Fifteen Minutes of Fame
by Tery Maine

 

Cindy staggered into the office. A laptop computer in one hand, a case containing an LCD projector and an overstuffed purse which also served as briefcase and portable office slipping off the other shoulder.

"A cart," She muttered as the purse and projector tumbled into an office chair by the door, and she tumbled into the other chair. "I definitely need a cart."

It was days like this when she wished she had a little bit of her old testosterone back. Well, maybe not. But a few muscles wouldn’t hurt right now.

On the desk, he telephone was flashing at her. She had voice mail messages waiting. Flash, flash, flash. Some student wouldn’ t be in class. Flash, flash, flash. A committee meeting has been rescheduled. Flash, flash, flash. Another teacher wanted to borrow the projector or laptop. Flash, flash, flash. The messages were so predictable. Only the names changed from day to day.

The flashing light was begging, no, demanding to be answered. Cindy enjoyed technology, but this type of mechanical nagging bothered her. She missed the messages on pink slips handwritten by Rosa at the switchboard. The voice mail was more efficient, but in a way, less personal.

She began to retrieve the message when she heard a knock at the door. She hung up the phone and said, "Come in."

It was Maria from the nine o’clock or was it the one o’clock class. Anyway, she was there for help with her PowerPoint presentation. Cindy chuckled inwardly as she realized once again that the computer component to the speech course scared students enough to seek they help they should have sought anyway.

The messages could wait. The student could not.

It was a little after five when the student left. Cindy was tired but satisfied. The student came in with little more than an idea and some research and had left with her presentation almost completed. She looked at the equipment now stacked in a corner and muttered, "It makes the back pain almost worthwhile," then added. "But a cart would still be nice."

Cindy got up to leave and remembered the flashing LED. She could pretend she missed the message and pick it up tomorrow morning. With a sigh, though, she sank back into the chair and hit the button. She punched in her passcode, 7494, the date of her surgery. It was easy for her to remember and hard for someone else to guess.

"You have one unplayed message. Two saved messages. Press P to play……."

She didn’t need to hear the rest. She tapped the "P" and listened.

"Ms. Martin? Ms. Cindy Martin. This is Robert Cuevas from the Cristina show. I used to live in Reedley. In fact, I went to Kings River College. Well, anyway. We are doing a show about transsexuals in education, and it would be good to have someone from my hometown on the show. My brother and sister took your class right after your change. Cristina is the Spanish Ophra and she would be very sensitive. Well, my number is (305)555-2459."

Cindy was taken aback a little. At some level she always knew that someday a phone call like this would come, but still it was a bit surprising. And for the phone call to come from the leading Spanish language talk show really came out of left field.

As often as she had thought about it, and planned how she would respond, faced with the actual offer she found herself curiously uncertain as to how to proceed. Should she or should she not. Well, it was late. She was tired and hungry. She would call Robert the next day and find out more.

The persistent beeping of the alarm clock called to Cindy as she climbed out of the canyons of sleep.

"Okay, Okay, I’ll get up," She snarled as she patted the night stand searching for the alarm clock, eyes still closed. As she yawned and stretched and began to really wake up, she remembered why she had set the alarm an hour early. She needed to make a phone call.

The receptionist answered in Spanish. Cindy understood enough to know it meant something like "The Cristina Show. Who do you want to talk to?"

"Hi, Robert Cuevas called me yesterday about being on your show. My name is Cindy Martin." Cindy said thinking it would have been courteous to have spoken in Spanish since she could handle something that simple, but she was embarrassed by her accident and poor grammar understanding anew how many of her students must feel.

"Hey, glad you returned my call. It’s good to hear from the old hometown. How’s everything in Reedley?"

After fifteen minutes or so of updates about the town and the college, the weather, the school athletic teams and more small talk, Robert got to the point.

"Last week, my Executive producer put an article on my desk about Dana Rivers and we came up with this idea of "Everybody has a right to a Private Life." And we thought it would be good to have a theme about transsexuals in education. Of course, coming from Reedley I thought of you. You made the change right on your job. How’d that go?"

"Pretty much without a hitch. I’m afraid I don’t have any sad stories to tell. The Lord was good to me I didn’ t have any serious trouble on the job, my family was supportive, I have more friends now than before, and even have a good supportive church."

There was silence on the other end of the phone Cindy didn’ t know whether he was taking note or if it came as a surprise that someone would have a smooth transition. Or maybe, he had heard comments around campus, whispered criticisms. No, she wouldn’t go there. Whether he had heard such or not didn’t matter since she hadn’t heard them and she wasn’t going to take ownership of that which she didn’t experience.

They talked for about an hour. Cindy gave much background information and personal narrative. She asked about the nature of the show and the plans for the specific program. It seemed as if the issue was going to be handled without being overly sensationalized.

"So, what we can do is fly you to Miami on the twenty-third, tape the show on the twenty-fourth and you can fly home on Saturday. So, will you do the show?" The weekend of the twenty-third? It seemed like she had something going that weekend, but she couldn’t remember what.

"Actually, I have to consider this carefully. I should check with the college and with my family since it could affect both of them. And I also have to think if I want to be that public."

