Delia Suits Up

by Amanda Aksel

  “Who the fuck are you?” She swings at me.

  I dart in the opposite direction. “Regina, stop. It’s me, Delia.”

  “Delia? You better not have hurt her. Delia! Are you okay?” she yells down the hall then points the bat at me like a fencing foil while I dodge her jabs. By the look on her face, I know she’ll kill me. Mafia style. “Get out of my room, you rapist!”

  “I’m not a rapist! It’s me. I woke up like this and I need your help. Please!”

  “A rapist and a psycho. I’m calling the police.” Her stare holds me in chains as she rips her phone from the charging cable.

  I’m screwed. Really fucking screwed.

  My hands are frozen above my head. “Wait! Please don’t call the police. You have to believe me. I need your help!” How can I expect her to believe it’s me when I can barely believe it myself?

  “Yes, I’m calling to report an intruder in my apartment.” Regina doesn’t flinch. Not even for a second. I knew she was a badass bitch, but damn!

  “Regina, please. It’s me! Delia!”

  Go ahead, say it again. I’m sure she just didn’t hear you the first two times.

  She rattles off our address and my stomach tightens. I’m going to spend my first day with a dick behind bars!

  I can’t go down like that.

  Think fast, Delia.

  “I know about the affair with Dixon. Your boss. That’s why you really left MAD NY,” I blurt out.

  She lets her phone drift from her ear. “How do you know that? I only told—”

  “Me. Delia.”

  Regina bares her teeth, cheeks flushed and trembling. “I don’t know who you are or how you know my personal shit, but you need to get the fuck out of here now!”

  “Regina, please,” I say. My arms are as weak as my spirit, and I lower them.

  Her eyes widen as she points her bat toward the door. “Now!”

  I recoil, turning away. This has to be a nightmare. I’m going to wake up as woman-me any second, tell Regina about it over our morning coffee, and we’ll have a good laugh.

  “Stop!” she demands. “Leave my robe, you sick bastard.”

  A gust of anguish and hopelessness sweeps through my body and my eyes begin to sting. I have no recourse. If I can’t even get my best friend to believe me, then what chance do I have when the police arrive? With this face, I’ll be the pink panty prisoner for sure. I squeeze my eyes shut one last time, urging myself to wake the fuck up from this hellish disaster. My fingers quiver as I let the bathrobe fall to the floor. I breathe out a deep, humiliating sigh and drag my feet forward.

  Regina’s bat slams against the hardwood and I freeze.

  “Delia?” she says, her voice shaky.

  I turn back. Her eyes trace my entire frame while the 911 dispatcher hollers through the phone. “Sorry, false alarm. It’s my roommate,” Regina says and hangs up. The phone slips from her fingers, tumbling near the baseball bat.

  She moves closer, gaping, blinking . . . barely breathing.

  “Regina?” I snap my fingers in front of her face.

  “Oh my god.”

  “How did you know it was me?” I ask.

  She pushes on my chest, spinning me around, then points to a spot above my ass. “Your bird tattoo.”

  “Huh?” I still have my tattoo? I whip my head around, but she grabs me by the shoulders to face her.

  “That’s not a Pinterest tattoo. It was custom designed by one of the graphic designers at my old firm for Delia. I mean you.” Regina’s eyes search mine as if she’s looking through a window to see if anyone’s home. “How is this even possible?”

  I shake my head, feeling my knees buckle. “I don’t know. Last night I went to bed and everything was normal. Then I woke up . . . like this.”

  “No. This is crazy.” She pokes around my collarbone and narrows her eyes. “Who are you really? Did Delia put you up to this?”

  “Regina, please! This isn’t a fucking joke. Or, hell, maybe it is and the joke’s on me. I just peed from a penis and it was a literal mess. And I have balls! Like, real balls. This is, like, some real-life Freaky Friday shit!”

  Regina’s face softens. “Delia’s the only person I told about the affair.”

  “I am Delia, and I never told anyone. You have to believe me.” I put my hands over my heart then ball my fists under my chin.

