Switch

by Megan Hart

  that he didn't want to fuck me, but that he'd believed I was

  something I wasn't.

  I licked my mouth, tasted the salt of my sweat. I listened to

  the sound of my breathing stil coming fast. I roled to get

  the tiny bottle from under my ribs and tossed it into the

  trash can by my bed, and then I tucked my legs up toward

  my chest with my extra pilow in my arms, hugging the

  lover who wasn't there.

  The notes started coming more frequently. Every morning

  before I left for work, or sometimes when I came home,

  there was another sleek card teling me how to go about

  my day. Sometimes the list was short, a sentence or two.

  Listen to your favorite radio station today. Sing out loud.

  Sometimes the instructions were lengthier. More

  demanding.

  At eleven-thirty today you will stop what you are doing

  and focus on one thing in your life that makes you

  happy. For thirty seconds you will do nothing but

  appreciate this reason for joy.

  I'd spent the entire morning waiting for eleven-thirty to

  arrive, half-afraid I'd forget and half-defiant, imagining I'd

  refuse when the time came to folow the instructions. I did,

  of course, helpless to resist in the same way someone

  who's told not to think of the pink elephant can do nothing

  else.

  If there is someone in your life whom you've hurt, you

  must make a true apology.

  That one had been easy enough. I hadn't seen Kira in

  weeks and arranged to meet her after work for coffee in

  Hershey, halfway between Harrisburg and Lebanon. She

  wasn't quite ready to forgive me.

  "But can you blame me?" I asked over steaming mocha

  lattes. "I mean…Kira…it's Jack."

  "Jack Rabbit," she said. "Yes. I know."

  I raised a brow. "I'm sorry. It wasn't when you were even

  I raised a brow. "I'm sorry. It wasn't when you were even

  close to being with him."

  She sighed, then, and shrugged. "I know. I guess I'm just

  pissed you got him and I didn't. But then, so what else is

  new?"

  That wasn't exactly what I'd expected to hear. "Huh?"

  She pretended to be very interested in her new beige

  manicure. "Just like every guy I ever liked, right?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  She leveled a look at me. "Austin?"

  "What about him?"

  Kira just stared, then looked away.

  I had to laugh. I realy did. "You tried to get with Austin?

  But you were mad at me for fooling around with Jack?

  What a hypocrite!"

  Her eyes flashed. "You knew how I felt about Jack! It was

  different with Austin."

  "How was it different?" I finished my coffee and picked up my purse to go, not because I was furious but because as

  I'd said not so long before to the very man we were

  discussing, that cake was baked.

  "You left him! You didn't love him anymore." Kira

  grabbed up her own purse, too, glaring. "Not that it

  mattered."

  "He turned you down, huh?"

  Her expression was enough of a reply.

  "That's why you were pissed off, isn't it? Not because I

  messed around with Jack, but because you tried to get

  together with Austin and he turned you down."

  "He turned me down because he stil wanted you," Kira

  said.

  I didn't have an answer to that.

  "And then you went and screwed around with him again

  anyway."

  "Kira. I didn't know you wanted Austin."

  "Kira. I didn't know you wanted Austin."

  But she couldn't have him, I thought, suddenly and

  surprisingly. Because he was mine.

  "Whatever. Does it matter?" She slung her purse over her

  shoulder. "We shouldn't let boys come between us

  anyway, right?"

  I didn't tel her the reason I'd apologized had nothing to do

  with our bond of friendship, which had been strained in

  times past. Sometimes you stay friends with someone

  more out of habit than anything you have in common. If not

  for the note, I might not have caled her again at al.

  "Right," I agreed.

  "So, what's going on with you? You getting back together,

  or what?"

  "Oh, God, no."

  We walked to our cars, parked next to one another in the

  lot. I looked past her to the sidewalks overrun with

  shoppers attacking the outlets in search of bargains. When

  I was younger my mom had taken me to the real outlet

  stores, places that sold seconds and out-of-stock items.

  stores, places that sold seconds and out-of-stock items.

  These stores weren't anything like that.

  "Anyway. I think Tony's gonna give me a ring." She said

  this with less coyness than I was used to from her. "For my

  birthday. I thought maybe he'd get me one for Christmas,

  but…"

  It seemed suddenly outrageous and unlikely to me that

  Kira could get married. "You want to marry him?" I hadn't

  even met him.

  She gave me a level look. "Yeah. I think I do. I'm not

  getting any younger, you know."

  It was such a cliché and yet fit her so wel.

  "Marriage isn't everything, Kira." I was trying to make her feel better, but she fixed me with another steady look.

  "Easy for you to say, sure. Because you gave it up."

  "That's not why. That's not what I meant," I added. "I just meant you shouldn't feel like something is missing. That's

  al."

  "But something is. Hey, maybe you'l be my bridesmaid,"

  "But something is. Hey, maybe you'l be my bridesmaid,"

  Kira offered.

  "Sure. Okay."

