Switched (5 page)

Even though everyone agreed that my father had been a good guy, we rarely talked about him. It was our way of not talking about my mother and not talking about what happened. Nothing before my sixth birthday mattered, and that just happened to include every memory of Dad.

Most of the pictures in the album were of Matt, and there were many with my mother, my dad, and Matt looking ridiculously happy. All three of them had blond hair and blue eyes. They looked like something out of a Hallmark commercial.

Towards the end of the book, everything changed. As soon as pictures of me started to appear, my mother began looking surly and sullen. In the very first picture, I was only a few days old. I wore an outfit with blue trains all over it, and my mother glared at me.

“You were such a cute baby!” Maggie laughed. “But I remember that. You wore boys’ clothes for the first month because they were so sure you were going to be a boy.”

“That explains a lot,” I mumbled, and Maggie laughed. “Why didn’t they just get me new clothes? They had the money for it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Maggie sighed, looking far away. “It was something your mother wanted.” She shook her head. “She was weird about things.”

“What was my name supposed to be?” I couldn’t remember. When I was younger, people had talked about it, but nobody reminisced about my childhood anymore.

“Um… Michael!” Maggie snapped her fingers when she remembered. “Michael Conrad Everly. But then you were girl, so that ruined that.”

“How did I get Wendy from that?” I wrinkled my nose. “Michelle would make more sense.”

“Well…” Maggie looked up at the ceiling, thinking. “Your mother refused to name you, and your father… I guess he couldn’t think of anything. So Matt named you.”

“Oh yeah.” I faintly remembered hearing that before. “But why Wendy?”

“He liked the name Wendy,” Maggie shrugged. “He was a big
Peter Pan
fan, which is ironic because
Peter Pan
is the story of a boy who never grows up, and Matt was a boy who was always grown up.” I smirked at that. “Maybe that’s why he’s always been so protective of you. He named you. You were his.”

A picture of me from when I was about two or three with Matt holding me in his arms. I lay on my stomach with my arms and legs outstretched, while he grinned like a fool. He used to run me around the house like that, pretending that I was flying, and call me “Wendy Bird,” and I would laugh for hours.

As I got older, it became more and more apparent that I looked nothing like my family. My dark eyes and frizzy hair contrasted completely with them.

 In every picture with me, my mother looked completely exasperated, as if she had spent the last half hour fighting with me before the picture. But then again, she probably had. I had always been contrary to everything she was.

“You were a strong-willed child,” Maggie admitted, looking at a picture of me covered in chocolate cake at my fifth birthday. “You wanted things the way you wanted them. And when you were a baby, you were colicky. But you were always an adorable child, and you were bright and funny.” Maggie gently pushed a strand of hair back from my face. “You were
always
worthy of love. You did nothing wrong, Wendy. She is the one with the problem, not you.”

“I know,” I nodded.

But for the first time, I truly believed that this all might be entirely my fault. If Finn was telling the truth, as these pictures seemed to confirm, I wasn’t their child. I was exactly what my mother accused me of being, and she was just more intuitive than everybody else. It was my fault because I wasn’t even human.

“What’s wrong?” Maggie asked, looking concerned. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” I lied and closed the photo album.

“Did something happen last night?” Her eyes were filled with love and worry, and it was hard to think of her as not being my family. “Did you even sleep?”

“Yeah. I just… woke up, I guess,” I answered vaguely.

“What happened at the dance?” Maggie leaned back against the couch, resting her hand on her chin as she studied me. “Did something happen with a boy?”

“Things just didn’t turn out the way I thought they would,” I said honestly. “In fact, they couldn’t have turned out more different.”

“Was that Finn boy mean to you?” Maggie asked with a protective edge to her voice.

“No, no, nothing like that,” I assured her. “He was great. But he’s just a friend.”

“Oh.” Understanding flashed across her eyes, and I think she had gotten the wrong idea from that, but whatever kept her from asking more questions. “Being a teenager is hard, no matter what family you come from.”

“You’re telling me,” I muttered.

