by Aimee Norin
I feel like I’m dying…”
Four months later as a civilian, Simi Fisher was rolled toward the operating room on a gurney. She was awake, but she’d been given something to relax her. She could see all around her, but felt no anxieties—not that she would have, anyway. The surgery was something she’d prayed for since she was a little g— For all her life— Since she was a little girl, she asserted to herself.
I can say it.
Her gurney was stopped temporarily on its travels. She saw her surgeon scrubbing up at a sink in an adjoining room.
Her heart was so thankful. She reached out to embrace her surgeon, though her arms didn’t move. Peace engulfed her.
Her surgeon turned around to smile at her.
God… God… God… Oh, God was all Simi could think.
The surgeon looked deeper into Simi’s eyes. The thought didn’t need to be framed. She knew what Simi was trying to say.
“It’s okay,” the surgeon said. “It’s okay. You are a girl, and in a few seconds, to you, you’ll be female, also.”
A tech walked up to Simi on her gurney began to roll it into the O.R. “This is God’s plan for you.”
Simi woke in recovery. Her mind waking up from anesthesia in stages, she sensed that she’d been awake before she’d been aware of it.
There was no surprise. There was no pain—just a sense that she’d had surgery.
It’s over!
She fell back asleep.
She awoke again in her room, comfortable in her bed. There were tubes in her right arm. She was wearing a standard hospital gown under clean sheets. There was no one else in the room.
It was quiet.
She didn’t know how long it had been, but her mind roused. She had to check.
Slowly, she raised the sheets and lifted her gown to see. To her surprise, there were no bandages visible in the area of her groin.
She looked, and there was nothing there.
She raised her head and peered more closely.
Her heart jumped! Seeing and having were so much more than wishing!
No hair, because they’d shaved it for the surgery— The area was swollen, after surgery— The incisions were lower in her crotch, and she couldn’t see from her angle.
Her nurse, Cherrie, entered the room.
Simi looked in awe at the nurse, not dropping the sheet.
Simi stood at the door of the hospital, looking out at the world. She turned to look at Nurse Cherrie beside her, when her tears began to flow for the hundredth time.
Cherrie touched her shoulder, and Simi’s face distorted into a full cry. She wrapped her frail arms around Cherrie’s neck.
“Thank you, Cherie! Thank you so much!”
Cherrie moved a hand to the back of Simi’s head and held her, neither of them moving.
Simi cried a pain she’d held since the first thoughts of her life— The pain at being so wrong before, so horribly wrong. And having to live with the nightmare of her adolescence when everything wrong got worse! And then to have to buck it up for the Army—
“It’s over,” Cherrie said softly into Simi’s hair, which was a foot long so far. Cherrie moved part of Simi’s hair behind her ear and whispered to her: “It’s okay, now.”
Which made Simi cry even more.
CHAPTER
3
Frail Simi sat on a used, black Heritage Softtail at a local dealership in Ft. Washington, MD—an ’09 with the ninety-six cubic inches and a six-speed transmission.
“She’ll give you maybe twenty-seven hundred turns at seventy miles per hour, little lady,” the salesman said with a warm smile. He looked like a spiritual man, with a pentacle around his neck. “You sure you know how to ride this?”
Simi beamed at him, which she’d been doing to everyone for the last two months.
“Well, your feet can touch the ground well enough. Most ladies who like the full-sized hogs choose something like this soft-tail, because the seat’s low and they can reach the ground with it. You can, it seems.”
He smiled at her.
She smiled back at him. “I think I can do fine with it, but you want waaaay too much money. My dad would kill me if I paid what you’re asking.”
The salesman chuckled. “You’re what? Twenty? You’re all grown up now, honey. You don’t need to worry about him.”
“Still, I can hear him calling out to me. If you drop it one thousand, I’ll take it.” She put the kick stand down and got off it.
He started to object, but she headed for the door.
