Page 29 of Switch!
I experience a memory of walking the school hallways, but without the usual overwhelming fear. I learn that Caleb and his friends used to jostle each other in excitement while talking about where they might find me and what they would do once they did. Like hunters gearing up with guns and camouflage to take down a timid deer. That’s how I looked when they finally found me, small and vulnerable. How could they find that entertaining?
I don’t want to see myself being bullied, so I skip to the important parts, like when I made Caleb grab Elliot’s foot before he could kick me. What did he think of that? Not much, as it turns out. Caleb has a history of losing control when becoming violent. I experience a flash of him sitting in a police station for beating up a younger guy during the previous summer. The police kept asking Caleb what happened, and he kept saying he couldn’t remember. It was the truth. He had blacked out. That’s different from having your body pass out, it would seem, because Caleb had continued beating the crap out of the poor kid, even though he couldn’t remember doing so afterwards. A bystander had filmed the incident, proving for the first time that something was wrong with him.
Caleb worried about that more than he let on. He assumed the same had happened when he twisted—and later broke—Elliot’s ankle. The altercation in the school bathroom is a painful memory to revisit. I get to see myself from the outside, how I looked when he shoved my head in the toilet and the way I flailed helplessly, the urine-tainted water bubbling as I quickly expended the air in my lungs. I’m about to skip ahead when I notice how Caleb felt in that moment.
He wanted to kill me.
The blood drains from my face, but I linger on the emotion to be certain. Caleb had experienced a depraved sort of glee at the thought of leaving me limp and lifeless with my head still in the toilet. If it wasn’t for Dean intervening because he worried about how much trouble they’d be in if caught, I might not have been released. Caleb was furious with his friends for that. In his mind, it’s the reason he lashed out at them. Dean always had an attitude, like he was smarter, and Elliot simply annoyed Caleb too often. He didn’t feel much regret over beating them up. As for me, he remembers moving my body to the sink and hastily trying to wash off the urine, but only to destroy evidence of what they had done. He threw his socks and shoes in the bathroom trash because they had gotten wet. I’m not sure if that’s true. I honestly don’t remember, but he justified the action in his mind as the shoes being ruined by urine sloshing out of the toilet and onto his feet. Caleb had walked barefoot to his truck afterwards and driven himself home.
I’m left shaken after revisiting these memories, especially how little remorse Caleb felt. His biggest regret wasn’t attacking his friends but getting in trouble with his father afterwards. Major McCain. He looms over Caleb’s memories as the ultimate authority figure, and one of the few people he truly fears. This makes me shudder, although I shouldn’t have much trouble with him. I won’t behave the same way his son did because I’m not filled to the brim with sizzling rage. So far.
I need a break before I can explore other memories, too disturbed by how malicious Caleb’s intentions had been. He might have killed me! And he wanted to! If I hadn’t discovered my new abilities by then, my life could have ended in the school restroom. I think then of my mother. Have I put her in danger? She would never expect me to assault her, and I can’t imagine her doing what would be necessary to fend me off. Despite all the issues we’ve had, she loves me too much. I pull over to the side of the road and pick up the phone, wanting to call home. Then I imagine Caleb answering and hesitate. I check his memories. He’s never killed before. I would have been the first. A momentary lapse in judgement. He never attacked his mother, so mine should be fine. Instead of reaching out to her, I reply to Mrs. McCain’s text to tell her I’m making good progress. Then I resume driving.
Once I’ve worked up the courage, I think back on Caleb’s date with Ashley. He remembers me showing up at his house and passing out. Worried that he would be blamed, and that having to explain the situation would derail his plans with Ashley, he chose to hide me instead. The same events took place, like when I checked on my body to make sure I was still breathing. He did that too but not out of sympathy. Caleb’s thoughts had been separate from mine during the experience. Thankfully, considering he had decided to find somewhere to ditch my body if I did suffocate in the back of his truck.
