?”

  “Yup,” I replied.

  “Look Stud… I mean Cindi. I came down here to honestly try and talk you out of this. I know you. I’m not going to succeed where others have failed. But I want to get to know you. And I really want to talk to you.”

  He then went on to tell me about his deep dark secret. He was a voyeur. He loved to watch women undress. He had talked to his church authorities and was starting the journey with his problem. No one at the time knew about it but he confided in me. For the moment it was just between him and his Bishop.

  I told him briefly what I had been going through. “Clark, I had some relief when I went to California. But it hasn’t stopped. They won’t leave me alone. There are too many of them and I can’t take it any more,” I told him.

  We spent much of the night talking. He left late and promised to look me up in the future.

  The phone never stopped ringing. I had to screen each call before I answered it.

  Charlene sent me letters. She knew that I would read them. They were very difficult to read. They would always bring me to tears. She would always tell me about how my son missed me and something similar about my daughter.

  While at work one day, I was standing at my office window, musing about the future. I noticed my bishop walk from the parking garage to the door of the building. “Great” I said to myself.

  “There is someone here to see you” said the receptionist on my phone.

  “Ask the bishop what he wants,” I replied

  “He says he needs to see you to sign some documents,” she said.

  “Please thank him for his time, but I’m not interested,” I said.

  I heard her tell him.

  “He must see you to have these documents signed,” she said.

  I thought it over. If Dennis got involved, which he would if asked and he would be asked, the situation would get very ugly.

  “Can you get the papers from him, bring them back, and I’ll sign them?” I asked her. I listened to her repeat my request.

  “He says that he must give these to you in person,” she replied.

  I thought that the church had become more like a government than a church. I did not want to meet with him. I really didn’t. I was getting anxious and I could feel my face flush.

  “Please tell the gentleman that if he wants the papers signed, he’ll have to have you run the packet back to me for a signature.”

  She relayed the information and I heard the bishop finally relent. Within moments, I had the papers. It was a summons for another church hearing on Sunday. The purpose of the summons was for excommunication proceedings. According to my disfellowship documents, I had until January of the following year. They were four months early. They had moved up the schedule. My body froze as Squirrel started running her exercise wheel. Round and round and round it went. Squirrel could not stop.

  I was looking at a paper, that when signed, would lead to the end of my church membership. It was a staggering thought. You may think that I would have been able to put all that behind me. It was not an easy thing to do. I wondered what would happen if I sent my legal lawyer to the church court. The thought may have been funny, but the humor in it fell dead to the floor.

  I reluctantly signed the documents and the secretary retreated with the package to the reception area. I watched through the window as I saw the bishop leave.

  The following Sunday, I attended church not with the Mormon court, but with my friends, those who showed me love and compassion. They were very receptive when I told them what was going on. Pastor Bruce relayed his personal experiences of what he endured when he left the church. His story was not so terribly different than mine.

  The wheels of Mormon justice turned. Someone raised a motion. It carried. And I was now officially a son of perdition.

  *****

  October first was my son’s birthday. October second was my daughter’s birthday. I called on the first. “Hi Charlene, can I talk to Jared?” “I’m sorry David but I don’t think that is a good idea,” she replied.

  I had been allowed to see my kids only once or twice after I moved out. And I always came as David. I took the little guy out to fly a kite.

  “Mathew has a dad. Why can’t I have a dad? He said with tears in his little eyes.” Mathew was his little neighbor friend.

  “I have some medical problems Jared and I need to be away to get well.”

  “But I want a dad. Can’t you please come home to live with us daddy?” he blurted out the words as tears rolled down his cheeks.

  I could not poison his little fragile life with my existence. I honestly believed that it would be best for me to leave and give Charlene a chance for happiness while she was still young. I knew that her opportunities to remarry would diminish significantly as she aged. His probing questions cut my flesh. I could hardly stand it.

  We flew the kite for a while. After it was airborne, he started to laugh and giggle as the kite went up and down as he tugged on the line and then let it out. The kite climbed as high as the string allowed. He enjoyed this moment so much. So did I.

  After I transitioned at work, all ties had been cut to the kids. I could no longer see them or talk to them on the phone. But this was their birthday celebration! Their birthdays were only one day apart so the extended family only had to come over once.

  “David, we’ve talked it over and don’t think that it would be a good idea if you talked to him or Sally.”

  I would not argue. She was dealing with this as best she could.

  She continued “But we are having a party now and we are about to sing happy birthday. Do you want to listen?” she asked.

  “Yes” was my answer. I listened to the joyous strains of Happy Birthday and heard my little six year old blow out the candles and every one clap for joy as he did so. Charlene came back on the line.

  “I’m sorry David but I have to do what I feel is best,” she said.

  “I will support you in that regard. You must do what you must do,” I replied. “Did the kids get their presents I got for them?” I asked. I didn’t get a clear answer. It was my impression that they did receive their presents but they did not know they were from me.

  “Charlene?” I asked.


  “Yes David”

  “Tomorrow night, will you give me a call so I can listen to you sing happy birthday again to Sally?”

  “Yes David, I will,” she promised. She did call me the following night and I listened. I hung up the phone and cried myself to sleep.

  Alex visited again. I let him in. He told me how he was on a very short leash. He told me how hard it was now, having to account for every minute of his life. He asked if he could have some of my clothing that I was not using. I told him that he could not. He asked me if he could use my storage locker.

  “Look, it’s empty. The lease expires at the end of the year. If I don’t pay for the next year by the 15 of December, the lock will be cut and the locker will be rented to someone else. If you’ll pay me for the lock, I’ll give you the combination” I said.

  He extracted a wallet from his back pocket. As he opened it up, I saw what was inside. I was familiar with having little cash on hand. He had only two dollars.

  “This is all I have. They won’t let me have money and I have been hiding this,” he explained. He started to cry.

  For the only time since I had learned to distrust Alex, I knew the truth in his statement. I knew what he was going through. It was happening to me.

  “Look” I said, the lock cost me six dollars. Let me write the combination down for you. Keep your money for now. You can owe me.”

  He looked grateful as he took the piece of paper. He left and that was the last time I ever saw Alex.

  Charlene sent me a package at work. Inside was a letter pleading for me to come back to her. She did go on and on about the evil I was involved with. She begged for her husband to come back to her. I felt like dirt. No. A dirt clod. See, you could approach a dirt clod and step on it. The dirt then became dust.

  The package contained a book. It was a story about a gay man who had come back to Christ. It chronicled his journey back from the gay life style. It was a “pray the gay away” type memoirs. I was not gay. I scanned the dust jacket and could see that I wasn’t interested. It would only serve to pull me down further.