June flash tale #2 - "Captive"

Three days ago, I woke up wet. Lying in the dark, my skin damp, I was filled with dread.

I’ve wet myself. I have the virus.

These kinds of thoughts are automatic these days.

When I turned on the light, I understood that it wasn’t me. It was Sam. My full-grown husband with the most immature of accidents.

It was the first symptom of the APP virus.

“I’m screwed,” Sam said, his head in his hands. “My life is over.”

I stripped the bed and then texted my best friend Beth, who told me to take Sam to the Clinic. “See if they can help slow it down, or even reverse it.”

“I’m not going there. No one comes out right.” Sam sneered. “That’s Beth’s great idea, I bet.” They’ve never gotten along.

I was already out of ideas. “We need to know if you’re…you know…we don’t know.” The question that anyone with APP symptoms asks themself. Would it be mental, would it be physical as well?

“We don’t know,” he agreed, laughing bitterly. “Don’t worry. Next few days, we’re gonna find out.”

Seeing the mixture of fear and anger in my husband’s eyes, I felt like my heart would break. 27 years old, newly promoted, Sam had been an ambitious, focused man since I met him. He’d never taken his eyes off the future that he wanted for us; travel, luxuries, what he called ‘lived experiences’. And now what?

Would my husband be a babbling simpleton, dressed by Sweeties, or would he end up looking like the sweet little boy in the family photos his mom had shown me?

APP protocols meant that we were quarantined; neither of us could leave the house. The next day, Sam worked from home, telling his boss that he’d “caught something or other”.

But that couldn’t last. Within 36 hours, my husband looked ten years younger. As they saw Sam on video, he was on official sick leave.

Now what? We know that Sam was PR, but wow much younger? We waited to see.

Beth dropped off groceries, and she also left plastic sheets for the bed, because Sam refused to wear a diaper despite his regular accidents.

The next day, Sam’s parents heard him on the phone, heard the crackling tones of an adolescent, and so they knew the truth as well.

And yesterday, I had a little boy in my bed. I stood Sam on the bathroom scales, measured his height. 28 pounds, 2 feet and 10 inches.

“What does that make me?” Sam asked, with the chipmunk voice he’d woken up with.

“Maybe three,” I replied softly. But probably more like two. Barely more than a toddler.

I spent the day putting up with his tantrums. Not the hot temper of a child, to be fixed with cuddles and chicken nuggets, but the adult rage of a man who has lost his manhood. Who can’t work, can’t be a husband. Trapped inside the body of a little boy.

“I’m a prisoner, I may as well be in jail.”

I tried to soothe him with promises of the future. “Just a couple more days, and then we can leave the house.”

“What, you think I’m going out like this?” He waved little hands up and down his little body. “How can I let me people see me?” He bunched his fists. “I’m a captive.” And then his face got red, and he ran from the room, and I knew that he was trying to make it to the bathroom in time.

I would listen to his complaints, wishing I could just hold him, wishing I could make it all better. But he wasn’t a little boy, not really, not with all those adult memories jammed in his head.

He raged at me for putting away his razor and shaving foam, and yet he was so short, he couldn’t use the bathroom sink without standing on a chair. He refused to eat the dinner I made because I cut up the meat before serving it, and yet had become so small and uncoordinated, he struggled to open string cheese packets and yogurt lids without my help.

He insisted on wearing one of his old T-shirts that hung on him like a sheet, instead of letting Beth bring over clothes that would actually fit.

“She’d like that I bet, dress me up like a little idiot.”

“Beth’s only trying to help. She hates that you’ve been infected.”

“She’ll be on cloud nine. She’s always hated me. Won’t be happy until I’m a newborn.”

I wondered at that. Surely, if Sam got younger, his old memories wouldn’t have room. It would be a fresh start for him, for both of us.

This morning, Sam was the same size as the day before.

“You’ve bounced,” I said, stroking his hair. “You won’t get any smaller.”

Sam tried to push me away with his little hands. “Great,” he said, his small voice still dripping with adult sarcasm.

I texted Beth with the news, and she came around, later, just long enough to leave more food and some clothes. I saw her waiting in her car as I brought in the bags.

She waved, and then called me.

“How’s the patient?”

“He bounced, but he’s still…mentally, he’s the same.”

“I’m sending you a link. A new video the Center has made, for people like Sam.”

“A video?” I asked quietly. I stood in the doorway.

“Kind of like an onboarding thing.” I could just make out her smile. “Don’t watch it yourself, it’ll put you right to sleep.”

I smiled back, gave her a wave. “Hey, I’m out of quarantine by this afternoon, that’s the full six days. You should visit for real. I mean, Sam will be hiding upstairs, probably, but it would be good to see you.”

I watched as Beth nodded. “Just play him the video. I’ll be by later.” She drove away, and there was a ping on my phone as the text message arrived.

I gave Sam my phone, told him to press play. I left him sitting on the couch.

“It’s just a yellow screen,” he said as I walked away. “It’s just a bunch of shapes.”

I cringed, imagining Sam throwing the phone at me.

But he didn’t.

Complete silence from the living room, while I hid in the kitchen, trying to work out what I would do if the video didn’t work and I was stuck with a bitter, emasculated little man.

Ten minutes would be enough to know either way.

I gathered my courage, went back to the living room. I found Sam where I had left him. He wasn’t watching the video anymore. My phone was lying neglected between his little legs.

I picked it up, sat down beside him.

I stroked his hair. “Feeling better?”

He didn’t answer, even though it was an easy question. An obvious question.

He had a sleepy expression, like a toddler finally ready to have his nap.

And he was sucking his thumb.

“Sleepy boy,” I whispered.

As if responding to a code phrase, Sam climbed onto my lap. His head felt heavy and warm against my chest.

“Feeling better,” I said again, but this time it wasn’t a question. “Okay if Auntie Beth brings you some clothes?” I pull at the white T-shirt as if I can’t wait to undress him. “Can’t have people thinking you’re a ghost.”

It was a cute joke, given the circumstances of the last few days, but Sam didn’t laugh. He just kicked his feet idly, secure on my lap.

“You’re not a ghost, are you,” I told him, “you’re a little boy. You’re Mommy’s little boy.”

Sam kept his thumb in his mouth, but he nodded. He accepted.  I exhaled. I felt as though my heart was unfurling in my chest, it felt like a flower. Because this would be easy. This would be wonderful.

I kissed the top of his head. “Want a snack? Want crackers?”

Sam turned to me. “Ka-kuth,” he says, happy with the menu. And then he gave me a quizzical look. “Ka-kuth…chee?”

I held him tight. “Crackers and cheese.” I winked at him. “I think we can manage that.” And then I took my little boy through to the kitchen for his snack.

THE END

Sam is APP positive and terrified; luckily his wife's BFF has a special video to help Sam come to terms with his new life - Byron