  We parted with half a hug and brush of cheeks. I

  wondered if she'd realy ask me. I wondered if I'd care if

  she didn't. I drove home, glad I wasn't her. Glad I wasn't

  missing something.

  But I was missing something in my life, and those notes,

  those lists, gave me something I needed. One waited for

  me when I got back. My fingers shook a little as I opened

  it. What next? I wondered. What fantasy would I be

  asked to live out this time? I already imagined the paper

  and pen I'd use to write it, this time. This time I would

  write it.

  Tomorrow you wil wear a blue shirt.

  That was it.

  I think I bared my teeth before composing myself quickly.

  If someone was watching, I wasn't going to give him the

  pleasure of seeing my disappointment.

  Tomorrow you wil wear a blue shirt.

  "Tomorrow," I muttered as I shoved the card through the

  slot of 114, "I'l wear whatever color shirt I damn wel

  please."

  I refused to think of it al the way up the four flights of

  stairs to my apartment, then al the way down again as I hit

  the basement for an hour's workout. I refused to think

  about the note and its simple, one-sentence instruction as I

  sweated and cursed at the television and its bounty of

  buxom, slim-hipped beauties on their mission to make al

  other women feel inferior. I refused to think of it in the

  shower as I lathered my body and deep-conditioned my

  hair and shaved my legs.<
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  "Damn it!" I cried to my empty room as I stood in front of my closet.

  I had no clean blue shirts.

  I put on a soft pair of sleep pants patterned with grinning

  monkeys wearing Santa hats and twisted my hair up high,

  clipping it out of the way so it would be wavy when it

  dried. I turned the TV on, then off. I picked up a book

  and put it down.

  and put it down.

  "Shit."

  I lay on my bed, arms crossed behind my head, and stared

  at the ceiling. The plaster had been laid in smal, even

  swirls. There was a medalion with a metal cap in the

  middle in the ceiling's center. The former tenant had taken

  the ceiling light and fan when he left, and though

  maintenance was supposed to replace the original fixture,

  they never had. The metal reflected light from my bedside

  lamp and the window outside when the room was dark.

  Sometimes when I woke in the night I imagined it was the

  moon's bright eye somehow transported into my room.

  Watching me.

  Was someone else watching me? Playing some sort of

  game? I got up on one elbow to look around my room and

  at my closet, where rows of shirts hung in every color but

  blue.

  I got out of bed and riffled through my laundry basket to

  see what I could find. Blue wasn't my favorite color. I

  preferred white shirts for work, since any stains could be

  bleached. I did have a blue shirt, though it wasn't one I

  would've worn to work. The neckline dipped a little too

  would've worn to work. The neckline dipped a little too

  low and the cut was a little too close. I held it up in front of

  my reflection and turned this way and that. Paired with a

  pair of black dress slacks, it would probably be okay.

  With a blazer over it. Sure.

  And I needed to do laundry anyway, I told myself as I

  tossed socks and panties and towels into the basket to

  make a ful load. If I did it now, I wouldn't have to do it

  later in the week. And there was nothing on the tube.

  Yeah.

  There was no getting around it. I was hooked on those

  lists. For whatever reason. Even if nobody was watching

  me. But if someone was, he'd know I hadn't obeyed.

  Tomorrow, I would wear a blue shirt.

  But first, I had to wash it.

  Chapter 17

  Riverview Manor had the highest line of efficiency washers

  and dryers, but never enough of them. Just another of the

  quirks of this supposedly high-end building, and one about

  which the T.A. had sent around many memos. Some of the

  units were supposed to have their own washers and

  dryers, which explained why the laundry room had been

  under-stocked. Whatever. Al I knew was when I walked

  in with my laundry basket and found the room empty but

  for the scent of fabric softener and the hum of rotating

  dryer drums, it was a bonus.

  I filed a washer with my clothes and the detergent, then

  took my empty basket and my book, one I'd found in an

  aisle I rarely browsed, to one of the hard wooden chairs

  along the wal. I promptly let out a smal shriek as I

  realized I was not alone, after al. The man sitting there had

  his head bent, headphones on, so he hadn't heard my

  scream but the way I jumped must have caught his

  attention, because he looked up.

  Eric looked up at me with a smile and slipped his

  headphones from his ears. I heard the tinny, faraway chant

  of a song I'd have known if I'd been able to pay attention

  of a song I'd have known if I'd been able to pay attention

  to it, rather than him. His eyes, specificaly, which were a

  deep, dark liquid brown.

  "Hi," he said. "Sorry, did I scare you?"

  "I didn't see you behind the washers." I set down my

  basket and put a hand over my rapidly beating heart.

  "Yeah, the layout's not so great in here." He looked

  around, then shifted the papers off the chair next to him.

  "Sorry, though. You want to sit?"

  I took the chair two spots away from his and pushed my

  basket to the side with my foot. He stil smiled at me, so I

  smiled back. "Thanks."

  "Fancy meeting you here," he said.

