Butterfly Girl by Wayne Purdy

Author:Wayne Purdy [Purdy , Wayne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-05-11T22:00:00+00:00

15

Hazel

Queen’s University was one of the top universities in the nation. Canada didn’t have ivy league schools, but Queen’s was the closest thing to it. It was old, prestigious, and expensive, which seemed to be the standard yardstick that these things were measured by. Hazel walked by Grant Hall, Queen’s most recognizable building, with its limestone clock tower.

She took a pamphlet from the display in the lobby. It had a rudimentary map on its back cover. She double-checked the classroom number on the directory and made her way to C331. It had been a long time since Hazel had stepped foot in a school, but she felt herself being energised by it, as if by being inside, it was charging her batteries. She felt a rush of excitement. She was a good student once. She was older now, more mature, and she felt herself missing it. Missing the opportunities stolen from her. Stolen by Brent Turner and Raj Patel, by drunken, careless touches and pilfered intimacy. A series of bad choices, culminating in disaster.

She passed some harried prospective freshmen touring the campus. They were unsure where the classroom was but were determined to help her find it anyway. The school wasn’t open for class yet, being summer break, but there were pockets of people scattered here and there. After a few wrong turns, she found the room she was looking for. It was locked. She opened the pamphlet and checked the map again. The faculty office was around the corner. She found it with a gold nameplate on the door with the name Dr. Julia Herron emblazoned across it. She cocked her head, trying to get a view inside. She saw a woman sitting at a desk typing on a laptop. Hazel knocked.

“Come in,” a woman’s voice called.

Hazel let herself in. The woman looked up from her work. She was a sturdy woman, with short black hair, shaved on one side. She wore black eyeglasses that stood out prominently on her pale face. Her brilliant red lipstick added a splash of colour to her otherwise black and white countenance. “Dr. Herron?”

“How can I help you?” She asked in a husky voice.

“My name is Hazel Abe,” Hazel said, offering her hand. The two women shook. “I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time?”

“I’m very busy,” Herron replied. “What’s this about?”

Hazel had rehearsed what she had wanted to say. “I’m a journalism student. I’m working on a story about a murdered trans girl. I was hoping you could give me some insight into transgender people.

Dr. Herron raised an eyebrow and smiled wryly. “That’s a broad question. I don’t think I have the time.” She checked her watch as if trying to drive the point home.

“Anything you could share would be helpful,” Hazel offered.

“This murdered trans girl,” Dr. Herron said, “Is it the one in Toronto? From a couple weeks ago?”

“That’s right,” Hazel said.

“That was so terrible. I wept when I heard it. What do you know about it?”

Hazel paused.

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