By the time she got to the door, he came down five hundred. She smiled to herself and turned back to him.
“I can’t believe everything that’s happening,” she said to the salesman.
Genuinely a nice guy, the sales man returned, “Magic can sooo change your life, if you want it badly enough.”
I-70 West, south of Pittsburgh, Simi rode her new-to-her Harley at seventy miles per hour. With her new, white Harley-Davidson helmet on and her iPod ear plugs in, the Harley sounded like a rolling base boar hog which complemented her Journey playlist. Arnel Pineda could sing!
She passed a trucker who smiled kindly at her through his window.
The way he smiled—
Simi glowed within, her smile so broad it threatened to break her helmet.
How could he tell she was female through her helmet and jacket, sitting on a black Hog?
Oh. She caught herself. It was her size and her jacket. She was only 5’7”, she weighed about a hundred and forty pounds, skinny as a rail, and her biker jacket was pink. Her hair in a short pony tail out the back bottom of the helmet probably helped, too.
She laughed at herself and raised the face plate of her full helmet to smile back at him.
He nodded to her.
She raised her fist to pump it a couple of times for the universal symbol of “Please honk your horn.” The trucker reached up and pulled down on the chain, blew his air horn, laughing good-naturedly with her. Simi gave him a friendly wave of thanks, lowered her helmet’s face plate, and pulled out ahead.
The world was new. Everything Simi owned in the world was in a soft bag strapped to the back seat, which she used as a backrest. It was more than enough to start again. Leave everything behind. Remake herself. This was her chance.
She slowly rocked her hips back and forth: no pain—only a little, if she got in just that wrong position. The surgery had been healing nicely, and the seat on the Harley was wide and padded. The trick, the doctor had said, is to baby it in the beginning and follow orders. She did, and still, at times, she thought it wise to sit on an inflatable, surgical “donut” she brought for the purpose, just to make sure she didn’t cause a problem.
She moved on the seat. It was fine for now—
And she had sensation she’d never had before.
The seat came all the way up to her—crotch. Her pants were snug where they never could have been before. The feeling was delicious! Part of her mind whirled through remembered pain: Why couldn’t God have made her this way to start with? Why did he have to be so difficult?
But the larger part of her mind was so elated, so ecstatic with her new self, that she couldn’t stay trapped in earlier horrors.
Her skin! She felt her fingers move inside her gloves—soft as velvet. Everything she touched, the handlebars, the seat, her clothes, her breasts—
Her breasts were even softer than velvet: A-cups, vibrating slowly with the bike against the inside of her bra.
Her hair was a foot long so far— I’m going to grow it all the way down!
She rolled down the freeway, passed the occasional car or truck.
The bike was a sensual mixture of smooth-as-cream at cruise with a visceral vibration she could feel in her groin.
She felt herself rouse slightly.
Did Harley plan the bike to be that way?
Sensation was coming back to her groin area with the passing months, and with the huge V-Twin pum
ping up and down between her thighs— She laughed at herself yet again behind the Harley’s windshield. She’d never noticed that before on anything.
She realized: the sensation was new, not only because it was, indeed, new, but also because she’d been cut off from herself before as if she’d been living in a cocoon.
The bike’s vibration was incessant, like a lover who wouldn’t stop, thumping away at three thousand R.P.M.—she was going eighty, now. It felt so vital!
I am going to keep this bike forever!
She passed another trucker who made sick googly eyes at her while he wagged his tongue back and forth like a drunken Rottweiler.
Simi showed him her middle finger and pulled away, leaving him in her dust.
She reached in her jacket pocket and dialed in playlist on her iPod. Arnel of Journey sang Faithfully to her, while she rode west:
Highway run
Into the midnight sun
Wheels go round and round
You’re on my mind…
She didn’t realize her speed increased to eighty-five.
* * *
Oceanna walked out the front door of her mom’s house and saw the neighbor by the driveway.
“Good morning, Don,” she said to him.
