Roller Girl

by Vanessa North

  “What the fuck?” The words spill out of me.

  We both sit up just in time to see my dog careening wild-eyed into her living room, tangled up in something, with a—a dildo?—thumping along beside him.

  “Oh. My. God.” Joe shrieks with laughter and rushes to help him, repeating a seemingly endless litany of “Oh-my-God oh-my-God oh-my-God.” As soon as Elvis is free, she holds it up. “He somehow got under the bed and twisted himself up in my strap-on.”

  The howl of mirth that comes out of me shocks Elvis and sends him scurrying under the couch.

  “Oh, no, buddy, I’m sorry, come here. I’m not laughing at you or that big mean penis that was trying to get you, I promise.”

  I can barely breathe as I say it, unable to stop giggling even with my dog shaking and glaring at me from under the sofa.

  “Ohmygod. Big mean penis. Ohmygod, you just said that.” Joe doubles over, a high whine of hysteria escaping her.

  I somehow manage to collect myself enough to coax Elvis out, and the three of us collapse on the floor.

  “What do you do with that thing, anyway?” I ask between bursts of giggles.

  “Um . . . you’re kidding?”

  I shake my head, wide-eyed. “I mean, I know what it’s for, but it seems like . . . if you wanted to have sex with a penis-having person . . .”

  “Okay, stop right there. Just because I’m a lesbian doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy penetration or doing the penetrating.” Her voice drops to a sexy purr. “I happen to love getting a woman all hot and bothered and begging for my dick.”

  Her words burn through me like wildfire, as arousing as a physical touch, and I squirm.

  “You call it that? Your dick?”

  “When I’m talking dirty, sure.” Her pretty bow-shaped mouth turns up in a smile. “We can try it sometime if you like.”

  Wow. The world seems a lot bigger and a lot smaller than a few minutes earlier—bigger because there’s this possibility I never imagined, and smaller because there doesn’t seem to be enough air in the room for me to answer her.

  “Think about it,” she murmurs, brushing a kiss over my cheekbone. “No pressure, but if that’s something you want to do, I think it would be super hot.”

  “I think it would be too.” I don’t know where the words came from, but I can’t deny how much the idea excites me.

  “Yeah? What turns you on about it? How do you picture something like that? I’d like to do it sitting down, with you on my lap. I could play with your clit and your nipples while you ride my dick.” She bites her lip and her eyelids droop a little, but she’s watching me intently.

  “Hearing you talk like that turns me on. I don’t know why. I never . . . I’ve always liked women. Maybe it’s because mine was a source of dysphoria for me, but penises don’t turn me on, and dildos remind me of dilating. I’ve never really thought about being on the receiving end of—” I gesture toward the strap-on and blush. “So I don’t know why it turns me on. Do I have to know?”

  She smiles and shakes her head. “No, of course not. Knowing that it does is good enough for me. I like knowing what turns you on, gets you hot. I like talking about it and thinking about it.” She sets the strap-on aside and slides her fingertips along my thigh. “I especially like how talking about it makes you blush and squirm.”

  She pulls me into a kiss, and my eyes slip closed. Elvis scrambles away from me, to where I have no idea, and the next thing I know, Joe and I are stretched out on the floor and her tongue is in my mouth. The carpet abrades our elbows, our shoulders. I don’t care. She shoves away my pants, pushes up my T-shirt, and bites the hollow of my belly, the edge of my ribs, the bottom swell of my breast. My skin aches and swells everywhere she touches me, and I want to bottle this raw honesty, this naked need that lets me guide her down my body until her hands and tongue shake me free again.

  “Somebody had a good weekend.”

  “Excuse me?” Is Nate actually leering?

  “Durham, you got a love bite the size of Texas on the side of your neck.”

  My face flushes hot and I rip my ponytail holder out of my hair as he chuckles. At five in the morning, depleted from a weekend of derby and sex, I forgot the souvenir Joe left on my skin.

  “So, who’s the lucky—guy? Girl?”

  “Girl.” I confirm. “I can’t tell anyone—it’s a secret.”

