Status

Chapter 4
Part 4

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Chapter Description: The fix.

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“Just give me a few seconds and we’ll have you all fixed up,” Sarah reassured them.

As his sister pecked away at the keyboard, Michael sat transfixed, treated to a Norman Rockwell-like view of his parents’ backsides. While Maureen’s crumpled sheet enveloped all but her head and neck, his father’s naked rear was advertised for all the world to see. Like two round dinner rolls, the pale cheeks poked out in all their spankable glory. An suitably odd coda to that morning’s fever dream.

“There... we... go...” his sister mumbled aloud, as the nervous couple fidgeted back and forth, clearly unable to unpack the strangeness of their giant environment.

Michael tried to tell himself it would all be over soon, reason would triumph, and Sarah’s “experiment” was winding down. He tried, and tried, but the longer his sister toiled at the laptop, the more dread hooked its claws into his stomach. Things were never simple with his sister. And yet, he hoped against hope the pathetic, teary faces of the shrunken figures wandering about the den would rattle her conscience. Surely she wouldn’t abandon them inside those quivering young bodies.

“Sarah, are you -“ her mother’s sentence began with renewed urgency, but suddenly shifted to a bemused coo. The panic that had gripped the pair dissipated and their faces grew drowsy and slack. Maureen released the tight hold she’d kept on her makeshift dress, allowing it to tumble the short distance to the floor. William, likewise, forgot about the neck pillow and disregarded it completely.

“Mom, Dad?” Michael said, knowing full well his sister was to blame for their sudden amnesia. “Are you OK?”

Turning toward him with unconcerned, curious expressions, his youthful parents showed the marked signs of soon becoming even more youthful.

“Sarah, what are you doing to them?” he growled.

“Making them relax, that’s all. They’ll be easier to handle this way.”

“Handle?” Michael repeated hotly. “They’re already children.”

Before he could even begin to state his case, Michael found himself once again paralyzed by the sight of human beings changing ages right before his eyes. Whatever definition his parents’ little faces had retained melted away into even more babyish forms. His mother’s pinkish squirrel cheeks inflated, preparing the way for infancy, while his father’s pot belly popped out like an old-fashioned meat thermometer. Clusters of baby fat gathered around their stomachs and thighs, so much so Michael barely even noticed their nakedness anymore. Anything important seemed tucked away within the doughy rolls of skin. Soon their wobbling legs gave way, causing them to quietly plop onto the carpet like plush dolls. Lackadaisical and oblivious, the toddlers glanced randomly around the room, unaware of even the slightest irregularity.

“Almost there...” Sarah observed, comparing the scene in the middle of the den to the images on the screen.

Maureen and William grew even more limp, slumping and swaying back and forth, until they wound up flat on their backs like stranded turtles, their chubby arms and legs waving above them. Michael rushed to their side and cradled his infant father’s head.

“Babies? You had to turn them into babies?”

“Aww, come on, Michael. Look how happy they are. Don’t you think Mom and Dad could use a little vacation from adulthood? Give them a break,” Sarah rationalized, putting the finishing touches on her parents’ latest status updates. “Besides, in five minutes, they’ll be asleep again and they won’t know what happened to them.”

Gazing up at him were two faintly familiar faces, mere months old now, making quizzical noises and producing thin streams of drool from the corners of their mouths. Why did she have to make them so little?

“Could you, um, carry them back to the bedroom for me?” Sarah asked. Michael glared back indignantly. “Or, you know, I could make you.”

Grousing, Michael complied. His choices were slim to none. With Sarah wielding Facebook like a magic wand, the house suddenly seemed worse than Alcatraz. Every avenue of dissent would be swiftly countered, especially now that Mom and Dad were out of the picture.

Taking care to support his father’s supple body, Michael reluctantly gathered the gurgling infant into his nine-year-old arms and hoisted him into the air. He was even lighter than Michael expected, helped no doubt by the lack of clothing. Michael’s close-up view prompted several inconvenient questions. As he clutched William’s naked bottom with his left hand, new worries crept in as it dawned on him that babies required all manner of accessories he didn’t know the first thing about - namely diapers. The word made him wince. Not just the prospective odors, but the surreal responsibility of wiping down every crack and crevice between his parents’ plump little appendages.

Thankfully, Sarah’s pre-timed status update was already producing its desired effect and William was drifting away into an ignorant but peaceful slumber. Repeating the process with Maureen, Michael tucked her under the blanket and arranged her body into a comfortable position. Admittedly, the couple did exude a uniquely infant tranquility in their miniature state. No wonder parents loved watching their children sleep.

