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Switch Mitchell’s - Chapter 6
🕑 Added 2023-09-26 15:33:23 +0000 UTCOTHER CHAPTERS | ALL STORY LIST
Mitchell rushed past Mrs. Edwards, redoing the belt on his dress and having difficulty with his heels when he ran straight into Nadia’s father. Mitchell tripped and fell, but Mr. Edwards caught him. Mitchell looked up into Mr. Edwards’ eyes as he was held in the man’s arms. Mr. Edwards finally set him upright, holding him for a moment until Mitchell found his balance. “Thank you, Mr. Edwards,” he said, struggling from the man’s embrace. Mitchell ran down the stairs as fast as he could manage in his pumps.
Mr. Edwards looked shocked for a moment, then nodded for his wife to follow as he went back into their bedroom. “Oh dear, so much for getting any work done today,” she said to herself as she entered the room, closing the door behind her. “There you are,” said Julie as Mitchell reached the first floor. Taking a closer look at Mitchell she told him, “You need to tighten your belt.
There now, that looks incredible, the way that dress curves in at your waist!” “Uh, right, thanks,” said Mitchell, noting how Julie had pulled the belt two notches, causing his hem to rise at least an inch. “Can we call your brother now, please?” pleaded Julie. Mitchell collected himself and said, “Okay, sure. But he might not be home.” Mitchell knew he wouldn’t be home! “Do you think he’ll get a message if we leave one?” asked Julie. “I know he will,” said Mitchell. The two girls found Nadia’s cell phone in the living room, and Mitchell entered the number. After a couple of rings, Mitchell’s mother answered. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure what to do.
Michelle was probably sitting at home right now, in the kitchen with his mother! What would his mother think if she heard Michelle on the phone as well? Except he had to use Michelle’s voice; Julie was right beside him! “Hello?” repeated his mother. “Um, Mitchell please,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry, he’s not in right now. He’s gone out with his father,” he was told. “Could you tell him, wait, where is he?” “He’s gone out to work with his father today.
Michelle, is that you?” “Uh, yes, hi Mom,” he stammered. “Um, where did you say Mitchell is?” “He’s gone out with your father.” “So, Mom,” said Mitchell, trying to sound casual. “Did you actually see him today?” “Yes, of course,” she replied. “I gave him breakfast, then he got dressed and I saw him get into the truck with your father. Why do you ask?” “Oh, no reason,” said Mitchell, trying to picture this.
He had assumed his biggest problem in getting his own life back would be avoiding anyone seeing two Michelles, but what had happened at home while he was away? Was Michelle pretending to be him? Why would she do that? “Hello, Michelle?” said his mother. “Are you still there?” “Yes, yes, I’m here,” said Mitchell, gathering his thoughts. “Leave a message!” whispered Julie, quite loudly. Whatever was going on, it should be straightened out by tonight. Mitchell decided to leave a message for himself. “Can you give Mitchell a message, please? Tell him he has to be at Cheval Dégoûtant, tonight at 7:00.
Tell him it’s very important.” This made Julie smile. “I’ll let him know,” said his mother. “Michelle, how did things go last night? Are you at the” “Gotta go, Mom,” Mitchell interrupted. “See you later.” Julie could hardly contain herself. When Mitchell hung up the phone, she threw herself at him. “Cheval Dégoûtant!” she cried. “That’s so elegant. Is he really taking me there?” “I told you,” said Mitchell. “He really likes you.
He’s going to want to show you a beautiful evening.” Julie gave Mitchell a hug and a kiss. “This is so great! I’m going to go tell Nadia! Maybe I can buy a new dress at the mall.” When Mitchell saw that Julie was gone, he picked up the phone to call the restaurant and made a reservation for two. Mr. Everett inspected the drywall sheet Michelle had just dropped in the Construction Warehouse parking lot.
The corner was smashed, but he decided it might still be useable, maybe in a corner, if they cut off the broken edge. His look of concentrated calculation turned to barely controlled anger as he turned to his daughter. “Damn it, boy, what’s the matter with you today?” he asked. He bent to pick up one end of the eight-foot sheet as he continued. “All you need to do is hold onto your end, and you can’t even do that.
Well, what are you waiting for? Pick it up.” Michelle struggled to lift her end of the sheet. “I couldn’t help it, it slipped. I’ve already carried, like, ten of these things already. They’re heavy!” “They’re not heavy. They’re only 80 pounds, and I’m carrying most of the weight. All you had to do was balance your end, and you couldn’t even do that,” he berated her as they slid the sheet on top of the others in the back of the truck.