Upstairs, I heard the sound of Matt getting up and moving around. Maggie shot me a nervous look, so I hurried to pack up the photo albums. He wouldn’t exactly be mad at me for looking at them, but he definitely wouldn’t be happy either. And first thing in the morning, I did not want to deal with a fight with my brother, on top of worrying about whether or not he was really even my brother.

“You know, you can talk to me about this stuff whenever you want,” Maggie whispered as I slipped the albums back in the cardboard box. “Well, at least whenever Matt isn’t around.”

“I know,” I smiled at her.

“I suppose I should make you breakfast.” Maggie stood up and stretched, then looked down at me. “What do you even eat for breakfast?”

“Nothing, usually. I barely wake up in time for school,” I said.

“Hmm,” Maggie thought for a minute. “How about plain oatmeal with fresh strawberries? Those are things you eat, right?”

“Yeah, that sounds great,” I nodded.

Something pained me when she asked that. There were so many things I wouldn’t eat and I was constantly hungry. It had been a struggle just to feed me. When I was a baby, I wouldn’t even drink breast milk. Which only added more fuel to the idea that I wasn’t my mother’s child.

Maggie had turned to walk into the kitchen, but I called after her. “Hey, Mags. Thanks for everything. Like… making me food and stuff.”

“Yeah?” Maggie looked surprised and smiled. “No problem.”

Matt came downstairs a minute later, deeply confused by the fact that both Maggie and I were up before him. We ate breakfast together for the first time in years, and Maggie was overly happy thanks to my small compliment. I was subdued, but I managed to play it off as something resembling happiness.

I don’t know if they were my real family or not. There were so many signs pointing to the contrary. But they had raised me and stood by me the way no one else had. Even my own mother had failed me, but not Matt or Maggie. They were unfailing in their love for me, and most of the time, they had gotten next to nothing in return.

But maybe that last part was the proof. They only gave, and I only took. 

4. Changeling

The weekend was turbulent. I kept expecting Finn to appear at my window again, but he didn’t, and I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. I wanted to talk to him, but I was terrified. Terrified that he might be lying, and terrified that he might be telling the truth.

 I kept looking for clues in everything. Like, Matt is pretty short and so am I, so he must be my brother. Then a minute later, he would say he prefers winter to summer, and I hate winter, so he must not be my brother.

These weren’t clues one way or another, and deep down I knew that. My whole life had been one giant question, and I had gotten desperate for answers.

There was also that burning unanswered question about what exactly Finn had wanted with me. Sometimes, he treated me like I was nothing more than an irritant. Then there were other times, when he looked at me and took my breath away.

I hoped that school would bring some kind of resolution to all of this. When I got up Monday morning, I took extra care to look nice, but I tried to pretend like it wasn’t for any particular reason. That it wasn’t because this was the first time I’d see Finn since he had come into my room, and that I still wanted to talk to him. I still wanted to impress him.

When the first period bell rang and Finn still hadn’t taken his place a few rows behind me, a knot started growing in my stomach. I looked around for him all day, half expecting him to be lurking around some corner. He never was, though.

I barely paid attention to anything all day in school, and I felt incredibly defeated when I walked to Matt’s car. I had expected to gain something today, but in the end, I was left with even more questions.

 Matt noticed my surly demeanor and tried to ask about it, but I just shrugged him off. He had been growing increasingly concerned since I had come home from the dance, but I had been unable to put his mind at ease.

I already felt the sting of Finn’s absence. Why hadn’t I gone with him? I was more attracted to him than I had ever been to anyone, and I don’t mean just physically. In general, people didn’t interest me, but he did.

He promised me a life where I fit in, where I was special, and maybe most importantly, a life with him. Why was I staying here?

Because I wasn’t convinced yet that I was evil. I wasn’t ready to give up on the good I had worked so hard for in my life.

I knew of one person that had always seen through my façade and knew exactly what I was. She’d be able to tell me if I had any good in me, or if I should just give in, give up and run off with Finn. 