For a moment the unnatural scene took on a heartwarming glow before Michael returned to reality - a concept in clear need of revision.

Meanwhile in the den, Sarah dallied with her own profile. In the relationship section, she attempted to draft Greg Langdon, the hottest friend on her friend list as her new beau, but soon remembered such requests required approval by the receiving party to take effect. “Shit,” she grunted. Greg would have to wait.

Just for fun, she added the status update “Sarah Reardon doesn’t have to worry about her period,” but quickly deleted it when she realized the system might interpret it as an instruction to make her pre-adolescent or post-menopausal. Though highly versatile, Facebook’s new features were also somewhat of a Monkey’s Paw. Poorly-worded status updates could produce unwanted outcomes. Vague adjectives like “smarter” and “famous” often resulted in nebulous improvements, whereas specific commands to alter hair color, height, and weight granted the user exact control over his or her own person. Teeth straightening and a slight correction of her overbite worked out particularly well, along with a brand new tattoo on her ankle depicting a Chinese symbol for cunning.

Tweaking her appearance had rendered some interesting results, but the more adjustments she sampled, the more she felt vaguely ill. The bathroom called her name - loudly. Nonstop biological amendments didn’t come without a small price, it seemed. In this case, a sudden stomach cramp and a marathon-worthy sprint to the toilet.

***

In the meantime, Michael had ducked into the living room and searched for the TV remote. Absent from the morning’s domestic circus was any real context about what was causing the effects. But, as with any potential crisis, one had to think carefully before turning on the tube. Repeated slow motion images of mass chaos had a way of burning themselves into one’s memory. Michael’s heart-rate hastened as he hit the power button and was greeted by the Food Network. An innocuous channel, and yet even it featured a news crawl on the lower portion of the screen: “National Security Agency reports that all major transit systems have been temporarily shut down as workers scramble to address crashes and disruptions following the event...”

Should I even switch to CNN? Michael wondered. The news would only get worse.

Morbid curiosity overtook him and he relented.

The first image: the cockpit of a grounded airplane, as authorities pried their way in to discover an empty pilot’s seat and a balling two-year-old draped in a United Airlines uniform. Below, in a blazing red font, the words: Cyberterrorism Strike? In voiceover, CNN anchors sputtered through hastily-written news copy about the inexplicable disappearances and transformations of thousands of social networking users. As with the aftermath of any disaster, reports were scattershot, unorganized, and consisted mostly of anecdotes and rumors. Before tuning in, Michael had weighed the option of calling 911, but now it was clear the world had more pressing matters than his sister’s egomania.

Speaking of which, he could hear sounds emerging from the bathroom down the hall, sounds his regressed parents were incapable of making. Hey, wait...

The reports continued. “Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg said, despite calls to shut down the social network site, crews were working overtime to keep the servers running, so users can repair their profiles as soon as possible, but experts fear the site will inevitably crash as demand overloads the system. Right now, no new users can sign up. Only...”

Michael caught those last few sentences before rushing to the den to find the laptop completely unguarded. Surely his sister wasn’t this careless. It had to be boobytrapped. But as he approached the humming PC, nothing happened. Windows were up with each of their Facebook pages, a virtual control center for the entire family’s status.

“Finally,” Michael exclaimed, sitting down in the seat his sister had kept so warm that morning.

***

Cramps subsiding, Sarah collected herself. Faced with the giant bathroom mirror covering the far wall, she spared a moment to appraise her enhanced figure. The last hour had been remarkably kind, like Christmas in March. Only this year she got exactly what she wanted. A far cry from the shock she had received when she awoke. Angling herself like a model during a photo shoot, Sarah surveyed her new adult traits: the way the light played off her face, the inviting curves, and - what was that?

A tingling encircled her torso, then immigrated to her waist.

“Oh fuck!” she squealed, remembering the exact wording of the status update that held her brother at bay. She had specified that he stay five feet from her - not the laptop.

Scurrying out into the hallway, Sarah’s blood pressure shot up again as she heard one of the newscasters announce, “...user demand is threatening the service. We’re getting word that Facebook is expected to crash at any moment.” Time was of the essence, in more ways than one.

Stumbling down the hall, her gown already losing its firm grip on her chest, Sarah whimpered like the little girl she would soon become. The creepy sensation leaped from body part to body part, touching and affecting every inch, sending cells backward in time. Darting at full speed into the den and toward her growing brother, Sarah and her five foot rule blasted Michael from his seat like a gale force wind.

