7 Days

“Lacy, I know you’re lying to me. Now hand it over.”

I look up. A scowling lady is towering over me, left hand on hip, right hand out, palm up.

Let me explain why I’m as clueless as you are right now. For quite some time, I have been inhabiting other people’s bodies for just one week. They pass away, always on a Thursday, and then it happens again. I have just transitioned to this body. I don’t know why this is happening, I just know that right now, I am being asked to hand over some unknown item. Currently, I am a small girl, perhaps seven or eight. I feel the pockets of my jean shorts. Sure enough, there’s something wadded in the right front one. I reach in and pull out a $20 bill. The contrite look on my face is real. I’m not the one who stole it, but I feel the shame of it.

The lady snatches the money and yells, “First, you lie about going to Joanie’s house. Then you lie about getting into my makeup.” Her face almost matches her red hair as her voice crescendos out of control. “Then you lie about losing your report card, and now THIS.” She holds out the money. She breathes in, and then her head falls into her left hand. She says wearily, “No daughter of mine is going to grow up being a liar. You are grounded until Saturday. Now, go to your room.”

Fortunately, she points to a hallway, so at least I know in which direction to head. As I turn to leave, I feel a sharp smack on my bottom. “Ouch,” my voice sounds squeaky. I hasten away to avoid another spanking.

Being a child, knowing I will die in a week, is incredibly sad. I have memories of hundreds of lives and deaths, but none are more heartbreaking than the children. I wonder for the rwo hundredth time when this nightmare will end.

I discover a door marked “Lacy’s Room” on a paper, hand-written sign, taped crookedly in place with blue masking tape. As I enter, it is obvious that this girl likes purple. The bedspread and curtains are purple. The walls have lavender stripes bordering the ceiling. A small white desk has a purple chair in front of it and the lamp on it has purple polka dots on the shade. The closet door is open, and thankfully, not all the clothing is purple. I scope out the desk. A small mirror on a stand proves that I am a red-headed girl with hazel eyes and freckles, like my mom. I’m a cute kid! After moving just one notebook, I discover Lacy’s “missing” report card. I am Lacy Cunningham, second grader. My grades are horrible. No wonder she “lost” it. The teacher wrote, “Lacy is prone to stretching the truth. We have an excellent school counselor. If you are interested in having Lacy meet with her, please fill out and return the attached form.” I need to find out what’s behind Lacy’s propensity to lie, but I’m going to see if I can sleuth it out myself before being interrogated by a counselor.

I often wonder if I can prevent someone’s death if this cycle will end. So, I keep doing my best to improve the lives to which I am temporarily entrusted.

I don’t see anything else of import in the room. There aren’t any books which would interest my grown mind, so I lay down on the bed. I don’t know how much time has passed, but I am awakened by a gentle knock on the door. I guess the transition tired me out. I say, “Come in.” It’s foreign to to hear this child’s voice since these are the first real words I’ve spoken as Lacy.

Mom enters. She sits beside me, anxiously picking at the bedspread.

“Mom,” I say, hoping that’s what Lacy calls her, “I’m really sorry. I promise I won’t lie or steal ever again.”

Mom sighs. She puts her hand on my leg and says, “I’d like to believe that, but your track record hasn’t been the greatest lately. I just want you to be a good person, Lacy. Is that so much to ask?”

I shake my head and look down at her hand on my leg. “I’ll try,” I say with all sincerity.

Mom’s mood lightens. She stands and says, “Come spend some time with me. Your dad is supposed to be here in an hour to take you to dinner.”

We play a couple of games of Go Fish when Mom’s phone rings. She answers by asking, “Are you on the way?” (Silence) Then she stands up and walks away, saying, “What? Tom, you know she needs to see you. You’re her father. It’s not fair to make me do this alone.” She goes out of range to hear her words, but I can tell from her tone of voice that she’s upset.

When she returns, she says with a sigh, “Your father canceled again. He’s going to try to spend time with you this weekend.”

I’m beginning to see where Lacy got into the habit of lying, and why. I let my head droop, hoping I look sufficiently disappointed. Frankly, I’d rather not meet the dad. If I meet him, I hope I can resist the urge to punch him.

“Mom,” I look at her. “It’s okay. I like spending time with you. Can we order pizza for dinner? Pepperoni?”

Mom’s eyebrows crinkle in confusion. “I thought you hate pepperoni.”

(Oops) I say aloud, “I tried it at school, and I like it now. Please?” I decide to sweeten the pot. “I’ll even wash the dishes.”