  She gasps, covering her mouth. “Oh my god, I know what happened.”

  “You do? What?” Does she know how to reverse it too?

  “Truth or Dare,” she whispers.

  Is she really asking me this right now? “Regina, this is serious! There’s no time for a stupid game.”

  “No, last night you said if you could change anything about yourself you’d have a dick. And there.” Her finger hovers an inch away from my member. “You have a dick!”

  “I know what I said.” I shield my overstuffed stuff with my hefty hands. “But that’s absolutely ridiculous.”

  “And so is that bulge of yours.” She cranes her neck, peeking around.

  I step back. “Regina, please!”

  “I’m just saying, how else can you explain it?”

  “If I knew how to explain it, then I’d probably know how to fix it!” My voice rumbles along the walls.

  She cocks her head back. “Guuurl, you sound scary.”

  I scrub my hands over my face and let out an irritated growl. I don’t want to sound scary. I just want to sound like me. The real me.

  “Okay, okay. I think I have an idea,” she says.

  I raise my brow. The next thing that comes out of her mouth better be brilliant.

  “Truth or Dare,” she says. “We can use the game to reverse this.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I may have morphed on the outside, but Regina’s been transformed into an idiotic preteen. Is this the Twilight Zone? The Upside Down? Make No Damn Sense Land?

  “No! Truth or dare?” Regina struggles to make eye contact and digs her nails into my arms, forcing me to look at her. “Truth or dare!” Between the two of us, she’s the scary one.

  “Truth,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “If you could change anything about yourself what would it be?”

  “I’d have my body back.” We wait for a moment, glancing around the room and at each other as if something magical is about to happen. “Did it work?”

  She glances down at my crotch. “Nope. Maybe you have to go to sleep again?”

  “Maybe we’re both going nuts. I mean, what was in that wine last night? Or the ice cream? Or maybe it’s this apartment. Do you think we have a mold problem that’s making us hallucinate?”

  Please, God, let it be that.

  “I don’t think so. Let’s get Frankie. Maybe he can help.” She picks her robe up off the floor and shoves it at me. I slide it back on. She loops her arm around mine, the same way she does when we shop sample sales on Saturday afternoons. Only now, her arm feels so tiny in mine and I’m significantly taller.

  She looks up at me as we make our way to Frankie’s room. “Fuck, I never thought I’d see you like this.”

  “And I never thought I’d have a wiener in my panties.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Despite the commotion and the eastern sun glaring through his shadeless window, Frankie’s sleeping like a baby. I envy the sweet oblivion on his face, body swaddled tightly in his blanket like he’s just finished nursing. He’s always told me that doctors can sleep anywhere. I guess they can sleep through anything too.

  “Frankie, wake up!” Regina pesters his shoulder like a nagging mother.

  His eyes shoot open as he gasps, flinching himself loose from the blanket. “Jesus, Gina. What?” He rubs his eyes, blinking a few times before focusing on us. Regina and an unfamiliar, slouching man in a woman’s robe.r />
  “We have a problem.” She gestures to me as if the entire situation is obvious. I turn my mouth up into a timid smile and wave like a shy child. What are the chances he’ll believe anything we’re about to say?

  Frankie glances between the two of us, snarling his lip the more he looks at me. “Who’s this guy?”

  “It’s me. Delia.” I clutch the worn terry cloth material and hold my breath. His reaction can’t be worse than Regina’s. Can it?

  “Yeah, okay,” Frankie scoffs and rolls his eyes. I guess that’s better than meeting the end of a baseball bat. “For real, man, who are you?”

  “Really, it’s me.”

  He lets out a long sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, Gina and . . . strange guy in a robe. It’s too early for pranks.”

  “It’s not a prank!” Regina throws her hands in the air. “This is Delia! She woke up in this body and we don’t know how to change her back.” She spits this out in her Puerto Rican–Italian-Brooklyn accent, which I’ve dubbed her cut the shit voice. It’s the equivalent of lighting a dynamite wick. Frankie and I know that when it starts we only have a few seconds to defuse the situation.

