Dec. 21, 2012

Chapter 2
The first year

Chapter Description: Learning to accept being turned into a little boy that won't grow up.

Shrinking by three feet and losing 200 pounds in one second is a rather disorienting event. And that’s exactly what happened to me on Dec. 21, 2012, when the entire world suddenly became roughly 20 years younger. I had gone from being 6-foot-4 and feeling just a bit too tall for everything to 3-foot-4 and definitely too small for everything. Adjusting to this new size was quite the adventure. It seemed there were an unlimited amount of new obstacles I hadn’t accounted for. Like pouring myself a bowl of cereal suddenly became a major hassle. I couldn’t reach the cereal or the bowls and I found the gallon of milk to be too big and heavy for me to lift. I probably would have fallen into a deep depression if I didn’t have my parents to take care of me and cheer me up.

After the few months of near-anarchy and cleaning up the world, us survivors (we estimated it was about half the earth’s original population) finally had time to examine what had happened to us. Everyone’s body had sort of reset itself to what it was in the early ’90s. People in their 20s like me were now children. Those in their 30s were now teenagers, and so on and so on. Those who were sick and dying were miraculously cured and healthy again. Even some people regrew lost limbs. A lot of people saw all the good that came from this and began to believe that we were all in heaven. But an equal amount of people believed just the opposite, pointing to the mass death and destruction.

I found it ironic that so many people immediately jumped to trying to figure out why everything happened before fully understanding the what and the how. Of course, we never did find out how we all changed and the what was something that gradually answered itself. So I suppose it was only natural for so many of us to try to decide whether we were all being punished or blessed. I took the lead from my parents, who chose to be optimistic about the situation. After all, what good was being upset going to do? My mom convinced me to take the most of my situation and enjoy my second childhood, and so I began to look at life in a different light. I was now a little boy and I had my parents with me to help me grow back up again.

One of my biggest fears after my transformation was that I’d lose my mind and begin to truly think of myself only as a 5-year-old boy. But as far as I could tell, that never happened. My other fears were that either I’d grow even younger or be permanently stuck in my new age. Ironically, I considered both possibilities to be impossible, even though I had just survived an impossible scenario. But looking back on it now, I realized that the chance of growing up again was my one great hope that kept me going that first year, and I could not allow myself to lose it. Every time I’d grow frustrated of not being able to reach anything, or fit in anything or of having to crane my neck up so much to look at somebody, I’d remind myself that soon I would be taller again. Every time I’d feel certain urges and desires, only to be frustrated by my undeveloped equipment, I’d tell myself that I only needed to wait a few more years. I became excited at the prospect of growing again and I tried to remember what it felt like to go from being so small to so tall in such a short amount of time. As a kid, I didn’t understand or appreciate the physical marvel of growth, but this time, as an adult, I would cherish every moment of it. I truly understood why kids always wanted to grow up so quickly. As a kid, you constantly see so many things you can’t do. But growing up brings privileges and abilities. And while I was frustrated at being a small child again, I held a firm belief that my condition was only temporary and in a matter of time, I would return to what I once was.

But that didn’t happen.

It started as rumors, then hearsay and gossip, but finally it became official, confirmed reports that we weren’t aging or growing anymore. The Chinese were the first to figure it out. They were the lucky ones who were all asleep when the transformation happened, so they had the most children and babies. As weeks turned into months, they noticed that the babies weren’t growing. Not one of them gained a single pound. This launched investigations and studies and many different opinions on the details and particulars, but it all led to the same conclusion. We were all stuck at our current age forever. Around this same time, we noticed that nobody could become pregnant again. But the lone bit of good news was that all traces of disease seemed to be gone. So about six months after the world as we knew it ended, all the TVs and newspapers proclaimed that we were the last members of the human race, immortalized at whatever age we happened to be 20 years ago. We could still be killed by injuries, but with no more pregnancies, the world’s population was suddenly a finite number.

