“Why are you wearing my face?!”
“Why are you wearing my face?!”
                 . . .
Okay, so one time at dinner, I joked and said, “What if we switched bodies for a day?” My twin and I argued about what it would be like being each other for a day meanwhile our parents were trying to get us to finish dinner. Now, of course I was kidding when I said we should switch bodies. It’s not physically possible anyways. Or so I thought. Two days later I wake up in some foreign room in someone’s mansion that’s way bigger than my house in New Jersey. So what do you when you find yourself in a stranger’s house? Bolt. Which is what I was about to do before I caught a glimpse of myself, or my twin, really, in the mirror. I felt lightheaded from jumping out of bed so quickly, so I thought it was a poster of Mark. As if I would keep a picture of him anywhere in my room, I thought to myself. Then my eyes snap into focus and I can see that I really do look like Mark. With day clothes on and everything, although I expected to be in pajamas. My hands shoot up to my face, sweep over my eyes, and rake through my short, boy hair. This feels a little too real to be a dream.
“How is this possible?” I asked myself, making distorted faces in the mirror at the same time to see if my eyes were working. But I knew that if I stayed here ogling at myself, or Mark, in the mirror, I’d never find out. I walk the short distance from the mirror to the door and twist the knob. As I step foot into the hallway, I see myself swing the door open a couple feet away from me at the same time. If I’m Mark, Mark must be me.
“Why are you wearing my face?!” Mark-as-me accusingly points a finger in my direction.
“Why are you wearing my face?!” I retort, baffled. As if I should know. So dumb.
“Well, I think it’s pretty obvious whose fault it is,” he says matter-of-factly with this hands on his hips.
“Really?” I reply, crossing my hands over my torso. “Tell me, who was it.”
“Remember when you wished that we could switch bodies for a day, just to see what it would be like?”
“I never wished, I was just throwing the question in the air.”
“Same thing. Look where your little fantasy landed us. Some random house in God-knows-where.” Judging by the look that just crossed his face, he realized how nice the house was.
“On second thought,” he began with a smug smile, looking around and nodding his head, “this isn’t too bad.” Mechanically, he drops his smile and just stares at me deadly in the face. “Except I’m a girl.”
“So was I. Now what?” I drop my hands down to my side out of frustration.
“I don’t know. I think we should just get out of here.”
“Agreed.”
I reach behind me and shut the door to the bedroom I had previously walked out of. Mark and I make our way over to the winding staircase and descend down to the foyer. About to open the front door, a production crew rounds the corner, seemingly catching us red handed. A large man holding an enormous camera catches my arm and stops me from opening the door.
Chuckling, he says, “Woah, where are you kids going? You know we’re filming for the reality show, right?”
“Filming what?” Mark questions.
The camera guy just looked curiously between Mark and I as we just incredulously stare back at him. Starting to laugh again, he says, “Okay, joke’s over. We have to finish filming this episode.”
He turns around and starts walking towards a kitchen, and we trail after him. I would’ve taken that as our chance to escape, but the odd crew of camera men just stared emptily at us, preventing us from leaving.
Upon entrance of the massive kitchen, a lady about 50 years old in clothes too expensive to lounge in appears out of nowhere, tossing a thick packet labeled “SCRIPT” into my hands.
With a creepy, forced grin, she says, “Read these over quickly dear, we’ll be turning the cameras back on in 5 minutes.” About to sashay away, I grab the woman’s arm to get her attention. Flustered, I can barely get my words out.
“Wh… Who are you?”
Jokingly, she replies, “Hey, I know I have makeup on right now but you don’t recognize your mother?” Her hands fly up to her cheeks, patting them softly.
“Maybe this anti-aging cream really does work.” she says in astonishment.
                                                             . . .
“Finally, we got away from them.” I lean up against the wall and rest my head back, exhausted.
“Right?” Mark laughed lightly.
So not only had Mark and I switched bodies, we were in some alternate universe in which we were a celebrity family. Our parents in this world were huge movie stars in the 90s, which explains the humongous house and reality show. I’ve had a fair share of odd experiences, but this one takes the cake. The whole day, someone would say my name and I would start talking, forgetting I was in Mark’s body. While replaying today’s dreadful scenes in my head, a golden retriever approached Mark and I. What a joke. I went through this awful day and didn’t get to see our dog until the end of it?
“If you follow me, I can get you back into your world, and in your own bodies,” says the dog. At this point, my head is reeling from today’s spectacles. After everything, animals can talk. I’ve been through so much that I don’t even doubt the dog and just trail behind it as it leads us down the hallway. Stopping in front of a large door and stepping to the side, the dog turns around and looks up at us.
“This is it. On the other side of the door is where you’re supposed to be.”
I thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask the dog if it knew how we arrived in our situation.
“Oh, you know. Every now and then, the new guy makes a mistake and accidently switches people’s bodies. I tried to tell you folks earlier but the camera crew doesn’t like when I hang around while filming.”
Opening my mouth to thank the kind dog, Mark just pushes me forward and says, “Okay, enough questions. Let’s just get out of here. We’ve been here long enough.”
                                                        . . .
I come into my senses and find that I’m at the same dinner from a couple days ago. Sitting in the same chair, in the same clothes, cutting the same piece of chicken.
“In conclusion, that is why we should not switch bodies for a day. I rest my case,” Mark says, looking at everyone around the table with a proud smile.
Glad to be back, I reply, “Honestly, I agree.”
Chuckling to myself, I think, Wow, that’s a first.