“Sarah, no!” the 12-year-old yelled, toppling to the floor and rolling the proper distance from the chair.

“Out of my way!”

Hurriedly assessing the situation, she found that Michael had, predictably, set about returning himself to normal physically and regressing her first. Not exactly a smart strategy, with her mind remaining intact. Still, the effects marched on. Hovering on the edge of middle school herself, Sarah’s childhood features were returning apace while Michael’s shirt covered less and less of him. Compounding the circumstance was that dire warning she’d heard only seconds before.

“Please,” her brother pleaded in cracking, adolescent stutters, “don’t touch it! The news said...”

“I know what the news said.”

“Just let me grow back up and we can talk -“

But his sister, barely holding on to her teens, stayed focused like a laser on the screen, typing like a crazed poet channeling inspiration from her muse. Click-click-click-click-click-click. A nervous moan escaping her lips every few seconds as the system became more sluggish and unresponsive.

Loading...

“Damn it!”

Letters hesitated before they appeared onscreen. Pages lagged. The system - and Sarah’s salvation - crumbled under the pressure. God, are those my hands? she thought, catching a split second glance at the smaller, stubbier fingers tapping away at the mouse. This was just like all those spelling bees and academic team competitions, she told herself. The key was thinking fast. Think fast. Think fast. Think fast.

Loading...

“Come on!” The rhythm of her typing increased in speed.

Loading...

“Come on!” Now growing frenetic.

Loading...

Finally, it happened. The dreaded error message: “The server is taking too long to respond.”

The delirious typing halted. The rival siblings looked on in pin-drop silence, exchanging tight-lipped expressions.

Facebook had crashed.

***

New Country 97.1 blared from the clock radio beside Michael’s bed. It was 10:00 AM and despite the frost lingering on the window, the sun shone through as bright as any summer day, illuminating every inch of his bedroom. The daffodil-shaped chimes hanging outside swayed soundlessly in the wind. Yawning, Michael gave his limbs a healthy stretch before realizing just where he was, and what had transpired the day before. When the revelation struck, he shot up in bed like a soldier hearing his first air raid siren.

“Uhh,” he muttered, sitting up and gazing around the room. He no longer trusted his environment.

Establishing his whereabouts to his satisfaction, his anxiety shifted inward. With no small amount of trepidation, he raised his hands from under the sheets, palms facing outward. Were they his hands - the right hands?

Eager to confirm his intuitions, Michael swiftly tore the covers from the bed to see what body awaited beneath. His clothing seemed to fit again; this was an encouraging sign. Everything appeared in its correct proportion, but he had to be certain. Inching off the bed, Michael placed his feet squarely on the floor and approached the mirror opposite the walk-in closet. Shuffling nervously toward it, his muscles clenched. Like a scratch-off player one number away from winning - or losing - the lottery. Sweat coated his vibrating hands. It’s now or never.

Peeking, then parting his eyelids, Michael heaved an audible sigh of relief.

Revealed in the reflection was his old self, perfect and undamaged from the previous day’s charades. Anxiety abated, and he felt the cool wave of release. Everything: his eyes, ears, mouth, arms, legs, feet. He once again occupied the right package. To be sure, he even dipped his shorts just low enough to assess that all-important piece of anatomy down below.

“Hello... hello,” he spoke tentatively, testing his vocal cords like a roadie checking a microphone. Out came the sweet sound of his own voice.

But inescapable questions idled in his brain. How did he end up this way, back in his room asleep? The most obvious conclusion, that the prior events represented nothing but an elaborate dream, was attractive at first blush. That would certainly account for the more than six impossible things he’d witnessed before breakfast yesterday. Yet the attractiveness of a rational explanation paled next to the unshakable feeling that everything had been utterly and violently real. Maybe Sarah’s eleventh hour objectives failed as Facebook shut down. Or maybe the crash erased all record of the changes that took place. Whatever the case, the consolation Michael experienced seeing himself restored was enough to plant a wide smile across his face.

Confident again, Michael emerged from his room and made a pit stop in the bathroom. His teeth felt like they were wearing fur coats and his throat was especially dry. Even spying his favorite toothpaste sitting on the counter made him sigh with contentment. What was the old saying, you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone?

Brushing and gargling some mouthwash, Michael finished his little routine and, hearing the sound of Cheerios hitting a bowl, headed for the kitchen. In it stood Sarah, already fully dressed and preparing breakfast for herself. Pouring the milk, she glanced up.

“Hey there,” she greeted him, adding a spoon. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Michael replied, still cautious but once again glad to discover another member of the family her proper age. “Can I... have a bowl? That looks good.”

