Body Swap Page 4

  I suddenly become fed up with these fools in white. “Get us two of these in their boxes and ring them up. I need to call my uncle immediately.”

  Matt of the swirly eyes looks towards Hallie.

  Hallie nods eagerly. “What she said.”

  He exchanges another look with the strong-chinned Mandi, waves his hand, and she heads for the back.

  “She’ll meet you at the cash,” he tells us.

  “Unless someone fires her while we wait.” I secretly hope the tough girl does lose her job.

  “Listen, ma’am,” he says to Hallie, “we’re all a bit jumpy since we found out about Van. We don’t know how he was moving the stock out. You could have been working with him.”

  “Well, Matt, now that you know we are your valued customers, how can you make this purchase more pleasant for us?” Hallie smiles a thin-lipped smile as she repeats the inane message that even now flashes across the wall at the back. I’m finding I enjoy her gift for sarcasm.

  “Did you wish to purchase an extended warranty today, ma’am?” Matt asks her.

  “I think guarantees should come included,” I answer instead. They always used to be, I think. The fact that the stores make such a business of selling extended ones always makes me suspicious.

  “Smart kid,” Matt answers. “The guarantee comes with IQ coaching for a year.”

  “Really,” I say. Hallie looks at me, not saying anything.

  The strong-chinned girl comes back with the two boxes.

  “Listen, Mandi. Ring up the El-Qs with an extended warranty.” He sighs. “No extra charge.”

  “Can we do that?” She squints suspiciously at Matt.

  “I’ll sign off on it,” Matt snaps at her.

  “Thank you.” I smile at them.

  “You’re welcome, miss.”

  Matt smiles, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he glares at Mandi, who is madly typing.

  She hands him her device and he scrawls an initial over the screen with his forefinger. “And how will you be paying for that?”

  “Visa,” I answer. The two lab coats give me a quizzical look. “Right, Grandma?” I quickly add.

  “Yes, quite right.” Hallie hunts through my purse for a wallet, and when she opens it, I snatch for the credit card.

  “Let me do it, Grandma. I know the code.” I grin and then whisper to Hallie, “Watch me so you learn it!” This is the one aspect of technology that I have conquered.

  Once the transaction is approved, we leave with our El-Qs in a large golden bag. The rectangular phone boxes inside the bag have the appearance of gold bars. The couple at the Telco store seem to be madly flirting, but they stop as Hallie and I load the gold onto the counter.

  “The thirty-day all-you-can text, talk, and surf plan please,” Hallie says.

  I just smile and nod. We shouldn’t need a longer term.

  Activating the El-Qs takes forever –– a phone call and a review of the features plus a signature on a contract and then another credit card swipe. Hallie is quick to punch in the code even with her knobbly old-lady fingers. Like me, she seems a master shopper. Finally, she drags me down the hall to Perspectives for lunch.

  “I’m starving. Aren’t you? And I can eat anything I want — just look how skinny I am.”

  Despite my new young body and sharp brain, I suddenly feel exhaustion setting in. “I don’t know about eating, but I could really use a coffee.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Hallie

  KNEES ON FIRE AS I LIMP ALONG beside Susan, I’m still pretty happy with my new El-Q and hyped to be going someplace where I don’t have to order over a counter. If there’s one good thing about being trapped in an old-lady body, it’s the power of the credit card that comes with it. The restaurant isn’t far. We turn a corner and warm, spicy smells make my stomach growl.

  After the flash of the IQ store, Perspectives feels calm and soothing. One Christmas tree near the front twinkles with tiny blue lights, but other than that, it’s almost too dark. I yawn. I could use a nap.

  An Asian woman with hair to her waist shows us to a booth at the back. Then she hands us each a different menu. Drool forms in my mouth, I’m so hungry; and I’m thin now, so I’m going to order the works! My fingers tremble as I open the cover of the menu, which is just one page. It reminds me of the children’s menus you’re supposed to order from only until you’re eleven. Because I’m short, my parents passed me off as a child right until last year.

  The seniors’ menu.