It had been a long day for Michelle. She had been helping her father all morning, hauling construction equipment and supplies in the back of his truck. It was difficult work, and Michelle was not used to heavy lifting. She was almost ready to cry as she sat in the passenger seat. “Are we done yet?” she asked as her father climbed into the driver’s seat. “Done?” he replied. “No, we’re not done. We haven’t even started.
We haven’t even been to the site yet.” He started the truck and backed out of his parking spot. “Well, can I go home?” asked Michelle. “I’ve got a lot of things to do today.” “Mitch,” said her father, trying to be patient. “I asked you last week if you could help me today. You said you would. Now I’m counting on you.
So, would you please stop this childish whining? This was supposed to be fun, you and me, working together. I wanted to teach you about construction.” “I don’t need to know about construction,” sulked Michelle. “Every man needs to know about construction. One day, you’ll want to renovate your basement, and then all this will make sense to you.” Mr. Everett pulled out of the parking lot, into traffic. “I’ll hire someone to do it for me,” she said. “Then you better understand construction, to make sure they’re doing it properly,” said her father as he made a left turn.
“It’s so boring,” she said as if to herself. She turned to her father and added, “We spent half an hour looking at a wall of screws.” “There are a lot of different kinds of screws. A different kind for every job. You need to know the difference; it can save you a lot of time and effort. Use the wrong kind of screw, and you may have to tear the job down and start over.” “Okay, okay, I get it,” said Michelle, twirling her hair around her fingers. “Screws are important, wood is important, big heavy boards are important.
Can I go home now? I’ve got things I need to do.” Michelle pushed her hair back from her face, tucking it neatly behind her ear with her little finger. Mr. Everett watched Michelle as she played with her hair. He had really tried to be patient, to keep his temper in check. He had thought that Mitchell had been looking forward to working together as much as he had. To find out that his son was not only unwilling to work with him, but was also almost useless when he did, was disappointing.
To find out that his son would whine like a spoiled child rather than help out was infuriating. But to watch him making effeminate gestures with his long hair was more than the man could stand. “Fine,” he said. “I can see this was a big mistake. We have one more stop to make, then you can go home.” “Thank God,” said Michelle. “I want to wash my hands.” Mr. Everett pulled the truck to the side of the road, stopped the engine, and got out. “Come on, let’s go,” he said to Michelle.
Michelle opened the door and stepped down from the truck, then followed her father down the street. He walked into one of the shops, and she followed. She decided to be cooperative; the sooner they finished this, the sooner she could go home!
Michelle was feeling filthy, exhausted, and very angry at her stupid brother who had gotten her into this mess. Michelle looked around the shop. “What are we doing here?” she asked. Her father ignored the question, addressing the shop owner instead. “Got room for one right now, Stan?” The man turned to face them. “You were just in here last week, Ben.
What do you need, just a trim?” “Hardly,” he replied, grabbing Michelle by the collar and pulling her into the barber chair before she knew what was happening. “We need this one to look like a man.” “Happy to oblige,” said the barber, picking up his scissors. “Hey, wait, no!” cried Michelle, forgetting to use her Mitchell voice as her father held her down in the chair. “Dad, I’ll come with you! Really, I want to help.
Daddy, please don’t do this!” Her father ignored her as he grabbed her hair in a huge, thick ponytail. Gesturing to Stan for the scissors he asked, “Do you mind?”
“Be my guest,” replied Stan, handing them over. Michelle had to tell the truth, it was the only way out. “Daddy, please, I’m not,” she said through her tears. She stared into her lap as her father dropped a good foot of hair into it. “Nooo!” she shrieked. “Stop blubbering, you’re starting to sound like a girl,” her father told her.
Then he turned to the barber. “Think you can finish him up from here?” “Oh, I’m pretty sure I know what to do,” joked the barber. Mr. Everett gave the man $20. “That should cover it. Give him $2 change when you’re done, so he can catch the bus home.” “Thanks, Ben,” said the barber as Michelle’s father left the shop. Then he turned to Michelle, still in shock in the chair. Michelle looked at herself in the mirror.
Her hair was gone. Well, not all of it, of course. Where before it had extended far down her back, it was now chopped bluntly so that it barely reached her shoulders. Michelle wanted to cry. Oh, right, she already was. “Come on son,” the barber tried to console her as he tied an apron around her neck. “It’s going to be fine.
Tell you what, you can choose any style you want. Just point to a picture on the wall.” Michelle looked at the pictures. They all looked the same; they all looked like they were taken in the 1950s. “Any of these?” she asked. “Sure, it’s up to you. The ladies really go for this one,” said Stan, pointing out one of the photos. Michelle knew this wasn’t the case, as she considered the guy in the photo to be a hopeless nerd.
She looked again at her ponytail, now on the floor, under Stan’s shoe. She wanted to cry again but knew that she couldn’t, not now. She had to get out, except Stan had strategically placed himself between her and the door.