This news, however, wasn’t as much of a crushing blow to us as we thought it could have (or should have) been. Most of didn’t completely believe the reports — we still believed there had to be some loopholes out there. I personally believed that we would still age and grow, but at a much slower pace. I could accept the possibility of growing up half the normal speed, or even a tenth of the normal speed, but to tell me I’d never grow again? Ever? How could anybody even know that? These were the things I kept telling myself, while in reality, I was slowly accepting the truth of the situation. Perhaps the greatest thing that helped me during this time was society’s great desire to get back to a normal routine.

It was in September 2013 (which we later renumbered as Year 1) when we decided to start up schools again. It wasn’t because we needed to relearn how to read and write, but because we “children” needed something to do and, more importantly, we needed to be around others who had gone through exactly what we had. Those who had stayed as adults could sympathize with us a little bit, but they didn’t really know what it was like to become a child again.

And I so started to go back to a kind of kindergarten. We had a school bus come for us and everything. One of the best parts was being reunited with some of my old friends. I would have laughed at how small and cute they were, but I knew I was equally small and cute. One of my friends was there with his now 5-year-old wife. They walked around everywhere holding hands, looking more like little kids playing pretend than the married couple they really were. They had been awkwardly living together for a few months, switching between their parents’ homes before they finally decided to split up and live with their own families. They once had a house of their own and even a baby together, but now they were reduced to little friends holding hands at school.

Another great thing about kindergarten was having chairs and desks and even toilets in just the right size for us. We also remembered how fun a playground can be when slides and swings are enormous. We would occasionally lose ourselves and pretend to act like the innocent children we looked like, but we weren’t really innocent. If you looked into our eyes, you would see the pained, tortured eyes of an adult who had lived through a traumatic experience and was now imprisoned in an impotent, tiny body. We spent most of our “class time” as a kind of therapy session, where we were able to discuss and sort out our feelings and have a support system. Gradually, we began to accept our new reality.

I think it was sometime in Year 2 when I finally came to terms with who I was and who I would be for the rest of eternity. I sorted it out by splitting my life in two: the before and the after. In my first life, that first reality, I lived in a world of constant change. Nobody ever stayed what they were for very long. Babies became children then teenagers then adults so quickly, we hardly even realized it. In my first life, I could barely remember what is like to be a kid — I was just suddenly an adult, wondering where all the time went. Now, in my new life, time is not an issue. I have been assigned a new role — a new age — and that’s what I will always be.

I am a perpetual little boy. I live with my mom and dad who take care of everything for me. I wake up in the morning and run downstairs in my Batman pajamas and my mom pours me a bowl of cereal. I get dressed, grab my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle backpack and my lunch, which my mom prepared and put in my Superman lunchbox. I then catch the bus and go to kindergarten, where we make arts and crafts for fun sometimes, but also talk about Shakespeare and other “adult” stuff. We always have recess, which is necessary to work out the high energy our little bodies can now contain. Just a little sugar will have me bouncing off the walls for hours. Sometimes I wander around the edge of the school and I peek at the “big kids” playing on the big playground. The 10-year-olds tower over me and I envy their long legs and their athletic frames. I wish I could run and jump like they can, then I remember that it’s ridiculous of me to be jealous of a pre-pubescent 10-year-old. I turn around and see my fellow 5-year-olds and I realize that I’m not alone.

I go home and I have a snack that my mom has made for me. Because I can’t do anything, I don’t have to do anything. I spend all my time playing. Sometimes with friends, sometimes alone. Sometimes we play pretend games like the kids we look like, sometimes we sit around and watch R-rated movies. Because we’re not growing boys, we don’t need to get as much sleep as little kids used to need, so we often stay up late literally doing whatever we want. But for the most part, we like to act like little kids. It’s just more natural when we’re at this size. On birthdays and Christmas, a good portion of my presents are toys appropriate for a 5-year-old. It makes my parents happy, which in turn, makes me happy. If I can bring joy to my family and the world by acting like a little kid, then I will.