Adam was considering choosing between Mr. Bugdale and Coach Richards when the house phone rang. Adam jumped at the sound, slipped the ring onto his finger to avoid losing it and walked to the dining room to answer the phone.
"Donahoe residence, Adam speaking."
"Good afternoon, I'm looking for Mr. Braden Donahoe on behalf of Dr. Martinez?" a woman's voice asked,
"Um, I think you mean Brian Donahoe? There's no Braden here," Adam replied,
"Oh, well we'll just correct that. Sorry about that," the woman apologized, "Well I was just calling to notify Mr. Donahoe that his new contacts prescription is ready for pick up."
"Well, he's out of town but I-" Adam started before the secretary interrupted,
"I'm sorry what was the name again? Bryant?"
"No, it's Brian Donahoe."
"Is that Bryan with a Y or wih an I?"
"With an I."
Adam could hear the sound of a keyboard clicking away, he couldn't understand why it was so hard to get his dad's name right since it wasn't a particularly rare or difficult name.
The woman picked up again, "Well if you tell Mr. Brent Donahue that his prescription is ready we'd appreciate it. Thank you!"
"It's Brian Donahoe!" Adam corrected frustrated, but the receptionist had already hung up the phone,
At that moment, Adam felt a strange sensation wash over him as the ring on his finger seemed to grow warmer. He felt light-headed and the room started spinning. He ambled over to a nearby chair and slouched down on it, cradled his head in his hands and closed his eyes shut in hopes of alleviating the nausea that'd invaded him.
Almost as quickly and unexpectedly as his head started spinning it stopped. Relieved, Adam sat back up and rubbed his eyes. Immediately his stomach dropped. In front him was a large television sitting on a simple wooden stand. To his left, an empty bed and a large window overlooking an unfamiliar skyline. This definitely wasn't the family dining room he'd been in just seconds ago. Startled, he stood up, the bed he'd now been sitting on creaked. He felt strange, heavier, and almost fatigued. Looking down he was met with a white button-down shirt and a loose, navy blue tie hanging around his neck. A portly belly obstructed his view and he had to slightly lean forward to catch a glimpse of a black pair of slacks and matching loafers.
Adam scurried around the hotel room looking for a mirror. He stumbled into the bathroom and rushed towards the sink. He stared, mouth agape. He saw a head of receding brown hair streaked with white and gray at the temples, green-gray eyes wide with shock under a pair of black wire-frame glasses, and bristly stubble spread across a rounded jawline.
But most shockingly of all was the fact that Adam recognized this man's face: it was his father's.
Adam ran a large hand over the stubble, pushing and pulling at his face, and running his fingers through the thin hair, all the while his dad's face reflected the shock and disbelief Adam felt.
"This is impossible! How did this happen?!" he voiced, surprised at the low timbre of his new voice. He slapped his forehead and cried, "The ring! Of course!"
Adam had said his father's name exactly three time when he'd been on the phone, causing him to switch bodies with his 45 year old dad, Brian.