“Um, sure,” Sarah responded, stopping herself from reflexively putting away the cereal.

Meanwhile, Michael took a seat and flipped on the small TV on the counter, his socks dangling above the floor. Commercials.... boring.

Depositing the Cheerios before him, Sarah observed him like a housecat examining an unsuspecting fly. “So,” she started up, “ready for school to start again?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he mumbled, cereal crunching loudly between his teeth.

“Second grade. That’s a big step.”

“I hope I don’t get Mr. Morris. Everybody says he’s mean.”

Sarah’s eyes lit up with approval and a fascinated smirk appeared. “Yeah, wouldn’t want Mr. Morris.”

“Are you gonna take me, Aunt Sarah?”

“If I have time, honey,” she answered, now more upbeat and confident herself. Michael grinned back at her mascara-highlighted face. Aunt Sarah was the coolest. This morning she looked particularly fetching in her low-cut blouse and form fitting black jeans. Michael always took pride gliding up to the curb at school in her Maserati. No one else at school could compete. The litany of frumpy moms in SUVs and minivans would slouch past while he arrived in style with his aunt, herself an emblem of grace and class. Of course he was seven years old and a “big boy” now, but in her presence he couldn’t help but feel older and more mature than his classmates.

“God, you guys are up already. It’s the weekend,” a voice complained from behind him.

“I told you,” Sarah reminded, “I’m going out with friends this afternoon. I need you to babysit.”

“All day?” Maureen griped, pulling out the chair next to Michael.

“No, not all day,” Sarah reassured the pouting teenager. “Billy can help you.”

“Yeah right, help me do all the work while he plays Nintendo Wii in the basement,” she said, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl in the center of the table.

A young woman, but not yet granted the privileges she craved, Maureen had average eighth grader written all over her. Patchy adolescent blemishes marking her otherwise youthful exterior, humble hints of breasts nudging against her shirt, slender arms and legs enjoying their ongoing growth spurt. Her fourteenth birthday nearing, one could easily guess what occupied her mind at any given time: boys and clothes. For now she languished in that lame middle ground between child and adult, old enough to babysit her little brother but too young to strike out on her own. Aunt Sarah couldn’t have planned her life any better, she thought. She gets all the perks while we’re stuck with all the chores.

“When I get back, we can rent a movie or something,” Sarah promised, adjusting her top for maximum cleavage. “Sound cool?”

“I guess,” Maureen muttered, rolling her eyes. “Can I take my shower first before squirt here?”

“Hey!” Michael objected.

“It’s just a nickname, Mikey,” she said, patting him playfully on the head. “Geez.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Tell Billy not to forget about breakfast, OK?” Sarah instructed, knowing the ten-year-old’s talent for avoiding protein and filling up on junk food. “Doughnuts don’t count.”

“Will do,” Maureen replied, lazily finishing the last two bites before meandering toward the bathroom. She wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about another day watching the boys.

“Be good for your sister,” Sarah requested, fishing for her keys. “All right?”

“OK, Aunt Sarah,” Michael agreed, revealing a smile composed of baby teeth.

God, he’s so adorable, Sarah mused, seeing that trusting young face beaming up at her. And so well behaved too. She couldn’t have wished for - or rather, created - a better familial arrangement. A burgeoning career and ideal physique for herself, a safe place for the “men” to act their ages, and an obedient, if somewhat hormonal, babysitter on call 24/7. All thanks to some clever last minute maneuvers on her part. Finally, a reward for her hard work.

As she closed the door, Michael sat alone at the table, happily munching away, as another news report interrupted Saturday morning cartoons. Following a familiar “Cyber Crisis” graphic complete with thundering march music in the background, the blonde female anchor proceeded with her update.

“In a press conference earlier today, FEMA officials seeking to contain the fallout from yesterday’s still unexplained cyber attack reassured citizens that everything was being done to help the victims. Facebook has relaunched sporadically since it crashed yesterday morning, but so far all attempts have failed to last more than a few minutes as desperate users clamor to log back in. Administrators and computer analysts say it’s unlikely the social networking site will be back online any time soon. In the meantime, they’re asking for patience as the servers are repaired and government officials form a response plan. The head of FEMA said in statement earlier today that ’no one could have possibly foreseen this’ and that all users can do is ’watch and wait’ for a solution. It’s estimated that tens of millions of users remain either missing or otherwise physically or mentally affected by the events...”

Those poor people, Michael thought, slurping down the last soggy spoonful of Cheerios. I hope they fix it soon.

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