Cloth Diapers & Panties

Should be getting my shipment from the Kiddo 4th sale on Friday. One pack each of Tena Maxi, Tena Ultimate, and Owl Night. Yay!

So glad your back! Another amazing chapter!

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Chapter 14 — The Verdict and the Decision The follow-up with the specialist was meant to be a routine checkpoint, and it turned into the appointment where I learned that I was, against all expectation, getting better, and chose, with my wife, not to let it cure me. That sentence will look strange to you, and it looked strange to me, sitting in it. Let me take it slowly, the way it actually unfolded, in the same calm consulting room with the same young unbothered doctor, who had my file open and a pleased look about him that I had not seen there before. "The physiotherapy's working," he said. "I want to start with that, because it's good news and you've earned it. Your pelvic floor work has paid off, more than I'd have predicted honestly, and between that and your body settling, the picture's genuinely improved. The stress component is much better. The urgency's still there but it's less savage than it was. What that means, in practical terms," and here he turned from the screen to us, "is that you've got options now that you didn't have six months ago. You're no longer a man who needs maximum protection around the clock just to get through a day. You could, realistically, manage now on something a good deal lighter. Timed toilet trips, a light pad for security, that sort of thing. You wouldn't be bone dry every day, you'd have the odd accident, but for a lot of men in your position that's a perfectly acceptable trade for being out of the heavier stuff." He said it as good news, which it was, and he watched it land, and I think he expected the relief that such news is supposed to produce. I felt Ellen, beside me, go very slightly still. I did not look at her. I was busy with my own reaction, which was not the clean relief on offer, but something far more tangled, a lurch, almost a loss, the floor of a thing I had not known I was standing on tilting underneath me. "And if I wanted to push further?" I heard myself ask, not because I wanted to push further, but because some part of me needed to know the whole map before I understood why I did not want to walk any further into it. "If I wanted to actually fix it. Properly." "Then there's a next step," he said, "and I'll be honest, there's a part of me that likes to offer it, because we can sometimes do real good with it. There's an injection treatment, Botox, into the bladder wall. It calms the muscle right down. For the right patient it can be very effective, and if it worked well for you, you could potentially drop to very little indeed, a light pad, sometimes nothing. You could be out of the proper stuff altogether." He paused, and his honesty, which I had always liked in him, asserted itself. "But I won't sell it to you. It doesn't suit everyone, and it carries a risk I always make sure people understand before they choose it. In a meaningful number of patients, the bladder ends up too relaxed, and it can't empty properly. Urinary retention. And when that happens, the management for it is that you have to catheterize yourself. Pass a thin catheter, several times a day, to drain the bladder, until the retention resolves, which can be weeks or longer. Some people don't mind it. A lot of people mind it a great deal. So it's a real choice, with a real downside, and I'd never push a man into it who was already managing comfortably by other means." And then he said the thing that decided it, though he had no idea he was deciding anything, and he said it lightly, almost as an aside, the way a busy kind man reaches for a familiar shorthand without weighing it. "But it's worth thinking about," he said, glancing back at his screen. "For a lot of men your age, getting back out of the Pampers is the whole goal. Perfectly understandable, wanting your old life back." The Pampers. It was not a professional word. He knew it the moment it was out, I think, gave a small wave of the hand as if to brush it away, you know what I mean. It was the word a tired nurse uses about an elderly patient, the word that strips all the careful clinical dignity off the thing and calls it what a stranger sees, and it dropped into that quiet consulting room and sat there. And Ellen and I looked at each other. I cannot fully explain what passed between us in that look, except that it was the most complete piece of communication of our entire marriage, and that not one word was in it. The doctor had just framed the whole of it, the diapers, my diapers, the thing he assumed any sensible man would want to be cured back out of, as the burden, the indignity, the goal to be escaped. Getting back out of them. That's the whole goal. And in his frame it was so obvious as to need no argument. And in the half second of that look, Ellen and I understood, together, at the same instant, with total clarity, that it was not our goal at all. That somewhere in the last months the thing the doctor was offering to take away had become the thing neither of us wanted taken away. Because the Pampers, as he so carelessly called them, were not a burden in our house. They were the reason my wife laid her hands on me four times a day. They were the occasion of every tender, vulnerable, astonishing thing that had grown up between us, the changes, the checks, the good boy, the door we had