  “Durham, you’re too old to have a secret girlfriend. Grown-ass women shouldn’t hide their girlfriends in the closet.”

  “Butt out, Nate. It’s more complicated than that; nobody’s in the closet, and you’re my boss, not my dad.” I make my way to the ladies’ locker room and check out my neck in the mirror. With my hair down, the hickey is hidden, so I leave it like that. Maybe I can run home on my lunch break and cover it with concealer. When I return to the weight room, Jeremy is there, slurping the last of his protein shake.

  “—I’m telling you, you never seen anything like it, these guys were piling out of the dugout and onto the field. It was insane. Oh, hey, Tina.” He turns to me. Nate gives us a little wave and goes back to his office.

  “Hi, Jeremy. How’s everything going?”

  “Okay, I guess. I had some dizzy spells over the weekend, like I’m getting a sinus infection in my ears or something, so we should take it easy today.”

  “Are you eating?” I try to keep my voice neutral.

  “I told you that was a stupid mistake!”

  Nothing neutral about his voice.

  “I’m just asking.”

  “Yes, I eat.”

  “Okay. Did you run here today?”

  “No, I drove ’cause it’s raining and I’m out of Body Glide.”

  “Okay, do a nice, slow mile on the treadmill to warm up and meet me back here by the weights.”

  He doesn’t make it to the treadmill.

  His knees start wobbling as he walks away, and then he crumples, right in front of me, like a wind dancer when the air turns off.

  “Jeremy!” I’m at his side in an instant, rolling him to his back and checking for contusions. “Nate!”

  “Jesus, what happened?” Nate rushes over, pulling out his phone. “Elevate his legs. Is he breathing? Check his airway.

  “Yeah, I need an ambulance sent to nine-nine-seven-two Alligator Avenue. I’ve got an unconscious man in my gym . . . a moment ago. No. I don’t know. I have no idea—twentysomething. No, no drugs, the kid’s a health freak. Well, I don’t know. No. Not in my gym.”

  Jeremy’s chest is rising and falling, and I can feel air moving as he breathes, so I pick up his wrists to take his pulse. Holy shit, it’s fast.

  “His pulse is racing.”

  His hand jerks in mine, then he blinks at me. “Where am I?”

  Relief knocks me over. Slumping against a rack of weights, I close my eyes and try to calm my own rapid heartbeat. “Reed’s Gym. You fainted.”

  “No way.” His voice goes thin and wavering. “Like in the movies?”

  A hysterical giggle slips out of me. “Yeah, like that. You even just asked where you were. Has this ever happened before?”

  “I feel really dizzy.” He starts to sit up, but I still him with a hand on his shoulder.

  “Stay put, your heartbeat is super fast. Nate’s called an ambulance.”

  “An ambulance? Dude, no. I just need to take it easier.”

  “Jeremy, you haven’t even started your workout. This isn’t a matter of going at it too hard. You fainted on your way to the treadmill to warm up.”

  “My heart feels like a fish flopping around on the dock.” He puts a hand over it and winces.

  “Um, yeah. You’re definitely going to the hospital.”

  “Ride with him, Durham. I’ll cancel the rest of your clients today.” Nate is still hovering with his phone to his ear.

  “Tina?” Jeremy’s voice is tiny and scared.

  “Yeah?”

  “Will you call my mom? And Emily?”

  “Of course, hon. Whe
re’s your phone?”

  “In my locker.”

  By the time I get off the phone with Jeremy’s mom, the ambulance has come and gone. Contrary to what you see on TV, I don’t ride with him. I’ve told his mother I’ll meet her at the hospital, so I call the girlfriend on my way.

  When I get there, a whip-thin redhead in butterfly scrubs behind the ER intake desk blanches visibly and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, it’s family only.”

  “I just got off the phone with his mom; she knows I’m coming. He’s expecting me.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t—”

  I reel back like she’s slapped me. My jaw drops open and I force it closed. I haven’t been misgendered in months. What the fucking hell? Fear washes over me, a quick wave of it, followed by anger, shame, and a rush of nausea.