  Our sleepy roommate seems to forget this fact as he rolls over, pulling the blanket over his head. “I’m not in the mood, guys. Shut my door when you leave.”

  If I gotta deal with this shit, so does he. Dude needs a wake-up call.

  I march over, snatch the covers away, and yank him by his shirt, pulling him out of bed easily. “Damn it, Frankie! I am Delia! Now get up and help me!” My voice roars like a beast. Frankie’s eyes widen as he looks into mine and a new sensation ripples through my veins. Power.

  I let him go.

  Frankie stumbles, catching himself on the wall behind him. “You’re Delia?”

  “Yes!” Regina and I shout.

  He cranes his neck around my broad frame to look at her. “You know this is crazy, right? You really think this is Delia?”

  “Trust me, boy. It’s her.”

  My confrontational stance softens. “Seriously, Frankie, it’s me.”

  With his arms folded over his chest, he gives me a suspicious once-over, stepping away. “I’m going to need proof.”

  “Show him, Delia.” Regina nudges me.

  My body locks up. “What? Why?”

  “Delia, you don’t have time to be coy. Just show him already.” Her accent flares to life again. I nearly trip over my big, hairy feet as I turn around and lift the robe just enough to flash Frankie the bird on my lower back. His fingers graze my skin. I shy away, concealing my body with Regina’s bathrobe again.

  Regina shoves him. “Now do you believe us?”

  “Woman, you need to keep your hands to yourself.” Frankie aims a hostile finger at her and she backs off, mumbling something biting under her breath. He rolls his eyes then narrows his gaze at me, making a scratching noise as he rubs his chin. My hands find my own stubbly jaw and I rub against the grain. Now we’re like two zydeco musicians scrubbing washboards. I used to think growing facial hair was my worst nightmare. Turns out growing a penis is.

  I reach across my face to a clunky nose, running my finger down the long bridge to the spongy round tip, then up to what feels like furry caterpillars above my eyes.

  Frankie circles me like Sherlock Holmes. “It’s plausible, but that still doesn’t prove that this guy is Delia. You gotta give me something else.”

  Of course he wants more proof. Any sane person would, let alone a doctor who’s trained to question everything. But what more can I give him? It’s not like I’ve got some juicy dirt on him like I do Regina.

  Wait a second.

  He’s the one with dirt on me. My breath sticks to my lungs. Ugh, is this the best I can come up with? I scan my memory again.

  Yep, it’s all I got.

  “Well?” he asks.

  I swallow the lump in my throat. Sorry, Regina. “Remember when you caught me replacing the batteries in Regina’s vibrator with the dead ones from mine?” This is a strange question regardless, but coming from the tenor of a man, it’s even more bizarre. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry hysterically.

  “I knew it!” Regina snaps her fingers.

  Frankie’s jaw is practically on the floor, and his rapid sporadic blinking looks more like Morse code than shock. Stunned Spanish seems to spill out of him as he slowly covers his mouth and circles me again, this time like I’m the most magnificent sculpture he’s ever encountered. “You really are Delia. How did this happen?” His eyes lock with mine. I can tell he not only believes me, but he recognizes me inside this unfamiliar form. Maybe the same way I did when I looked in the mirror.

  I throw my hands in the air. “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do. It was Truth or Dare.” Regina swats my shoulder, but I barely notice.

  “No, this is bigger than that. This . . .” He draws closer, assessing me with awed, Dr. Frankie-stein eyes. “This is a miracle. Divine intervention. Only God himself could do this.” Frankie is technically a man of science but still fancies himself a devout Roman Catholic even though he only attends mass for Easter Vigil and Christmas.

  “Are you serious? You think God did this?” Regina, on the other hand, renounced her strict Catholic upbringing, probably just to free up her Sundays for eggs Benedict and mimosas.

  “You think Truth or Dare did this?” Frankie snaps back.

  “You guys, stop! Look at me.” When their eyes fix on me again, a woman in a masculine body dressed in a fluffy feminine robe, I instantly regret it. “What do I do now?”

  Regina turns back to Frankie. “Maybe you should examine her.”