finally found into the room we had never known the house contained. He was offering to cure me out of the one thing that had given us each other back. And we both knew it, in that look, and we both knew the other knew it, and something in me wanted to laugh and something in me wanted to weep, because of all the things to be afraid of losing, I had not, until that careless word, understood that I was afraid of losing this. Ellen turned back to the doctor, perfectly composed, the calendar-faced practical woman he took her for, and she handled it the way she handles everything. "I don't think we'll be going for the injections," she said. "Not with that risk. I had an indwelling catheter once, after our second was born, a bad labour, they left it in a couple of days, and I have never forgotten it, the bag, the tether, the sheer indignity of it, and that was with someone else doing the work. The thought of him having to do that to himself several times a day, for weeks, to escape a thing he's managing perfectly well and without the slightest trouble as he is, no. That's not a trade I'd make, and I don't think it's one he'd make either." She glanced at me. "Are you happy as you are?" "I'm happy as I am," I said, and the truth of it, said out loud in a doctor's office, surprised me almost as much as it must have surprised him. "Then we'll carry on as we are," Ellen said. "The physio he'll keep up, because there's no harm in it and every reason to stay as well as he can be. But the heavy protection stays. It works, it's invisible, it's no trouble to either of us, and we're not going to swap something that works and bothers nobody for an injection that might leave him catheterizing himself in a service station toilet. Thank you, though. You've been very honest, and I'm grateful for it." The doctor, to his credit, did not argue. He looked, if anything, faintly relieved, the way honest men are relieved when they have laid out a real choice and watched people make it with their eyes open. "That's a very reasonable decision," he said. "I'd probably make the same one. Keep up the physio, keep managing as you are, come back if anything changes or if you ever want to revisit it. There's no wrong answer here. There's just what suits you." He stood, and shook our hands, and at the door he hesitated, and gave a slightly awkward laugh. "And forgive the 'Pampers,' a moment ago. That's a terrible habit, it slips out, it's the wrong word entirely and not one I'd ever want a patient to feel I was using about them. Long day. No excuse, really." "Don't apologize," Ellen said, and she said it easily, and she put her hand lightly on my arm as she said it. "We don't mind in the least what they're called. They're what they are, and we've long since stopped being precious about it. Call it whatever's quickest. It's all the same to us." And she steered me out, and the doctor looked, for the second time that morning, faintly and pleasantly surprised, and he did not know, would never know, that the slip he was apologizing for had just, by pure accident, shown two people the precise shape of what they wanted, and that the wife so calmly forgiving him had meant every word of it, because they really had stopped being precious about any of it, and were the happier for it than he could have guessed. In the car park Ellen did not start the engine straight away. She sat with her hands in her lap, and I sat with the whole tilting morning settling slowly into place inside me, and for a while neither of us said anything. "Well," she said eventually. "He's right that it's a choice now. That part's true, whatever else. Six months ago you needed the protection. As of this morning, you don't, not really, not the heavy stuff. You could manage lighter. So from here, it's not the bladder making the decision. It's us." "I know." "I want to say the rest of it plainly," she said, and turned in her seat to face me, the way she had turned to face me in this same car after the dentist, except that everything was different now. "Because I'm tired of us both knowing things and not saying them. I like taking care of you this way. I've discovered I like it more than almost anything I've done in years. The changes, the checks, having you in my charge, all of it. And I think you like being taken care of this way, however hard it's been for your pride to get there. I felt it that evening and I've felt it every day since and I'm done pretending I haven't. So tell me if I'm wrong. Tell me right now, in this car, if any part of you wants to take the doctor up on the lighter pads and the timed toilet trips and going back to managing yourself, and I'll never raise it again, and we'll do that, and I'll be glad you're well. But tell me the truth. Do you want out of this, or do you want to stay in it?" I tried to find the words, and for once, because she had asked me so plainly and because I owed her plainness back, I made myself find them, even though I was fifty-four years old and had spent all of those years being a man who did not say things like the thing that was true. "You're not wrong," I said. "And I'll say it properly, because you asked me to, and because you deserve to hear it instead of having to guess. I don't want out of this. I thought I would. I thought the whole point was getting back to the way I was. And then he sat there this morning offering me my old life back, and all I could think was that I didn't want it. I don't mind the diapers, El. The Pampers, whatever we call