“You’re not going to school today, but I need you to put on a nice dress,” said Mom as she stepped into my room after I woke up.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I asked, “Why? What’s the deal?”

Mom sighed and then said, “I didn’t tell you earlier because I didn’t want to listen to your belly-aching about it. You have an appointment at the hospital for an evaluation.”

I folded my arms and scowled. “Give me a break! You’re shittin’ me, right? With the feds?”

Mom stepped back into my room. “Watch your language, young lady!” scolded Mom. “And yes. A DHS medical team want to see how you’re developing. And don’t feel singled out. All the Switcher victims are getting this eval.”

“Why don’t they just leave us alone?” I griped. “They can’t do anything about us.”

“The paper for the appointment said something about finding a common thread for girls like you who can cling to your past and those who go totally native with no memory of their past.” Mom came out of her closet carrying a nice blouse and a black skirt. She looked at me still sitting on my bed. “Do you need me to help you pick out a dress?”

I slid to the floor. “Why do I need a dress? I don’t see the point.”

Mom came into my room and entered my closet. She came back out with a dress and put it on my bed. “You always want to look nice and show the doctors that you’re a well-adjusted little girl.”

I frowned. “Who says I’m well-adjusted?”

Mom went back into her room to finish dressing. “I don’t want them to have any reason to take you away from me. Unless you just want new parents and a new place to live.”

I shook my head. “No. I don’t want to risk getting anyone weirder than you.”

Mom rolled her eyes. “Gee thanks. Will you hurry up and get dressed?”

Mom held my hand as we entered the hospital. We walked up to a reception desk.

“Switcher evaluations?” asked Mom. The old lady in a pink jumper looked at me.

The old woman said, “Well, aren’t you just the cutest?” To Mom she pointed and said, “Take that elevator to the fourth floor, Room 409.”

I started to sing, “Giddy up, giddy up, giddy up 409. Nothing can catch her…” The old lady looked confused.

“Will you hush?” scolded Mom. Tugging on my hand, Mom said, “Let’s go. Do you always have to embarrass me?”

As we walked into the elevator, I continued under my breath, “My four speed, dual quad, posi-traction 409…” Mom just shook her head.

We left the elevator and proceeded to room 409. A receptionist on the other side of the door looked up at us as we entered.

Mom said, “Appointment for my daughter Chrystal Grant.”

The receptionist nodded and then typed something into a computer. She pointed to a row of chairs. “Have a seat and someone will be with you momentarily.”

Mom led me over to the chairs. As we both sat down, I copied Mom’s movements to smooth the skirt of my dress as I sat. I frowned at my dress. You don’t have to smooth anything when you’re wearing jeans.

Mom turned to me and said, “Now just sit quietly. Hopefully we won’t have to wait too long.”

I looked around. I wasn’t the only ten year old girl in the room. I tried to read the expressions of the other girls to try to see if they had blank expressions or were more like me. But it was clear that it wasn’t going to be short wait. And it wasn’t.

Finally, a woman came from one of the back doors to the room we were waiting in, holding a notebook computer. She looked around the room. Several more girls had joined us in waiting. She called out, “Chrystal?”

Mom and I both started to stand. The woman held a palm out towards Mom. “Sorry, Ms. Grant. We only need Chrystal at the moment. You may continue to wait in the lobby.”

Mom frowned, taking the orders to sit as a personal attack. As she sat she said, “I’ll be right here, baby.” Did she have to refer to me as “baby”?

The woman placed her hand on my back as a way to lead me. She said, “Come with me, miss, to one of the back rooms. Don’t worry. We won’t keep you from your mother for very long.”

Before we exited the room, we first went through the standard doctor visit routine of measuring my height and weight, then taking my blood pressure. After she was done, she said, “Okay miss. Let’s go see the doctor.” She placed her palm on my back again.

I was led to a large office with lab coated man sitting behind a large desk. He had a computer monitor on top of the desk. A couple medical devices sat in a corner of the office. I heard a door click and when I turned around, the woman was gone.

A bespectacled middle-aged man sat behind the desk. For almost a minute, he just examined whatever was on the computer monitor. Finally, he looked up from his computer and looked at me over his desk. He smiled pleasantly and said, while pointing at one of the two chairs in front of his desk. “Hello, miss. Please have a seat.”

As I sat down, the man looked at some notes on his desk and then looked over his glasses at me. “You’re Chrystal, is that correct?”

Nervous about why I was here, I quietly said, “Yes, sir.”

The man smiled broadly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Chrystal. I’m Dr. Kimble. No need to be nervous. There isn’t going to be any medical prodding and probing. I just want to talk with you.”

