Status

Chapter 1
Part 1

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Chapter Description: Awake.

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[quote][quote][quote][size=2]Michael’s eyes scanned the screen, dwelling only a split second on each new post.

Kelly Maddock was recuperating from last week’s back surgery, Todd’s political trolling continued unabated with his latest note, “Sarah Palin’s 9th grade report card,” while Melody, his high school ex, announced she was moving to Fort Worth. Invitations abounded, mostly to events he wouldn’t attend at gun point. From the mountains of minutia to the pointless Farm and Mafia games, narcissism took many forms on the internet. Still, Michael had to admit, social media was like digital nicotine. Even his parents had succumbed, becoming part of the growing tide of boomers threatening to overtake the web’s most popular hangout.

But as he scrolled through the News Feed, Michael noticed, subconsciously, a pattern emerging. Something was different. “What the hell?” he muttered under his breath.

It was as if time had reversed course and everyone in Facebookland was young again.

“Hey, what’s the deal with Facebook?”

“What’s that, Michael?” his mother answered from the kitchen.

“It looks like everyone changed their pictures to old photos,” he said, shoveling a spoonful of dry Cheerios into his mouth.

Maureen’s dishwashing paused for a moment. “Oh, it’s ’Retro Week.’ You’re supposed to change your profile picture to when you were a kid. You should do it. It’s fun.”

“No thanks,” Michael responded with a petulant snort.

“Come on, why not?” she said, hovering in the doorway. “Embarrassed?”

“Um, yes,” he replied, thinking of his new college crush, Mackenzi Parker, giggling at his rabbit-like front teeth. It didn’t help that Michael had retained his babyface well into his early teens, welcoming the late onset of puberty years after his peers were enjoying their deeper voices and hefty new equipment. Despite a relatively supportive group of friends, he’d remained fully clothed at all times in the Parkmont High locker room. For obvious reasons.

“Yeah Mikey,” his sister suddenly piped up as she swung around the corner. “You were such a cutie patootie! Chicks love braces and buck teeth. No, really. It turns them on.”

“It’s all in good fun,” Maureen said, ignoring her daughter’s sarcasm-laced commentary. “Your father and I dug through the big box in the attic and found some really old black and white stuff.”

True enough. Right on the page were his parents, both barely more than toddlers. Boomers really were ruining Facebook.

“I’ll stick with my current age, thanks,” the 20-year-old said, also doing his best to evade his sister’s snarky gaze. “I’m not exactly nostalgic for my cowlick.”

“Maybe you could actually pass sixth grade this time.”

Michael glared at his sibling; Sarah returned fire with a sneer only she could deliver.

“Kids...” Maureen said, heading off another spat.

Despite being four years her elder, Michael nevertheless managed to end up the butt of Sarah’s jokes. An arrangement no doubt born of his sister’s irritating precociousness. While he struggled with basic algebra as a high school freshmen, Sarah had breezed through her schoolwork with such ease the principal requested she be allowed to skip a grade. It was a sequence that repeated itself throughout their entire childhood; Sarah potty trained faster, learned to read at an earlier age, and, in the most humiliating turn of events imaginable, even wound up tutoring her brother in Spanish.

Early on, Sarah had remained happily indifferent to her brother’s decidedly average aptitude. But somewhere around puberty, her attitude gradually shifted from a kind of noblesse oblige to something more antagonistic. The combination of hormones and the disproportionate responsibility placed on her by their parents produced an adolescent beast, capable of moody interludes and occasional explosions of unbridled angst. Sarah resented the higher standards she’d inadvertently set for herself, and Michael served as the convenient scapegoat.

Exchanges were unusually heated during Michael’s current break from college. At Christmas, their parents had presented Michael with a car, the most highly prized item on every 16-year-old girl’s wishlist. A used Toyota Camry, sure, but still a car. That magical chariot of liberation.

“Mom,” Sarah whined from her crouched position on the couch. “When are you going to get my laptop fixed?”