  “For what? A zipper that unfastens her male exterior?”

  Regina finds his stethoscope on the dresser and tosses it to him. “I don’t know! You’re the doctor!”

  He flares his nostrils and shoots her a cold look as he plugs the ends of the stethoscope in his ears. “Fine. Delia, take off your robe.”

  I wring the terry sash in my hands for a moment then tug it loose, pushing the warm fabric off my shoulders, letting it fall around my ankles. Regina stifles a laugh. I cross my arms over my broad chest. “This isn’t funny.”

  “You’re right.” Regina gives my pink panties a hard stare. “This is quite a pickle.”

  Whether she’s referring to the situation or my dick, she’s absolutely right.

  Dr. Frankie clears his throat and asks me to take a seat. I do so, dragging the sheet across my lap. “Deep breaths.” Pressing the cold scope against my chest, he listens to each side then asks me to turn around. “I can’t believe your whole body changed except for this tattoo.”

  Regina peeks over. “Crazy, right?”

  “That’s what’s crazy about all this?” I twist my body, but I can’t see the ink, my flexibility traded for bulk. Are there any other marks that stuck around? I scan my body as I inhale deeply for the doctor. “Look!” I say between breaths and point to my right shoulder. “This is my big freckle.” Glancing at my bare knee, I spot my Alaska-shaped scar. “And this is from an accident on my ten-speed pink-and-white Huffy.”

  “Shhh.” Frankie pulls one of the ear tips from his head momentarily. “I can’t hear.”

  So I’m not completely different. Well, sitting with a sack squished between my legs—that’s different. Not to mention uncomfortable. No wonder men are always adjusting themselves. I resist the urge and instead sit still, patiently waiting for Frankie’s diagnosis.

  “Hmm, well, the skin’s the largest organ of the body, and heals the fastest, which pretty much makes it the most resilient, so it could make sense that it survived the change with the least amount of alterations. Your heartbeat’s slightly elevated, but everything else sounds good. Have you noticed anything abnormal . . . besides the obvious?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m jus
t trying to wrap my head around the obvious.” I sweep my hands in front of my body, a body that in some moments feels like mine and in others feels like a foreign invader. “I don’t know.” I shake my head. “It’s difficult to explain. I feel like me, but at the same time, I don’t.”

  Frankie squints in thought as if trying to decipher my dualistic puzzle.

  “None of this makes sense. But there is one thing.”

  “What?”

  “My vision is perfect. No glasses, no contacts.” My deep voice reverberates in my throat, and I realize I keep waiting for it to go back to normal like the temporary effects of helium.

  “Interesting . . .” Frankie pulls out both earpieces and swings his stethoscope over his shoulder.

  “Does that mean something?”

  He shrugs. “Honestly, your guess is as good as mine. This isn’t exactly the kind of thing you read about in medical research.” What would they call this in the medical journals? Divine Dick Syndrome?

  He instructs me to lie down, then pokes and prods around my stomach, asking if anything hurts. It tickles, so I tense up. “Have you been working out?”

  I lift my head and the three of us survey my new six-pack. “Not this hard.”

  “Nice upgrade.” Regina flicks up her brows.

  I sit up and catch a glimpse of myself in Frankie’s dresser mirror. A chiseled jawline, deep-set eyes, and broad muscular shoulders, the kind that look great in a tank top. Hmm . . . on the hotness scale, Delia’s a seven, but male Delia—he’s a ten.

  “Okay, I’m going to examine your genitals now,” the doctor says.

  “Want me to turn around?” Regina asks.

  I glance up at her, thankful I’m not in this alone. “No, it’s fine. We’re all in this together now.”

  “Would you mind removing your . . . panties?” Frankie’s cheeks glow a rosy hue. No private parts in the ENT field.

  Regina spews a chuckle. “Now there’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear Frankie say.”

  I draw a deep breath and rise from the bed, letting the sheet fall. Shit’s about to get real real. With my eyes shut tight, I coerce my pink undies down my beefy thighs. My coiled snake is finally freed from its cage.