Almost Heaven

Navigating the Frontiers of Gender at a Rural College

By Hal Lightman*

*Because of the incident described in this piece, Hal writes pseudonymously for privacy. His pseudonym comes from a combination of 2001: A Space Odyssey’s character HAL 9000 and the surname of an astrophysicist. -Eds.

I was assigned male when I was born, but I’ve never really been a boy. There’s no way to know exactly when I knew I was different, or even how to articulate it. I’ve just always known that I wasn’t what society deemed an acceptable male specimen. I never liked sports much, except for baseball, and I was horrible at my little league experiences, so even that didn’t last long. Cars and games and hobbies traditionally associated with boys didn’t interest me, and the vast majority of my friends have always tilted toward girls. I just didn’t fit into the label.

Having open-minded parents helped considerably when I was younger. But because we lived in the DC Metro Area, I didn’t come face-to-face with how homogenized a surrounding could be until my adolescence, when we moved, eventually settling in a small town in West Virginia.

It wasn’t easy living in a small town after having been in much larger places. The convenience of everything being available within a short distance was gone, but what was available took less time to reach due to the lack of traffic. There was also very little diversity; I could count on one hand how many non-white students attended my high school, and while college had more racial diversity, it was still not very accepting of certain people.

People like me.

I didn’t wake up one morning and decide, “I’m tired of being a boy. I think I’ll start being a girl.” It was just something that seemed to make sense the older I got and the more experience I obtained.

At the time, I had very little firsthand interaction with anyone else who didn’t fit in, at least none in person. The internet was a budding force in the late 1990s and early 2000s, and it was just starting to find its niche as a place where those defined as “other” could communicate without direct confrontation.

Being a geek, nerd, and fat as a teen never occasioned any easy interactions for me in high school. The fact that my interests didn’t align with those of my local peers didn’t do anything to ease my reputation of being the loser kid.I had friends – people I talked to and spent time with – but I mostly kept to myself and didn’t let many people into my life for fear of rejection or losing them like I had others in the past.

In 2002, I’d been living off and on as a woman for about a year, limiting my exposure in public to just a few places where I felt comfortable. Most of the time I was with a very close friend, as I did not always feel safe being alone, but there were times when I would venture out on my own.

One Friday night, I was at the campus library reading for a project. Dressed in a simple black dress with fishnets and flats, I stayed until the librarians kicked me out at closing time. It was very late at night, so I decided to walk back home. My house was only a block and a half from campus, so I didn’t think it would be an issue.

For the most part, the college didn’t have a reputation of being a party school; I never heard stories of mayhem, such as burning a couch on someone’s front lawn. However, it still had fraternities, athletes, and a very large WASP population, none of which was a big surprise, as it was a religiously affiliated institution in rural West Virginia. One might think that I would have understood the dangers present – and I did – but I also didn’t think I had much to worry about, as I’d let my guard down having lived in the town for seven years.

I have never been able to pass as convincingly as I wish I could, or perhaps I gave that impression and others picked up on it; whatever the case, some people just knew that I wasn’t “meant” to be the way I was. This fact was made very clear when four men hefting duffle bags spotted me walking by and sought my attention. If I had run, they probably wouldn’t have followed, but being spoken to like an object made me push away rational thought.

The words were unkind, but I had heard them before. I had even had others block my way to stop me from going onward. This time was different – this time they weren’t going to let me just ignore them. Without warning, hands started to grab me andclaw at my clothes. I honestly thought that they were going to rape me, and part of me wishes they had, because as horrifying as that act is, to me it is not as bad as what they did.

Three of them dragged me to a nearby tree, while the fourth opened up his bag and took out some rope. Kicking and screaming, I tried to get away, but even though I was not a skinny person, I never had much muscle strength. Two of them shoved me against the trunk of the tree while the third kneed my hip, destroying my ability to get away. The fourth finally joined his friends as they started tying me to the tree as though it were a scene from a film.

Fear was all I could feel at this point. I had no idea what they were going to do, just that it wasn’t something I was going to like. Hitting me, ripping parts of my clothing, and yelling words that would make even Deadpool think twice, the quartet of assailants put me through Hell. They made cuts on my skin, carved derogatory epithets into me, and spat on my face. I don’t recall much after that, as I passed out from the pain and blood loss, but I woke up when I felt myself being moved.

Afraid that they were taking me somewhere, I tried to fight, only to find myself staring at familiar faces. Close friends of mine, who were worried when I didn’t return home, found me hanging from the tree and cut me down. I was ashamed of what happened, and unwilling to speak to the police or the campus authorities. They helped me change clothes, took me home, helped me to my room, and covered for me with my family. See, at this point, I was still not out to my family in any conceivable way. It would be years before I came out in terms of my sexuality, and even longer regarding my gender identity.

Going into my senior year, I completely dropped my feminine identity. I kept my head down, didn’t make waves, and buried myself in my studies and research, fearing that were I to continue onward in transitioning, I would end up dead. It wasn’t until six years later, when I met my wife, that I was able to talk about it, to evaluate it, and to make some serious decisions. Either deliberately or subconsciously, I decided that transitioning was no longer right for me, although I still wasn’t a boy. At the time I didn’t know what the wordwas, but I eventually came to discover that I was genderfluid, existing as all genders and none at the same time.

Even now, the emotional scars of that night have an impact on me. I’m able to talk about it with my friends and loved ones, and I can look upon it as a traumatic experience without reliving it each time it comes to mind. But I still don’t see myself as ever transitioning again. Whether or not that’s because of the incident, or because I never was really female but just thought I was while on the path to discovering my non-gendered identity, I have absolutely no idea, and probably never will.

Hal Lightman is an educator at a renowned university. He holds a master’s in Higher Education Administration, with a specialization in LGBT issues and multiculturalism, and a bachelor’s in History, with a specialization in 1900-1950 British/German relations.