Page 137 of Switch!
“I would have made a marching band come through playing a different kind of music.”
“You think the song has something to do with it?”
“No idea. I only mean you should try to interrupt what’s going on. Shake things up. Hell, set the Christmas tree on fire. None of it is real, right? I figure it’s all symbolic. Your will against his.”
I nod. “So when I made the box next to his—”
“You matched his willpower. Living room versus living room.”
We both laugh, but wearily. We feel a little better after we go downstairs and discover that Terrence has made French toast. Breakfast is a strain for me as I have to continually reference Patrick’s memories to better represent him. He likes his toast buttery and covered in cinnamon and sugar. I would normally use syrup, but I don’t want Ruth to worry. I also try not to reveal how tired I am. Only after I’m showered and dressed do I feel human enough to face the rest of the day. Maybe I can sneak in a quick nap during the sermon.
We’re driven to a nearby Lutheran church. I’m braced for a slew of strangers to come over and greet us, but Patrick’s parents seem a little lost, like they don’t do this often. That lines up with my memories of them. Then why are we here?
I don’t figure it out until we’re seated on an uncomfortable pew and my mother nudges me. Then she tilts her head. Across the aisle, a few rows ahead of us, I see her. It’s just the back of a head, and later a profile as she looks toward the altar, but Patrick is attuned to every detail and has been for years. Laura, his wife… She’s here!
I’m surprised. When Patrick last had contact with her, she mentioned plans to move to Boston with her sister. He assumed that’s where she was ever since. I didn’t expect to see her during this trip. Does this mean she was just across the street last night?
I notice Ruth watching me, but I’m not sure how I’m supposed to behave. Perhaps that’s the most natural way to react. I look at her with an overwhelmed and slightly panicked expression that I don’t have to dig deep for.
“You should talk to her,” Ruth suggests. “After the sermon.”
“That’s why you brought me here?” I ask.
She smiles and says, “God works in mysterious ways.”
Yeah right. Only one all-knowing entity is pulling the strings here, and she’s currently brushing something off my shirt to make me more presentable. I can’t do this on my own. Patrick is needed. His reaction to meeting Laura again will be completely different from my own. I’m not an actor, and even if I was, few could fake that depth of emotion. Time to wake him up.
I wait until the minister is deep into his sermon. Today’s lesson is about forgiving yourself, which seems appropriate. I slide down a little on the pew and make sure my weight is supported. Then I signal my intent to Trixie by pointing downward. She leans forward to check my shoes. I shake my head and repeat the gesture. This time she glances at my crotch and raises an eyebrow at me.
I roll my eyes and close them. She’ll figure it out. Getting into the right state of mind is difficult with so much stimulation around me, but I manage to conjure up my own black box, like I did the night before. Once I’m in my mother’s living room, the real world ceases to exist. I brace myself before opening the front door. Once I do, I see the same scene as before.
Silent night, holy night. All is—
“Wake up!” I yell, marching into the room. “Come on. Time to rise and shine! It’s five in the morning! The whole day is waiting for you.” Neither Patrick nor his imaginary daughter stir. I locate the stereo and unplug it, but the song keeps playing.
Sleep in heavenly peace…
Not if I can help it. I attack the Christmas tree next, leaping and wrapping my arms around it. The tree falls over and I land on my back. The pain feels real enough. What’s that mean? Have I caused psychological damage to myself? What if I inadvertently hurt Patrick in my attempts to wake him? I should be more cautious. My actions don’t seem to be helping anyway.
After disentangling myself from the tree, I look toward my mother’s apartment while rubbing my arms. Why is it so cold in here? Should I try turning up the thermostat? That probably won’t be any more effective than unplugging the stereo. Trixie is right. These are symbols, not actual things. If I need warmth, I’ll have to bring it myself.
I walk to the doorway between our two boxes. Then I stand facing Patrick’s side. I can feel radiant heat against my back. I want more of it. For us both. I spread my arms wide and invite the sun in. All of it that I can muster. Golden light streams around me, the very essence of summer. It fills the living room. The snow blocking the windows turns to slush, and then water, the air growing so hot that it begins to waver. That’s when Patrick sits up and gasps, the music finally stopping.
“What’s going on?” he asks, eyes wide.
I let my arms drop, the brightness fading to a more tolerable level. “I couldn’t get through to you,” I say. “And this time, it’s really important.”
“Isn’t it always?” Patrick sighs. He carefully shifts Serena off his lap and onto the couch so he can stand. He tucks her in before turning to me. “What’s up?”
“You were frozen, that’s what! Are you okay?”
“I think so,” Patrick says. “I chose a moment that I wanted to last forever. One of my happiest memories.”
“It worked. Although I’m not sure you should do that again.”
Patrick just stares, like he wants me to get to the point so he can return to his weird existence. He doesn’t even comment on the door that shouldn’t be there, or the light that’s still pouring through. All that matters to him is the fantasy.
“I need you to come back with me.”
