- Text Size +
Author's Chapter Notes:

A new story. Enjoy.



On 9/12/20** at about 1030 hrs., comp. arrived at 1632 G.M.C. Blvd. E.to perform window-washing work. Upon arrival comp. walked onto third floor landing and observed the victim through the window panes. The victim was lying on the floor, with water splashed over his body, and an open bottle of prescription pain medication near his hand. Comp. called 911, and a dual response of BFD and BPD was dispatched. First on arrival, MacBride, finding the front door locked, made entry by breaking one of the window panes. She observed that the victim’s door was blocked by a chair, which prevented access. She stayed beside the victim, and attempted to put her fingers in his mouth to retrieve the pills, until responders arrived and he was stabilized by BFD #99 in the ambulance. During an interview with the victim, the victim was asked if he had taken the full prescription bottle, at which time the victim answered “Yes.” On further interview of the victim, the victim was asked if he was attempting to harm himself, at which time the victim answered “Yes.” The victim was treated by B— medical staff for a drug overdose, and was released into the care of MacBride, according to his and her wishes.


After filling out the police form, I drove Alan to my house on the edge of town. We sat down together and had a drink and a smoke. Then I dug out the tape recorder from my closet, and set it down on the table in front of him.

“Chicken?” I offered. “I left the dark meat for you.”

“No,” he waved it off. “I’m ready.”

“Are you sure, Alan?” I walked back to my chair, across from him, and sat down.

He nodded, and pressed the red button. The cassette tapes started to whir (it was an old machine, from the early 1980s). “It started like this,” he said, talking into the tape recorder, and lighting another cigarette. “She was 19 and I was 21. She was just entering her second year of university, and I was just leaving school, for good.” He coughed a few times, and then took a sip from his drink. “It was eight years ago, and she begged – and I mean really begged – me to sign those forms. There I was, her friend since high school, it’s not like we were strangers or anything, you know…” He stopped and looked over at me.

“What is it?”

“Being silent about this was killing me. I don’t know how long you’re willing to listen, Charlotte. It’s a long story, you know.”

“Take as long as you need. We can stop when you want.”

“I’m sorry.” For a moment there was silence between us. Then he suddenly dragged his chair close to mine, so he could face me better. He downed his glass in one go, paused, and launched afresh.

(Note. What follows is my narration of the facts and the records, taken faithfully from the transcription, and approved by Alan.)

Alan was the son of one of the Society’s leaders, and so had been permitted, by special order, to remain at his pre-reduced size throughout his college years. At the age of 22, like all adult males, his immunity expired, he was released out of the custody of his parent-guardian, and was free to find work as he could.

Though he’d received the highest marks in Engineering and the New Humanities, he was unable to find stable, full-time employment at any of the firms. His troubles weren’t perhaps due to any exclusionary policies against males, but because most employers would have found it difficult and perhaps impossible to retain a talented male worker over the long-term. His rights were unprotected, and at any time, if not in the safekeeping or under the guardianship of a female caretaker, he could disappear from work one day and never be located again. Such sad stories had occurred and recurred, or had been rumored to (which came out the same), in hundreds of cases among males who had in various ways managed to maintain their pre-reduced status into their twenties or later. Now and then one came across a male in his thirties or forties, or perhaps older, but barring certain cultural figures, pop singers, and henchmen, these were rare, most of them solitaries, vagabonds who lived on the outskirts of the cities, or in forests, roaming the country and scrounging or scrabbling for their daily meals.

So when Alan heard, the fall after he graduated, that Sadie, his close friend at college, had offered to pay for his services as her private teacher, in the school’s new tutoring program, he responded with interest.

“Where do you need help? What subjects?” he asked her, over the phone.

“All of them. Is that okay, Alan?”

“So you’re my only student? How much do they pay?”

“I should be. Room and board’s covered. So is food. Basically all living expenses, from what I’ve heard.” She told him the pay. It was a teacher’s wage, mid-range and fair.

“Do I interview with them?”

