'Scaled Down'

Chapter 2
Chapter Two

The rejuvenation band arrived the night before the Klavichord competition. Gabriel paced up and down in his bedroom, toying with the idea of taking his son’s place. The boy had worked hard, and it didn’t seem right to deprive him of this opportunity. But Gabriel was fizzling with pent-up anticipation, having spent the past weeks fantasizing about performing on stage and strutting his stuff before fawning judges. Rationalizing that his son had already won lots of medals, and besides had plenty more opportunities ahead of him, Gabriel made an impulsive decision and climbed into bed.

The next morning, after telling Chris the competition had been postponed, Gabriel drove himself to the music center where the contest was being held. Like several other parents, he had booked a private practice room to warm up before the event, and he now sequestered himself inside with his new toy.

Pulling open the box, he reviewed the instructions again before slipping the onyx black band over his wrist. Its mini touch screen lit up with a smiley emoji, which he swiped away before tracing out a crude “7” with his finger.

The band tightened like a vise grip, sending an electric pulse surging thru his arm, across his torso, down to his legs & feet, and up to his face, where it made his head throb. Shirt sleeves swallowed up his hands, and his suspenders slipped clean off his shoulders, joining his trousers in an unruly heap around his ankles.

Overcome with vertigo, he leaned against the piano to steady himself, taking deep breaths as the floor drew closer and closer. Finally, when the room stopped swaying, he struggled out of his billowing shirt and tried to dress himself in his son’s clothing.

To his chagrin, his loss of height had not been matched by a corresponding reduction in girth – in his excitement, he had forgotten that as a kid, he had been quite a bit chubbier than Chris. As a result, the boy’s briefs he tried putting on buried deep into his crack, the elastic waistband so tight he could barely breathe. With exasperation, he pulled them off, then fumbled around and slid on his son’s dress shirt instead.

Next, he tried putting on Chris’ pants, much like the Hulk trying to squeeze into a pair of spandex. After much huffing and puffing, he got it all the way up, but there was no way to pull up the zipper. Fortunately, his dress shirt drooped down past his waist, so he still looked decent, if a little disheveled.

Then a thought came to him – perhaps if he made himself a little younger, he could better fit into these clothes? He tried to figure out the right sequence of steps, pulling the band off and scrutinizing the instructions, but they seemed too confusing.

“Chris Henderson! Are you ready? The judges are waiting!” A loud rapping on the door jolted him to attention.

Seizing his music book, he scrambled out of the room and raced to the auditorium. A wave of enthusiastic applause washed over him as he waddled across the stage, shrink-wrapped in his constricting clothing, and did his best to give a little bow.

Perched by the side of the Steinway grand, he raised his hands up dramatically, but when he brought them down, they produced not the chirpy opening to Dvořák’s Humoresques, but a jarring cacophony of mangled notes. Startled, he tried again, but only banged out another discordant series of chords.

“Are you okay?” A judge rose to her feet, a kind smile on her face. “If you’re nervous, you can look at your book. There’s no extra credit for memorizing.”

Gabriel gave her a sheepish grin and flipped open his piano score in compliance. To his shock, he couldn’t understand a thing – the pages looked like unintelligible chicken scratch.

An arctic chill swirled over his body as it dawned on Gabriel that the band had stripped away his skills along with his years. And since he had been about nine when he first took lessons, that meant he had been reduced to an ordinary, chunky, and musically illiterate seven-year-old.

Trying to salvage a graceful exit, he mumbled “Tummy-ache” to the befuddled judges and scrambled clumsily off the piano stool. An unexpected “Rriiip!” tore thru the air – his long-suffering pants had split open, and a cool breeze now wafted thru his nether regions.

There was a moment of stunned silence. The parents in the audience gasped and tried to shield the eyes of their youngsters, but the kids, rubber-necking and irrepressible, soon filled the hall with cackling giggles and wild howling. Mortified, Gabriel fled the stage, clasping his hands over his exposed rear.

Back in the safety of the practice room, he tore off the remains of his pants and tried to calm himself. That had been an absolute disaster, but at least it was all behind him. Now all he needed to do was to get himself back to normal, drive back home, and calm his nerves with a carton of Triple Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream. He reached for the rejuvenation band, but before he could slip it on, the door abruptly swung open.

“Hello, Daddy!” Chris bounced in as the door shut behind him. “Whoa… you really are little! But why aren’t you wearing any pants?”

Startled and embarrassed, Gabriel tugged the front of his shirt down as far as he could. “What… what are you doing here?”

“We took a cab! Sis told me you were gonna magic yourself small and play for me. So did you win? ”

“I… err…”

“Sis also said you’ve got a cool new magic watch! Is that it?” He snatched the wristband from Gabriel and slipped it on. “Can I play?”

“Yes… NO! Put that down now!”

“What does RES-TOR mean?”

“DON’T PUSH…”

Gabriel froze in panic as Chris shot up like a beanstalk, his chest thickening and blooming with new weight as his shoulders cracked and broadened. Straw blond hair darkened to a hazelnut espresso, and soft cheeks lost their baby fat as his jaw squared and gained a peach fuzz. Only a few lingering shreds of his Little League baseball outfit hugged at his shoulders and waist.

“That was frigging amazing!” Chris said in a booming baritone. Reaching for Gabriel’s adult shirt, he draped it over himself, the oversized garment swaying over his lean, handsome frame like a Mexican poncho. Next he hauled up Gabriel’s trousers, fastening them around his waist using the suspenders as a makeshift belt.

Gabriel suddenly felt very small and vulnerable. “Please! You gotta gimme that back…” he pleaded.

“Later, Daddy. I wanna try something first.”

