"Mommy, are you okay?" the 40-something man asked his son. Jon had been staring at his father for over a minute, his brain still processing the sight of the man that raised him sitting on the floor in a dress with a coloring book. Jon's appearance seemed to confuse Roger as well.
"I... I need to sit down." Jon moved to the couch, while his father stood up and looked at him with confusion.
"Are you sick, Mommy? Why are you dressed like that?" Roger asked.
"What?"
"Well, you never wear pants like that," he said, gesturing to Jon's worn and baggy jeans. "Yours are always nicer. And not so... big. It looks kinda silly."
I'm the one who's silly looking? Jon thought. He wasn't sure he could deal with his father's fractured logic much longer.
"Why don't you go... play in your room. I need to lie down here for a bit."
"Okay," Roger said with a lilt before scooping up his book and crayons and skipping up the stairs. Jon sighed. So this was the result of wishing for something "interesting?" No, that couldn't be it. Sure, his misguided wish had led him to this point. But he had a feeling that there was some other force at work here. He was about to go get the stone from his room so he could find a way to fix things, when he realized something very odd.
He looked over at the staircase that his dad had bounded up just seconds ago. It wasn't right. The wrong shape. Wrong bannister. He looked around the living room. The furniture, the layout, the decor, everything was totally different. There was a room off to the side he didn't recognize. The kitchen was in the wrong place.
This was a different house.
He had been so shocked seeing his father that he hadn't quite noticed. But how did he end up here? He had walked home from school the way he always had, hadn't he? He got up and looked out the window. Different street. Different neighborhood. What the hell was going on?
Jon walked over to a table where several framed photographs stood. There were some photos of his dad, in getups much like the one he was currently in. A formal portrait in a frilly dress, on the beach in a Hello Kitty swimsuit, a princess Halloween costume. Smiling and happy in each one, his physical body was the only trace of a former life.
There were pictures of Jon, too. Wearing the "nicer" pants his father described... women's slacks. A few in dresses, where Jon stood among a group of young women. His pictures, too, featured all smiles. It was eerie for Jon to see images of himself gleefully inhabiting the life of what seemed to be an attractive young woman.
But eeriest of all was a picture where Jon seemed the most happy, the most carefree. The smile on his ruby red lips looked ready to burst from the frame as he was adorned in a beautiful white wedding gown and embraced by a tall, handsome young man in a tuxedo. A man he did not recognize.
Who the hell is that? Jon thought, trying to rack his brain. A teacher? A friend of his parents? Jon picked up the picture and studied it more carefully. Suddenly, he felt a pair of strong hands on his waist, then a brush of stubble against the back of his neck.
"Hello, sweetheart," a voice whispered in his ear.
