As Candyland continued to be played, Jeff knew he had to get dinner started, and knowing the tastes of his charges, he knew anything short of microwaved chicken nuggets and kraft mac 'n' cheese was likely to end in a hunger strike from three of the five kids. Peas would be acceptable as a veggie, but not much else in terms of greens. So he pulled out a large sauce pan and filled it with enough water to get two packages of mac 'n' cheese noodles cooking, and another to toss the frozen peas in. As Jeff waited for his water to boil, Jeff noticed that the garbage was rather full, and needed to be taken out. Knowing he needed to do it no matter what, Jeff hefted the bag out of the can and pulled the ties taught before tying them off.
"Be right back, don't climb Chocolate Mountain without me," said Jeff as he ruffled Tommy's hair, causing him to giggle a bit. Jeff then grabbed the trash bag and carried it out the side door off of the kitchen, where the outdoor large trash and recycling bins were kept when it wasn't trash day. As Jeff rushed down the steps, he looked over the fence to the next house over to see Old Mr. Fuentes eyeing him suspiciously as he watered his garden. He was long since retired and at least in his late 70s. His wife had died years ago, and he had his divorced middle aged daughter and her teenage daughter Olivia who was just a year younger than Jeff.
Mr. Fuentes was what Jeff would politely call a "nosy" neighbor, who had never particularly liked Jeff--often accusing him of every stray ball that fell into his flower beds when Jeff was growing up, despite the fact that Jeff had never really had that much interest in sports. And as Jeff had matured, the suspicion did not abate in the least. Now, if Jeff was left alone without his parents and the house lights were left on after 9 PM, Jeff each time found the cops called to report a "noise violation" as though Jeff were about to have the entire school over for a party at the first opportunity like some old 1980s teen flick. Jeff was tired of being the target of Mr. Fuentes' suspicions... it was time someone cut him down to size... and that's when Jeff remembered that someone could be him.
Jeff with ease slipped out his phone and opened the Chronivac app and hit the scan button before trotting down the steps to dump the trash bag into the bin.
Name: Cristobal Fuentes
Age: 78
Mental Age: 78
--Memory
----Relationships: Ximena Fuentes (daughter), Alicia De Leon (granddaughter)
Height: 5’11"
Weight: 175 lbs
Hair: White
Eyes: Hazel
Build: Frail
Body Fat Percentage: 6%
Gender: Male
Name: Cris Fuentes
Age: 5
Mental Age: 5
--Memory
----Relationships: Ximena Fuentes (mother), Alicia De Leon (half-sister)
Height: Auto
Weight: Auto
Hair: Dark Brown
Eyes: Hazel
Build: Auto
Body Fat Percentage: Auto
Gender: Male
Alter Reality to Fit? Yes
Alter Clothes to Fit? Yes
Jeff pressed enter, and took his time walking back up the steps to the side door, looking over to watch as the elderly Mr. Fuentes continued to act as though he hadn't been spying on Jeff by watering his flowers. Mr. Fuentes was dressed in ill fitting clothes that must have been bought for him when he had been a younger man as the pants were a bit baggy on him, and the t-shirt had a design from what was likely the 90s and looked stretched out. He wore sensible low top hiking boots, worn work gloves, and a wide brimmed hat for gardening and a Jeff noticed that the old man was beginning to stand up a little straighter as years of bone and cartilage decay began to undo themselves as well as his white hair began to appear a darker shade of gray as he raced out of his seventies and through his sixties. It wasn't until he was in his fifties that the frail build began to thicken to a more slim and then average build as muscles began reappearing and his hair was more pepper than salt as his dark brown hair began to appear once again from under his hat. The only other thing that Jeff noticed was the pressure that the hose was spraying at seemed to be harder as though Mr. Fuentes' grip were stronger now.
"Something I could help you with?" asked Mr. Fuentes, who had turned to look up at Jeff, who had paused at the top of the steps to observe the transformation of Mr. Fuentes. He was by now re-entering middle age, his previously wrinkled tan skin smoothing over and a tiny beer belly filling out the previously stretched out shirt. The suspicious look in Mr. Fuentes' eyes was still there, of course.
"Oh, I was just admiring your... garden," said Jeff, thinking of the first thing that came to mind.
"My garden, eh? And what exactly in my garden is it that's caught your eye?" questioned Mr. Fuentes--as though garden were a word hiding some other meaning. By now only streaks of gray were in Mr. Fuentes' hair that poked out from under his hat.
"Just how you've managed to make it look so... natural, like the plants just grew there naturally instead of being planted... you know like how an English garden looks," said Jeff.
"Hmm, do you know the difference between an English garden and a French garden?" asked Mr. Fuentes as he re-entered his forties. His muscles plumping up to make him look rather healthy now.
"Yeah, isn't an English garden all neat and orderly, and a French one isn't?" asked Jeff.