I’m feeling considerably less sympathy for his current fate as I think back on the date itself. Those memories are more relatable. Caleb had been interested in Ashley for years, but he could never get close to her. Not until Dean started working at the same place that she did. When his friend started dating her instead, Caleb was furious. He didn’t wait long after Ashley had dumped Dean before he found an excuse to start texting her. That didn’t get him anywhere until the night he confided in her about his friendships falling apart and the move to Tacoma. To his surprise, Ashley responded by finally giving him a chance. He remembers the conversations I had with her as him being on his game, but he also felt irritated at a certain point that the talking wouldn’t stop so the action could begin. That’s why he locked himself in the bathroom as soon as he was home, stripped off his clothes, and found a way of relieving his frustration while staring at her photo. The body hidden behind his seat was an afterthought. When he checked the truck again and I was gone, he assumed I had recovered and fled. He didn’t concern himself with the condition I was in or give the matter much thought, making me feel foolish for worrying about him even now.
No longer wanting to experience Caleb’s toxic memories, I turn on the radio to distract me. Hip hop music actually sounds good now. Not only that, but I’m able to rap along with songs that I’ve never listened to before. The words come to me as easily as the songs I used to love. Worried again that I’m losing myself, I change the station until I find the oldies my mother always played in the car. Caleb doesn’t remember them, but I’m still able to sing along. My voice is no improvement over what it used to be, and even though the songs have lost some of their magic, I keep them on to lift my spirits.
By the time I cross into Utah, my worries are far behind me. I feel oddly relieved to have escaped Wyoming, like the authorities won’t be able to chase a notorious body snatcher across state lines. I imagine a convoy of police cars skidding to a halt at the border, powerless to pursue me, and laugh at the idea. Soon after I receive another text, this time from my new father.
Major McCain:We’ll arrive at the restaurant in exactly one hour. Be punctual.
The mere thought of food has my stomach grumbling. According to the GPS, I’m not far behind my parents. I stay at my current speed, not wanting to experience the awkwardness of driving directly behind them.
By the time I pull into the restaurant parking lot, my stomach won’t stop rumbling. It’s not just hunger. I’m nervous about pretending to be Caleb, but at least I have access to his memories now. That should help. I don’t see my parents in the parking lot, but I do recognize their SUV. They’re already sitting at a table when I venture inside, my father checking his watch.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” I say, smiling at them both as I sit.
My mother seems taken aback by this. My father checks his watch again but doesn’t offer any feedback. He looks like an older version of Caleb. Not quite as handsome, or as tall, but he has the same heavy build.
“You’re just in time,” my mom says, passing me her menu. “I took forever to decide. What will you have?”
I’ve never eaten Vietnamese, but I do enjoy trying new foods. And I like sandwiches, so I choose the bánh mì, opting for one of the odder varieties the menu offers.
“What can I get you?” the waitress asks.
She can’t be much older than me. After she takes my mother’s order, I notice the way her gaze moves across my arms to my chest, her smile shifting to something less platonic when our eyes meet. “I’ll have a Coke, please,” I say, grinning back at her. “And the uh…” I glance at the menu to remind myself. “The ginger tofu bánh mì.”
“Tofu?” My father repeats, sounding incredulous.
I shrug in return. “Just wanted to try something new.”
“He’ll have the grilled pork instead,” he says to the waitress. “And so will I.”
So that’s who Caleb inherited his stellar personality from.
“How was the drive?” my father asks once the waitress has gone.
“Fine,” I answer. “Kind of boring. You know it’s the middle of nowhere when you can’t even get a radio signal.”
“Did you use the stereo?” my mother asks. “You said it can play music from your phone.”
A memory surfaces. The stereo was a birthday gift from my parents. The old one didn’t have Bluetooth, which annoyed Caleb to no end. “Yes,” I reply. “It’s really great. Thanks!”
She seems pleased by this response.
My father is still grumpy. “I don’t care what you listened to. Did you get pulled over?”