Don looked at her, but didn’t respond.
“Nice day,” Oceanna said.
“Morning,” Don barely eked out.
“Be cool today, only about ninety.”
Don said nothing.
“You know, you’re treating me like someone you don’t want around.”
Don looked at her as if to confirm her astonishing grasp of reality.
“How is that different, with me, as opposed to maybe with a black person? Or a Jew? Or a handicapped person? A Mexican? A Democrat, God forbid?”
* * *
I-40 West, Simi rode into the setting sun through genteel country estates east of the Sandia Mountains, east of Albuquerque. She stopped at a motel near Moriarty, the warm evening breeze gracefully luffing her blouse against her skin.
There was another bike there, a Goldwing, with two riders and a trailer.
“Hello,” Simi said to them.
“Hello there,” the lady said to Simi.
The man smiled.
“You’re staying the night?” Simi asked.
“Yup,” the man said. “Can’t see debris on the road well at night, and a bike won’t take it like a car would. Just think of a piece of retread when you hit it at seventy.”
“We’re going to check in. You want to have dinner with us after?” the lady asked Simi.
Simi answered with a smile and hugged her.
Meteor Crater, the next day. Winslow, Arizona became part of Simi’s new life. She stood on the edge of the platform and looked where a clash of matter had brought such beauty. Nearly a mile across and five hundred fifty feet deep, it must have been hit with something—almost as big as her old problem had been.
Simi thought about it and felt the message.
It could as easily have been a clash of ideas.
CHAPTER
4
Oceanna tried to gauge the country hick in front of her. He was sitting on a beautiful blue and black hog, his Resistol cowboy hat on his head, his Justin boots on the floorboard.
“Fifteen thousand bucks for a used bike?” she asked him.
They were on Mason’s driveway south of Kingman, under his carport awning, twelve feet south of the weeds that grew in the gutter by the curb. It was late afternoon, and the sun’ heat was baking them right through the thin sheet steel roof above. Oceanna scowled a complaint to the awning and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.
Mason’s four-ear-old son, Jason, was “helping” Daddy on the bike by pulling on the engine guard and making cute biker sounds.
Mason smiled. “It’s a Harley, and they do tend to keep their value—a 2011 Ultra Limited—analog aux input for an iPod, built-in stereo including A.M., F.M.—and a C.B. radio—heated hand grips—”
“Don’t need those around here,” Oceanna put in.
“—plenty of room in the back baggage bay for two full helmets and baggage space for two people in the side compartments. They all lock up.”
“I’m by myself,” she said, making at least a weak attempt to haggle.
“And this large ‘batwing’ fairing is great to ride with, rain or wind. With only fourteen thousand miles on it, this bike is good as gold. I already had it in for it’s next five thousand mile service, which isn’t due for another thousand miles.”
Oceanna looked uncomfortable. “Sudden sale? Why’d you have the service done when you don’t even need it yet and then turn around and sell it?”
“That’s the way I keep a bike. The dealership can verify— True, but no. That’s not all of it. We own the feed store over that-a-way? I’ve been looking at the new 2014s, semi-liquid cooled, for six months now, and we had a good month at the store last month, and Derie finally gave me permission to get one. So when I sell this, I’m going straight to the dealership and get one of those. They’re already holding my new one—black and whiskey—that sparky-amber color? But this bike is worth the fifteen, I do think. If you bought it in this same shape at the dealership, it’d probably cost you eighteen or so, maybe two thousand more from some dealerships, I recon.”
“Yeah, but fifteen thousand for a bike I don’t need? I have my mom’s car—”
“You said you don’t like to drive your Mom’s car,” Mason told her.
True.
“But I have car of my own.”
“You said that’s back in L.A., collectin’ dust? Why didn’t you bring it to Kingman?”
Oceanna put her thumbs in the pockets of her pants and imitated a classic hick. “Because it sucks like a race horse—”
“Mason!” Derie called from inside the house.