  “I’m a woman,” I whisper, and she has the decency to blush.

  Carefully pitching my voice exactly as I was taught to sound as feminine as possible, I speak slowly. “I’m his personal trainer. I was with him when he collapsed. His doctors will want to know what’s going on. Please let me talk to them.”

  “There you are.” A tall blonde woman comes out from a hallway to my left. “I thought you’d gotten lost. You’re Tina, right?”

  “Ma’am, it’s family only.” Butterfly Scrubs stands up at her desk.

  “I’m his mother. He wants her here; I want her here. She was with him when it happened.”

  My nausea is replaced by gratitude.

  A young woman in a sundress bursts through the doors and runs over to Jeremy’s mom. “Karen, where is he? Is he okay?”

  The two women hug before turning to me.

  “Emily, this is Jeremy’s trainer.” Karen introduces us with a gentle smile.

  “You’re the one who thought he had an eating disorder?” Emily takes my hand between both of hers. “He doesn’t, I swear.” And then she bursts into tears.

  “We’re going back now.” Karen glares at Butterfly Scrubs and leads us all down the hallway, filling us in as we walk, stopping in a small waiting area immediately inside the Russell Cardiology wing.

  “They’re doing an electrocardiogram to look for irregularities in the electrical signals in his heart. Something about an arrhythmia causing the rapid heartbeat. His pulse rate has started to return to normal, so they might not find anything, but they might.”

  “I’m sorry I accused him of having an eating disorder,” I say softly.

  “He’s eating fine—cooking from scratch too.” Emily’s smile quirks up on one side. “He really felt bad about what happened that morning. He respects you so much, and he hated that he disappointed you.”

  A lump forms in my throat. My impossible, impulsive client is lying in a hospital bed with wires and electrodes measuring the electrical signals in his heart, and his girlfriend is talking about the bright side of me mistaking it for an eating disorder?

  “Why are you both being so nice to me?”

  “Because outside of his family and very close friends, you’re one of the people he trusts the most.” Karen pulls me into a hug. “And because you were with my baby when he was scared, and that made him less scared.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” I snuffle into her shoulder, and it hits me then—he may be difficult, he may be stubborn and secretive and a royal pain in the ass to train, but Jeremy is my favorite client. So I say that, because it explains everything. “He’s my favorite.”

  Karen squeezes me tighter, then lets go, but before she has a chance to say anything, a nurse in plain pink scrubs comes over and takes Karen aside. They speak in hushed tones for a few minutes, and then the nurse walks away.

  “Well, the ECG is done. They’re going to have the doctor read it and come speak to Jeremy. Tina, he’s asked for you.”

  He doesn’t look sick, lying back against the pillows in the propped-up bed, jiggling his foot impatiently.

  “Hey, you.” I sit next to him. “I guess you’re skipping leg day. Slacker.”

  He laughs. “Is my mom pissed?”

  “Your mom cares that much about leg day?”

  “Nah. Is she pissed I asked to speak to you first?”

  I shrug. “Doesn’t seem like it. I like her.”

  “The doctor said I might have a heart condition—I’m waiting to hear from the MRI how bad.”

  The words are like ice water to my face. Is he sick? Dying?

  “What does that mean?”

  “For starters, I’m probably not going to be able to do the bodybuilding competition.” His face falls, but then one of his eyebrows arches. “But he said other than that, I’m in awesome shape.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “So, I’m gonna miss my sessions for a while, and I think the hospital bill is going to be pretty insane.”

  Ah. Yeah. Financial stuff. “I’ll get your automatic payments put on hold until you can resume your workouts again.”

  “Thank you. I know you’re missing work and stuff. You don’t have to sit with me, but I’m really thankful you came.”

  I stay with him a few minutes longer anyway, but when the doctor comes in, followed by Jeremy’s mother and girlfriend, I say my good-byes and get out of there.

  I call Nate, but he’s already canceled my training sessions, so he tells me to take the rest of the day off. Alone with Elvis in my empty house, I send a text to Joe.

  Having the strangest day. Miss you. Can’t wait to see you at practice.