"Other way round, actually. The English seriously took up gardening during the Romantic era, while the French were seriously gardening during the Neo-Classical era," explained Mr. Fuentes as the last of his gray hairs vanished, and his tiny beer belly began shrinking as he approached his thirties.
"Cool, anyway, I'm sure it's a lot of work making a garden look like it just sprouted naturally," said Jeff.
"It is... you have to make sure the plants you put next to each other aren't going to starve the other for sun, water or nutrients. Ideally you have plants that compliment each other--giving the soil what the other needs to thrive. Like my Geraniums and Roses," said Mr. Fuentes as he physically peaked in his thirties with a slim but solid build likely from working outside. It was about this time that Jeff noticed his clothes which had simply just adjusted in size as he'd youthened start to shift--the tan Agway gardening pants shifting into heavy duty blue jeans overalls. The loose t-shirt becoming a bit more form fitting and accentuating the broad shoulders and muscles that Mr. Fuentes had regained. The low hiking boots were replaced with actual well-worn boots that were caked with mud and dirt, and the wide brimmed had had shifted into a well-worn baseball cap with the Chiapas Jaguars logo on it.
"Is that a soccer team's logo on your hat?" asked Jeff.
"Los Jaguares de Chiapas? Yes... they're the local team where I came from... originally," said Mr. Fuentes as the newly regained muscles began to shrink a little as he re-entered his twenties. He took off his hat to better show off the worn logo of a Jaguar ready to attack over a soccer ball on a green field.
"Did you play?" asked Jeff, surprised that Mr. Fuentes had had an interest in something other than gardening, once.
"Si, but not... uh... not good... to be on team..." said Mr. Fuentes, who seemed to be having trouble thinking of his words, as though he were forgetting how to speak English as he slipped into his early twenties, and returning to a rather slim build. At this point, the overalls shrunk immediately into a pair of athletic shorts, his boots into well-worn sneakers, and his t-shirt into a Chiapas Jaguars team jersey that had what Jeff assumed was a star player's name on it, and the jersey's number face painted on his cheeks. With that shift, Mr. Fuentes now completely was speaking in Spanish and Jeff could no longer follow the conversation as the young man slimmed down and began to shrink into a slim athletic teenager, the sneakers turning into soccer cleats and the Chiapas Jaguars jersey transforming into what Jeff could only assume was a hand-me-down school jersey of some school that went by the name "San Cristobal" and had the logo of a Ocelot on it.
Puberty however quickly withdrew from Cris, as Jeff was beginning to think of "Mr. Fuentes" as reality was shifting. Slim quickly turned to gawky, and the soccer uniform speedily turned into a worn pair of jeans, a pair of sneakers, and a soccer designed t-shirt as his shoulders narrowed, he lost at least a foot in height, muscles fully dissolved, hair on his legs, arms, and face sunk back into his skin or turned into barely noticeable peach fuzz. Cris' face rounded, and his hazel eyes seemed to grow as he was pulled back across the line of puberty into a preteen.
Jeff watched as the final parts of his transformation occurred, Cris' shrinking continuing until he was nothing but a Kindergartner in a bathing suit, swim shirt, and water shoes, playing with the hose his older self had been using to water the garden. Now Cris pressed the nozzle causing water to fly straight up into the air and then back down on Cris like rain, which caused him to squeal with laughter. After a few rounds of this, Cris took notice of Jeff and his grin widened.
"Hey Jeff, can Tommy and Ryan come out to play?" asked Cris excitedly. The formerly Spanish-only speaking young Cristobal, now had a completely American accent when he spoke.
"Maybe after dinner, Cris," said Jeff, causing the kindergartner to look severely disappointed.
"Cris! Put the hose down!" insisted a voice that Jeff immediately recognized as Alicia, Cris' former granddaughter turned half-sister... wait a minute half-sister? Suddenly Jeff recalled something his parents had said when Ms. Fuentes had moved in when she was pregnant with Cris, that the reason her marriage had ended in divorce was because she'd gotten pregnant with her lover--who'd then dumped her the moment he'd found out she was pregnant with their child.
"But I wanna make it rain!" insisted Cris.
"I'll fill the pool for you to play in after dinner," said Alicia sternly, and Cris scrunched up his face before dropping the hose on its handle, causing the jet rain phenomenon one last time. Alicia rolled her eyes and then grabbed her little brother by the hand.
"Come on, Mom said it's time to wash up," said Alicia, practically dragging Cris back inside--this prompted Jeff to remember that Alicia had never quite gotten over the end of her mother's marriage, and seemed to partly blame Cris for it in the way she treated him. She never outright said it, to Jeff's recollection, but That left Jeff feeling as though he'd given Cris a raw deal almost like he had Harry.
"Jeff, the water's boiling," said a little voice, and he turned to see Tommy standing behind the screen door.
"Thanks little bro," said Jeff before re-entering the house to finish making dinner. Whatever rough situation he'd put Cris into, he could fix it after dinner.