Page 3 of Switch!
I keep her company as she works, always savoring little moments like these. As she boils pasta, I study her, noticing how she presses a hand to her back while standing at the stove, or rotates her thin arms as if to work loose some tension. Her dark brown hair is pulled back but plenty of locks have sprung free. She’d kill me if I said this to her, but she looks tired. I guess my mom has her own ordeal to get through each day. That she’s willing to cook for me after waiting tables is a sign that she still loves me, no matter how much our relationship has changed.
I keep our conversation upbeat. My mom gets upset when I mention the bullying. It seems to hurt her even more than it does me, and it’s not like she can do anything about it. Normally I talk about what I read recently or watched on TV. Not today. I’m too excited about what happened, so I try broaching the subject with a little white lie.
“I read the craziest story on the way home about a guy whose body gets taken over by someone. Have you ever heard of anything like that?”
My mother smirks as she puts the lid on a Tupperware container. “Only in that movie with the pea soup. And the sequels, which aren’t very good.”
“You meanThe Exorcist?” Maybe that’s where I got the idea. I’ve seen that movie too. Except… “Not like that. It wasn’t a demon but another person.”
My mother shrugs. “Still sounds like possession to me.”
By the time we’re in the car and driving to the library, I’ve decided to look into the subject, just in case I have the soul of a demon or something equally cool.
“You know what I’m doing tonight?” my mother asks, a wisp of smoke curling from her mouth.
“What?” I wish she wouldn’t smoke in the car. Even with the windows cracked and the AC blasting, it still stinks up the interior.
“Karaoke.” She laughs, the sound husky. “Can you imagine? I told Raymond I can’t sing, but he won’t listen. He betternotlisten tonight, unless he wants to go deaf. Can you imagine your mother up there on stage?”
“You’ll be amazing,” I tell her.
She scoffs at this but smiles. “Thank you, darling.”
I turn my attention to the world beyond the passenger-side window. My entire life has taken place here. I bet I could draw a map with my eyes closed. Cheyenne might be the capital of Wyoming, but that doesn’t mean it’s very large. I’m okay with that. At least I have a decent sense of my hometown, unlike Denver, which I found overwhelming the one time my dad drove me down there to stay with him. That had been an uncomfortable and confusing week. It’s just as well he disappeared soon after. I’m sure he’s fine, wherever he is. Mom says he’s only avoiding child support payments. I still wonder what my life would have been like if he had gotten custody of me instead. I greatly prefer living with my mom, don’t get me wrong, but it’s tempting to think that I wouldn’t have the same problems somewhere else.
I’d miss certain things here in Cheyenne though, especially the Laramie County Library, which looks like someone dropped a curvy building made of reflective gray bricks on top of an otherwise normal library. The strange architecture only makes me love it more. My own personal Fortress of Solitude. It shimmers ahead of us, the sun reflecting off its curved outer wall, and already I feel safe. None of the bullies who harass me will be here. I bet they’ve never set foot inside. Their loss.
My mother stops the car in front of the entrance.
“Here,” she says, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray. She reaches into her purse and fishes out a twenty-dollar bill. “Use this to get home. You can take one of those Ubers, right?”
“Yes,” I say, even though I don’t have a cell phone to summon one with. They don’t take cash anyway. “Thank you.”
“Don’t forget to eat when you get hungry. Ask one of the librarians to heat it up for you. They’ll have a microwave in their breakroom. Don’t be too shy to ask.”
“I won’t.” Not true. It’s guaranteed that I’ll be too shy. “Have fun tonight.”
“You too, honey.” She leans over to kiss my cheek.
I climb out of the car while rubbing lipstick off my cheek. When I look back, I see the spark of a lighter followed by a glowing ember behind the tinted window. I wave as she drives away. Then I turn and enter my favorite place on Earth.
I love being surrounded by other book-loving people. We’re united. That doesn’t mean sharing the same political opinions or outlook on life, but at least we’re all here to read. Even the people who only come to use the internet, their eyes darting from left to right while soaking up information. I’m eager to join them, but first there is unpleasant business I must tend to, so I head toward the counter where books are checked in and out.
“I’m really sorry,” I say, pulling the paper-towel wrapped book from my backpack and setting it on the counter.
The librarian is old. She must have seen this sort of thing before because she simply sighs and reaches with bony hands to unwrap the book. “What happened?” she cries when discovering the full extent of the damage. Okay, so maybe she hasn’t seen onethisbad before. I have to admit that the book looks even worse now. The pages are wavy instead of straight, the cover no longer closing properly. When she tries to flip through the book, it’s clear that the paper has melded together in places. “You’ve ruined it!”
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “It was an accident.”
“What sort of accident?” Librarians have a reputation for valuing silence above all else. Not this one. She’s loud enough that people are looking in our direction.
“I dropped it,” I say, not wanting to admit the truth. Explaining that a group of guys urinated on the book she’s currently holding is unlikely to improve her mood. “While reading in the bathtub.”
“I love this book,” she says despairingly.
“I was enjoying it too,” I reply. “Sorry.”
“You’ll have to pay for a replacement.”
