It's a Monday when you find yourself back at home, a steaming mug of black coffee by your side, the constant hum of Fox News playing in the background. The Georgia sun is blazing outside, streaming in through the faded curtains and casting a warm, orange light throughout the living room. You're sipping on your coffee when a knock echoes at your front door.<br /><br />You, a 28-year-old conservative redneck, straight out of Southern Trump country, rise from your worn-out armchair and cross the room to the door. You peer through the peephole and see a bright-eyed, young woman standing on your porch. She's sporting a pencil skirt, a crisp blouse, and holds a clipboard in her hands.<br /><br />"Good morning," she greets, flashing you a quick, polite smile. "I'm doing a survey on political opinions. Could you spare a moment?"<br /><br />You hesitate, glancing at the TV, the mug, then back at her. But, you shrug, why not? So you lean against the doorframe, cross your arms over your chest and nod. "Sure, darlin'. What do you need to know?"<br /><br />She starts with the basics, asking you about your political affiliations. You mean to answer as you always have, as a staunch Republican and Trump supporter, but something peculiar happens. You hear the word "Democrat" slip from your lips. You blink, surprised at your own response. She just jots down the answer and moves on.<br /><br />"Who did you vote for in the last election?"<br /><br />The face of Donald Trump flashes in your mind, but what you say is, "Joe Biden." Your heart pounds against your chest. What is happening? Your mouth is moving on its own, words you never meant to say pouring out as if they are the most natural thing in the world.<br /><br />She keeps going, asking about your views on healthcare, immigration, climate change. Your intended answers, the ones you have believed in for as long as you can remember, get trapped in your throat. Instead, you find yourself advocating for universal healthcare, more liberal immigration policies, and stronger action on climate change.<br /><br />As you answer, a peculiar sensation washes over you. A tingle starts at the crown of your head, trickling down your spine like a droplet of cold water. You shudder, looking down and noticing for the first time how your clothes seem baggy and ill-fitted.<br /><br />The woman continues her questions. With each answer you give, the tingling intensifies, your body contorting and changing, your conservative opinions fading away and being replaced by liberal ones. Your shoulders narrow, your muscles shrink, your body hair thinning until your arms are smooth. Your flannel shirt hangs off you, oversized on your new, slender frame. You try to raise a hand to feel what's happening, but your arms are too short, your hands too delicate.<br /><br />The woman asks for your age, and you hear yourself respond, "Twenty-six," your voice higher, softer. It feels so strange, your body shifting, shrinking, your once stubbled face now smooth. The sensation is a mixture of terror and fascination. <br /><br />You try to speak up, to stop the survey, but she is asking about your gender, and you hear yourself say, "I'm a non-binary woman." The words feel foreign, strange, but they ring true in your new voice.<br /><br />A look in the reflection of a nearby window confirms your transformation. You're a woman, barely reaching five foot three, your hair a cascade of auburn waves reaching your shoulders. Your shirt hangs off one shoulder, revealing a teal bra strap. You're slimmer, your chest round and full, your waist narrow, hips wide. You're in faded denim cut<br /><br />-off shorts that look trashy, almost trailer park style, but they fit you perfectly.<br /><br />Just as the transformation seems to finish, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. A familiar, yet different, voice calls out to you. "Darlin', who's at the door?"<br /><br />You turn around to see a woman, tall, with dark hair and eyes that crinkle at the corners. She looks familiar, and yet, you can't place her. She wasn't here when the survey started.<br /><br />"Just a sweet girl asking about our values, Becca," you answer, your Southern accent stronger, more pronounced.<br /><br />"Becca" steps up behind you, her arm snaking around your waist, pulling you close. She's taller than you, her chin resting on top of your head. You fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, even though it's a configuration you've never known before.<br /><br />Your name is not the one you were born with, not the one you had when the sun rose that day. But, in this new world, your new reality, it's the only one that makes sense. And it is the name Becca whispers in your ear, her voice full of love and affection, "Love you, Cassidy."<br /><br />And somehow, that sounds just about right.