“I told you. I get paid on Friday. Then we’ll see what we can do,” her mother answered, accenting every other word to drive home the point.

“But this seriously sucks. Michael’s been on the computer for an hour and -“

“Then ask him to get off. Nicely.”

“Hey boy genius, can I check my email sometime this century? I could type faster with my fucking feet.”

"Language!" Maureen yelled from the next room. Ears like a bat.

Michael gritted his teeth and ignored the request. God, do I have to tune her out all break?

* * *

Sleep arrived slowly that night. Changes in atmosphere always threw Michael’s circadian rhythm out of whack, even during these brief trips home. The old artwork tacked to the walls triggered memories of his youth. Remnants of his decidedly Midwestern childhood - a dusty little league bat leaning in the corner, a pair of binoculars, his hard-won high school diploma - dotted the room like time capsules. Attached to the items were stories, some of which happened not so long ago, yet the gulf between him and the memories seemed infinite.

In less than a year he would clear the final hurdle into official adulthood: 21. Finally leaving Sarah in the dust where she belonged. He could vote, smoke, drink, whatever his heart desired. That he leaned more toward teetotaling than kegging didn’t matter; in the eyes of the law he would outrank his sister at last. Where he went she could not follow.

He shut his eyes, content with thoughts of an independent future. Dreams funneled through his head all night, culminating with a vivid vision of Mackenzi... naked. But, as so often the case with dreams, the setting presented a jarring counterpoint to the action. Though he appeared normal, somehow the two of them had been transplanted back into his old middle school. The garish orange lockers, busted hallway clocks - everything was intact. But before the inevitable locking of lips, Michael awoke to an insistent pounding on his bedroom door.

“Michael, wake up!” The dampened voice coming from the other side sounded only vaguely familiar.

“Open up!”

“Okay, just wait a second,” he said, floundering with the covers. Was it morning already? And whose voice was that?

Checking to ensure the night hadn’t produced any embarrassing wardrobe malfunctions, Michael yawned, rubbed his eyes, and cracked the door. Expecting his mother or perhaps Mackenzi Parker dressed in sexy lingerie, he was surprised to find no one - that is, until the voice spoke up again.

“Down here, dumbass.”

The words, wrapped in that unmistakable sarcasm, shook him from his stupor. Turning his blurry gaze downward, Michael’s pupils widened.

“Sarah?”

Standing in the hallway, bundled inside the folds of her massive silk nightie, was his little sister. Much littler, as it turned out. The last six hours had siphoned nearly a decade off her appearance, leaving a shivering elementary school student in its place. Besides her striking drop in height, the trait that first drew Michael’s half-awake attention was a plain, uncovered pink nipple resting in clear view. Not even the hint of a breast surrounding it. Not only had his sister undergone a dramatic transformation overnight, her trademark modesty had also taken a back seat. Surely he was dreaming.

“What happened to you?” Michael gasped.

“I don’t know!” she cried, hopelessly trying to keep her scrunched up gown aloft. Tears gathered in her glassy eyes as her voice seemed to rise to a screech. “I woke up and... and something changed me into a...” The dreaded phrase wouldn’t leave her lips.

“A little kid,” Michael obliged. “This is nuts. This isn’t possible!”

“Well, it happened, and -“ Sarah’s train of thought barreled off the tracks. She must have realized, mid-sentence, that she was more visible than she intended and hiked her sagging gown farther up her chest. “Shit! I don’t wanna be a little girl again! I can’t, I can’t -“

“Calm down,” Michael hushed. “There has to be an explanation. We’ll get Mom and Dad, okay?”

The magnitude of Sarah’s demotion didn’t fully register until Michael stepped closer and peered down at his now pint-sized sis, standing only as high as his stomach. Memories of his bratty but intelligent seven-year-old sibling flooded back, but from the wrong angle. He was just a sixth-grader at the time and not much taller. Now she looked so small and helpless, panicked by the thought of returning to prepubescence. He was watching his sister’s worst nightmare unfolding in real time before him.

“Hurry up!” she barked, impatient as ever.

