FebruARy Exclusive - Size - Part 1

[Just to say, there will be some edits to the final version of this tale - right now, having some Internet issues and so posting my progress 'as is'. ]

It’s a series of text messages that escalates into a phone call.

“I thought he had immunity,” Oliver says, knowing that however this conversation goes, he’s lost the rest of his Tuesday.

“No one’s completely immune,” says Ruth, “not in our age range.” She sounds tired, she sounds as though she’s already had more than enough. Which is hardly surprising, given that her husband has just tested APP positive.

Just found out. Oliver’s MA.

Shit! Are you sure?

100%

Now that they’re talking on the phone, Oliver asks the question he’s wanted to ask since the first text message. “Ruth, he’s not just being a little...quirky or something? I mean, he’s always been a little bit...” He thinks of Jacob, his best friend, lining up for the latest MCU movie, or pinging him to play Madden online.

Ruth’s voice hardens. “This isn’t about...he wet the damn bed, okay? And we were getting ready to go to the clinic, because of the protocols, and he couldn’t...” She hesitates, she sighs. “He couldn’t tie his shoelaces.”

“Oh,” Oliver says, and he sits down, suddenly out of breath, the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears.

“Oliver, I told you. They did the test here at the clinic, it’s 100%.”

Oliver nods, as if she can see him, and then he clears his throat. “Do they know...do they have an idea where he’ll bounce?” He closes his eyes, trying to picture Noah, a physical adult but a mental child, and he knows that his best friend could have the mind of a little boy or he could be left gurgling like an infant.

After a beat, Ruth replies, “Wait and see, they said. So we’re at the clinic today, and then I bring Jacob home.” She sighs. “Even though I’m not ready for that.”

This sounds like an invitation to help, and so Oliver stands up, goes to hall to put on his coat. “What can I do?” He’s read stories online of the partners of APP victims having to baby-proof their homes. Covers for the electrical outlets, gates for the stairs.

“You can go to Sweeties for me,” says Ruth.

Oliver pockets his keys. He sniffs. “You’re going to dress him up?” He knows, everyone knows, what the MA look like, fully-grown but outfitted like toddlers. Does Jacob’s wife really want to do that?

The hardness returns to Ruth’s voice. “I’m following the protocols. You have a better idea?”

No. No, he doesn’t. The point of the clothes is to make sure that every MA citizen is carrying the equivalent of a flashing neon sign; Don’t treat this grown-up like a grown-up. There are laws prohibiting the abuse of the mentally-adjusted, and a public duty to help them. An MA should be supervised at all times, but sometimes little kids run off.

Still, Oliver thinks of his best friend wearing Paw Patrol pajamas, and looking happy about it, and he shudders. He’s lost his friend, and Ruth has effectively lost her husband.

“I just need you to pick up some clothes,” Ruth says, “the clinic will deliver any equipment we need after he’s bounced.” When they know if he’ll be wearing diapers. When the know if he’ll need sippy cups and feeding spoons.

“And this way,” she says, “You won’t see him until he’s no longer contagious.”

Which is an excellent point, and a question Oliver hadn’t asked but had hung in his mind like the worst of fears. He leaves his apartment, locking the door behind him. “What about you?”

“I’m negative,” replies Ruth. She laughs bitterly. “Aren’t I the lucky one.”

“I’ll be at Sweeties by...” Oliver glances at his phone. “I’ll be there soon. Call you when I get there.”

“Thanks. I gave them your name.” There’s noise in the background; laughter and then the sound of something being knocked over. “Honey, don’t...” Another sigh. “Thanks for helping out, Oliver.”

“Of course. It’s...it’s going to be okay.”

Ruth laughs. “I doubt it. But thanks. Call me when you get to Sweeties.” She ends the call, and Oliver presses for the elevator.

To be continued...