Switched: A Novel — Prologue

What follows is the prologue of the novel I’ve been working on since November 2019. Meeting my wife that month greatly changed the story, which is why I am now in the midst of the third full draft of the entire story. (It is by no means polished for publication yet.)

The seed that birthed this novel:

What if kids are switched at the hospital when they are born so my parents aren’t actually my parents?

This was a question I asked myself in high school when I was constantly butting heads with my parents. I decided it needed to be memorialized in a novel.

I present this excerpt to you now in the hopes that it will whet your appetite for more.

***

I squeal with delight as my parents and I step through the gates of the amusement park. The sounds, the sights, the smells—all bring back memories of my time here a year ago.

Now I’m six, and I’m the luckiest kid in the world. I glance up and to my left, meeting my mom’s approving smile. I turn and look up to my right. My dad quickly glances my way—happy—before saying, “Whoahp,” as he turns back to guiding us through the throng of people. They are both holding my hands, and I feel so loved, so safe, so happy.

“We’ll do this again next year too, right?” I ask, hopefully. I haven’t even enjoyed today yet, but I’m so certain I will that I already want to lock in next year’s plans too. There’s a word my parents use at Christmas to describe the things we always do; Treasure-tion I think. Treasures are awesome and so are trips to this place. It must be that word.

“If that’s what you want. We can make it a birthday tradition,” dad says. “Laurie, I’m going to split to the restroom. Keep an eye on him.”

“Of course, dear,” she says.

I look up to hear people scream as a roller coaster zooms right over my head. It reminds me of my sister, Annie. She will be eight soon, so she is big enough to ride all the rides, and she told me that the white roller coaster at the front is so much fun. How fast it is. How it makes you feel like you are flying.

I want to feel like I am flying. It’s fun when dad picks me up and zooms me around like an airplane, but that’s usually just a circle. I want to be like a bird, free to fly wherever I want.

Annie is not here today because she had to go to school. Because it’s my birthday, I got to skip school today. Yesterday, my classmates all screamed, “Not fair!” when I told them where I was going for my birthday today.

I watch as the roller coaster goes over my head again. My dad comes back—finally. He kisses my mom, which makes me turn my head—gross—but then he calls my name and asks me what I want to do first.

“Can we go to the gift shop?” I want to buy gifts for my friends Billy and Frank. If my birthday had been not a school day, they would have come along for the day with me. “I want to get something to show Billy and Frank I was thinking about them.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” my mom says. She looks at my dad. “He gets it from you.”

We make our way to the gift shop, one hand held by each of my parents, and I smell delicious food as we walk. “Funnel cake later?” I ask.

“Sure,” my dad says. I wonder if he is as happy about missing work as I am to be missing school. “But later, like right before we leave.”

We make it to the giftshop, and I quickly locate identical keychains—except one says “Cameron,” one says “Billy,” and one says “Frank.” After my dad pays for them, my mom offers to keep them in her purse.

I give her Frank and Billy’s, but I put my own in my pocket. “I don’t want to lose theirs,” I say. I don’t want to lose mine either, but it’s different. “I’m here, so I can carry my own.”

My mom smiles at me before asking, “Where to next?”

“The one with the lions and tigers.” I wish I could remember what it’s called. “It spins in a circle.” I love it. Tigers are so cool.

“The merry-go-round,” my dad offers.

“Yeah, the merry-go-round,” I say, throwing my fist in the air triumphantly.

“Then the merry-go-round it is,” my mom says.

We walk that way, passing other happy families, awestruck children, and shouts of joy from people on rides. There’s so much to see, so much to do. It leaves a guy overwhelmed.

Finally, we’re at the merry-go-round. The line wraps around the ride. But I’ve already waited a year. I’ll wait another hour to ride on a tiger.

“You still want to ride this?” my mom asks.

Of course I do. “Yes.” I tug on my mom’s arm. “Let’s go.”

“Okay,” she says, smiling at me.

I tug at their arms, pulling them toward the merry-go-round. But I’m not strong enough to move them.

I hear my mom say, “Honey, my legs are killing me.”

I turn back, ready to say that we need to get in line, but my dad speaks first. “Take a seat over there, and when he gets on the ride, I’ll join you and we’ll watch him from there.”

“Thanks, honey. I love you.”

I grimace as they kiss. Gross. “Come on, dad,” I urge, pulling on his arm.

“I’m coming,” dad says. “Your mom needs attention too.”

I don’t know what that means. But eventually they stop kissing and my dad and I start walking to get in line for the merry-go-round. I’m so excited!

“I’m going to ride a tiger, I’m going to ride a tiger, I’m going to ride a tiger.” I’m happier than I’ve been since last year, my hand is in my pocket, making sure the keychain is still there, while I drag my dad toward the line for the merry-go-round. “Come on, dad!”

My dad mumbles something, but I don’t catch it as I gaze at the merry-go-round in the distance. The animals move up and down as if they are running, as they rotate around the floor. I want to be on a tiger already. I pull on my dad’s arm again. “Can’t you walk faster?” I look up at him.