“I’m going!” Michael insisted, turning around just in time to see Sarah trip on a loose piece of fabric and tumble into the carpet like the unwitting star of an America’s Funniest Home Videos clip. Landing on her hands and knees, Sarah lost her grip on the nightie entirely and came sliding out the end, the generous, low-cut neck dangling from her waist. Michael would have laughed if the scene weren’t so pathetic.

“Here,” he said, offering a helping hand.

“I can do it myself,” little Sarah pouted, shooing him away. The annoyed tone told Michael all he needed to know. His sister was still his sister, and she had no interest in letting him see her nude. Even if nothing important remained to hide. Her efforts weren’t quite enough, however, as Michael couldn’t avoid catching a passing glimpse of her bare little form while she steadied herself and reshaped her “clothes.” But what normally would have been awkward and forbidden now seemed innocent and, well, cute.

Sniffling, Sarah followed her brother down the hall to their parents’ door. Knowing they never kept it locked, Michael invited himself in. He was about to gently wake them when he received a second shock, this one even more distressing than the first. Poking out from under the electric blanket were two miniature heads, one - his father - facing his direction. Fast asleep.

“What are you -“ Sarah launched into a loud question before Michael quieted her.

“Shhh,” he warned, approaching the pair with trembling hands and unbelieving eyes. The closer he crept the faster his heart pumped. “Uh oh.”

How old were they? Preschool? No, not even that. It was difficult to estimate in the gauzy half-light of their bedroom, but one thing was clear. Whatever infected his sister had done double duty on his parents. Maureen and William Reardon, both in their mid-40s and successful real estate agents, wouldn’t be showing up for work this morning.

“What is it? Why aren’t you -“ Sarah kept badgering him for answers.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” he whispered back. “But we have a problem.”

“No shit,” Sarah said, still struggling to avoid any inadvertent nudity.

“You don’t understand,” he continued. “Mom and Dad are younger. I mean, way younger.”

“Bullshit!” Sarah feigned denial, a momentary defense mechanism she often employed when confronted with anything uncongenial. Deep inside, she knew this morning had proved that anything was possible.

“Look for yourself,” Michael said, finally allowing her to squeeze past.

No description did the sight justice, so both just looked on, silent and incredulous. The picture before them made absolutely no sense at all. Together they studied their father’s soft, spongy cheeks, untouched by time or shaving cream. The way they melted into his sweet grin, satisfied dimples dotting either side. The pug nose barely protruding from his face. His tiny pale hand sticking out from under the covers, with a thumb that gradually wormed its way toward his mouth. This was Dad - long before either of them could possibly have known him. Almost unrecognizable and yet obviously the same. Deconstructed by time.

Together, Sarah and Michael slowly backed away, afraid to wake their young parents and deal with the ensuing scene.

Once outside, Michael carefully pulled the door closed and sighed.

“What the fuck do we do now?” Sarah asked bluntly.

“I don’t know. What can we do? I don’t think Tylenol is going help and that’s the extent of my medical knowledge.”

A few beats passed before Sarah’s expression changed, becoming instantly quizzical. Michael felt an accusation coming on, and he was right.

“Hey, why are you still old?”

“What?” Michael replied, having never once entertained the idea that 20 qualified as “old.”

“Not old old. I mean the same. Why aren’t you younger like the rest of us?”

“I... I’m not sure.” Rational questions weren’t exactly forthcoming in times like these.

Then it dawned on her. Like a lightning strike. It was so obvious. Why hadn’t she figured it out before? Even her dimwitted brother should have puzzled this out in a matter of minutes.

“You stay here. I’m going to the den,” Sarah announced, a new-found determination in her chipmunk voice. Michael watched as most of the nightie trailed behind her like a wedding dress. While no Rhodes Scholar, Michael sensed his sister knew what she was doing, and stayed behind, slowly opening the door again and keeping silent vigil over his diminutive parents. If anyone could solve this morning’s riddle, it was Straight-A Sarah. [/quote][/quote][/quote][/size]

 

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