“Nope. I took care of that, Alan,” Sadie said, and then coughed away from the receiver. He could almost hear her smiling over the phone. “I’ve gotta go. When can you come over and check out the room? My week’s free.”

“Tomorrow’s good. Say, 5 in the afternoon? How’s that?”

“Works for me. Bye, Alan.”

“Goodbye.”

“See ya.”

So the next day, late afternoon, he took the bus downstate to his old university, and met Sadie at the stop. Before the bus even came to the curb, he picked her out in the crowd, her long, black hair, curled at the ends naturally, her old blue autumn jacket, that she wore year-round, and the white skirt underneath it, which she wore with white socks and black and white saddle shoes (early 1990s fashion was coming back). She grinned when she saw him – it was one of her infectious grins that lit up her eyes, her whole face and body. He eagerly returned it.

They walked a few blocks until they came to the four-person flat where she was rooming that semester. She swiped her card, walked down the hallway, and unlocked the door with her key. Two of the other girls were out for dinner, but one of her flatmates, Marina, was in. Sadie and Alan waved to her, briefly, as they passed her room.

He caught a glimpse of that girl, out of the side of his eye, stretched out lazily on her bed, back-first, playing with something she had pinned against the wall with her feet.

“Does she have a pet?” Alan asked, when they turned the corner to Sadie’s room.

“She’s doing veterinary science.” Sadie flipped on the light.

As she crossed her room and pulled back the blinds, Alan walked over to the bed and sat down. It was a single, apparently. There was a bookshelf, two closets (one for coats and formal wear, and the other for shoes), a dresser, desk, chair, and all the other accessories one finds in a typical furnished college room. The bedspread was a dark green, the pillows black, the computer stickered with bands whose names Alan only half-recognized, the wall-space cluttered with posters, notes, and calendars – and the floor covered with old shirts, pants, skirts, and discarded socks, white and colored.

“Want any music?” Sadie offered, tapping once or twice at her keyboard with her middle finger, idly.

“Whatever you like.” She put on some rock ballad from the early 90s, and then sat down by her computer, clicking the mouse and typing, more rapidly now.

“So…” Alan said, and looked around the room, with some distaste. He felt bored, terribly bored, all of a sudden.

“Yes?”

“Where am I staying?”

“What do you mean?” Sadie stopped what she was doing, and turned to him.

“What apartment? Where?”

“Here… you’re staying here,” Sadie said, and then saw his confusion. “What – you didn’t know?”

“No, I thought that – over the phone, I mean, you said room and board was covered. So I thought—”

“Oh, Alan, I’m so sorry,” Sadie frowned, and swiveled around back to her computer screen. “I should have explained. It’s covered because I offered to keep you here. I thought you knew.”

Alan’s face paled, and his heart sank, as his eyes passed from object to object around the room. “How can I fucking well stay here, Sadie?” he blurted out, exasperated.  “Did you even think this through? I’ll be here for a year.”

Sadie was quiet, and then closed her computer. She raised her eyebrows, as one does who wants to dismiss someone for being importunate. A new disdainful pride took possession of her, and worked its way into her expression. She pushed herself up onto her desk, and turned to him.

“You can stay here for the year, Alan, or you can go back to wherever you came from. I need to tell you this: they are going to shrink you, of course, and I’m going to be your owner, for as long as I want. The deal was three years. But, but, listen to me, unlike most slaves, you’ll be paid for your work, and you’ll have something to live on if I ever decide to give you up. Tell me: what other choice do you have? I want you to be safe… We’re friends, right? You liked me, too, otherwise you wouldn’t have come all this way. You must like me.”

Alan listened to her, open-mouthed, and then bent down to gather up his things. “Where’s the nearest hotel?” he asked.

“Alan…”

“Where’s the nearest hotel?” he demanded, yelling at her now.

“Alan, this wasn’t my choice. This is what they do to all of their tutors. It’s policy, you know… to keep people safe…”

“Tell me!”

She told him, and then followed him out. “I’ll be here tomorrow morning,” she called to him, as he stormed out of the flat, his face burning red. “For the whole morning,” she added, more softly, and then turned back inside.

