Page 82 of Switch!
“I think so.”
I smell a whiff of familiar perfume as someone walks by. Sarah! I don’t get to see her though. Jesse chooses that moment to check his texts. I can’t handle it anymore. I need to be here, so I concentrate on the blurry pew I can see just beyond the phone’s screen.
Scent of lemon furniture polish, glossy lacquer worn thin from where hands have gripped it, initials carved into wood…
Pop!
My free hand reaches out to grab the edge of the pew, as if I intend to stand. Instead I let go again. I’m about to pocket Jesse’s phone when I use it to send a quick text.
Travis:Switch.
Trixie notices her screen and looks over at me in surprise. I raise my eyebrows expectantly. She swiftly texts me back.
Trixie:Twitch.
“Those must be his parents,” I say carefully, wanting to make the conversation sound natural to Jesse. “And do you see the second row on the right? The younger guy sitting between two adults? That’s his friend Eddie.”
“The one who was in the accident with Caleb?”
“Yeah,” I reply, my throat dry. “I wish I could talk to him.”
“Maybe after the service.”
“I don’t think he’ll recognize me,” I say meaningfully.
“Huh? Oh. This must be hard for you. I’m really sorry.”
I nod my appreciation, but I’m more concerned with the pain that everyone else is feeling. I’m still watching Caleb’s parents when I see her. Sarah is wearing a black dress, her nose and eyes red as she clutches a small bundle of flowers to her chest.
I nudge Trixie and nod in her direction, unable to speak.
She’s confused, but only at first. “That’s her. Isn’t it?”
I nod, my throat too raw to speak.
“She’s very pretty,” Trixie says.
I wish I could see her that way. The love I have for her hasn’t faded, but it’s missing an outlet. Like a movie without a projector or a song without speakers. The magic is in there, but this body can’t broadcast it like I used to. I hate that. I don’t want to give up on her. Why is she here alone? She needs someone to comfort her. Why can’t it be me? Sarah is obscured from view as she takes the place of whoever was just speaking to Caleb’s parents. More people queue up behind her.
I feel a hand on top of mine, small in size, but the squeeze it gives is firm, like a promise that everything will be okay.
“If she didn’t love you back,” Trixie whispers, “she wouldn’t be here.”
“Thanks,” I croak.
We have to stand to make room for people who want to sit farther down the pew. Not once, but three times.
“He must have been popular,” Trixie says.
He wasn’t. Caleb only had a small group of friends back home, and I don’t see any of them here. His family was big. Most of the people here are probably relatives. Something is off though. I’m struggling to figure out what when it finally clicks.
“I don’t know who these people are,” I say. “Not really. That’s his aunt over there, on his mom’s side, and I only know that because there was a photo of her in the hall near my bedroom.”
“I guess you didn’t meet much of his family since you were in Washington instead of Wyoming. Assuming that’s where everyone is from.”
“That’s the thing,” I explain. “I used to know where his aunt was from. And a lot more too. Like when I passed by her photo on the way to the bathroom, I would think, ‘Hey, it’s Aunt Terresa’ or whatever her name was. Why can’t I remember it now?”
Trixie’s nose scrunches up as she considers this. “Have you forgotten other things that happened while you were him?”