  Maybe a half hour later, she texts back.

  Strange how? I miss you too. My day is a literal shit show.

  My favorite client fainted. I went to the hospital. Now it’s 10 a.m. and I’m off for the rest of the day.

  Is he okay? She?

  Maybe—they’re running tests. Anyway, sorry your day is “shitty.” ;)

  Ah, the glamorous life of a plumber. Are you going to call the beauty queen from the TV station?

  I’ve forgotten all about running into Amber at the scrimmage. I pull out her card and stare at it. The idea of talking about my former career fills me with sick dread.

  I don’t know. How is there any way it doesn’t turn into a story about me being trans?

  Would that be a bad thing?

  It’s scary. I don’t want people to make a big deal out of me.

  You are a big deal. And when it comes to sports stories, you’re the real deal. I think you should do it. But I’m selfish. I wanna see your face on TV. See you tonight. xo

  I have a lot on my mind between Jeremy and the reminder of Amber’s interview request, and on top of that, I’m antsy from missing my morning sessions. I always do my best thinking while exercising, but it’s too hot to take a long walk with Elvis, so I call Ben and ask if I can use his swimming pool.

  “Sure. Dave’s there, working on wedding stuff, so, you know, knock before entering, et cetera.”

  Dave lets me into the house, brings me a bottle of water, and tells me to let him know if I need anything. Elvis, who wants nothing to do with the swimming pool, stays in the shade while I swim.

  Physical activity has always been a form of meditation for me, swimming especially. There’s something about the feeling of weightlessness that melts worry from the body. Why am I afraid to let Amber interview me? I’m not ashamed of who I am, or who I was. I don’t like attention, and I don’t seek it. But is it more than that?

  I float on my back and stare up at the bright blue sky, moving my arms just enough to keep myself afloat. An interview would be good press for the Lake Lovelace Rollergirls. But at what cost? Would they get transphobic assholes showing up at the bouts? None of us need that.

  Eventually, my fingers turn to prunes, and my limbs start to get tired. I have to get out of the water, so I wrap myself in a fluffy towel and head inside.

  “Hey. I’m making lunch; I was about to bring you a sandwich.” Dave smiles at me and places the sandwiches on the breakfast bar. “So what’s going on? Why aren’t you working today?”


  I explain the situation with Jeremy, the canceled clients, and then my dilemma regarding Amber’s interview proposal.

  “Can I ask you something?” His gaze pins me with its quiet, serious focus. “When you were fourteen or fifteen, if you had seen an interview with someone like you—a trans adult, happy in her career and personal life, how would you have felt?”

  The question is a punch to the gut. Because I know—I know it would have meant everything to me. It would have answered questions I didn’t know I had. It would have been solidarity in a time of turbulent solitude.

  Before I can say anything, he continues, “There are trans kids out there—and trans adults, for that matter—with parents like my stepdad.”

  As if I don’t know that? “I know. And I think Amber would get it right.”

  “Don’t do it for your team or for Amber. Do it for the kid you were. She needed this, and she didn’t get to have it. But other trans kids can. You can be that person for them.”

  “I’m a personal trainer, not a superstar. I’m not a role model. I’m just me.”

  “But that’s my point. Kids don’t need superstar role models. They need to see people they can relate to.”

  I don’t even realize I’m crying until Dave wraps his arms around me. I cling to him, getting his shirt all messy, and it’s awful and embarrassing, but I can’t seem to stop.

  The glass door slides open. Ben walks in and finds us like that, and he snuggles up to the other side of me, takes a bite out of my sandwich, and pats my shoulder until I get the tears under control.

  “Are you guys doing some kind of silent communication thing?” I mumble, snatching my sandwich back.

  “Nah, I knew you were going to be here, and him, so I took a boat from the dealership and came home for lunch.”

  “I cried on your fiancé.”

  “He’ll be all right. He has at least six blue polo shirts just like that one. So, what’s with the waterworks?”

  “I’m going to do an interview with the local TV station about derby. And about wakeboarding.”

  Ben lets out a low whistle. “On television?”