The Swap

Allison 5.5

It's been about twenty days or so. I can't remember exactly when we swapped again, but I'm also not frightened by that. The pressure of finding a solution as soon as possible has mostly died out, since we're managing well in each other's bodies. Well, I am at least, but Zach hasn't been complaining to me much.

He told me Chad threatened him, which only made me be thankful I didn't have to deal with him. That thought does give me conflicting feelings: can I really dump Chad onto Zach? I don't want to go back, though. I've gotten this thought a few times now, but I always whisk it away. I don't want to think about either outcome, finally seeing home again or never seeing home again.

I guess 'home' isn't really the right wording anymore, is it? I'm much more comfortable at Zach's house than mine.

This evening as well, when I make it back home after hanging out with Evan for a bit, Sarah is already eating takeout. There's another box across from her.

"Oh, there you are," she mentions, "I thought you were hiding in your room."

"No, I was with Evan."

I sit down and eat. Sarah doesn't say anything, so I decide to start a conversation.

"Did you see those kids down the street? They finally finished that treehouse," I remark.

She looks up.

"No, I didn't see that. Is it a nice treehouse?"

"I mean, it's a little small, but it's for kids."

"How did they build that? Did they just order one?"

"I don't think so. They probably ordered the materials, maybe also a blueprint, but they did actually put it together themselves," I say, "Well, their dad did most of the work."

"Wow, that sounds so fun to have. I wish our dad did that sort of stuff-" she sighs, "Oh, s-sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"Why not?" I have a sneaking suspicion I know why.

"Why not? I know you don't like it when he gets mentioned," she says as she goes to throw away her empty box, "I don't either."

"I mean, yeah, I don't like him, but wishing for a better one doesn't glorify him, right?"

She looks at me right before leaving up the stairs. An uncertain expression altering between a positive smile and a concerned frown.

"You're pretty open today. I hope that stays a good thing," she says, her face decisively a positive smile. Then she leaves upstairs.

When I finish my food, I don't head upstairs immediately. I walk to the cabinet with the family photos and take a look. A few of them have Zach and Sarah on them. Zach looked less grumpy back then, but I shouldn't forget these are fotos where he probably wasn't allowed to be frowning. Besides those child fotos, two of them have a woman depicted on them.

A young woman with brown hair, stale and down to her shoulders. Her smile gives a radiant feeling, is that Zach's brain having been rewired to feel that or just me? It almost feels hubristic to deem myself responsible for this comfy feeling. Zach probably gets this feeling together with grief, but I don't. I put the photo down and head to bed.

Maybe I should view this swap as having gifted Zach my life in exchange for his. I don't mourn a mother, and he gains one back, right? Thinking like that makes me squeamish, so I stop.

Do I really not miss my family?