River Peterson - Story Mapping by River Peterson https://padlet.com/rpeterson56/3enqt6z7vsuvtdux en-us 2021-11-01 15:50:11 UTC 2021-11-08 17:29:28 UTC hello@padlet.com Fairfield Woods Middle School, Fairfield Woods Road, Fairfield, CT, USA rpeterson56 https://padlet.com/rpeterson56/3enqt6z7vsuvtdux/wish/1875816140 Over the summer, I worked backstage for a theater company putting together a show for children to perform. I worked as a stagehand, part of the backstage crew, with my close friends. It was stressful. The air was thick with stress and anticipation. Children were bouncing off the walls, infectious excitement touching everyone. I personally was goofing off with my friends before the show was set to begin. It was such an enthusiastic atmosphere. The children hadn’t performed at their best on the first night, and they were determined to redeem themselves. Everyone was excited, because this was the last show they would do before school began again. People come alive on that stage. It’s like magic. People shed their old selves and embraced a persona that was given to them with such rigor. It was wholly impressive to see a couple adults wrangle thirty-something small children for four hours a day over the summer. Now the kids were ready to go onstage, but as per tradition, the children wanted to perform the pre-show rituals. They’re hard to describe and unique to a specific theater company. If one person had never been a part of them they could never understand. The kids were set to meet in the girls’ dressing room. I was already in there with some people in crew, and it was intense. The children were near impossible to wrangle, but somehow we managed to do it. Before we called in the three or so boys who were a part of the show into the girls dressing room, we asked them if they were ready. And one of them, who was near us at the time, stated, 

“Well, River’s in here and he’s a boy, so I guess so.”

The world froze. I could see everything happening so slowly. A demon shadow washed over the scene as an angry beast made of fire ran me through with their blade. It felt like the end of the world. It felt like hot chains were wrapped around me, pulling me down into an endless sea. I felt the ocean push into my body.

But just as quickly as it began, it was over. I dashed out of the room, feeling the adrenaline ooze out of me, as if someone was sapping me of all of my energy. I fell against the wall, and I felt the waves spit me out onto the jagged beach. I was still in pain, but the worst was over.

I’ll remember that day very well. Not because of the time i was misgendered, but how I was still able to perform my duties as a stage crew member. I grieved for a moment, but when the time came, I was ready to perform at my best.

]]> 2021-11-08 17:25:51 UTC https://padlet.com/rpeterson56/3enqt6z7vsuvtdux/wish/1875816140 Evanston, IL, USA rpeterson56 https://padlet.com/rpeterson56/3enqt6z7vsuvtdux/wish/1875819902 It was a very long day. After hours of school, home, panicking while throwing assorted clothes into a bag, piling into the car, driving to the airport, finding the parking area we were assigned, paying the dumb fee to get in, parking, taking a shuttle over to the airport, finding our tickets, going through the TSA, getting patted down, finding our terminal, getting on the plane, getting off the plane because it was delayed, having to get out my grandmother’s wheelchair from plane storage, replaning, taking off, being in the air, landing, retrieving our luggage, searching for a shuttle to the car rentals, getting on a shuttle, finding our car rental area, renting a car, and driving an hour to our final destination, I was exhausted. My young cousins were insane. They were hopping about, with energy I felt like I hadn’t experienced ever before. It had been years since I was in school. Or at least it had felt like it.

As I was sitting down, getting my thoughts in order, I had heard my aunt talking to one of my cousins, who was no older than a first grader, about my identity. It wasn’t as bad as the time I had felt when I was at Fairfield Woods Middle School, but I was too tired to think about it. I heard my aunt describing who I was, what I used to be named, and what pronouns I used. It was nice of her. I felt respected in that moment.

I felt less respected when he misgendered me the next morning.

He was young. It often happens with young people. He tried to count how many boys were in the room. And of course he included me. He didn’t know any better. I knew my aunt was trying. I knew that he didn’t mean to disrespect my identity in the way that he did. I wasn’t angry at anyone, but that didn’t make me feel any less pain.

]]> 2021-11-08 17:27:06 UTC https://padlet.com/rpeterson56/3enqt6z7vsuvtdux/wish/1875819902 Tampa International Airport (TPA), George J Bean Parkway, Tampa, Florida, USA rpeterson56 https://padlet.com/rpeterson56/3enqt6z7vsuvtdux/wish/1875827057 I had been on vacation for a while now. I was with my mother and my brother, coming home from our Florida vacation. I had already had the gender-related frustration on my way to Florida, with my deadname on my passport, having to verify that yes indeed, that person was me. Something like that drains you mentally and emotionally. That day, I would have to do it again. I had been instructed to put my signature onto my passport. I picked up a pen, but before I could do what was instructed of me, my mother had come over and began to interrogate me. She asked me what I was doing and why. That part wasn’t annoying. What was annoying was when she suggested that I sign my deadname instead of my signature. It is understandable why she asked me to do this, but she never understood how painful travelling was for me already. I had to validate peoples’ flawed perceptions of my identity as true. I had to lie over and over just to get on the plane. It felt criminal. I shouldn’t have been allowed on the plane. I kept thinking someone would have caught me, reported or arrested me. It was scary, it is still scary for me to be on planes. It’s exhausting to have to lie all the time because I don’t match my identity at birth, and it’s ludicrous to suggest that anyone ever does.

I’ve made a lot of sacrifices when it comes to travelling around. I’ve resigned to the fact that if I ever want to get on an airplane, I have to lie about who I am. But asking me to add on a new lie to the smoldering pile of lies was too much. I remember every detail about that moment. The pearly white floors of the airport, the empty check in station that I was standing at with my mother, my brother sitting down in an alcove away from where we were, and the feeling deep in my stomach of anger about to boil over. But I managed to control myself. I didn’t do what she wanted, but I didn’t make a big deal out of it, either. I signed my name, my real name, on the passport. The feeling of victory swept through my veins, breathing new life into what felt like an aged, cold, stone statue.

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