FOY inc -2- Ride in Truck

Gordon guided me on a path between scrubby bushes to a black pick-up truck parked next to a two-lane road. “You’ll have to share the seat with Albert, he won’t stay in the back,” he said as he opened the door. Then he called the dog. Albert showed up after only being yelled at twice, wiggling all over. 

I leaned my sandy butt against the truck, pulling the sweatshirt around me for warmth while watching the man and dog greet each other as if they had each been absent for a week. It was cute and funny and sweet, and I heard myself giggling as Albert nosed around my legs. When he went for my crotch, I squealed, and his master yanked him back, opening the truck door at the same time.

“Inside,” Gordon ordered, and Albert leaped into the cab. There was a shallow space behind the seats, partially full of boxes, and the dog went there long enough for Gordon to pick me up and put me in the cab. I’d almost fallen on my ass when I tried it myself.

Naked except for the oversize hooded sweatshirt, I felt Gordon’s strength against my back and thighs, his naked chest so near that it sent tingles through me. I’m a girl, I reminded myself even though I didn’t really believe it. But I sure felt like my body was reacting the way a girl would to this handsome, powerful man. 

Once seated, I tried to pull the hoodie down to cover more of me. Immediately, Albert was in my lap, in the floorboards in front of me, back into the space behind the seats, being a pest and interrupting my efforts at modesty. He tried again to stick his head between my knees, causing me to slam them tightly together.

“Get down, Albert!” his master commanded. Then to me, he explained, “You’re in his seat. Normally, no one rides with us. Sorry.”

I made another noise that sounded a lot like a giggle. Albert tried to kiss me. “Plpp-plpp-plpp,” I said, resisting. Albert gave me a doggy smile. His nails were scratching my bare legs, and I tried to push him into the floorboards. “Down,” I said several times, but that seemed to only work when his master said it, and I had to push at him to make it count. He settled for a moment between my feet, his head grinning at me, upside down.

I giggled again and managed to resist scratching his ears, which might have encouraged him to resume his affectionate mauling.

I noticed my own nails for the first time. They were long, sharp and painted bright purple. What the fuck? Were they like that before? I tried to take a closer look, but Albert thought me moving my hands meant I wanted more kisses. He stood on the floorboards and pushed me back against the seat, slobbering on me liberally, like a county supervisor running for re-election.

Gordon stopped watching me wrestle with the dog, closed the door and ran around the front of the truck to climb in behind the steering wheel. He started the engine up while Albert and I played patty cake, me trying to keep him in the space on the floor. The dog was just plain stronger than me, and it was not working at all.

“Fasten your seat belt,” Gordon said, and I looked at him. I think my mouth fell open, and Albert filled it with doggy kisses, worthy of a French poodle. “Splut,” I said, with feeling.

Gordon reached across, pulled a belt out from under me and made it fast across my lap. “Oh,” I said. I hadn’t had the slightest idea what he was talking about and felt pretty dumb about it. I could come up with odd ideas hinting at a real personal history, like dealing with local politicians, but I had to be reminded what a seat belt was for?

We pulled out across the highway, and Gordon turned the truck completely around by backing up and starting forward again. The move was quick and nearly violent, and it’s a good thing he had fastened that belt because I would have ended up in the floorboards with Albert. “I’m going to take you to the hospital in Daytona.”

“Why?” I asked. He was still bare-chested, and I couldn’t seem to stop staring at all that male skin. He had a mole below his right nipple that looked just like a small juicy cranberry. Was I hungry? No? Maybe just a nibble…?

“Well—uh—they might be able to help you?”

“Huh?” I yanked my mind out of some daydream. “Who?”

“The doctors, nurses, at the hospital?”

“I’m not sick,” I said. I squirmed a bit, suddenly realizing that I seemed to have sand in a place that I had never known I possessed before. If I was really a girl, I had a terrible suspicion of just where that might be. “I need a bath,” I said. “I may be drunk. But I’m not sick.”

“What’s your name?” he asked again.

I stared at him. “You said it was Bridget.”