Mom’s mouth and eyes open in surprise. Then, she chuckles and says, “Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?” She grabs me in a hug, then puts her hands on my shoulders and says, “Pepperoni it is! Extra cheese?”

My face lit up. I say, “Yeah! Thanks, Mom.”

The next morning, I get dressed for school, eat some cereal, and wash my bowl and spoon. When Mom comes into the kitchen, she says, “The bus will be here any minute. You’d better get out there.”

When I get on the bus, a girl in the middle summons me. She says, “Why didn’t you come over yesterday? You said you would come again.” I’m guessing this is Joanie.

I shrug and say, “I got grounded.”

“Oh, okay." She perks up and shrieks, "Hey, maybe you can spend the night Saturday.”

I say, “I think my dad is coming.”

Joanie puffs out a laugh. “Your dad? Since when does he do anything he says?”

“Well, if he doesn’t, I’ll ask if I can spend the night at your place.”

I managed to make it through the school day without incident. The teacher even complimented me on a great day.

Saturday dragged on with no sight of Dad. That is hardly unexpected. Joanie’s mom calls my mom, saying she wants me to come over, but I want to spend time with Mom. We are having a good time getting to know one another - painting, playing games, and watching funny YouTube videos. Still no Dad.

Sunday afternoon, Mom walks to Joanie’s house with me. I see a river through some trees on the way to Joanie’s. It’s wide, almost like a lake. I ask, “Can we go swimming next weekend?” (Oh, yeah, that’s a big, “NO,” because you won’t be here.)

Mom says, “I’ll think about it. When we get to Joanie’s, the two adults talk while I spend time with my “BFF.” That’s what Joanie calls me. We have a great time jumping on her trampoline in the back yard. When she asks if I want to play “beauty shop,” I panic a bit. Although I didn’t know what I was doing, I manage to make her hair and makeup look pretty good, but she over-does mine a little bit with too much color on the eyes and cheeks. Our mothers are duly impressed.

Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday blur by. It’s amazing how short a week feels sometimes. Thursday, Joanie asks if I can come over after school.

I walk into the house after the bus ride and ask Mom. She smiles and says, “Since you have been so great this week, I’m going to say, ‘yes,’ but I know how much you like to swim. Promise me you won’t jump in the river on the way to her house.”

I laugh. “I won’t even have a swimsuit.”

She folds her arms, waiting for a direct answer.

“Fine,” I say, throwing my arms up, “If it makes you happy, I promise not to go swimming on the way to Joanie’s house.” I almost add, “As God is my witness,” but I think twice about that.

She smiles widely, her eyes sparkling. “I bought you something.”

The excitement gets to me. I clap my hands giddily and say, “What is it?”

She pulls out a long necklace with purple glass beads. I know Lacy would adore it. I am genuinely pleased, smiling ear-to-ear. “Thank you, Mom! I love it! I’m going to show Joanie.” I put the necklace over my head and go out the door.

As I’m walking to Joanie’s, I hear a huge splash from the river. A few minutes later, I hear a very young voice shouting, “Gwamma, Gwamma, huwwy.” Then, it sounds more panicked, “Help! Help!”

I run through the trees toward the river. There’s a car in the water, sinking. A small boy is on top. Seeing me, he yells, “Help! Gwamma feww asweep in the caw.” Translation: Grandma fell asleep in the car!

Without a second thought, I jump in and find the open back window the boy had used to get out. The water is rising but hasn’t risen to Grandma’s face yet. She may have had a heart attack, so I’m not sure if I there’s anything I can do to help. I give her some sharp smacks on the cheek. She rouses, then opens her eyes sluggishly. “What? Oh, my…” is all she mumbles.

She’s about to say something else, but I interrupt, “Hurry, the back window is open.”

The water rushes through the window, and soon, our faces are under water. Grandma unbuckles her seatbelt. She makes it to the window and has some difficulty getting through the narrow opening, but she manages. I’m holding my breath; certain I can make it. I head for the back seat, but I’m pulled back. Something is tugging on my neck. What? I realize my new necklace is tangled up on the rearview mirror. I yank at it, but I can’t break it. It’s really stuck, and I can’t get it free. The thought rushes through my mind, “This is how I will die.” I lied to Mom by swimming, and now the cost will be Lacy’s life. My only consolation is that my actions were altruistic. I hope Grandma and her grandson make it to shore.

My vision goes black. I feel the familiar rush of wind, even underwater. Soon, I will be taken to my next reality. Goodbye, Lacy.

Thank you for reading! Here is the next piece in the series: