When Chris arrived home, it was quite obvious that his bedroom was different, now portraying the appearance of a room of a geek instead of a jock. All of his weights and fitness magazines and sports posters were gone. But his calender was still there (it was a different calender, but it was hanging in the same place), markings and all.
However, as Chris got closer, he saw that the markings were different. Whereas before they noted when football practice and games were, now they noted when band practice and performances were.
"I'm a band geek?"
He walked to his closet and opened it, revealing several geeky outfits, and in the corner (where his football jersey usually hung) was a black instrument case. He took it out of the closet and opened it.
It was a french horn. A horn? Chris thought. If I'm gonna be a band geek, why not something cooler like a sax? But he thought it was just as well. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing cool about being a geek.
In the reflection of the instrument, he saw himself. It was the first time he actually got a look at his new appearance. But his image was skewed, he'd have to find a regular mirror. So he turned around and looked for one. It was smaller than his old mirror, and so it was harder to find. But when he did finally find it, he looked over what would be his new look for a while. And it sickened him.
Bristly unkempt hair, pasty white skin, and his body? Thin and lanky. All of his muscles that he worked so hard to develop were gone. He was nothing but a wimp.
A knock at his bedroom door broke him out of his thoughts and away from his mirror. After opening the door, he saw his little six-year old sister Lisa. She looked the same as always, dressed up in a pink fairy-tale dress, still pretending she's a princess. She even had a little star wand in her hand.
"Mommy told me to ... tell you that ..." she tried to recite from memory.
"It's okay. I know. Dinner."
Lisa smiled and then ran away.
Chris didn't really feel like eating right now.
Carl James. Unless someone was in band or orchestra, that name wouldn't really mean anything to anyone. A french horn player, but not really much more than that. He was almost a nobody.
But now he was a somebody. A big somebody. Carl was never living his life to be famous, or even noticed. But the opportunity to actually be somebody, to have people look up to him, for just being himself. It was a change he was happy for. Almost like a fantasy come true.
Of course, he did miss his old life. He missed being in band and playing his french horn, but that life belonged to someone else now. This was his new life and he was going to embrace it to the fullest. He really didn't see any downside to it.
After taking off his tank-top, he flexed his muscles like he saw guys do on TV, and he was amazed at how large his arms looked when they were flexed. He felt strong enough to lift a bus.
He walked to his closet and opened it, finding a bunch of T-shirts and tank-tops, and in the corner (where his french horn used to sit) hung his "new" football jersey. He took it out and looked at it. It was number 38. Chris Morgan was number 38 before, and now Carl was. The name JAMES was written above the number in white bold letters.
He turned back to his mirror, putting the jersey on as he did, and looked at himself.
"I'm a football player. A real football player." He smiled.
Unlike his friends, Carl was into sports. It's just that with his old body, he couldn't participate. He could only watch. But that was one of the reasons he joined the band, so that he could be at the games. Without being athletic, he managed to still be a part of the football game experience. But now he could do what he always dreamed of. He could play football.
