A short story that details a freaky swap in which Val ends up inside a younger, flaky version of herself named Vee. The two are forced into each other's shoes with sad and comical consequences.
The Exchange
By S. Menduke
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014
All rights reserved. This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2014
I love you Val,
Jace said, smiling at her. Ever since he could form words, he had been calling her the shortened version of her name. Never mom, mommy or mama, no matter how many times her relatives tried to get him to do it; it was always Val or Valerie. Now that he was seven, it was weird to hear him call her mom or mother, even when he did it as a joke.
He snuggled down into her bed and, after a bit, fell asleep. She ran her hand over his hair. It had been blond when he was a baby, but with each year, it became more sandy-brown and shared not even a hint of the red color or coarseness of her own tresses. In fact, his entire physical appearance weighed heavily on the side of his father. This didn't bother Valerie so long as his personality steered clear of that weaselly deadbeat. Thankfully, he had walked long ago, and she doubted being a complete asshole was a hereditary trait. She heard Jace snoring, so she scooped him up and put him in his bed. She knew this bedtime ritual was going to have to come to an end soon, but for now, she held onto it.
After settling back into her own bed, Valerie clicked on the television. She lay quietly thinking, barely paying attention to the screen. Day in and day out, it was the same. Sometimes she yearned for different, but she knew different could be dangerous. No, the same was good. Her eyes closed as she thought about what it used to be like. That type of thinking always made her feel grateful for the simplicity of her life now.
More than a decade had passed since she quit drinking. Since she had quelled the constant urge to go out. Quelled that feeling that pushed her into bar after bar. That feeling that she might be missing something fantastic if she stayed home. Years since she woke with a pounding head, in various stages of undress. The scant memories from whatever the night before had entailed popping up, making her feel like she was being shocked with a cattle prod as she remembered. You told your boss that you wanted to do him…ughhh. You flashed your tits…ohhhhh God! You made out with who…Oh my GOD!
No, this calm, quiet life in suburbia nestled within a
