“Julia Tan, Russet Star News,” said a reporter. “Governor Callaghan, what are your plans to ensure fairness and justice in public housing?”

The governor appeared on the TV screen. “Well, lemme tell you this,” he said, chopping the air with a stubby finger as he spoke, “thanks to the hardworking men and women of my administration, our public housing policies are already among the fairest and most equitable in the nation. When we came into office four years ago, housing was in tatters, ignored and neglected by the corrupt previous administration.” He let his stout gravelly voice ring across the hall until the echo subsided. “But we picked up the reins and lemme tell you this, now anybody of any background, any class, any creed, any income level can—”

This is when it happened. Suddenly, the governor staggered and swayed, catching himself on his podium. Glassy-eyed, he stared across the hall, whipping his gaze at the camera crew to his left, at his youthful challenger to the right.

“What the—” he coughed. “Where am I?”

He stared at his hands, those stubby fingers curled inward, uncertain, his eyebrows raised in an alarm. A glance down at his body and alarm tipped into full-on horror.

“Who am I?” he cried. He felt around his face, which contorted into terrified expressions as his fingers swam through his beard.

A woman’s voice, calm and professional. “Governor Callaghan, this is the second gubernatorial debate. You were discussing your public housing policies.” The camera feed switched over to the moderator’s desk, as she added, “Are you well?”

“I-I have no ████ing idea what’s happening!” he screamed, the censor scrambling into action. “I don’t know anything about public housing policies! What’s happening to me? Why the ████ am I this crotchety old white guy?”

A commotion, the audience buzzing, howls of laughter. The challenger, bewildered at her own podium. Might as well stand by and let the old codger dig his grave. Journalists scribbling furiously on their pads, officials and their families in the front rows glancing back and forth. Should we do something?

“Look,” he panted, “I don’t know why I’m here, or who y’all are, or why the **** this is happening to me, this can’t be real, this is soooo ████ed, stop it please!” He was flailing wildly with his arms now, sweat pooling visibly through his suit. “Somebody please help me, please get me back to normal, please—”

Then he gasped. “Wait, if I’m in this guy’s body, does that mean he’s in mine?” A horrid pause. “Ewwwwww!” he shrieked. “████ no!”

The moderator’s voice cut through the pandemonium. “Governor Callaghan, please come with me.”

“I’m not ████ing Governor Cal-whatever!” His eyes were welling up with tears now. Figures in black began to swarmthe stage, their vests emblazoned with the word SECURITY. If I didn’t despise all that he did in his first term, I might almost have felt sorry for him.

“Mom, Dad, are you there?” he sputtered. “It’s me, Aurelia, I’m not this old white dude, my name is Aurelia Delgado, I live in Sawyer Brook, on West Broad Street, I’m in high school, I’m so scared, please help—”

The television switched abruptly to another programme, but I had already dashed out of the kitchen. My husband was half-asleep on the couch. “Rody,” I snapped, thrusting my spatula into his hands, “take care of the zucchini, I have to check on Aurelia.”