My phone rang. I groaned and forced myself to answer it.
“Eric. Where the fuck have you been? Kyle was serious about that job offer,” said Chase’s deep voice from the other end of the line.
“I had another one,” I mumbled.
“Another job? Another interview?” asked Chase.
“Another…” I faltered.
“Ohhhh. Another spurt?”
“Yeah. I can’t wear anything. I hadn’t gone shopping since I was five-six and now…”
“Okay. Where do you live? I’m coming over to help you. You sound like you need a friend right now.”
“1313 Loma Street, apartment 4,” I said. “I’ll leave the door unlocked for you. And Chase…”
“Yeah bro?”
“Please don’t mock me when you get here. I feel horrible.”
About twenty minutes later, the door opened. Chase walked into my room and stopped in front of me. He looked even bigger than before; my eye line was below his chest.
He looked me up and down. “Wow. A big one. How…?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to look.”
“Come on, let’s go. Get a tape measure.” He knelt down to measure me. “Fifty… uh… fifty eight inches, if I’m generous. Come on, Eric, up on the scale. A hundred and one pounds.”
I burst into tears. “Look at me! Look at me, Chase! A year ago I was a six-foot-ten, 340 pound bodybuilder, with size 18 shoes and quads that could squash a watermelon. I could hang drywall by myself. Now I’m… four foot ten and one good fart away from being a ninety-eight-pound weakling. I can’t reach anything. I can’t wear any of my clothes. I can’t even work construction like I did because I’m too small to carry a load!”
“Calm down,” said Chase. “That job offer from Kyle is real, and you’ll make way more money than some stupid commission-based sales job. I make a shitload of money, and if we dance as a team, we split the proceeds, so even if someone’s more into me than you, you benefit. Now get dressed and let’s take care of the clothing issue. And let’s get you something cute to dance in.”
I shrugged and went to put on my size XS shirt, my size 28/30 jeans, a pair of size 7 New Balances I found at Marshall’s, and a size 7 hat I’d found at the Ross next door. Everything was huge on my freshly shrunken body. Chase led me to his truck, a big lifted diesel F250 some star-struck admirer had sold him cheap.
I stared up at the truck. It seemed impossibly huge. Chase opened the door and waited. I tried to swing my leg up, but couldn’t get it onto the floor of the truck. “I…”
Suddenly two huge hands caught me under the arms and effortlessly hoisted me up.
“Don’t ever fucking do that again,” I warned. “I am NOT a child. And you could’ve at least grunted with effort,” I carped.
“I clean three and a half times your weight,” he said. “You weigh less than one of the dumbbells I use for chest day.” He hopped into the driver’s seat and looked at me. “Buckle up.”
I reached back and up and couldn’t quite reach the buckle, so I tugged on the belt until it came down. The effort of this made my feet swing, and I realized with a heavy heart that I was too short for my feet to touch the floor. Chase put the truck in gear and we drove to Abercrombie & Fitch at the mall. As we walked in, I headed toward the side of the store.
“I don’t think that’s going to work,” said Chase, “but okay, let’s try the men’s department.” He reached up to the top of the shorts pile, the reached over and grabbed a polo shirt. “These are the smallest size they have… XS and size 26 shorts. Go try them on.”
I put on the clothing and shuffled out to the main store. Chase was standing there with a bored-looking teenage sales agent.
“No, Eric. Just… no. It’s all baggy on you,” said Chase.
“You might have better luck next door at abercrombie kids,“ said the boy as he walked over to adjust my shirt. I only came up to his shoulder… and he only came up to Chase’s shoulder.
“Goddammit,” I said, fighting back tears, “let me just have one vestige of my former self!”
“Look,” said Chase. “You’re not going to magically look bigger by wearing clothes that don’t fit. You’re about the size of an 11-year-old and 11-year-olds don’t shop at A&F. Let’s go see if we can find something not totally youthful next door.”
I stomped through the connecting doorway and stopped dead in my tracks. I was surrounded by tiny clothes.
“This is the little kid’s section,” said Chase. “You don’t need this.”
“Yet,” I thought. Chase held some clothes up to me. “You’re enjoying this,” I accused.
“A little bit,” he said. “And this stuff isn’t super kiddy. Look, khaki shorts and a nice button-down. Try these.” I looked at the label. Size 11/12. So not even close to the top end of the range.
I shrugged and went into the changing room, put on the clothes, and came out. “They’re a little too tight,” I complained. “Go get the 13/14s.”
“Are you done shrinking?” retorted the 6’4” bodybuilder. “It’s the opposite of how our parents used to shop. You might shrink into it.” I flipped him the bird as he went and got another outfit. His long legs beat me to the cashier and by the time I caught up, he had paid. “Kids’ clothes are so cheap!” he said. We left the store.
“I need shoes, too,” I said. “These are huge on me. He took me over to Shoe Palace and steered me with his big hands right past the adult displays of Jordans and Adidas. He produced a Brannock device out of nowhere and yanked my loose shoe off.
“Whoops,” he said, “this is for men’s sizing. I mean, adult sizing. I mean, oh damn you know what I mean.” He grabbed another device and had me stand in it. “Size… four and a half.” He pulled a pair of Adidas sneakers out and I pulled them on. But as I did the test walk, my heel slipped in them.
“Adidas run big,” said a salesman. “Size down one size.”
Chase pulled down a 3.5, and I tried them on. They fit perfectly. I gulped. “This is the last size in big kids’ sizing,” I said. “Next is little kids’ sizing. I swear to God I’m not having Velcro on my shoes.”
Our last stop at the mall was to Lids, where I bought a Padres hat in size 6 1/2. “Quite a difference from the 8 1/2 I used to wear,” I said dryly.
On the way home, we stopped at Himsations, a gay boutique that specialized in everything from leather harnesses to drag heels to skimpy banana hammocks. But after trying on the smallest of the sparkling Speedos, I couldn’t make it fit. It drooped around my V-line.
“No worries,” said Chase, “we’ll get Kyle’s guy to make you one bespoke.”