Girls who are boys

I was waiting for my new friend Kapp in the lobby of the university library on Friday afternoon when I saw my student, Pat, just outside, walking back and forth and talking on a cell phone.

Hurry up, hurry up, I mentally willed Kapp to come down from his fourth floor office. He's a librarian, and president of the Friday Nighters Club, but right now I needed him because he was a man.

I have a problem, with Pat, you see, that requires a male perspective. I'd been considering asking my colleagues what to do about it; even you, Gentle Reader, but as long as Pat was right outside on the library plaza, talking on that cell phone, it was the perfect opportunity to ask Kapp. He'd be able to see Pat, which would be much more useful than only to hear me describe the situation.

If only he would hurry up!

We were to meet at 5:00. I'd been there since five to, and so had Pat, but still no Kapp.

Finally, at 5:02 the elevator door opened and Kapp stepped out. I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the glass doors, through which I could see Pat walking away from us, toward the intersection.

"I need you to look at a student for me, like right now. I'll explain later."

Pat was at the intersection, waiting for the light to turn.

"See that student there? The tall, thin one talking on the cell phone?"

"Yes..."

"Is it a girl or a boy?"

Kapp considered for a moment. He had a good view of Pat's right side, crossing the street about thirty feet away.

"Well..." he began, "Short hair; no clue there. The shoes could go either way, and the bag is androgynous."

Pat was carrying a canvas tote, the kind you slip over your neck so the strap is on your opposite shoulder.

"The coat has a hood, which would seem to suggest female. It looks like a boy, but it could also be a thin, flat-chested girl."

"I was hoping to get her — er, or him — to talk so you could hear his her its voice."

"Oh! You mean he's your student?"

"Yes."

"And you don't know whether its a boy or a girl?"

"Well, I thought I did. He — it — argh; she was in my class last semester, and I thought she was a girl, judging mostly by the voice and, well, just by the usual way one judges that sort of thing. There wasn't any doubt in my mind until last week. See, she's in my class again this semester, and the students have to work in partners and write a report on each other's consumer behaviour. Her partner's report referred to her as a he. So now I'm confused."

"Maybe it was just a typo."

"That's what I thought when I read the first instance, but it was sustained throughout the report. Then I thought, maybe English is not the first language of the student writing the report, but that's not the case either."

"Maybe the other student has it wrong," Kapp suggested.

"Well, that's possible, but the thing is, they went shopping together. They had to spend time together, talking. So I'm starting to think that the other student knows something I don't know. I wish I knew how to find out for sure."

"What's the student's name?"

"No help there. It's an Asian name, so who knows? Chinese, I think. Maybe I could ask one of my Chinese friends if they can tell from the name. I would hate to address her, or him, incorrectly and embarass both of us."

"So, just avoid using either pronoun. That should be easy enough."

Kapp was nonplussed. We were on our way to the Poor House Bistro to listen to some blues and eat po' boys, and the prospect of beer and jambalya, to him, far outweighed any academic considerations at this moment.

To be continued in My Imagination, but first, Sass has more out of town visitors.