She’s just being nice, I remind myself. And welcoming.
I hardly realize the morning has flown by until she says, “Now, before we break for lunch… let’s do some icebreakers! Everybody stand up!”
I groan internally, but comply.
She produces a beach ball with little phrases scribbled on it in permanent marker.
“Now, I’ll throw the ball. Catch it, then share your name, your pronouns, and your department. Whatever question your right thumb lands on, share with the group. Then, toss the ball to the next person and sit down. When everyone’s sat down, I’ll stop torturing you all and let you break for lunch.”
She throws the ball to the sales guy.
“Chad, he-him, Sales,” he says with smooth, charismatic confidence. “Let’s see… my dream vacation destination? Cancun for sure.”
Of course his name isactuallyChad. He tosses the ball to a pretty woman with soft auburn curls.
I don’t really hear her words. I’m too focused on dreading my turn. Maybe if I crouch down slowly enough, the orientation leader won’t notice that I sat without taking my turn…
But the ball flies towards me, and I catch it awkwardly to keep it from smacking me in the face.
I lower the ball, and everyone is staring at me. “I’m Jamie, Research,” I say. “And um…” The question under my thumb is upside down, so I spin the ball.
“And your pronouns?” the orientation leader asks.
I see the calm curiosity in her eyes—in everyone’s eyes. I know they clocked my chipped nail polish, long hair, skinny jeans, oversized sweater.
I hear in the question,What are you?
I’d like to know the answer myself, I want to mutter back.My gender is please-do-not-perceive-me.
But a placating smile finds my face. “He-they,” I say sheepishly, knowing they won’t believe me if I just say he-him, that they’ll take it personally if I don’t feel comfortable enough to ‘be my whole self.’ This sort of thing also happened at grad school. It’s not that I dislike they-them, it’s just… I’d rather people think about my gender as little as possible and think aboutmeas little as possible. Other people want that spotlight—are affirmed by it. Not me.
I drop the beach ball as I try to turn it right side up, losing my place. “S-sorry,” I stammer, hating to have attention on me for any longer than necessary.
The orientation leader says, “Just answer whatever.”
I pick the ball up again, paralyzed by the sheer number ofquestions. But then my eye catches the words ‘ice cream’ and I’m saved.
“My favorite ice cream is cookie dough,” I mutter, then toss the ball to the nearest person as if it’s a ticking bomb.
“Thank you, Jamie,” the orientation leader says, as if applying something she’d just learned in a workshop on inclusion and belonging.
I’d rather not be included, if it’s all the same to you, I think to myself. But I’m finally allowed to sit down, and I half-hide behind the table, dreading lunch.
Now that my turn is over, I can half-listen. And my ears perk as I hear another quiet answer from someone in research. We gravitate towards each other as the group breaks for lunch—she’s about my age, mousy, black hair, East-Asian features.
We make eye contact. I nod and say, “Hey.”
“Hey. You a fresh PhD too?” She has a Midwest accent. I’m sure people comment on it. I amsohappy to not.
“Pretty much.” I’d rather not get into the whole gap year thing if I don’t have to.
“Well, then, nice to meet you,Doctor,” she says with a nervous giggle. “Sorry, that was weird. I get weird when I’m nervous.”
“Me too. I’m Jamie.”
“I’m Lily. But I’m, um, really bad with names. So please don’t be offended when I forget.”
“Same. The only person I remember from earlier is Chad. It’s a blur after that.”
