This machine, however, had a minimum cost of $1.00 to play.
Bruce fished into his pockets, and came up with 2 quarters. he already knew he had tapped out his wallet, using the last of his bills to buy gas, at least until he could hit his parents up for an advance.
"Dammit!" he shouted between the panting he was still going through from the exertion on finding the machine.
Realizing he had no choice, he made his way as fast as he could (stopping to rest 3 or 4 times along the way) back to his messed-up brother, reached down and stuck pudgy fingers into the soiled, damp pockets of Andrew's pants.
"Ahh - mgg - zoo," Andrew babbled, smiling.
Gagging at the smell, and with sweat dripping from his face, Bruce managed to get hold of some change. 2 dimes, a penny and --success!-- 2 quarters. It would have to do.
He stood up, feeling dizzy, and looked for someplace to wipe off his hands.
Nothing.
Shrugging, he wiped off what he could onto Andrew's hair, then began the long hike back to the re-wishing machine. Andrew happily slapped his palms on the floor.
By the time he reached it again, large half-moons of perspiration stained the sides of his outfit, and he was wheezing heavily. Plus his feet and knees had begun to hurt.
"Come, on, damn you, come on -- please!" Bruce said to himself as he put 4 quarters into the machine and pulled the handle.
The 3 wheels spun in the machine's windows.
-KLUNK- A bar.
-Klunk- A cherry.
-Ker-chuk- Another bar!
A card popped out of the slot.
Still gasping for breath, Bruce closed two pudgy fingers on it, pulled it out and turned it over.
"Congratulations. You may re-wish 2 times, but be careful -- full compliance is limited."
"What the hell does that mean?" Bruce said to the empty room.
Then, taking the deepest breath he could, said, loudly and quickly:
"I wish I wasn't fat anymore and that my brother Andrew was back to his original self!"
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then Bruce felt a charge beginning at his soles and moving up his legs, into his torso, and down his arms. His face flushed.
"Ow. What the--?" he began, but was stopped by a cracking, stretching sound, like a balloon being rubbed at the same time as someone was shelling nuts.
He felt the excess avoirdupois recede - it was an odd feeling, like the gurgling of gas and trying to hold in a sneeze all at the same time. Looking down, he saw the tips of his sneakers begin to appear - but they were getting farther away!
"Huh?" he thought. His sweat-soaked outfit wavered like a heat reflection off a highway, then faded into thin air.
He held out a now surprisingly long arm, the flesh still rippling as the wattles and excess fat shrank and saw his hand getting thinner, longer, wider -- larger. "God, why are you doing this to me?" he snapped, raising his arms to the sky.
"This isn't what I -- ow!" he shouted as his fingers jammed into the ceiling the ceiling. "Wha--?"
Finally it stopped. Bruce, now dressed in nothing but white boxers, put the sore fingers of his right hand into his mouth and glanced up. the ceiling was impossibly close, mere inches away.
"Yuck. P-feh!" His fingers still smelled an tasted like Andrew's mess.
The re-wish had ocurred, as best a 2 bars out of 3 would allow. He now still weighted 350, only was proportioned to be that weight without excess fat. He stood about 7-foot-3, and had a decent build, with huge hands and feet that were probably over size 20.
"Dammit all to Hell," he started, then realized he had to get some more coins, not to mention finding Andrew. "Well, I guess it could be worse," he said to himself, "at least I can get around without stopping every ten feet."
He had to crouch to make it out the door, and stoop down while striding back to the first room. He was still growing, but very slowly now.
"Andrew? Hey, little bro? I'm gonna whup your ass for what you did to me, you know that?" he shouted in a booming bass while ducking through the door into the room.
"Andrew? Oh, my ... crap!"
There, on the floor, were Andrew's clothes, still soiled.
And there, also, was Andrew - back to his original form, all right. He was a 1-day-old infant!
Bruce once again stuck his fingers into the pockets of Andrew's pants, rustling around for any cash - all that was there was some lint. No coins ... no bills ... no wallet.
"Why me?" Bruce sighed, as he realized any possessions Andrew had must have disappeared - to match what he had in his present shape. The clothes must have been a part of Bruce's previous wish - that might be the explanation for why they were still there.
Bruce carefully picked up his brother, whose head lolled back, eyes unfocused. He fit comfortably in one of Bruce's massive palms now.
"Money. I need some money!" Bruce screamed. He tried to tilt his head back and look up, but his hair was now brushing the ceiling. Frustrated beyond his breaking point, Bruce crashed his free hand down in a fist on top of the wishing machine. A spiderweb line of cracks appeared at the top of the glass, and what sounded like the lowest chord of a pipe organ softly emanated from the mouth of the figure in the machine.
A now 7-foot-7, 350-pound kid and a newborn. How would he explain this?