He meets my gaze. “Sure. In fact, I’ll race you!” He lets go of my hand and starts jogging toward the merry-go-round.

I won’t be beat though, so I sprint after him and easily pass him up. Finally, we’re in line behind two girls and a mom holding a sleeping baby. The oldest girl is about my age. She turns and smiles at me as we get in line behind them.

“What is your favorite animal?” I ask.

“I like dolphins,” she says. “I’m Penny. What’s—” A finger flick on her head silences her.

“We don’t talk to strangers,” her mother says.

“But he’s just a kid.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

I look up at my dad, standing next to me. He’s looking back where we came from and if I squint I think I can see mom. Maybe that’s who my dad is looking at. He must really love her. Love is weird.

More people are approaching to get in line for the merry-go-round, but I hardly notice. I tug on my dad’s shirt, and after he turns back to me, I ask, “Why do we not talk to strangers?”

“What do you mean?”

“I was talking to that girl right there,” I point, “and her mom got mad at her and said we don’t talk to strangers. Why?”

My dad talks quietly. “Not everyone is nice. There are bad people who might try to hurt you. But talking to a kid is probably okay, especially if parents are around. But probably best to not try talking to her again.”

“Okay.” I turn my head toward the front of the line, certain we should be close to the front now, but then I realize we haven’t moved at all yet. “This is going to take forever.”

“We could go do something else,” dad offers.

“I want to ride a tiger.”

“Then we’ll wait.”

The line moves like a turtle. I get dizzy watching the merry-go-round animals revolve repeatedly. I’m sure I’ve seen the same horse about six million times. So I stop watching it, turning around to discover another kid behind me.

The kid is tall. So tall, in fact, that I am surprised he is not in line for a big kid ride. His blonde hair—the same color as mine—hangs down past his shoulders. I touch my own hair, feeling the short-cropped haircut my dad always makes me get. Someday I’ll be cool and have long hair.

The kid sees me looking at him, and he offers a smile. A toothy smile full of crooked teeth. He needs braces. I don’t know what braces are, but Annie is always talking about braces like they will save her life.

“Hi,” I say. “Is it your birthday today, too?”

The kid smiles and says, “Yep.” His voice is almost funny. It sounds like he’s screaming, but the volume is normal.

“How old are you?” I pause, glancing at my dad to see if he might flick me for talking to a kid, like the mom in front of us did, but he’s looking out into the distance. I can’t tell what he’s looking at. “I’m six today,” I say, turning back to the other kid.

“I’m eight,” the kid says, holding up eight fingers. The pointer finger looks broken. It’s missing everything above the middle knuckle.

“What happened to your finger?”

“Oh nothing,” the kid says, thrusting both hands into his pockets. He offers a sheepish grin, and then glances up at the tall, dark-haired man beside him, dressed in a dress-length, black jacket, sunglasses and a funny-looking cowboy hat. I decide it’s the kid’s dad, but he sure does wear weird clothes. The kid is dressed normal, like me—tanktop and shorts. The kid’s dad looks down at his kid and makes a sideways nod to him. The kid looks back to me. “I’m Zack. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. I’m Cameron.”

The line inches forward, so I move up, and Zack sticks close to me. We continue chatting about anything and everything, though Zack mostly listens, and is repeatedly looking up at his dad. I talk to him about everything from tigers to volcanos—my other favorite school subject. I talk about hot air balloons and airplanes. I talk about flying. I talk about roller coasters. I ask Zack if he likes the big kid rides.

“I’ve never ridden them,” Zack says.

But you’re tall enough. Why not? But before I have a chance to ask him, the girl running the ride says, “Next,” and I realize it is finally my turn.

I walk onto the soon-to-be-spinning disk and take a seat atop a white tiger. White tigers are cooler than orange tigers.

I watch as my dad climbs down and walks back over toward my mom. But it’s okay, because my new friend, Zack, finds a horse beside me. And behind Zack, the dark-haired man sits on a bench on the merry-go-round. Who rides in a bench when you can ride on an animal?

I shake the thought out of my mind. I am going to enjoy this ride. On a tiger. Spinning in circles. It’s the greatest thing ever. I’ve been waiting for this moment forever. I can’t wait to tell Annie that I got to ride on a white tiger. She’ll think that is so cool!

But the ride is over too soon. I wish it could start again. The girl had listened the first four times around when I shouted, “Again,” but on the fifth time, it stopped, and she wouldn’t start it again. When the ride stops, I climb off my tiger and follow the other riders toward the exit.

As the crowd of people press together in the space to get off the merry-go-round, I fight to not be trampled. I count it the greatest thing when I feel myself being picked up. Can’t trample me if I’m flying over you. But then I feel a wet cloth cover my mouth. What is this? It tastes sweet, but smells weird.

I try to scream, but surely nobody heard it. I try to find my dad where he’s supposed to be waiting, but my squirming doesn’t allow me a good view of anything.

The last thing I remember is reaching into my pocket to make sure my keychain is still there.