Have they never heard of Zoom? Or just a telephone if they just wanted to talk? I looked up and spotted two less than cleverly hidden cameras. I didn’t reply. I just sat there and fidgeted.

Dr. Kimble flashed another smile and said, “So, Chrystal. Tell me a little about yourself.”

My mind raced. What does he want to hear? My whole life story or just since becoming a ten year old? I sighed and just thought fuck it. I smiled weakly and said, “Not much to tell, really. I was born in this town. This hospital in fact. When I was little, I enjoyed going on camping trips with my parents and I suppose my sister as well. High school was kinda boring. College wasn’t much better but at least I got my comp sci degree. And then bam!” I clapped my hands for emphasis. “I got hit by that son of a bitch Switcher and I was suddenly an old man in my sixties… my whole life robbed from me. And then, as you can see, I morphed into a ten year old girl. And now I’m sitting here.”

Dr. Kimble nodded several times as I told my story. He typed on his computer several times as well. He chuckled and said, “That’s quite a history for someone so young. How much do you remember from your life before you switched?”

I frowned at him. “Not as much as I should. I have to look at pictures to remember my parents’ faces. We traveled a lot when I was a kid on summer vacations and it’s getting hard to remember any specific trip. I just remember events now. Like the fight I had in middle school or when I rescued my little sister from some weird dude in the park. Shit like that.”

Dr. Kimble spent a minute or so typing into his computer. “And your memories post Switcher?”

I shrugged. “I remember more, but that’s kinda fading as well. The old man I was switched with wasn’t in good health. He had arthritis and a bad heart. My sister had to take care of me basically. Those days have all blurred together.”

Nodding again, Dr. Kimble typed again. “And your sister has legally become your mother. Is that correct?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Dr. Kimble studied his computer screens for several long moments, tapping the eraser end of a pencil against his nose. “I have a question,” stated Dr. Kimble. “Using your words and being as honest as possible, has these old memories brought you happiness?”

I took a deep breath. “Honestly doc? The memories bring me sadness for everything I’ve lost. I don’t care to remember much about being an old man. But the memories from my childhood and the sadness of my parents dying, but they also give me comfort about who I am. I never want to forget the time my dad and I went four-wheelin’ up in Colorado and New Mexico. I’ll never have that same experience again.”

“You’re young, Miss Grant,” Dr. Kimble said flatly. “You’ll have plenty of time to experience similar or even better adventures in the future.”

I folded my arms and scowled. “But not with my dad.”

There was a long pause as Dr. Kimble studied his screen again. “I see from my notes that your mother is getting married soon. How do you feel about that?”

Frowning, I said, “It’s terrible! It changes everything.”

Dr. Kimble leaned back in his chair. “But you’ll be getting a dad. That’s something missing currently in your life. You’ll have chances for new adventures. Create new memories.”

I shook my head. “It’s not the same!” I almost shouted. “He’s not my dad. He’ll never replace my dad.”

Dr. Kimble leaned forward and rested his arms on his desk. “Let me give you some information. You’re not alone in resisting being assimilated into your new life. But this is what we have found. The happiest of your group have discarded all those old memories that only serve to burden you. Once they’ve freed themselves from the past, they become happy, well adjusted little girls. That’s not to say they become mindless zombies. What they become is just like any other ten year old who never had the baggage of a past life. Their minds become free.”

I folded my arms tightly across my chest. “I don’t want to forget.”

Dr. Kimble sighed. “You might not have a choice in that. Everyone has a different time line, but so far most Switcher victims both here and in Europe will go native. They become little girls with no past and are generally happier. A few never manage to go completely native. You appear to be in this group.”

“You mean I won’t lose my memory?” I asked earnestly.

“Not completely,” said Dr. Kimble. “Or it may just take longer.” He picked up something from his desk. “But, we’re very concerned about your mental health, growing up and becoming a well-adjusted young woman. We’ve put together this packet designed to be used during a seven day period. The dosage is on the packet.” He put the packet on his desk right in front of me.

I picked up the packet. It was cardboard with a blister pack of pills arranged in four pills at one end, down to a single pill at the other. “What is this?”

Dr. Kimble smiled. “It’s your path to a happy and normal childhood. After completing the packet, you will no longer be burdened by those useless memories of a past life and you’ll be able to move forward as a normal, happy child.”

I dropped the packet back onto the desk as if it was radioactive. “I don’t want that. My memories aren’t a burden to me.”

“That was just a package of placebos. The actual med pack has been given to your mother,” said Dr. Kimble. “You’re not going to be forced to take these meds. But we highly recommend you do. Thank you for coming in today, Miss Grant. You’re free to go.”

Feeling overwhelmed, I got up and slowly left the office.

To be continued…