Oliver is a dancer. He's been dancing all his life, and striving towards becoming a professional has always been his focus.
Complications with his transition, skeletons from the past in form of people he knew back from his internet days, and people...
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"Ollie!"
"Yeah!" I yelled across the dance studio in response to someone in my dance group that had called out to me. She was in casual clothing, and like everyone else in the room had just gotten to changing out of their practice uniforms. I picked up my backpack, watching as she gestured towards the office she had just stepped out of.
"The instructor's looking for you," she said before looking away and walking to catch up with her friend group. I looked on for a while before turning my gaze to the door with a worried look. Every time I've been in there I've had talks with my instructor about not being around much, or not just being available. I wondered what she wanted to talk to me about now. I've been active, I've been around more. Wasn't that what she wanted?
I let out a sigh, adjusting the straps of my backpack before making my way to her office. There's only one way to find out, I guess. I thought to myself, turning the knob of the door and pushing it open before stepping into the small office. My dance instructor looked up from her computer before giving me a smile. Her blonde hair was still tied up from practice, and her smile looked a bit tired, maybe she was stressed.
"Take a seat," she said, gesturing to the one in front of her table. I complied, settling down on it before looking around the room. She had a lot of posters up, and I could spot family pictures taped by the corner of the wall close to her desk. She didn't say anything for a while and just kept doing what she had been doing before I walked into her office.
"I want to ask you something," she said, leaning back in her seat. I looked over at her, looking her square in the face as she stared at me. I wasn't sure why I was nervous, but the way she was gauging me with her eyes made me feel uncomfortable. "I heard you're transgender, is that true?" she asked, and my eyes went wide before I looked down at my hands. I fidgeted with my fingers, nodding slowly. I refused to look up, I didn't want to see the look on her face.
"Is that why you're always missing this practice or the other. You're meeting up with doctors?" she said, and I stayed silent. I wasn't sure whether to feel a bit cornered now. Yes, I had taken time off for some consultations before I had top surgery. I did that, but at the same time, I wasn't off and on at practice because of that. My state of mind and how horrible I'd been feeling for the past year really had been part of it. I hadn't lied — okay, I did, but it had been a half-lie.
Lying by omission.
After a while of sitting in silence, I muttered a small yes, confirming her theory.
One thing I've learned since I started transitioning was that some people might take your transition as a time-waster. Not a good comparison, but it's like telling the person that's interviewing you for a job that you were a full-time college student that would quit at the end of summer. When people think of transition they think multiple surgeries and consultations — and they think of taking time off to do these things.
