a tiny, middle-aged Asian woman. I staggered past the table to study myself closer in the mirror. Over my brown, football-shaped eyes were round spectacles that perched on nearly the end of my tiny nose. My hair had turned black and grown out, though it was still short—for a woman at least.
“Your new name is Lynn Fong. You’re thirty-nine years old. You’re a fussy little bureaucrat for Clifton Pharmaceuticals—accounts payable division. You’ve worked there for fifteen years, ever since you graduated from the University of Southern California—”
I turned from the mirror to shout, “What about my wife? Our kids?”
“You don’t have any family, just a pair of cats. You’ve never been much good at physical intimacy, poor dear.”
“No! This isn’t right!” I lunged for her. My hands brushed against the fabric of her suit, but then she was across the room.
“The sooner you accept your new life, the sooner all this will be over,” she told me. “Thanks to that little outburst, I’m going to make a note in your file.”
She tapped the screen. Right away I felt a sharp ache in my back. My hips widened, my waist thickened, and my breasts sagged on my chest. Turning to the mirror, I saw hair streaked with gray, thicker glasses, and deep wrinkles etched on my face. The woman explained, “Now you’re forty-nine. I could very easily make it seventy-nine and give you dementia, but then what use would you be?”
“I’m not going to accept this. I’ll never accept it.”
“We’ll see. After a few days you might like being a post-menopausal woman.”
The door to the room opened, allowing the two “cops” who had brought me in to stomp inside. They looked a lot bigger now that I had gotten smaller. I imagined they could snap my feeble body as easily as a twig.
“Come on, Granny,” the nastier of the two said. “Time to get you home.”
The woman said nothing to me; she only nodded as they dragged me away. They carried me out the way they had brought me in. As we neared the car, the one carrying me smashed my head against the door. My head spun once and then everything turned black.
***
I woke up on a bus stop bench. For a moment I naively hoped it had all been a nightmare. Then I saw the saggy little breasts inside the white blouse I was wearing and the skirt and nylons covering my legs. It had all really happened. Somehow aliens had taken over the planet without firing a shot and for reasons I still didn’t fully understand, they had changed me into a middle-aged woman.
Next to me on the bench was a brown leather briefcase, a tag on the handle indicating it belonged to Lynn Fong. That was the name they had given to me. They had assigned me an entirely new life, one markedly different from my own.
The briefcase didn’t have a lock on it, allowing me to open it. Inside was a calculator, pencils, pens, and other office supplies. There were memos too, each with the header for Clifton Pharmaceuticals. That was where I was supposed to work now, in the accounts payable department from what the woman had told me.
What about my real family? Had they all been assigned new lives? Had Denise been assigned a new husband? Did Michael and Tammy have a new father? Or had I simply disappeared?
There wasn’t a phone in the briefcase. Then I saw a purse on my other side, a clunky black bag that seemed appropriate for a frumpy middle-aged accountant. I opened the purse to find the sort of things any woman would have: lipstick, mascara, tissues, a compact, and even a tampon I hoped to never have to use. There was a billfold, inside which I found an ID card that gave my new address: an apartment on the east side.
I was about to give up when I found a phone in the outer pocket of the purse. It was an old flip phone that probably couldn’t even get on the Internet. A “fussy little bureaucrat” like Lynn Fong
“Your new name is Lynn Fong. You’re thirty-nine years old. You’re a fussy little bureaucrat for Clifton Pharmaceuticals—accounts payable division. You’ve worked there for fifteen years, ever since you graduated from the University of Southern California—”
I turned from the mirror to shout, “What about my wife? Our kids?”
“You don’t have any family, just a pair of cats. You’ve never been much good at physical intimacy, poor dear.”
“No! This isn’t right!” I lunged for her. My hands brushed against the fabric of her suit, but then she was across the room.
“The sooner you accept your new life, the sooner all this will be over,” she told me. “Thanks to that little outburst, I’m going to make a note in your file.”
She tapped the screen. Right away I felt a sharp ache in my back. My hips widened, my waist thickened, and my breasts sagged on my chest. Turning to the mirror, I saw hair streaked with gray, thicker glasses, and deep wrinkles etched on my face. The woman explained, “Now you’re forty-nine. I could very easily make it seventy-nine and give you dementia, but then what use would you be?”
“I’m not going to accept this. I’ll never accept it.”
“We’ll see. After a few days you might like being a post-menopausal woman.”
The door to the room opened, allowing the two “cops” who had brought me in to stomp inside. They looked a lot bigger now that I had gotten smaller. I imagined they could snap my feeble body as easily as a twig.
“Come on, Granny,” the nastier of the two said. “Time to get you home.”
The woman said nothing to me; she only nodded as they dragged me away. They carried me out the way they had brought me in. As we neared the car, the one carrying me smashed my head against the door. My head spun once and then everything turned black.
***
I woke up on a bus stop bench. For a moment I naively hoped it had all been a nightmare. Then I saw the saggy little breasts inside the white blouse I was wearing and the skirt and nylons covering my legs. It had all really happened. Somehow aliens had taken over the planet without firing a shot and for reasons I still didn’t fully understand, they had changed me into a middle-aged woman.
Next to me on the bench was a brown leather briefcase, a tag on the handle indicating it belonged to Lynn Fong. That was the name they had given to me. They had assigned me an entirely new life, one markedly different from my own.
The briefcase didn’t have a lock on it, allowing me to open it. Inside was a calculator, pencils, pens, and other office supplies. There were memos too, each with the header for Clifton Pharmaceuticals. That was where I was supposed to work now, in the accounts payable department from what the woman had told me.
What about my real family? Had they all been assigned new lives? Had Denise been assigned a new husband? Did Michael and Tammy have a new father? Or had I simply disappeared?
There wasn’t a phone in the briefcase. Then I saw a purse on my other side, a clunky black bag that seemed appropriate for a frumpy middle-aged accountant. I opened the purse to find the sort of things any woman would have: lipstick, mascara, tissues, a compact, and even a tampon I hoped to never have to use. There was a billfold, inside which I found an ID card that gave my new address: an apartment on the east side.
I was about to give up when I found a phone in the outer pocket of the purse. It was an old flip phone that probably couldn’t even get on the Internet. A “fussy little bureaucrat” like Lynn Fong
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