The drinking went on and on for the whole ten-hour flight. Matt got to know Nadim as a strong man with a history in weightlifting, being able to lift impressively large loads. This made sense to Matt, with a look at Nadim’s bulging arms. Matt also told Nadim about his own life over the course of a few vodkas. Matt didn’t know it, but while they shared stories, Matt’s belly grew more as he drank and grew tight under his shirt. His words also slurred a bit, some words he dropped altogether from sentences. By the time the plane landed and everyone in the cabin stood, Matt’s shirt had revealed the bottom couple inches of Matt’s round gut.
He and Nadim waddled off the plane and out of the airport in Moscow, still chatting, “Ah, Nadim, thank you for vodka. Could I stay with you tonight? I have no house in Russia,”
“дa, my friend, you are always welcome in my home,” The bitter air wrapped Matt in shivering cold, but Nadim was comfortable in his coat. Nadim saw Matt’s flushed face, glowing from the cold and from the vodka, “Let us get taxi to apartment,” Nadim hailed a taxi and they both rode in warmth to an apartment building a few blocks away. Matt smiled at Nadim, and the smile was just as much in his drooping eyes as it was in his lips, which reeked of vodka. With a bubbling in his stomach, Matt burped, “Thank you for hospitality, Nadim,” Craving more to drink, “You have vodka at home?” Nadim happily obliged, “дa, we will drink some more,” With the reassurance that his craving would be satisfied, Matt’s exhausted eyes shut as his mind wandered. He no longer worried about going home, neither did he think about his parents, his only concern was drinking and Nadim. Matt didn’t even worry about how his conversation with Nadim had gradually incorporated more Russian than English, and he understood every word.
Nadim woke Matt when they arrived at the apartment building; Matt’s world was a swimming blur as they took the elevator up to the fifth floor, walked down the hall, entered Nadim’s apartment, and sat down on the couch as Nadim fixed drinks and some leftovers. Nadim asked, in Russian, “Would my friend like some food? We have taken a long trip,” Matt slurred a yes before picking a remote off the table before him, turning on ice hockey. Matt opened his eyes a bit more to watch the game, remarking his newfound interest, “Is good game,” This was said in Russian, as the rest of their conversation would be from this point on. A beep and the microwave door opened, Nadim placed a steaming bowl of beef stroganoff before Matt, “Here Mikhail, is still good.” Matt became confused, did Nadim just call him Mikhail? He takes a bite as he ponders whether he heard Nadim correctly or not. As soon as he swallows, the world around him seems to clear a bit, and he thinks that Mikhail sounds right. After all, Mikhail has been his name for all 42 years of his life, but he still isn’t quite certain that’s right. Nadim places a vodka on the table before Mikhail and sits down next to him on the couch. In a gruff, deep voice, Mikhail thanks him for the food and vodka. Surprised, Mikhail wonders if his voice has always been so low.
As they continue watching the game, Mikhail eats and drinks. His gut continues to grow until his belly button is exposed, at which point he realizes that a change of clothes is in order, “My friend, could I borrow some larger clothes?” Nadim happily tells him that he could borrow some of his from his dresser. Without wondering where that would be, Mikhail naturally makes his way to Nadim’s bedroom and selects an extra-large t-shirt and equally large sweatpants. He struggled to release himself from the shirt which now clung to his shoulders and chest. After wrestling with it for a minute, Mikhail resolved just to rip the thing off; using his bare hands, he grabbed at the collar and pulled in opposite directions. Threads began to snap before a long tear ran down the whole front of the shirt, allowing him out. Without the shirt restraining him, his new gut wobbled a bit with his steps. Slipping a bit more easily out of the pants, Mikhail realized that he would also need to change out of the stretched underwear he was in. No matter, Nadim and he were good enough friends that he could borrow some underwear as well. Mikhail grabbed a very large pair of briefs and slipped them on, a bit of space still available inside. He stepped into the huge sweatpants and pulled them up. Despite their loose, baggy appearance and the significant amount of space left at the waistline, these pants seemed just right to Mikhail (Though, he had to hold them up by hand). The billowing shirt fell easily onto his shoulders, ending at his thighs. The shirt also had a significant amount of growing room in the belly and arms region. Without another thought, Mikhail waddled back to the couch with Nadim, hungrily eyeing his beef stroganoff and vodka. “I’m glad you are comfortable. Stroganoff is still hot,” Nadim welcomed him back to the old, worn couch. The cushions sagged, and the upholstery was torn in places and the seats were pressed down from years of sitting in the same two places; Mikhail sat where he always had.
He wasted no time in grabbing his fork back up and swallowing down as much food as he could fit into his large mouth. After downing about half the bowl, Mikhail drunk a long swig of vodka to wash it down, belching as if to punctuate how much he had eaten. With that, his gut bulged and expanded, love handles wrapping around him. As his globular gut pushed further from his body, spilling onto his lap, the huge t-shirt suddenly began to fit very well. Mikhail didn’t notice, but he was also growing taller, the bottom of the shirt rising from his thighs, to his waist, tight around his belly. Were it not for Nadim’s weight lifting, Mikhail would look much like a blobby, jiggling fatty; but when he moved in with Nadim all those years ago (As Mikhail’s changing memories recalled) Nadim forced him to adopt a regular workout schedule. Remembering his own weightlifting, Mikhail’s sagging belly lifted some. No longer did it lay on his thighs, but it perked up into a hard, round ball of a gut. The fat which had been piling on his arms and legs only amplified the appearance of the muscles beneath. Callouses developed and hardened Mikhail’s hands and stubby fingers. Noticing his muscles, Mikhail suggested to his friend, “Nadim, we must work out together tomorrow,” Nadim flexed, satisfied with his strength despite his age, “Yes my friend, I would enjoy that,” Mikhail returned to his meal.
Now filling his outfit handsomely, Mikhail’s growth continued elsewhere. Whereas Nadim had a dark mustache, Mikhail began growing a black goatee across his widening jawline. However, he did also grow a mustache with his beard, the two covering much of his face. The hair on Mikhail’s head became as dark as his beard, with grey coming in at the temples and sprinkling into his beard as well. After gaining his beard, which was so dear to him, Mikhail’s face followed in aging and Russifying. Crows’ feet hung about his eyes, his forehead wrinkled a bit, and his nose became angular and imposing. His eyes gained the quality of appearing very soft and kind when he smiled – which was often around his dear friend – and becoming sharp and menacing to strangers. Finishing his bowl of beef stroganoff, Mikhail rubbed his round stomach, warm with food, yet he couldn’t be satisfied without finishing his vodka – which he did quickly. Mikhail smiled at Nadim, who had always been so kind. His eyes felt heavy, and he belched again, scratching his thick beard. “Well, comrade. It is goodnight for me,” Nadim looked to Mikhail, who had risen from the couch with quite a groan at picking up his own weight. Nadim smiled, “Yes, I will watch game. Rest your tired head.” Mikhail was just out of the room when he jeered, “And you rest your bald one.” He chuckled happily, and Nadim did so as well. Mikhail nearly entered Nadim’s room when he remembered himself. How could he forget? Mikhail had his own room here, with his own dresser, and his own clothes. Without undressing, Mikhail flopped his exhausted body onto the bed. After all, it had been a long stay power-lifting in the U.S., and more awaited him now that he was home. The first thing he had to do was rest.