Switch: Prologue I–Part One

It is, and has been, June 23, 2020, for nine months now. It’s a fluke. An irregularity in space.

Inside of a month, the secretary of education enacted “Solution Time.” Curricula crafted for every classroom/every school/university/every state, to solve the world’s time problem.

He is a naturalized citizen, but there’s nothing natural about being American, he says.

I could do anything I wanted to and do it well. This was a novelty/a dare.

But I’m Paleolithic. It’s survival, not competition. When I sleep I can feel the cave around me.

Ellie uses Jean Piaget’s theory of cognitive development to explore the different results Solution Time will get from children at different stages of development.

We are in the kitchen area of Culinary 204, our assigned Solution Time classroom, sitting on five red stools around the faux kitchen island/dining table.

I can’t figure out why, as humans, we are forced to make so many forever-deals. Especially in high school. Especially while in a fold in time and space. It is the epitome of forever/the opposite of forever.

My sister—the eddy/the hurricane
Us—the eye/hiding in the bathtub

Before my sister left,
she buried,
in the conduit/along the way,
a minefield.

Her hands achieved notoriety
as explosions.

Our house was built by precision machines—the conformity is alarming.

The labels in the main box are meticulous.

The pristine dishwasher sits inches from us under the countertop wondering why my father sees it as some sort of threat to our family.

There are booby traps in our conduit/the house is laced with tiny, erratic bombs.

He gets into his single bed/clothes still on/shoes kicked off the edge. Snuggles with his duvet.

By the time I climb into bed, I’ve collected 234 six-inch, galvanized, hot-dipped steel nails.

Proud, good, like I did something right, the feeling of giving yourself to someone you trust, watching someone be awesome, sending thank-you cards when you mean it (not when forced—Eric thinks this is evil), wishing you could be more like someone and knowing you can, doing good deeds feels nice, helping someone by listening, not gossiping, being accepted feels so good, being admired can feel fake (is that trust or lack of it? or humility?—Len)...

By the time Ellie stops pacing/Carrie’s eyes stop leaking, Len has already uploaded the video of Nigel’s tirade from his phone and trimmed it to a perfect fifteen-second clip.

Another dude in 1994 claims that only one-third of adults ever reach the formal operational stage, which means two-thirds of adults are unable to grasp abstract concepts or use logic to test out ideas.

Daddy steps into the foyer and says, “Richard is studying for important exam.”

After I find my mandible, I say, “I’ve literally never said anything about you to anyone. Except Carrie,” I say.

“Did he yell and get all self-righteous?”

That’s the most blunt I’ve ever been about it/the sitting-still energy moves through me and I feel warmer than usual/almost cry.

“I have to see my shaman before then. Get a soul retrieval or something. I need time to think.”

When my mother gets up from the chair, she acts as if she’s wearing a gown with a bustle, picks up the fabric and fluffs it out to her sides/Concordia/goddess of peace in a slipshod barn.

You will seethe/your heart will beat out of your chest/your table settings will rearrange themselves/you will not go home/you will eat subpar pizza/you will walk nighttime sidewalks in circles/you will not pull nails/you will give up/this explanation will do.

He leaves his plate unrinsed in the sink and skulks into the southwest passage.

“I am common laborer/crowbar represents oppressive capitalist government and culture.”

“There’s a goddess of strife and chaos. Eris. She started the Trojan War by getting three other goddesses to fight over who was the prettiest.”

“She starts everything. All strife. All discord.”

The smells of hard-boiled eggs and bacon permeate the room.

Carrie is like my track dad or something/compensating for the plywood maze.

There is a chasm in the conversation/no one but Carmichael can keep it going/Carmichael gives up here.

The steam from dinner left drip marks/I’m still glowing/Daddy and Carmichael are too engrossed in telling jokes to each other to notice.