  "Here, there. Everywhere." I tapped a finger against my

  chin, feigning thoughtfulness. "Are you stalking me?"

  To my delight, his cheeks pinked. Just a little. But enough.

  "It would seem like that, huh?"

  I shook my head and bent to pul a handful of laundry from

  I shook my head and bent to pul a handful of laundry from

  my basket. "Missed you around the gym lately."

  I looked up and caught a flash of something in his gaze.

  Guilt, maybe, though why Eric should care if I kept track

  of his workouts, I didn't know. He shrugged and ran a

  hand over his shaggy hair.

  I stuffed a load of whites into the nearest washer as we

  spoke. I was conscious of my panties and bras among my

  T-shirts and blouses, but I didn't draw attention to them by

  blushing, even when I caught him looking.

  Eric had a smile as slow and easy as honey dripping from

  a spoon. I wanted to lick it the same way. "Did you?

  Damn. I'm sorry."

  We looked at each other, surrounded by the scent of

  fabric softener and moist, hot air.

  "Were you…looking for me?" Eric asked. "For any reason in particular, I mean?"

  Heat flushed my cheeks, and I answered with laughter and

  a duck of my head. Eric laughed, too, after a second. His

  voice joined mine like a duet, and when I looked up at

  voice joined mine like a duet, and when I looked up at

  him, his deep brown eyes were shining with good humor

  and undisguised interest.

  "Were you?"

  "Yes," I admitted. "It's not quite the same without you there."

  "Sorry. Work's been insane."

  I stuffed my quarters in the slot and dumped half a cup of

  detergent, then started the cycle. "What do you do,

  exactly?"

  Eric leaned back in his chair. "I'm an E.R. doc."

  Bing, bing, bing! We have a winner! Hot, funny and a doctor. My mother would be so proud.

  "What's that like?"

  He looked a little surprised. "Busy. But exciting."

  "Saving lives and al that? Lots of pressure," I said,

  watching his mouth form the words as he spoke.

  "Yeah," Eric said after a second or two of silence. A

  "Yeah," Eric said after a second or two of silence. A

  shadow passed over his face, but only briefly. "Lots of

  pressure. What do you do, Paige?"

  I told him without making it sound as if I was at al

  ashamed of not being a doctor. If Eric wasn't as impressed

  with my career as I with his, his eyes didn't give it away.

  Neither did his mouth, which held on to his smile.

  The conversation flowed as we washed, dried and folded

  our clothes.

  "I bet that color looks great on you." He pointed at the

  blue shirt I'd puled from the dryer.

  I held it up in front of me. "You think so?"

  "Yes. It matches your eyes."

  I'm hardly ever at a loss for words, but this time I
only

  managed to swalow, hard, and say, "Thanks."

  He scrubbed the back of his neck with a hand and looked

  utterly endearing. "Too much?"

  "No. I'd be a liar if I said I don't like compliments." To save myself from having to look at him just then, I bent to

  save myself from having to look at him just then, I bent to

  pul more laundry from the dryer.

  "And you're not a liar?"

  Over my shoulder, I said, "No. What about you?"

  I'd meant it lightheartedly, the way the entire conversation

  had been going. So when Eric didn't answer, I straightened

  and turned to face him. The look on his face stopped me

  from speaking.

  "I know where it was." He snapped his fingers. "Where I saw you for the first time. It wasn't the gym."

  I drew in a breath. My hands, ful of warm, soft laundry,

  tightened. My tongue slid along my lips as I considered

  what to say. "No. It was the Mocha."

  "No. That's not it. Have we ever met in the Mocha?" He

  laughed and covered his eyes with his hands for a second

  before looking at me again. "I'm sorry. I meet so many

  people, sometimes I forget where I met them. But believe

  me, I wish I did remember seeing you there."

  "We didn't actualy meet. I just saw you. You were sitting

  "We didn't actualy meet. I just saw you. You were sitting

  by the window, writing something. Very serious. You

  wouldn't have noticed me, anyway. You were busy."

  "I should've noticed you, Paige." His smile let me know

  exactly what he meant by that.

  I laughed again. "But you didn't. Because you meet

  soooooo many people. So. If it wasn't the Mocha, or

  outside by the smoking station—"

  Again, that flash of something furtive and guilty in his gaze.

  "And it wasn't the gym," I continued as though I hadn't

  seen it. "Where was it?"

  His dark eyes gleamed again. "Outside the Speckled

  Toad."

  My mouth opened, but I had nothing to say.

  He snapped his fingers again and crowed, laughing. "Yes!

  I'm right, right? That's where it was? I knew you looked

  familiar!"

  "I love that place." With my laundry in my hands, there

  was no chance I was going to leap into his arms, so I kept

  was no chance I was going to leap into his arms, so I kept

  it there.

  "Me, too." Eric's smile softened as he looked over my

  face. He seemed to be studying me harder this time. He

  nodded after a moment. "Yes. That's definitely it. A few

  weeks ago, right? You were going in and—"