Squirrel Cage

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Cover Art by:
A deviant mind.

When I thought about telling my life story, it was to be a means to transmit my life history to my
children.
I’ve never been happy about sharing an edited edition of my diaries. There are many topics that do not translate well as they commingle with the thoughts and events of every day life.
Addi
tionally
, key turning points in my life happened in but a few moments or days and require many pages to present.
A retelling of my diaries would be lopsided and quite honestly, very boring.

I decided to present my story as a collection of essays.
Each essay can stand on its own as a topic in this volume.
This means that the chronology may overlap.
Please do not let this confuse you. It has been my desire to focus on single topics as much as is possible in each essay.

Squirrel in my essays is not a deliberate literary device.
Squirrel was a
self-invented
character and well established in my mind as a child. Squirrel accompanies my earliest memories.
I later came to realize that
Squirrel
was my mischievous muse. The Rusty was similarly a real nightmare character in my childhood dreams.

For my friends and family, I have changed all names to protect your identities.
I have also eliminated names of companies and corporations.
I live my life in “stealth”. Since my surgeries, I have woven my life back into society’s normalcy.
The name “Cindi Jones” is my pen name.
I prefer to be left alone in the privacy of my life.

To my family, I hope that this text will help you understand your son, brother, husband, and father who felt compelled to change his gender to female. You will connect familiar events to my conundrum.
You will also learn many facts I have not shared until now.
I believe that you all are ready to learn the complete story. My family is very special to me and they always will be. As with any biographical work, there may be different points of view as to actually what happened. I have tried to treat everyone as fairly as possible. I have tried to focus on my problem and only include details where necessary to help understand the “why” of what happened.
To them I caution; read the whole book.

To my friends, I thank you for helping me compile these essays by recalling stories, drudging up old photographs, and helping me remember some of the good times we
had.

To those who have proof read essays for me, let me thank you from the bottom of my heart.
You gave me the courage to remember many sorrows and record my life’s most painful and precious moments.

If you purchased this book because you are trying to resolve similar problems, I sympathize with you. These essays are written for you too. Your journey can be at best be called challenging.
At worst, it is a nightmare that seems to never end.
I hope you find help in these pages. And may you find the peace you are searching for.

If you are reading this book because it looks like a good read, I’m hopeful that my sentiments reach you through my most inadequate words.

Cindi Jones

I sat uncomfortably, staring at the base of Dean’s desk.
He took a long drag from his cigarette as he reviewed a memo from the plant manager
.
My feet twitched, unaccustome
d to the stiff Florsheim shoes.
I reported directl
y to Dean, our VP of marketing.
As a non Mormon he had been a bit on the outside at the company and
he had been very decent to me.
I knew that it had been difficult for him to be a part
of the senior management team.
I’m not sure that he had ever been fully accepted or included in major decisions. And I knew that my personal escapades had been a strain on his management effectiveness.

He peered over the manila folder and size
d me up squirming in the chair.
I wore the old blue standard with the red silk power tie. I had never i
n my life felt so out of place.
My head felt naked with m
y beautiful golden locks gone.
My face had fully recovered from electrolysis but it didn’t
match the suit I
wore
.
I was scared out of my mind and I could feel the vile climbing in my throat. Squirrel, my muse, was sleeping. She had never slept before.

“David,” he said as he let go a lung full of smoke, “I have a memo here from the general manager and I’ve be
en asked to present it to you.” I did not know the contents.
After all, I had only been bac
k to work for 40 minutes or so.
But I knew that the shock to everyone would g
enerate some kind of reprimand.
I thought that I was going to be f
ired.
He passed me the memo but would not give me
the chance to read it just yet.
“David, I’ve tried to help you but you have
really tied my hands with this.
I just d
on’t know what I can tell you.
Go, ahead and take a look at the memo.”

My hands could
hardly hold the page.
My head pounded as I peered
at the paper with blurry eyes.
The memo had the standard headings and
was addressed to David Steele.

“David, we have received your request to change your name from Cindi Jones back to David Steele.
As you are aware we have already accommodated your c
hange of identity once before.
We will make the change you have requested but please be advised that another such request shall result in the t
ermination of your employment.”