On the bus-ride to his hotel, he saw a young couple two rows up from him, across the aisle, cooing to each other dovelike. The girl was in her mid-twenties, with frizzy chestnut hair, a scarf, white blouse, and jeans with moccasins. And the man she held in her left palm, and poked, tickled, whispered to, was presumably her boyfriend. She had dressed him in her own way, and it seemed she’d made and sewn the clothes herself.

[Alan, muttering, and scowling at the tape recorder: Knitting seems to grow in popularity among these girls, seems to become a ‘creative outlet,’ the very second it ceases to be necessary.]

He watched the girl with disgust, at first, and then interest, and then with some jealousy, and finally, to his surprise, with real longing. Maybe he had been too curt and cruel with Sadie. Maybe she was just really trying to help him get by. He had no un-malicious reason to think otherwise. And suddenly dozens of memories from the year before, all happy and full of interest, filled him with nostalgia. There and then he decided to meet her again the next morning, and talk terms. No more than three years, he would say, until she graduated and was settled. And after that she’d have him restored to his natural size.

[Alan: It was a ludicrous plan, when I think about it now, Charlotte. But something had poisoned me, I was nostalgic, frustrated, sex-hungry, and maybe there was loneliness there, too. I didn’t want to be alone, you know, and I would have been…would have been alone. She picked me, after all. I felt as though I could trust her, that we could trust each other, you know. I talked myself into believing this nonsense. I wanted to believe it.]

He phoned her early the next day, and they met up for coffee and breakfast. After they left the bistro, where after some begging and pleading she finally brought him around, Alan and Sadie wandered for a while through the leafy town and the old campus, the morning air nipped with the frost of early fall. He noticed, as they walked, how few male students there seemed to be that year. The number had perceptibly dropped since the last semester. He broached the topic, as they entered one of the World Language halls for warmth.

“Sadie,” he said, approaching one of the ancient and cackly radiators in the entrance corridor. “Looks like the number of male students has changed. Fewer this year, seems.”

“Yeah.” Sadie joined him beside the radiator, and rubbed her hands a few times, her pinkish mittens flopping about her wrists. “The admission rate has – it’s just plunged. Can you believe how cold it is?”

He agreed it was very cold. “So, should I just follow you to the admissions hall?”

She eyed him keenly, and pulled her scrunchie out. She tossed out her hair and rearranged it, slowly, tying it back in a knot and securing it again. “We can do it now, sure. But don’t you want to say goodbye to anyone? Your mother, maybe?”

“She doesn’t need to know,” he said quickly. “All I’m worried about are my things, my books and computer, my music and games, clothes – everything.”

“Oh,” Sadie said. “That’s easy. There’s a form for all that. I’ll show you when we get there. Just send for what you want, when you want it, and they’ll have it here pronto, safe and sound.”

Alan walked down the hallway, and let out a deep sigh. Sadie looked up at him suddenly. “You know, if you don’t want to do this, you can still back out.”

He met her eyes, briefly, but then looked down, half-ashamed of himself, unable to believe that his future had led him here, to this. “I took French here last semester. Strange how long ago that seems. You want to walk down a bit?”

“I’ll be here tomorrow for class. You can come with me then, if you want.”

He flinched, thinking of something. “No, it’s too late to change.”

“It’s not too late. Like I said, you can back out any time.” But she knew he wouldn’t.

“Yeah, it is...”

“Well, for me, anyway, it’s still early,” Sadie said, cupping her hands together and blowing into them. “But if you’re ready, let’s do this. Right now.” She gave him a sympathetic, ingratiating smile. Alan returned it, weakly.

“I’m ready.”

Three hours later, just after lunchtime, Sadie strolled out of the male admissions office alone, carrying a thick manila envelope in her hand. After a few steps, she began to skip and spin around in her black and white saddle shoes, a light breeze catching the hem of her dress. She could be seen running to the nearest stop to catch the bus, which had just arrived, right on schedule. 

You must login (register) to review.