Chris sat down in front of the piano. He raised his hands for a moment in pensive deliberation, and began pounding out the opening bars to Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C Sharp Minor.

Gabriel stared, slack-jawed. It was one of his favorite pieces, but he had never taught it to Chris. How on earth did the boy know how to play that? With a shudder, he realized that his son had gained not only his years, but also all his knowledge and abilities.

“Chris, please!” he tried yelling over the crescendoing chords. “You gotta stop! Game over! We must go back to normal…”

“A few more minutes okay? This is so damn awesome…”

“Please! You hafta listen to me NOW!” Gabriel squeaked, trying to assert his authority. He tugged at his son’s sleeve, but Chris was too engrossed in the music’s exultant momentum to notice.

“What the blazes is going on here?” a sharp, taut voice pierced the room.

The music stopped. Chris turned to find his sister standing at the door, arms on her hips, a disapproving frown on her face.

“I’m playing a game with Daddy…”

“Vanessa! Chris is being mean! He took my band and won’t give it back!”

Vanessa stared at the miniaturized Gabriel before turning to her brother with a sweet smile. “Chris, give me that watch.”

“No. I still wanna play.”

“If you give it to me now, I’ll give you a dollar to get that peach jelly drink from the vending machine in the lobby.”

“Deal!” Chris dropped the wristband into Vanessa’s outstretched palm, grabbed the dollar bill and ran out of the room.

“Thanks!” Gabriel said as he approached his daughter, flooded with relief. “Gimme my band back…”

He tried reaching out his hand, but Vanessa held the device up beyond his reach. Surprised, he looked up at her, only to encounter a frosty face and smoldering eyes.

“Ever since you adopted Chris, you’ve been giving him all your attention.” she glowered. “What about me? I practice as hard as he does. I am just as talented as he is. But you never give me the opportunity to shine! It’s always Chris, Chris, Chris…”

“Vanessa, I…”

“You’ve never cared about me!” she continued, her face flushing red like a mulberry. “All you’ve ever cared about is using me to get fame and glory for yourself! And when Chris came along and started winning competitions, you just tossed me aside!”

“No! That is not true! I am sorry! I…”

“TOO LATE!” she exploded. “I knew if I slipped that pamphlet into the mail, you wouldn’t be able to resist buying this bracelet. Now I will make you pay…”

She slammed the device hard against the wall, smashing it. The color drained from Gabriel’s face as he staggered backwards, as if struck by a sniper’s bullet.

Vanessa loomed over him, and with a single deft motion, stripped him of his shirt. “You look like a pork dumpling.” she sneered as his hands flew to his crotch. “Boy am I going to have so much fun with you…”

“Vanessa, please…” he begged.

“Why don’t we start with one of those annoying games you love to play with Chris? Remember… your Tickle Monster?”

Her fingers were on him in a flash, dancing all over his underarms and protruding belly. Gabriel squealed and squirmed as he fell over, writhing with uncontrollable laughter. He tried to get up, but she tickled him right back down again, and when he attempted to turn onto his tummy or curl up to avoid her, she tasered his armpits and ticked the back of his knees. Unable to resist, he rolled around on the carpet, red-faced with giggles, pudgy legs pinwheeling in the air.

Finally, as she heard the creak of Chris’ returning footsteps, Vanessa withdrew her hands. Warped and rubberized, his curly hair mashed into weird patterns like flattened grass, Gabriel clawed his way back onto his feet, pulling his shirt back on to preserve what remained of his dignity.

“Hey Chris! You know what?” Vanessa said as her brother padded back into the room. “Daddy here says he wants to stay little. So he can have another chance to grow up and become a world famous pianist.”

“Oh?” Chris blinked and shook his head. “That sounds… unexpected, but you know, I’ve been feeling somewhat strange myself. Like I’ve got this… uncontrollable urge to go out and buy a sports car?”

“That’s a great idea!” Vanessa replied. “Then you can drive me to the Amadeus International Competition next month.”

Chris’ brows furrowed. “But… I’m going to be playing at the Amadeus International!”

“Don’t be silly, Chris! You’re much too old for competitions now. Besides, if you’re away, who will give lessons to all the students?”

“You mean… I get to order other kids to practice, but I don’t have to practice myself?”

“Correct!”

“That’s so sweet!”

“Exactly! And you can start with Daddy over here. He wants so much to become a famous concert pianist. So how hard should he practice?” she asked in a high-tilt, cloying schadenfreude.

Chris stroked his sandpapery chin as he pondered Vanessa’s question. “I believe… I believe it takes a minimum of two hours a day.”

“No problem. We’ll make sure he does at least four. What else do you think is necessary?”

“A healthy diet.” Chris continued, his confidence growing as he plumbed his newfound knowledge. “It takes a lot of energy and concentration to perform at the highest level.”

“Hmm… that’s a good point, Chris. Do you think steamed kale and quinoa is healthy enough?”

“Steamed kale and quinoa?!” Gabriel protested.

“If you’re good, I’ll make you some sesame tofu as a treat.” Vanessa smirked. “Now Chris, is there anything else Daddy needs?”

“A healthy lifestyle. Regular physical exercise is essential. He needs to be in tip-top shape.”

“He can join me at ballet class. I’m sure I can squeeze him into one of my old leotards.”

“WHAT?! No way…”

“That’s an excellent idea, sis! Ballet is the perfect activity for developing rhythm and poise.”

“Thanks, Chris! You know, now that he is a boy again, don’t you think we should stop calling him ‘Daddy’?”

“Yeah, it does seem kind of wrong. What would you suggest?”

“How about ‘Gabby’? It’s got just the right ring in it for my new little brother.”

Gabriel trembled like a leaf as he looked up at Vanessa’s alligator grin.

“Yes, perfect.”

 

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