I fidget endlessly in my chair as I listen intently to my professors speak. Their words hang on the edge of my attention, and I can feel myself unable to pay them mind. I knew I should not have had so much coffee before making the hour-long trek to campus. I must use the restroom. I wait for a break, a pause, a moment for when I can slip away to find a washroom. I try to be the first. Everyone tries to be the first. I need to be first. Otherwise, the confused and disapproving glances are thrown my way.
“Keep your gaze down and say little,” I tell myself. It is silly and ridiculous to consider that someone would be so upset by someone using the restroom. Something all people use and is a commodity accessible to most. Inaccessible to others. Inaccessible to someone like me.
“I am no fool; I am aware of where I am and those that watch me,” I tell others. I am not in a place where I can safely use my preferred bathroom of choice. The gender neutral bathrooms are a whole building away, and I only have five minutes before I must be seated in my chair, with the fidgeting quelled in theory.
“I am not at a place in my transition where I outwardly pass to cis-hetero individuals,” I explain to others, and myself. I explain this over and over to others, but mostly myself. I must convince myself for my own safety. The memory of the last time I attempted to use my preferred bathroom bubbles to the surface and I feel my chest seize in fear. The heavy weight of expectations and the politically charged atmosphere of this campus is a burden. The vehement gazes, the uncomfortable turns, and startled words exchanged in a pocket of space that matters to no-one. That matters to me.
“Excuse me, pardon me,” I say to people as I search for an open stall. I always move fast, hoping no one will speak words that cannot be taken back. I move fast hoping no one will be able to perceive me and see something is wrong in their eyes.
Once sheltered in the cramped space of the stall, it matters to no-one who is housed inside of the narrow chamber, and I have a moment of reprieve. I take a breath, the smell of stale cleaner, excessive floral perfume, shit, piss, and body odor is pungent in the air. It provides no comfort but I can breathe easier when no-one is watching.
All too soon, I must depart the porcelain sanctuary. Exiting the stall, I work fast to ensure no one can say anything to me. I never have a chance to fully dry my hands because I am too hurried, too afraid of what someone might say or do.
I flee the restroom and rush to my classroom. My fidgeting for the restroom is now replaced by the adrenaline and anxiety coursing through my system.
I am so sorry if I am distracting. I mentally say to the professor upon returning. It is something so silly and embarrassing to explain. The coffee has run its course through my system, but my fidgeting has not quelled.