them. I don't mind them at all anymore. That isn't even the truth. The truth is I've come to like what they are between us. The changes most of all. When you do me, four times a day, your hands seeing to me. I dreaded them for months, and then somewhere along the way I stopped dreading them, and now I wait for them. I wait for you to come and do me. And the checks, in the daytime, when you put your hand to the front of me at my desk and tell me I'm fine, I can't properly explain what it does to me. It settles something. It makes me feel looked after. Held. Like I belong to someone. I've never had that, not like this, and I didn't know I wanted it until you gave it to me without my having to ask. So no, you're not wrong. I want to stay in it. All of it. I want to be yours to look after, on purpose, and I'm telling you so with my eyes open and meaning every word, so that when you decide, you'll know it's what I truly want, and not just something I'm letting you do." She had gone very still, listening, the keys forgotten in her lap. And then, because even after all of that there was one more thing I did not have words for, I reached over and folded both my hands around hers, around the keys she had been holding since we got in, and I held them there. "So you keep these," I said. "You decide. You've decided right every step of the way, when I fought you and when I didn't, and I trust you with this more than I trust myself. Whatever you choose, that's what I want. You keep the keys." She looked down at our hands for a long moment, hers wrapped around the keys and mine wrapped around hers. And then she looked at me, and something moved in her face, and she did not say anything sentimental, because she is not a sentimental woman, but she turned her hand over under mine and squeezed it once, hard, and then she started the car, which was its own kind of answer, and as she pulled out of the car park she reached across without looking and rested her hand on my knee, the way she had at the red light, and left it there. "All right," she said. "Then we stay in it. And I'll take that decision off your hands the way I've taken the rest, and you won't have to carry it. It's mine now. You're mine to look after, properly, on purpose, because we both want it and not because any doctor says you need it. That's settled." A pause, and the smallest dry smile. "And you can stop bracing for the day I make you go back to underpants, because it isn't coming. The box stays in the attic." I looked out the window at the road going by and felt something I had been carrying for half a year, some last held breath, finally let go. That night was the night we stopped pretending, and I will tell you about it the way I have told you about the others, which is to say I will tell you what it was and not the particulars of it, because the particulars are ours. It was different from the evening that had started it all, the before-dinner change that turned, because that evening had taken us both by surprise, had happened to us. This one we chose. This one happened with the lights on, with the curtains open to the last of the long spring evening, with no pretense that it was an accident of the body or a thing we had drifted into. She undressed me and she took her time, and the diaper was simply there, a present and acknowledged fact of me rather than a secret beneath a blanket, and at some point, between one thing and another, the thing we had been not-saying for weeks got said, out loud, in plain words, both of us. "This is better than it's been in fifteen years," she said, against my skin, "and we both know exactly why." "I know." "Say it, then. Say the true thing." And I said it. I said the true thing, the whole tangled astonishing shape of it, that her taking charge of me had given me back to her and given her to me, that the care and the wanting were one current, that I had spent months in horror of a thing that turned out to be the best thing that had happened to us in a decade, that I did not want to be cured out of it, that I wanted to be hers, kept and managed and looked after, for as long as we had. I said it badly and at length, the way I say everything, and she listened, the way she listens, and when I had finished she kissed me and said, "There. That wasn't so hard, was it," which is what she always says, and which meant, that night, something far larger than it ever had before. The spring evening went down outside the open window. We did not draw the curtains. And whatever else this is, this story I am telling you, of a man and a failing bladder and a wife who took it in hand, I want you to understand that it is, underneath everything, a love story, and that this was the night both of us finally knew it, and said it, and stopped, after thirty years and one strange transforming spring, pretending to be anything other than exactly what we had become. Afterward she taped me into the night one, her hands sure in the lamplight, and pressed it flat, and said "there," and turned off the light, and I lay in the dark in the circle of her arm, dry and kept and known, and I thought: eight weeks to the ship. I had no idea, then, what she had already decided would happen on it. But I was no longer afraid of the ship, or of the diapers, or of being seen, or of any of it. I was, for the first time in the whole of this story, simply and completely content, and I went to sleep that way, in her arms, in the thing she had chosen for me, both of us finally done pretending.