He chuckled. “That was a guess. If you don’t know your name, the hospital might be able to help you.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “They’ll think I’m crazy.” A giggle turned into a squeak. And they might not be wrong. I knew my body was female, but just as firmly, I knew that I wasn’t. Sounded like a nutcase to me.

He shook his head, chuckling. “Maybe someone has reported you missing; they’ll be able to find out who you are.”

“I’m not anyone, I’m just me,” I said. My voice sounded odd, high-pitched and up inside my head instead of where it belonged, down in my chest. Thinking of my chest, I looked inside the hoodie again. They were still there. If I had breasts, why did I remember being a man? “They’ll think I’m crazy,” I said again. If I tell them I think I’m a man, they’ll know I’m crazy.

Gordon stayed silent for a bit. A couple of cars passed us going the other way. The grayness of morning on the beach began to brighten as the sun poked a few holes in the eastern sky. I stared at the glory of a sunrise over water like I had never seen it before, then snapped my mouth closed before Albert could investigate.

I checked my internal image of myself again—an older man, going bald, so I shaved my head. I didn’t have blonde hair down to my waist. I had a mustache but no beard. Not a face as smooth as a child’s. I had muscles, not like Gordon’s but a man’s muscles. Not slender girly arms. I had a bit of a potbelly and a roll of fat under my chin.

And I should have a chin, a wide, square, bristly chin, not the smooth, round little nub I could feel with my hand. I examined my face with both hands; it was all wrong. And my hands were wrong, too. Too small, too delicate, even the wrong shape. The hands I remembered having were wide-palmed with thick fingers. The hands I had now were narrow with tapering fingers and thumbs that looked short and weak. And those purple nails, even my toenails were purple.

“Are you crying?” Gordon asked.

I nodded, another thing. I never cried because a man doesn’t cry in front of other people. “I’m afraid,” I said. And how could I admit that? If men are afraid, they don’t tell anyone. But the world and who I was in it made no sense.

Gordon sighed. “You’re not an American, are you?” he asked. “You’re afraid they’ll lock you up for not having your papers?”

I stared at him. Was he trying to make me paranoid?

“I’m Canadian, but I’m a legal resident with dual citizenship,” he said. “But the DHS can be bastards if you don’t have your papers.” He sighed again. “Look, I’m an investigator, I work for insurance companies. I know how to find out stuff.” He reached over and patted my hand, and Albert tried to lick him. I considered it but decided it lacked dignity.

“And what I know about amnesia is that no one can really do anything about it. Usually, people get their memories back. But if you were in a boat accident, I can probably find out who you are pretty easily.” He smiled at me. “Records are kept of that kind of thing. Okay?”

“‘Kay,” I sniffled. Amnesia, I said to myself. Well, I didn’t remember who I was, but I remembered who I wasn’t. Was there a word for that? I sniffed again.

“There’s tissue in the glove box,” he said.

I looked around, but I didn’t see any gloves.

He reached past me and hit a button that opened a little door in front of my knees. It bopped Albert right on top of his noggin, causing me to make a noise. Inside the compartment, I saw a box of Kleenex, or at least, pop-up tissues. I made that giggle noise again. “Oh,” I said. “The glove box.”

Gordon laughed while I took out tissue and blew my nose. “You can push the door up to close it, and the button makes it open again,” he said when he saw me staring at the little door.

I closed it, and it latched, and then I found the button to make it come open again. It didn’t hit Albert this time because he had laid down on my feet. I closed it again, but I felt like a little kid—I wanted to open and close it several more times. More giggles escaped.

Gordon shook his head. “I’m afraid you might have banged your head pretty hard. I really should take you to the hospital.”

I twisted the tissue in my hands. “No, please?” I said. I looked at him, and he glanced at me again. He thinks I’m a girl, I thought. I tried to make a silent appeal to him.

“Okay,” he said again. He grinned. “You can stop with the puppy dog eyes.”

I patted Albert on the head, and his tail thumped on the floor. I giggled again. It had worked.