Benjamin Michael Monahan, a 37-year-old general contractor, arrived home after a particularly bad day at work at a new construction site. Ben, a big man, stands 6’2” with a solid 200-pound burly, muscular body covered in fine brown hair. He started to tap a cigarette from a pack stashed in his shirt pocket when his son announced dinner was ready.
Ben stared at his 12-year-old son, Brad, a perpetual challenge to a man who sets much store by physical and mental toughness. He surveyed the boy, trying to not make his disapproval too evident.
A skinny kid, Brad stood about 5’3”, and weighed only about 100 pounds. He made good grades, but sometimes Ben wished Brad didn’t lean so far to the nerdy side. He felt some pride in his son’s intelligence, but he knew the kid might have an easier time if he didn’t spend so much time at the books.
He slid the cigarette back into the almost empty pack. For the moment, Ben only wanted to feel his stomach and put his hard day behind him. After dinner, maybe he could kick back, enjoy a smoke and watch some television.
Brad only wanted to forget the horrible day at school. Not a day goes by without his being picked on by older and bigger kids.
Ben saw that Brad had prepared a meal of chicken and potatoes. He appreciated that Brad didn’t shirk the household duties. Still, he sometimes felt a lingering sense that maybe he shouldn’t push all the domestic duties off on his son.
But, with just the two of them, and with Ben often getting home late from work, Brad preparing meals made perfect sense.
As they ate, Ben noticed Brad kept putting down his fork and picking up an odd piece of jewelry. The rather primitive object consisted of a stone amulet tied around a leather thong.
“What’s that?” Ben asked.
“Oh, it’s an old Indian artifact,” Brad said. “I have to do a report on it for school.”
Ben nodded and reached for his can of beer.
Brad, drinking from a glass of milk, looked toward his dad. “I wish I didn’t have to bother with school," he said with a hopeful look toward his dad. "I hate school.”
Instead of sympathy, Ben felt a surge of irritation. He couldn’t help but feel a little upset that Brad has no idea how tough the real world is. “If you knew what it was like to work a hard job, you’d be thankful for school.”
“Never,” Brad said fervently.
“You just don't know what it is like,” Ben said. “School's a breeze."
“But Dad, I...”
“I don't want to hear any more, Brad,” Ben barked in anger. “Just shut up and eat your dinner.”
“OK...” Brad paused, but quickly returned to his basic complaint. “But the kids, Dad, they all pick on me. Just because I'm so short and now I have to write a report on this stupid Indian artifact...”
“They pick on you because you have to write a report?” Ben had almost tuned out his son’s whining complaints.
“No, not because of that,” Brad said. "I'll bet no one picks on you Dad. You’re such a big, strong guy!”
Ben pushed back his plate and removed a cigarette from the pack. He lit up. "You need to toughen up, Brad," he said after taking his first puff.
“Dad, I'm still a kid...I'm trying...I mean look at this stupid artifact thing...what can I write about it?”
Ben puffed furiously on the cigarette. "That should be the least of your problems,” his voice sounded a little harsh. “Wait until you have to get a job. Then you'll miss writing your little school reports."
Brad picked up the artifact again. “ At least if I were you and had a job I wouldn't have to write stupid reports...”
"You should have to work a job every day like I do," Ben said. He reached and grasped one end of the artifact. "I'd love to have your life again."
At that point, father and son feel a sharp, static shock.
“WHOA! Dad!” Brad sounded excited. “Did you feel that?”
“What the hell was that?” Ben asked. He stared at the artifact held in their hands.
“Maybe it was this stupid artifact, Dad,” Brad said. “You think?”
“It's just some old relic, Brad,” Ben said. He kept puffing on his cigarette.
“You sure, Dad? Cause that felt really weird...”
Ben grunted in disgust. "It's just a piece of crap made from stone and leather," he answered. “To be honest, I'd think your school could teach you something more important.”
“Like what Dad?”
“Like...what you'll need to know in the real world.”
“What kind of things, Dad?”
“Jesus, Brad! You've got a lot to learn. Take my word for it.” His cigarette failed to calm him down. That static shock did leave him jittery, he realized.
“Why do you need to smoke, Dad?” Brad asked, changing the topic.
“Uh...I just need it... to relax. It helps me unwind,” Ben said. He didn’t know why he had trouble giving an answer. But, after enjoying his supper after a long day, there was nothing he enjoyed more than puffing on a cigarette or, better yet, a cigar. He took a long drag and noticed that he wasn't exhaling any of the smoke.
However, when Brad responded with another question, the smoke Ben inhaled streamed out of his son’s nose and nostrils.
Brad didn't notice it at first, but Ben stared hard at his son, watching the smoke drift and thin as it rose into the air.
“How does it help you to relax Dad?”
"It just does..." He shook his head, confused. He felt very strange and light-headed. Ben took another drag from his cigarette. He inhaled as normal and again the smoke jetted from his son’s nose and mouth when Brad spoke again, demanding more information on his dad’s need to smoke. Brad still didn't notice until Ben brought the odd observation to his son’s attention.
“Let’s try a little test,” Ben suggested.
“Are you feeling all right, Dad?”
"No...I mean...what's going on?" Ben saw his son staring intently at him and at the drifting smoke currents.
“What do you mean, Dad?”
Ben rubbed his eyes. "Something's not right," he muttered.
“What’s not right? Why do you keep staring at me in that weird way Dad?”
"How are you feeling, Brad?" Ben asked. He tried to regulate his breathing and slow his racing heartbeat.
“I'm good...only...I don't know...there's like a weird feeling in my chest...doesn't hurt...it's just...I dunno...weird.”
Ben took another puff.
“What is so weird about you smoking a cigarette, Dad?” Brad asked, as the smoke exited his nose and mouth. Somehow, he still does not seem all that bothered by the exhalations of smoke.
"The smoke...that's impossible. Brad, don't you see?"
“What...that you smoke...that's not impossible, Dad.” Brad giggled. “Stop fooling with me, Dad, come on...”
Ben leaped up from the table. More smoke streamed from Brad’s mouth and nostrils. "How are you doing that?"
“Doing what, Dad?”
"Maybe I need to lie down..."
“What’s wrong, Dad?” Brad sounded suddenly fearful.
"I feel so...so light...and weak," Ben said.
“Why don't you sit down and finish your smoke, Dad? I’ll clear the table.”
Ben rubbed his eyes again. "Yeah...that might help." He left the kitchen and took a seat in his chair in the living room.
“Feeling better now, Dad?” Brad called from the kitchen.
“I'm not sure. Are you feeling ok now?” He lit up a new cigarette, but his hands shook.
“Yeah, of course Dad, I feel...” Now, finally, Brad realized that he was exhaling smoke from his nose and mouth. “I feel!? DAD?!"
“I'm ....I'm...” Brad raced from the kitchen into the living room. “Look at me, Dad!”
Brad opened his eyes and looked. His first thought is that he was somehow looking into a mirror. He was looking at himself.
"Brad?"
“DAD?” He blew smoke out his nose and mouth. “But how? I mean, I don't smoke. You always told me not to…”
Ben felt very dizzy. “What's happened?”
At that moment, the cigarette that was in Ben’s hand appeared in his son’s hand. Brad almost involuntarily brought it up to his mouth with his arm — to his mouth!
Brad inhaled. "DAD?! I'm...I'm...I'm smoking your cigarette!”
Ben became more disoriented as he watched himself...