Hey everyone! Sorry for the initial delay there. Summertime activities and some stress at work don’t always lend themselves very well to a stable and open schedule. Regardless, though, this is my next story and right now, it’s about 16 chapters total in length. That is still a pretty basic plot though, so this total could very much change over the course of the story. If it does, though, I will let you all know about it. Also, I’m going to try and hit three chapters a week like I’ve done in the past, but I can already see there might be a few weeks up ahead where that’s just not possible. For example… this week. A lack of sleep and shortened deadlines elsewhere are hard to contend with sometimes. As such, I am posting today and I should be able to post chapter 2 on Friday or Saturday at the latest before getting back to a more normalized schedule… hopefully. Now… last but not least and as usual, I hope everyone enjoys this first chapter of my story! Chapter 1: The Whirls of Fate I sat and stared at the trees and the birds and clouds surrounding me above my head. I had loved nature for as long as I could remember, and every time I was in it, I felt happy and free. There was just a feeling of contentment in nature that I felt I would never lose. And today, with the Robins chirping and the sun shining on my face with the gentle breeze rustling the branches of the sycamore trees overhead, I could only smile. “Earth to Miles? Earth to Miles?” an insistent voice cut through my peaceful afternoon. I opened my briefly closed eyes, when I had been gently sunning myself, and looked back to see my coworker, Dwayne, staring right at me. “Huh?” From the stares and the tiny faint background noise I had heard, I then realized they had just asked me a question. But the trees were so peaceful and the birds so happy… so I hadn’t fully heard it. “Sorry about that… just so nice out today. What was the question again?” My friends and coworkers groaned and rolled their eyes… except Brian. He was my best friend in and out of work, and he appreciated the fact that I liked nature more than business interests sometimes. In contrast, Dwayne sighed heavily and shook his head though. “Why do we even have meetings out here anymore?” he asked annoyedly to the other two, clearly an attempt to knock me down a peg or two with his peers. “We do it because we like the freedom, Dwayne,” Brian defended me without blinking. “We do it because we all had this discussion five years ago when we initially broke off from the larger corporation we all hated to found our own company,” Leo countered, offering the most complete explanation without fancy or lofty ideals. “Out here, we can get a breath of fresh air and discuss things more openly than if we were cooped up inside.” Dwayne grunted. “Then can we at least try and stay focused during these things?” I glared at him. A fellow engineer, we often butt heads over how things were to go in the group. He focused more on the practical side of things while I was more focused on the dreaming and conceptualizing of new products. We worked with two sides of the same coin… but we were constantly at war with each other as a result. “As long as we can get the work done…” Leo quickly noted, trying to calm us down from his position as CEO of our business venture. “Then I don’t care if we wander occasionally. Just…” He looked at me directly now. “Try not to get distracted by all… this?” He gestured to the beauty of nature all around us. “Excellent suggestion, Leo,” Dwayne said with glee, his face nearly beaming with his butt kissing and gloating over the notion that I had been put down. Leo, however, being the leader and ‘moderator’ of the group, glared at him. Dwayne annoyed me to my very core most days, but seeing Leo as more of a neutral party in arguments at least, I nodded. Soon, trying to put my best foot forward and even show up Dwayne a little, I simply shuffled the tiny reprimand off and went fully into a new possibility for increased fuel efficiency within the generators we produced. Of course, Dwayne hated it and thought it would be wildly expensive and impractical for at least a year and therefore not worth our time.   “Okay… a one-year moratorium on prioritization of the new ion engine,” Leo decided after twenty minutes of heated debate, taking the final say away from us. Admittedly, he did that a lot, but we were okay with something like that. He was quick-witted and sharp and had a knack for predicting the outcomes long before they happened. For example, we all felt we owed him a great deal after he pulled us from our old company months before they went under and most lost their pensions or at least had to be laid off. “And now I think…” “And what about me?” Brian asked before Leo jumped into the next conduct of business for the day. Being the designer, he tended to focus on the marketability and aesthetics of a product. He was brilliant at it, but competing with a manager and two engineers, his parts were sometimes left off the table until he piped up… if at all. “Oh, right…” It was clear he had been neglected once again today by Leo. “Um… just hold back. Maybe start collaborating with Miles in… say seven… maybe eight months?” I could tell right away that Brian had picked up on the notion of being forgotten once more. Once more, he simply brushed it off and nodded before nearly retreating back physically in Leo’s presence. Of our group, I was closest to Brian and Leo was closest to Dwayne, and both vice versa. And while, for example, I could congregate with both Dwayne and Leo or them back to me… the relationship wasn’t as close and served more in a professional capacity than anything else. “I… I think that’s fine,” Brian stammered out. “I think Miles and I could get together at that point and talk about it. Right, Miles?” No response. “Miles?” he questioned to me again. But I didn’t hear him… not really. “Ugh!” Dwayne exclaimed. “See, Leo? He’s not even paying attention now!” This time, Leo sighed. “Miles… come in, Miles… come back to us and…” “Shhh!” I shot back. “Look!” I pointed to the distance just beyond the hydrangea bushes. While nature had been showing its lovely face to us today, I wasn’t distracted by it this time. Instead, I was much more distracted by the unfolding scene in the plaza just about a block away from where we were sitting. “Don’t you all see?” “What? What stupid thing are you looking at now?” Dwayne questioned with a sneer. “I don’t see… oh…” His ‘oh’ was enough to put a little joy into my heart, and also told me that now, each of us could clearly see what was happening. Just beyond the trees in front of us, stood agents, soldiers, and several vehicles now streaming into the city. “What the heck is going on?” Brian asked. “Are we being invaded?” “I don’t know,” Leo noted. “Not invade, but… I think… yeah… looks like FBI, National Guard… maybe even the local police and… what the?” We all looked at him and he squinted harder. “Yeah… I saw that right. Even ATF are all down there now…” “That’s a lot of people for nothing,” I postured. “What do you all think? Some parade we don’t know about? Is the president coming or… maybe a music celebrity with a bomb threat on them?” Dwayne shrugged his shoulders while Brian trembled and Leo just stood silently with a questioning look on his face. “Strange…” Leo finally mused before reaching into his pocket. “Let me call up one of my old contacts at the DoD and then the state or justice department. With this number of people, they might know something…” We all nodded and waited for him to make a phone call. After a minute of silence though, not all of us could sit so still. “Hey! I’ve got an idea. Sorry Leo… but this is taking too long. Let’s go check it out,” Dwayne pushed, almost edging toward the mass of people we could see like a piece of metal following the current of a strong magnet beyond. “I want to get a closer look…” Curious ourselves, and despite our tension with him, Leo and I nodded and followed as Dwayne quickly pushed off first towards the mass now congregating to our south. “Wait!” Brian cried out before we even got out of the courtyard where we normally had lunch together. “I… what if it’s not safe? What if it’s something they’re trying to protect us from?” His questions were each punctuated by another frightened tremor. He was my friend, but bravery had never been one of his strengths. “Oh, quit being such a scaredy cat!” Dwayne chided him. Leo flashed at him a dirty look before temporarily holding down his phone and showing the swiped away screen of notifications to Brian. “Look… no notifications. I’m