The first time I was ever given money was when I was 5 years old. My mom took me to the store run by the nice lady named Bailey. While I was there, I browsed around the beer and alcohol section. I k

Once upon a time in the bustling town of Chesterville, a tiny figure with a mop of curly hair darted around the huge expanse of the local park. His name was Eric. He was a curious five-year-old playing alone in the park for the first time, a privilege granted by his young mom, just 21 years old herself. While nodding and giggling at his own mischief, the young boy slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out some money his mom had given him. His eyes glowed at the thought of visiting Bailey, the cordial lady who ran the local corner store. She always had a warm smile and a few kind words for little Eric whenever he enters the shop. As he gleefully trotted into the store, his tiny eyes taking in all the sweet delights on offer, his gaze fell on the beer and alcohol section. Lined with bottles of various sizes and bright labels, it was also a section his mom always warned him about. "Not for you," she would always say. And honestly, those big bottles didn't appeal to Eric much anyway. They were yucky. He quickly picked out his favorites–a delicious strawberry pop soda and a large candy bar–and cheerily waved goodbye to Bailey as he skipped back to the park. Unbeknownst to Eric, his solo adventure was about to take a twist. He was approached by a blonde woman named Jennifer, whose hardened face and scrappy attire told a tale of a challenging life lived on the streets. A silent struggle that began when she was a mere 15 years old following a bitter fight with her parents. Her loud introduction, "Hi, kiddo, folks call me Jester," indeed hinted to a whimsical and unpredictable spirit. Jennifer pleaded with Eric for spare change. The poor boy replied with a saddened "No." Seeing the disappointment in his eyes, Jennifer offered a comforting hug. It was during this hug that something inexplicable happened. When Eric pulled away, he felt unusually dizzy, a strange sensation of being taller, and also, what was this long blonde hair doing in his face? Glancing down, his heart pounded as he saw a different set of clothes, a green tank top, short shorts, and leather wedges. In shock, he unfastened his purse hanging from his shoulder and out fell an ID with a familiar face–Jennifer's–but the birth date sent a rush of fear through him–May 11, 1981. He was older than his own mom! Confused and terrified, Eric scouted the park quickly and spotted his own body a short distance away. Running towards it, he pleaded in his sweet innocence for Jennifer to swap back with him. But this request was met with a stern refusal from Jennifer in his body, "I ain't going back, kiddo." And then the unthinkable happened. Jennifer began to twist his memories, slowly erasing his life as Eric and replacing it with her past until he could only remember himself as Jennifer. The new Jennifer blinked in disorientation, an intense headache piercing through her brain, "Ow! What the fuck? My head hurts so fucking bad and I don't even know why. Oh my fucking God!" she groaned. Her gaze moved around the familiar park, but something was off. "Wait a minute. What the fuck? Where are my wedges? And where the fuck is my purse? I just misplaced all my shit that fucking easily? I hope my shit wasn't fucking stolen." Jennifer realized her essential belongings were a few yards away. Stressed and disoriented, Jennifer laboriously sat on the grass, slipped back on the wedges, and readjusted her leather purse. Night was rapidly approaching and with a heavy sigh, she decided to get some supplies from the late-open corner store. She walked cautiously towards the shop, the thump of her wedges echoing against the cool night air. She subconsciously glanced at her feet, remembering to quieten her footsteps, wary of any unwanted attention. Suppressing her bewilderment, Jennifer grabbed a snack and bee-lined to the alcohol section without hesitation, almost as if it was ingrained in her. As she placed her items on the counter, Bailey asked for her ID. Jennifer’s hand instinctively pulled out Jennifer’s ID, presenting it to Bailey with a rehearsed ease. Bailey, then, gently requested Jennifer to confirm her date of birth. Without missing a beat, Jennifer asserted, "May 11th, 1981. Yep I'm 42 years old. Thanks for reminding me I'm almost 50." As she left the store, Jennifer found herself a quiet alley to rest. She slipped off her wedges, but immediately put them back on, the harsh memories of the streets reminding her of the need to stay alert and ready. As she shivered in the cold night air, she whispered to herself, "Stupid fucking brain! Why do I suddenly have to think about how I've been homeless for 27 years? Why did I make so many bad decisions when I was teenager? If only I could go back to 1996 and bitch slap myself before it was too late." A single tear streamed down her face as she drifted off to sleep, oblivious of her short-lived life as innocent 6-year old Eric.