And he was holding scissors. “Can I look at that one?” she said, standing as she pointed to one on the back wall. “Sure, take your time,” said the barber. “We got all day.” Michelle crossed to the back of the shop, looking at the photo. When she was out of Stan’s reach, she bolted through the door to the back office, slamming it behind her.
The door had a lock; she flipped the switch. “Give me strength,” said Stan under his breath. “Son, you’re not allowed in there. And it doesn’t have a back door.” When Michelle didn’t answer he tried the knob. With a sigh, he reached into his pocket. “You know, I have the key.” While Stan looked through his keys, Michelle looked around the small office. There was no back door, just like Stan had said.
But there was a small window. Michelle pushed for all she was worth, breaking the bonds from years of paint that held the window like glue. As soon as it swung free she climbed out head first, falling to the pavement on the other side.
Michelle tore the apron from her neck as she ran, tossing it to the ground behind her. Stan watched her from the window. “That boy runs funny. Hmmm,” he said, turning his attention to the window. “I never knew this could open.” “This is so much fun!” said Mrs. Edwards enthusiastically. “I’m so glad I let you girls talk me into bringing you here.”
“Yes, thanks Mom!” said Nadia with a hug. “You know how much I love it when you bring me to the spa.” “Today is my treat, anything you girls want,” said Mrs. Edwards. “Really?” said Julie enthusiastically. “Thank you so much!” “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Edwards,” said Mitchell, with slightly less enthusiasm. “Please, you don’t have to call me Mrs. Edwards,” she said. “Call me Sandra.
Today, I’m just one of the girls, like you,” she told him. “Okay, Sandra,” said Mitchell hesitantly. “Can we get a seaweed wrap?” asked Nadia. “Sure, whatever you girls want,” said Mrs. Edwards. “What is that?” asked Mitchell. “It’s wonderful,” replied Mrs. Edwards. “They cover you from your neck to your ankles in seaweed.” It didn’t sound wonderful to Mitchell. It sounded incomprehensible. It also sounded like something you did while naked, which he really wanted to avoid. “I think I might be allergic,” he said. “Full-body massage?” suggested Julie.
Another naked activity. “What else?” asked Mitchell, studying the board for anything that could be done while remaining clothed. “There’s always a facial,” said Mrs. Edwards. Mitchell weighed his options. “A facial sounds so great,” he said with feigned enthusiasm. “Me too!” agreed Nadia. “Me three!” giggled Julie.
“I want to look beautiful for Mitchell tonight.” Mitchell couldn’t help himself this brought a huge smile to his bright red lips. “Well, Michelle,” said Mrs. Edwards. “With that kind of enthusiasm, how could I say no? You girls can each have a facial, but I think I’ll still have the seaweed wrap.
I’ll catch up with you later.” Mrs. Edwards was escorted to a private room at the back of the shop, while the three girls were taken off to the side by a young woman. “We can take all three of you in a few minutes, but there’s one chair available right now. So, who’s first?” “This was your choice, Michelle. You go first,” agreed the other girls. Mitchell turned hesitantly, then sat in the chair while attempting to tug his dress down. The woman sat beside him and reclined the chair so she could work on his face.
Nadia and Julie chatted beside Mitchell as he waited nervously for the facial to begin. He didn’t have to wait long, as the woman tied a pretty apron around his neck, then began to remove his makeup with cleanser and cotton balls. “This is great,” said Julie. “It’s like we’re getting a preview of what to expect.”
“We’ve both been here before, so Michelle knows what to expect,” said Nadia. “Remember my sixteenth birthday, Michelle? We had facials and complete makeovers.” “Yes, of course,” lied Mitchell. “It was so amazing.” He was starting to find the woman’s stroking of his face soothing.
He closed his eyes; he could almost fall asleep like this. “Will we be getting makeovers?” asked Julie. “That would be the best. I want to look good so badly for Mitchell tonight.” This made Mitchell smile. “Of course,” said Nadia. “Anything you want.” Nadia and Julie continued to watch as the woman spread warm wax over Mitchell’s forehead. Mitchell smiled, it felt so good as she pressed a cloth strip down firmly over each of his eyebrows.
He was almost asleep when she pulled the first one. Mitchell was unable to speak, even though he wanted to scream like a little girl. He tried to sit up except the woman pressed him back into the chair, then ripped the strip from his other eyebrow. “Ooh, that looks so good now, you really needed your eyebrows waxed, you know,” said Nadia. “It really does look good, I can’t wait to get mine done!” said Julie. “Is it supposed to hurt this much?” asked Mitchell. The other girls laughed as if he was joking.
He wanted to stand and run, and never look back, except Julie was holding his hand. “Never mind,” said the woman, pressing him back into the chair, and going at his eyebrows with a pair of tweezers. “The worst is over now.” Eventually, the chairs on either side of Mitchell became vacant, and Nadia and Julie moved into them.
The two girls laughed and chatted, and thoroughly enjoyed their afternoon at the spa. Their every pore was squeezed and plucked. They received deep cleansing facials and lash tints. Their makeup was redone professionally with the greatest attention to detail. Their cuticles were trimmed, and their nails were filed and painted.
Their hair was curled and teased and done up into beautiful, feminine styles. And, of course, the same was done to Mitchell. By the end of the afternoon, the three girls were gorgeous.
Up in the Air Michelle entered her front door finally. It had been a horrible day. She was still filthy from the heavy work she had done in the morning. She was sweaty from her escape from the barbershop. She was exhausted from having to walk the eight miles home, after discovering she didn’t have one cent for the bus.
The walk had not been uneventful, either. She found that she couldn’t walk the main streets after she was nearly spotted by some girls she knew from school. So the walk became that much longer as she navigated back streets. And halfway home, she’d actually been forced to use a men’s room.
Michelle had never felt so disgusting in her life. But at least she was home. She wanted to just collapse, but first, she was going to go upstairs and take her life back. The front door clicked closed behind her. “Mitchell, is that you?” called her mother from the kitchen. Was she Mitchell? Michelle wasn’t sure. Damn him, she had no idea where he was. For all she knew, there could be another Mitchell in the next room.
She wanted to run, or hide, but she wasn’t given the chance as her mother came into the front hallway. “How did it go today, working with your father?” Mrs. Everett looked up as she entered, seeing Michelle’s hair, and was struck speechless. “Not very good,” said Michelle, trying to make light of the situation.
Except she couldn’t. She could barely hold herself together as she continued, “Daddy cut my hair!” “Oh dear,” said Mrs. Everett as she looked at her daughter’s hatchet job. “What with, a saw?” This was too much for Michelle, and she began to cry. Her mother held her and said, “It’s all right, Mitchell.
It was time to cut your hair. You just need to get it cut professionally now. This length just isn’t right for you. It looks a little too feminine.” Michelle stopped crying and looked at her mother. “Do you really think so?” she asked. “Oh, I’m sorry dear, but I’m afraid it’s true,” she told her.
Michelle sniffled, then hugged her mother. “Oh, thank you, Mom!” “Oh, you’re welcome, I guess,” she responded as she comforted her daughter. “Now, why don’t you go upstairs, dry your tears, and have a shower?” “Thanks, Mom, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” Michelle considered what she would do after she was clean.
Putting on her own clothes and makeup, then going out to find Mitchell and stomp him into the dirt sounded like a good plan. “I think I’ll go out for a little while after.” “Oh, goodness,” said her mother. “I almost forgot. Your sister called, and left you a message.” “My sister? Do you mean, Michelle?” “Of course, that’s the only sister of yours that I know!” “Except it’s just,” said Michelle, trying to figure this out.
Was Mitchell actually impersonating her? That didn’t make any sense. Why would he be running around town impersonating her? “Never mind, I guess. What did he she, want?” “She wants you to meet her at Cheval Dégoûtant, at 7:00. She said it was very important.” “Yeah, I bet it’s important,” said Michelle, half to herself.
If he really was impersonating her, why didn’t he just come home? Maybe it would make more sense after a shower. Michelle went to Mitchell’s room, removed his filthy, sweaty, grimy clothes, and placed them into his laundry basket. She wore his bathrobe and went to the bathroom for a long, hot shower. Michelle was feeling much better when she finished. She even had a plan, of sorts. She would put on a dress and makeup, go to Cheval Dégoûtant, and stomp Mitchell into the dirt.
Yes, this plan would work. Except when she went to her bedroom, her mother was in the hallway. “Mitchell, I’ve set out some clothes for you on your bed,” she said, indicating Mitchell’s room, and thereby implying Mitchell’s bed, and Mitchell’s clothes. “Thanks, Mom,” said Michelle, hoping the woman would leave. She didn’t.
When Michelle didn’t move, her mother said, “Come on, I’ll show you,” and led her into Mitchell’s room. On the bed were a jacket and tie, dress pants, black socks, and black Oxford shoes. “Hurry and get dressed,” said her mother. “You’re supposed to be there in half an hour.
Do you think your father will be home in time to drive you?” Her father! She needed to get out before he came home! “I don’t think so. Can I have your car tonight? Thanks, Mom, please, I’ve got to get changed!” Michelle dressed in Mitchell’s best clothes, raced out the door, and drove downtown to meet her brother.