sure if something happened, we’d know right away. But with nothing? I think we should still check it out… just to see. Who knows? Could be a contract waiting for us down there.” Leo smiled calmly and brilliantly like had become his trademark sense of ease in most situations. Most of the time, it did the trick, but looking back, Brian still trembled and didn’t budge an inch. Knowing what I had to do for my friend, I sighed and went back to push him on and get him past his own fears. “Come on, man. We’ll go together. And if it’s bad, they’ll tell us and we’ll haul it right back here and find safety, okay? No need to worry…” Brian smiled and nodded. “Okay…” He finally took a step forward. “Thanks, Miles…” I smiled back and kept pushing him on. “No worries. Just looking out for you…” It had almost become a job of mine in recent years, but Brian’s fears came from his mind thinking of all the possibilities out there. It made him a great creative force on the team… but occasionally, his imagination got the better of him.   Not five minutes later, we were encircled in the mass of agents and soldiers buzzing about the courtyard just outside the steps of the statehouse. Oddly, the place was mostly abandoned with only a few other civilians and homeless meandering about. “Hey!” I called out to one of the National Guard. “Is everything okay? We saw all you gathering down here and…” “What the…?” The National Guardsman looked completely perplexed. “Where the hell are you all coming from? Didn’t you all see the news?” the soldier questioned to me before I even had the chance to finish. “Uh… no?” My hand quickly went for my phone. Before I could turn it on though, after touching his ear piece, he pushed back at me. “I need you all to leave the area immediately!” His finger then pointed back in the direction we had just come from… the opposite way of where everyone around us now seemed to be heading. “But…” My phone then buzzed and I looked down before I objected. And there, the headline was as clear as could be. “Terrorist Cell Threatens City Centers: Seek Shelter Immediately.” I was nearly frozen in shock before I held it up to my friends. “Hey… guys? Check this out…” I held the front screen first declaring the headline and then swiped down to show the rest of the article, especially the part about to ‘stay indoors as much as possible for the next few hours.” “Shit!” Leo cursed. “Damn busy signal. Can’t get in touch with any of my contacts!” “Maybe we should go inside like it said to…” Brian posited, pointing to the literal line in the breaking news article I had pulled up. “I might be safer or…” “Oh, will you just grow a pair!” Dwayne cursed him. “Every damn time something exciting comes along, unless it’s your little art programs, pen, or brush… you’re hopeless! If I couldn’t see you with my own eyes, I would swear I you were acting like nothing but a little k…” “Sir,” the National Guardsman interjected, “your friend is right and I highly advise you to seek shelter immediately for you own safet…” “Oh, screw that!” Without another word, Dwayne scoffed and turned away. “I’ll find out what’s happening and get the news story of the year for this city on my own!” “Sir!” The National Guardsman called out again. “I…” Suddenly, a hiss echoed around the open-air but surrounded courthouse plaza. We all stopped as quickly as we could in place. It was eerie seeing so many agents and soldiers looking just as panicked and frantic as my friends and I looked like in that moment. It was fear and with even them knowing a little more than we did, everyone now seemed to be on the same plane of unknown of what had just happened.   “Find it! Find it!” one of the lead soldiers barked out. Looking up and around with them, I stopped. Jjust beyond the large oak planted near the easternmost of the plaza and right towards the tips of the leaves on top… I saw it. I pointed in horror and slowly, everyone turned to see where I was looking now. There, a tiny puff of smoke had begun to emerge from one of the taller high-rise office buildings. White at first but then slowly turning a strange form of orange. The vapor itself seemed light and fluffy, like a cloud had descended from on high, akin to something one might have seen in thousands of paintings across the world. But the mist itself was in