  I blink a few times and then squint. My menu only lists a few items — is this all I get to choose from? — and I can’t even make them out, the print’s too small.

  “You probably need those reading glasses in my purse.” Susan holds a Bible-thick brown menu in front of her, flips the pages forward and then back again. “My, my. The Yuletide special. Prime rib roast beef. I haven’t had one of those since my last root canal six years ago.” She grins with my lovely teeth and shows my great dimples.

  Her eyes are bright green with long, dark eyelashes. Those were mine once; I inherited them from my mom. Would they ever be mine again? A bubble of sick reaches my throat but I swallow it back down. I slam my hand down. Ow, that hurt. I just have to get back to my body again. I reach into her purse and take a pair of horn-rimmed glasses from a leather case. With them on, I still need to use the flashlight app on my new phone to light the menu.

  Susan shakes her head. “I can’t believe you bought those things after they nearly had me arrested. We should have just walked away.”

  “See how useful they are already?” I aim the light on her menu. “Most sales people eyeball teens as if they have sticky fingers. And girls with your skin colour? Well forget about it. You’re just not used to it. And, just so you know, my eyes” — I point to hers — “see 20/20.” Peering down through the horn rims, I read my choices: turkey, ham, or salmon, all complete with soup, salad, coffee, and dessert.

  “You should vote with your dollar! Buy from someone who treats you properly.” She flips a menu page again. “Can I chew beef with your teeth?”

  “Yeah. Cavity free on my last checkup.” But now the question dawns on me, what can the teeth in my current mouth handle? The soft proteins on my menu may be especially designed for weaker, old teeth. “These El-Qs are the best.” I light up the dessert selection with the device in my hand now. “But if I knew we had all the time in the world, I would have walked away from that store, too.” Jell-O, rice pudding, or ice cream — not very exciting.

  “Death by Chocolate, yum. Your digestion fine with that? I can’t believe how hungry I am. It must be this teenaged body.”

  “We’re trying to watch my weight. Don’t you dare gain me ten pounds while you’re in my body.”

  “This body is perfect. Why would you need to watch your weight?”

  “Because I want a boyfriend. My friend Abby has already had three and she’s a toothpick. And if I’m thinner, maybe I’ll look taller. Optical illusion, you know? Guys will notice me.” I practise a Susan move, pursing my old-lady mouth. I’m going to have to perfect that if I want people to really believe I’m her. Look at those round, healthy cheeks on her. Why didn’t I appreciate them when they were mine? “I like this guy named Chael. He calls me thunder thighs. I think he’s joking, he’s always teasing. Still. Hey, maybe you should take notes on your new phone.”

  “Or I could do it on the notepaper that’s in my purse.”

  “Okay, but my friends will wonder about you.”

  She sighs and takes out her El-Q. “Show me.”

  I insert my old cell’s memory card. “Now you have all my contact information.” I open the contacts list to show her. “Too bad we can’t do that with our brains.” I hand the phone back to her and set the preferences on mine to my favourite sound, the burp.

  “Where is the boy you like? The one named after the greens.” She looks over the names.

  “It’s actually spelled C-h-a-e-l.”

/>   She smiles. “I like the spelling.”

  “Cool, right?” I open the notepad and virtual keyboard. “So, you know my best friend’s name is Abby, then there’s Megan. She texts me a lot about Chael … I have a little sister named Aria. My dad has red hair. Obviously, I look more like my mother. My last name is Prince … are you making notes?”

  “So, I just type this information on these flashlight letters on the table here?” She tries it out and squeals as she types. Then she pauses and frowns. “How am I ever going to keep all this straight?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “Let’s get the El-Q Hangout app. That may help.” I take hers and download the program. While the tiny bar fills to show the progress of the download, I keep thinking out loud. “We need to stay together whenever possible so we can help each other. But everyone will wonder about that … unless …”

  “Unless what?”

  “You did it already back in the IQ store –– adopted me as your grandmother. My school has a program something like that to develop empathy. Usually a mom and baby come in. But I don’t see why it can’t be with a senior. I can earn the forty volunteer hours I need to graduate spending time and helping you. It can be with technology, too, so perfect purchase.”