“Hey, Matt?” I stared down at my hands. “Are you busy this afternoon?”

“I don’t think so…” Matt answered tentatively as he turned on the block towards our house. “Why? What’s on your mind?”

“I was thinking… I’d like to go visit my mother.”

“Absolutely not!” Matt was livid. “Why would you even want that? That’s so completely out of the question. No way, Wendy. That’s just obscene.”

Staring directly in his eyes, I repeated the same thoughts over and over.
I want to see my mother. Take me to see her. Please. I want to see her.
His expression was hard, but eventually, it started to soften around the edges. It took longer than it had with Patrick or Mr. Meade.

“I’ll take you to see our mother.” Matt sounded like he was talking in his sleep.

I instantly felt guilty for what I was doing. It was manipulative and cruel. But I wasn’t just doing it to see if I could. I needed to see my mother, and this was the only way I could.

I felt nervous and sick, and I knew Matt would be irate once he figured out what was going on. I didn’t know how long this persuasion would last. We might not even make it to the hospital where my mother lived, but I had to try.

Matt drove me to see my mother for the first time in over eleven years.

There were several times throughout the long car ride that Matt seemed to become aware that he was doing something he would never do. He would start ranting about how terrible my mother was and that he couldn’t believe he’d let me talk him into this.

Somehow, it never occurred to him to turn around, but maybe it
couldn’t
occur to him.

“She’s a horrible person!” Matt said as we approached the state hospital.

I could see the internal battle waged underneath his grimace and his tortured blue eyes. His hand was locked tightly on the steering wheel, but it looked like he was trying to pull it away and he couldn’t.

Guilt flushed over me again, but I tried to push it away. I didn’t want to hurt him, and controlling him like this was reprehensible.

The only real comfort I had was that I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I wanted to see my mother, and I had every right to. Matt was just being overzealous about his protective duties, once again.

“She can’t do anything to hurt me,” I reminded him for the hundredth time. “She’s locked up and medicated. I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not like she’s going to strangle you or anything,” Matt allowed, but there was an edge to his voice where he hadn’t completely ruled out that possibility. “She’s just… a bad person. I don’t know what you hope to gain from seeing her!”

“I just need to,” I said softly and looked out the window.

I had never been to the hospital, but it wasn’t exactly as I imagined. My entire basis for it was Arkham Asylum, so I had always pictured an imposing brick structure with lightning always flashing just behind it.

It was raining lightly and the skies were overcast as we pulled up, but that was the only thing similar to the psychiatric hospital of my fantasies. Nestled in thick pine forest and rolling grassy hills, it was a sprawling white building. It looked more like a resort than a hospital.

After my mother had tried to kill me and Matt had tackled her in the kitchen, someone had called 911. She was hauled off in a police car, still screaming things about me being monstrous, and I was taken away in an ambulance.

Charges were brought against my mother, but the case never went to trial. She plead out, claiming she was not guilty by insanity. They had originally given her cross diagnosis of latent postpartum depression and temporary psychosis brought on by the death of my father.

With medication and therapy, there had been the general expectation that she would be out in a relatively short amount of time.

Cut to eleven years later where my brother is talking to the security guard so we can get clearance to get inside the hospital.  From what I understand, she refused to admit any remorse for what she’d done.

Matt went to visit her once, five years ago, and what I got out of it is that she didn’t know she did anything wrong. It was inferred, but never actually spelled out, that if she got out, she’d do it again. 

There was a great deal of bustling about once we finally got inside. A nurse had to call a psychiatrist to see if I would even be able to see her. Matt paced anxiously around me, muttering things about everyone being insane.

We waited in a small room filled with plastic chairs and magazines for 45 minutes until the doctor came to meet with me. We had a brief conversation where I told him that I only wished to speak with her, and he seemed to think it might be beneficial for me to have some closure.

Matt wanted to go back with me to see her, afraid that she would damage me in some way, but the doctor assured him that orderlies would be present and my mother wasn’t prone to violence. Matt eventually relented, much to my relief, because I had just been about to use persuasion on him.