Mason laughed at Oceanna.
Derie walked out onto the car port. “Oh. I see. This is who is buying your bike?” Derie shook hands with Oceanna. “Hello. I’ve heard about you, but never met. Glad to meet you.”
Derie reached down to pick up Jason and stood nearby with him, patting him on the back. “Such a big boy! You’re getting so heavy!”
“I wanna ride the bike with Daddy,” Jason said.
“So do I,” Derie said, but Daddy’s working with it right now.”
Mason checked the kickstand was secure and got off the Harley, stood beside it. He was fit. Every muscle in his body seemed hard, trim. His western shirt was tucked into his pants under a belt with a large, oval “All Around Cowboy” buckle in the front. And in his boots, he stood about two inches taller than Oceanna. His hat nearly touched the carport awning beams overhead. He smiled at her. “Why don’t you sit on her and give her a try? You look tall enough to reach the ground.”
“My car is covered,” Oceanna said with a smirk. She raised her left foot and stuck it over the seat from the right side, sliding onto the seat. It was plush, as comfortable as a pillow.
“Gawd!” she accidentally said.
She held the handlebars, twisted the throttle like an expert, worked the clutch, front brake, rocked the bike back and forth, looked through the windshield.
“You seem to know what you’re doing,” Mason said.
“I’ve ridden off and on for maybe fifty years, so I should.”
Oceanna’s phone rang. She dug it out of her pocket and looked at it.
“Jesus!” she said.
Mason and Derie looked startled.
“Sorry,” Oceanna said, pressing the icon on her phone to accept the call. “Simi!”
Oceanna’s face went whiter than it already was. “You’re here? In Kingman?” Pause. “You’re alright? On a bike!? What are you doing riding that bike so soon, girl? It’s probably two thousand miles!” Oceanna looked quickly at Mason and Derie to see if she gave anything away. “Honey are you up to it? You had surgery—okay, you’re here, so I guess so. My God, Jesus!” she said again.
<
br /> Mason looked down at his own lap and smiled, a little shake of his head.
“I’m not at home. I’m over here at this guy’s house looking for a little cheap—hell, not so cheap—transportation.” She gave Mason a dirty look.
Derie gave her a dirty look back.
“San Francisco!? Christ on a cracker!” Oceanna said into the phone. “I can’t believe this. What kind of bike?” Pause. “One sec,” she said into the phone, handing it to Derie. “Could you please tell her how to get to the dealership?”
“Okay.” Derie took the phone and gave directions.
“You wouldn’t believe it,” Oceanna told Mason. “A friend of mine just rode her hog across the country to get here, and she’s here, now!”
Mason was quick to reply. “The price just went up to sixteen thousand—”
“Mason!” Oceanna yelled.
Mason laughed. “Seventeen!”
Derie hit him on the arm, none too gently.
“Just kidding!” He laughed at himself harder.
“Maybe I’ll drop it back to fifteen for her, if you’ll sleep with me tonight,” he said to his wife.
Derie hit him on the arm again, feigning embarrassment.
“Hottest thing in the county,” Mason said to Oceanna. “I think being pregnant makes her even more so.”
“Three months,” Derie said to Oceanna, patting her tummy.
“Congratulations,” Oceanna said to them.
Derie handed Oceanna’s phone back to her. “She’s already hung up. She’s on her way there. Why you send her to the dealership?”
“Because it’s a good place to take my new hog.”
CHAPTER
5
Thursday evening at the dealership, the place was unusually crowded. Someone had scheduled a group ride to a restaurant, which appeared to be popular.
Derie took Mason in the pickup and dropped him off out front.
Oceanna followed them on her new, blue hog, stopping by the front door, testing her muffler system with a few rev’s.
Mason stood beside her for a minute. “Feel good?” He asked Oceanna.
Oceanna nodded to him in her helmet, which came with the bike.