  “Only I am currently in your teenaged body and certainly know nothing about El-Qs and such.”

  “A bit of a hiccup, I admit. But we’ll make it work; we have to.” The progress bar fills completely now. I open the program and create our profile. “Here you go.”

  “What did you say your last name was?”

  “Prince.”

  Her fingers beat a rhythm on the virtual keyboard displayed against the tablecloth.

  “You’re really speedy on that.”

  “I used to be a court stenographer. You know, I already have grandchildren. I really don’t need any more.

  “Are they helpful?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Not at all. They live too far away. It’s as though they don’t even exist. Aria is your sister,” she repeats as she table-types. “The love of your life is Chael. Friends are Abby. And Megan. There now. How do I get books on this thing?”

  I show her how to connect with the library on the internet, and using my library card number, we get her Alice Munro’s short stories. She grins as though I’ve given her the best gift ever. Then we open a Facebook account under her name. “I’ll have to become friends with your family so I can get to know them,” I tell her.

  “Friends? But they’ll know you as a relative.”

  “Just a word. Brothers and sisters can be friends on Facebook.” She’s so amazed with everything that we forget about ordering. Neither of us realizes the waitress is standing there till she coughs.

  “Do you need another moment?” Her voice sounds annoyed.

  “No, no!” I answer. “I’ll have the soup, turkey, and the ice cream for dessert.”

  “Ginger pumpkin or curried lentil, ma’am?” the waitress asks.

  “Take the pumpkin,” Susan says. “You know the lentil doesn’t agree with you.”

  Yuck! “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll have the salad, instead. Ranch dressing, please.”

  The waitress nods as she writes. Then she looks up at Susan.

  “I’ll have the Yuletide special with the Yorkshire pudding, a baked potato, and all the works, sour cream, butter, bacon. A Caesar salad, extra bacon there, too. Dessert’s not included with mine?”

  “No, miss.”

  “Well, I want to die by chocolate anyway.”

  “Very well. How do you like your beef?”

  “Rare. Very rare.”

  “Good. Your salads will be coming up shortly.” She takes our menus.

  Meanwhile I show Susan her son’s Facebook page.

  “Oh, look at that lovely picture of Ron Junior playing soccer!” she says. “He rarely has time for that anymore. So busy with work.”

  “Junior? He’s like forty-something.” Who knew forty-year-olds even played soccer.

  “His father, my ex, is Ron Senior.” She shudders for a moment. “Can we look at my daughter’s page? She lives on the Coast.”

  “Doesn’t matter where anybody lives. If she’s on Facebook, sure. What’s her name?”

  “Emily MacMillan. MacMillan’s my last name. Emily doesn’t use her married name. She’s very modern.”

  Once I find Emily, Susan’s even more excited. “That’s my granddaughter, Leah!” She points out a little girl in a photo. “And she’s wearing the top I sent her for her birthday. I didn’t know she liked it. She never sent me a thank-you note!”

  I shrug. “Bet she would text you, if you give her your number. Let’s message your daughter.”

  Susan finishes typing a long message as our salads arrive. Our waitress plunks a dish right on the virtual keyboard and the letters glow from the Caesar salad.

  “What is with her?” I say as I crunch into my salad.

  “How do I finish?” Susan’s still caught up in her letter.

  “Move the salad. Just so you know, normally Facebook messages are only a couple of lines.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes! You should eat now,” I say loudly so she focuses on something else besides her phone.

  “Oh, right, certainly! How do I send my letter?” Susan asks.

  “Press enter.”

  She smiles at the screen, then finally sets it aside and rubs her hands. “Yum!” she says as she bites into her first mouthful of romaine. Our main dishes arrive and she immediately saws off a piece of beef. “Oh, this is so good. How’s yours?”

  “Blah.” The turkey is mushy. Maybe they cook it that way so old folks don’t choke. The fries are as pale as my skin.

  The waitress comes back to ask how everything is and that’s when I see it. The tattoo above her knuckles. Carpe Diem. “Eli? You’re a girl now?”