"Oh, please consider it carefully. You could do so much good. We have a wide audience and people need to be educated on this. Besides you deserve your fifteen minutes of fame."

Cindy smiled at the last. Every week about 5000 people read something she wrote. In fact if the web site stats were correct there wasn’t an hour that went by during the day when someone wasn’ t reading her material. She had her 15 minutes of fame every day. For a very private person she had become a very public transsexual. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. It wasn’ t planned. It just sort of happened and it did provide her with some satisfaction. Still she wondered what happened to that girl whose dream was to transition, teach at the college, attend church, live a normal life and never use the word "transsexual" in a sentence ever again.

Now, national TV? Was it just a natural evolution of her ministry or was it crossing a boundary she didn’ t care to cross without a significant purpose other than satisfying her ego. Obviously, this would take a lot of thought and even more prayer to decide.

Her discussions with both her parents and the president of the college elicited neutral yet uneasy statements of qualified support for any decision she made. Great. It was back on her plate once again. That didn’ t make things any easier. Why couldn’t they have been adamantly opposed or enthusiastically in favor? This didn’t make the decision any easier.

Cindy posted to the mailing list of Christian transsexuals she had started about two years ago. Again there was a mixed bag of comments. Some very much in favor others vehemently opposed. Then there were those who simply promised to pray. Those Cindy appreciated most of all.

As Cindy drove to church Wednesday night, thoughts of the show faded away for a while. The pastor was out of town and she would be teaching his class. She might as well since she wrote the material. She was praying about the class and what she should be saying and asking God to remind her to listen as well.

"Does your church have a lot of transsexuals in it?" Robert had asked.

"Actually, as far as I know I’m it."

Stunned silence. Cindy smiled as he stuttered. "You mean you are attending a – excuse me if I say – normal church."

"Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to call us normal. We are Pentecostal. I’m not sure any Pentecostal church quite fits the category of normal. But yes, it’s just a regular church with regular people and one transsexual attending."

Cindy had mixed feelings about "special group" churches. She could see the point for say Spanish language or Hmong churches because of the language barrier. But churches were becoming increasingly segmented. A Black church on one corner, a church for the homeless on another, she even heard about a church which held services at times designed to fit in with the football games for the "Forty-Niner Faithful." She had been approached a year or so back to form a cyber-church on the internet for the transgendered. It would have made things easier for a lot of folk who had a difficult time finding a church home or who felt they didn’ t fit in. She declined. She wasn’t sure church was ever meant to be easy. And attending a church on-line with people who are all pretty much like you provides almost no opportunity for growth.

Of course, growth could be painful. Today, Cindy is going to teach the pastor’s Wednesday night Bible study. Nine years ago some people wanted to kick her out of the church. Until five years ago she was banned from the women’ s meetings.

Cindy smiled thinking about this. Lying on the seat next to her in the car was an invitation Tanya, the Women’s Ministry director at the church had given her inviting her to the annual "Sleepover" She had made it a personal invitation which was obviously sincere. Yet, just a few years ago, Tanya was one of the ones who lobbied to exclude Cindy from the women’s group. Times change. People change. Growth occurs. Patience is rewarded.

Bible study had a small group of people. Pastor out of town and some people play hooky. But the ones who were there were the backbone of the church. These are the ones you can count on to be in church and work in the church.

Cindy still didn’t feel comfortable asking prayer in a general group about gender stuff. She doubted she ever would. But she did ask in a vague way for prayer concerning a decision she had to make by the end of the week.

Driving home, Cindy began to pray about the show. "Father, you said if we lack wisdom to ask of you. Well, I’ m asking. I do know that this might provide a good ministry opportunity and maybe even provide a good role model for some of my Latina sisters. And it’s not like I’ m exactly in a closet. But a lot of my students watch that show and some of them may not yet know about me. But do I opt for personal comfort over a chance to do good? I really need direction here."

She continued to drive and pray and pray and drive. She passed a street light and the flash of the light illuminated the invitation to the sleepover. Then Cindy remembered. The 24^th was the date of the sleepover. That’ s what she had forgotten. Funny thing really. Here she was 47 years old and got her first invitation to a pajama party. It was a small thing really. A night with some friends. Eating tacos. Playing Bible trivia. Talking through the night. The word transgendered never coming up. Normal life personified. Cindy’s life today personified. As much as she worked within the gender community she really no longer was part of that community. Her life was not there, but here with the simple pleasures of friendship, church, work and yes, sleepovers.

In her heart she heard that still small voice God used so often to speak great things to her: "On the 24^th where do you belong?"

That was the question wasn’t it. Did she belong in a studio in Miami being put on display as a transsexual college professor for the entertainment of millions grabbing her fifteen minutes of fame. Or did she belong with other daughters of the most high God enjoying that fellowship she fought so hard to obtain?

Put that way, the question was no question at all. She had passed the point of being a transsexual teacher or a transsexual anything some time back. Now, she was just Cindy, a simple Christian woman who belonged at her church women’ s group on the 24^th.

She sighed deeply, turned the car toward home and made a note to call Robert in the morning. She wouldn’t be able to make the show after all. She had a previous engagement.

  

  

  

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