Tears burst into my eyes as I exploded in response “But I have made no such request Dean! They ca
n’t change my name like that.”
Dean was patient and I could tell that he felt almost as uncomfortable as I did.

“Look David.
Last Friday
you were here as Cindi Jones.
Today, you show up in a busines
s suit with your hair cut off.
Seriousl
y David, what did you expect?”

Th
e tears streamed down my face.
“But Dean, they can’t
change my name,” I whimpered.

“Look David, why don’t you go settle back in to your office for a while and we can talk later?”

“Okay,” I agreed. This sounded like it would give me a chance to think things over.

I went back to my office, quietly closed the door behind me, and slumped into my chair.
What had I done?
How had I screwed
life
up so royally?
I knew that this was what I had to do for my family.
But why was everything so undeniably wrong?
Oh what was I going to do?
What would come next? “Where are you
Squirrel
?”

I was jolted from the chair when the door swung open wide and Dan poked his head in as he did every morning.
He was always such a happy fellow.
“Good Morning Cindi…. Ah…. I… ah….
Well I can see that you are upset so I’ll leave you alone”.

As he left, the office door flung wide open.
And within few minutes a steady string of my office mates strolled past my door to catch a glimpse of the latest installment of what had become known as “the daily soap
”
.
My secretary arrived late and came rushing in exclaiming
,
“Cindi, I’m so sorry for being… ahh, I…. Oh Cindi, what have you done?
Let me close
the door.”

F
or the next 15 minutes I detail
ed the events of the weekend.
“And now,” I continued “I realize that they have finally beat me down, Amy. They have won and I have lost.”

Amy did not know what to say but I recognized true compassion in her eyes.
She pulled up a chair and held my hands for a while and
we both shed some more tears.
Her makeup streamed d
own her face and she choked up.
Finally, she dismissed herself to go to the restroom to clean her face. “I’ll be back,” she promised.
I asked her to close the door on the way out.

I slumped back into my chair and wondered w
hat was going to happen to me.
Since my official duties had been secretly assigned to some
one else, I had nothing to do.
I just sat there and watched the rain outside. And then the suicidal swell of certainness filled my chest.
Yes, that wou
ld be the only way out of this.
I remembered the very first attempt but the rifle had been removed from my
closet and hidden by my family.
The second time failed as well as the belt brok
e when I kicked the stool away.
No one except for my ther
apist knew of these incidents.
“No, I said to myself, hanging won’t work. The only sure way is the magic bul
let. I still have it in my car.
I could go out and purchase another rifle.”

I opened my desk drawer and fumbled with the keys while I sorted
out the details to end my life.
I don’t know how long I s
at there stupefied in thought.
“Please
Squirrel
, help me think this through.”

Amy burst back into the office.
“Cindi, please, before you do anything, call your therap
ist.
You must do this for me.”

Amy had incredible insight.
She had been the first real friend that I’d ever had.
“I want to see you call her. And I’m not going to leave until I do.”
Amy found the number in my Rolodex and
dialed it for me.
When the call was answered on the other e
nd, she passed me the handset.

“May I spea
k to doctor Rantz?” I queried.

The voice on the other end of the line replied
,
“I’m sorry but she is not available right now, may I have her call you bac
k?”

I answered in the affirmative.
I told the receptionist that I was going through a suicidal moment and left my name, Cindi Jones, and my telephone number.

“Are you going to be alright for a
few minutes Cindi?” Amy asked.
I responded that I would ge
t by.
“Look I’ve been asked to do a few things by one of the VP’s.
I’ll drop i
n on you later,” she explained.

I told her that she may have just saved my life. She paused and turned her head towards me.
She sa
id nothing and did not need to.
She forced a smile and left.

Dr Rantz called me right back.
“Cindi,
what has happened?” she asked.

I briefly explai
ned the events of the weekend.
How my will had finally collapsed, that I had cut my hair off, committed to my ex wife that I was going
come back
, and had
come to work dressed as a man.