  “Shhh!” Finger to her lips, she looks around to see if anyone has overheard. “I don’t want to be defined by any one sex.”

  “What are you doing here?” Susan whispers.

  “Contrary to popular belief, I like to be everywhere,” Eli answers. “Just want to see how you two are getting on.”

  “Famously,” Susan says.

  “Horribly,” I say at exactly the same time. There’s an awkward pause when Eli and Susan look from each other to me and back again. “Okay, I didn’t exactly mean we weren’t getting along. It’s not that at all, it’s about this, this wrinkly old skin.” I point a finger down my throat in a gag-me gesture.

  More awkward silence.

  “Come on, Eli. Just how long am I stuck in this body?”

  CHAPTER 8

  Susan

  I STARE AT ELI IN HIS NEW long-haired-waitress format and wonder almost the same thing as Hallie does. How much longer can I possibly have in this body? But for me, I ask myself that same question each and every morning when I get up — right after, Am I still alive?

  Today, it’s not a complaint. I’m happy in this smooth, unwrinkled, young body. Today, I want life to continue forever. Nothing aches, everything works, eyes, ears, teeth, even my voice. Whereas poor Hallie sounds desperate to be her young self again, and I can’t blame her. Hallie must hate my old snakeskin as much as I do.

  “If you like, we can head back to the carnival, cele­brate Christmas there. You can both ride the roller coaster,” Eli suggests, smiling. He’s really a very becoming woman. Golden specks float in his now-brown eyes. His long, black hair lies smooth and glossy down his back.

  Still, why must he taunt the teen so?

  “I want my real life back. The ordinary one,” Hallie complains, running her fingers through her blond hair. (I refuse to let my hair go grey, even if I grow to be a hundred.) It gets stuck halfway. After all, Hallie is used to a short pixie hairdo; fingers would have been the perfect comb. But not with her current fine, long hair.

  “Everyone lives their life for a reason, a purpose. And the goal can’t just be kissing a boy.” Eli still smiles b
ut his brown eyes flash bright like sharpened knives.

  “But I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up,” Hallie whines. “I have a hard enough time choosing what to wear in the morning.”

  “Because everything’s all about you!” Eli sighs. “You haven’t looked outside yourself to find what the world wants from you yet. This body transposition should help.”

  “Yes, but how long will it take?” She huffs.

  His eyes squint, his chin lifts. Can she not see she’s making him angry? Probably not. What is that expression? You can’t put an old head on a young body. This transposition creates the worst possible opposite effect: a young brain in an old body.

  “Christmas is in five days. Can I have my body back by then? Pu-lease  ?”

  “Time!” Eli waves a long slender hand as though dismissing the concept. “You want everything instantly. Even texting doesn’t happen so quickly.”

  “That’s it, isn’t it? All this is because you hate technology.”

  “No. Just the amount of time you spend on it. And you’ve hooked Susan on it, too, now I see.”

  He’s caught me glancing toward the screen — I thought I heard some music — the ringtone? If only I’d known how much fun these things were a long time ago. Ron kept trying to talk me into buying a computer but I thought it would take up too much room in my condo. Besides, I have a telephone. Why do I need to communicate via keyboard and screen? I did enough keyboarding in the courtrooms to support the family. I didn’t want to do it in my spare time. This unit, however, is like a small pocket book, the perfect size.

  The El-Q plays that music again and I turn to Eli. “May I take this? It could be a message from my daughter, Emily.”

  “Who cares!” Eli waves a hand again. “You two haven’t discussed the car problem and how to fix it. Direct your energies that way.”

  “Is that my goal?” Hallie sputters. “To prove an eighty-two-year-old can still drive?”

  “Free will! So much work, isn’t it?” Eli says. “You decide the real direction of your life. Or the direction of your death. But I’m going to help you out on that time thing, since you’re so impatient. You’ve got till Christmas Eve. Then I take over. Now enjoy the rest of the meal while I get your desserts.” His long hair barely ripples as he turns away and heads back for the kitchen.