contrast a dense orange, as brilliant as any sunset I had seen. And all that puffed out of the window like a fog machine on Halloween. It was all so peaceful… for about three seconds. In another window on the same floor closer to us, an agent stuck his head out the window and screamed as seemingly as loud as he could. “Gas! Gas! Gas! Masks on! Masks on!” His voice echoed just long enough in the area for everyone to hear his command that he looked satisfied and immediately put on his own gas mask before ducking back in the window. The scene before us then took on an almost unearthly and spine-chilling unfolding of pure terror and as if all time had stopped or slowed down around us. Military troops and agents alike quickly dropped whatever was in their hands. For the troops, their rifles hung around them like dreaded pendulums already attached to their bodies. For the agents, flashlights and clipboards and sidearms were placed nearby, or in some cases, went flying as every member quickly tried to fit on a gas mask. “What the…?” was about all Dwayne could muster out before the first of the gas began to coil around him. Slow and creeping, the wisps seemed to cling to his body. At least before Leo yanked him away. “Come on! We gotta move!” he shouted but not before a little of the mist swirling around him and his thick blonde and partially gray beard. Seeing all the agents and National Guardsman donning their masks, I was reminded of the history books I had once read about with World War One and the trench warfare and whenever the troops then had to quickly don their own masks. They suffered terribly afterward, and with those images sealed in my mind, I didn’t want to wait to find out what this was. ‘Not me… not me…’ Seeing Leo pulling Dwayne away, I looked to Brian… now seemingly frozen in fear. “Come on!” I quickly grabbed his wrist and pulled him away. He followed, but it seemed like it was too late. Soon, the orange mist began to settle over us like a thick fog. It was as dense as pea soup and gave off a strange smell while making my skin feel both electrified and prickly. ‘Don’t breathe in… don’t breathe in…’ I just tried to push forward, barely able to see more than six inches in front of me anymore. I was half-blind from the fumes and the mist now. I could feel the mist slowly twisting around my body as I made each step forward. The hot electric sensation it emitted as it touched me began to grow. I felt as if it inched its way across my body and then up it, finally settling around my nose. I tried to hold one hand in front of my mouth and nose to block it off… but I could still feel the faintest of wisps enter my nostrils where my fingers weren’t adequate enough. Nearly blind with tears rolling down my face, and my breath running out, I then felt a sudden tug from behind. Looking back, I saw when Brian collapsed. His face wrenched in pain and he stumbled forward, his knees crunching on the white pavers and his body moving enough mist for me to see him fall to ground… and then get swallowed up once more. I wanted to yell or scream at my friend, but already feeling the uncomfortable sensation of even the little smoke that had filtered through my nostrils, I knew that was a terrible idea. I tried to pull for a moment, but his body felt like he was completely dead weight. ‘Shit. My friend… or my life?’ I had never felt more conflicted in my life. Years of friendship were now coming down to one moment. I couldn’t even see him anymore. I couldn’t see if he was simply passed out or was in pain or was… dead. I didn’t want to think about those things… but his limp wrist clutched in mine was motionless. If there was life in it, it felt faint and evermore distant. I pulled once… and a second time… and even a third. Just when I was about to pull a fourth though… just to be sure, a figure burst through the mist. Even through the mask, I could tell it was the National Guardsman who had warned us off before. To my relief, just as I fell to my knees they came over with two gas masks. “Here.” They shoved the mask towards me. “Take it.” I simply nodded and reached out. Unfortunately, this also meant that both my mouth and nose were completely unguarded, and I could feel more of the mist worm its way in. I struggled for a moment. The mask felt so heavy and seemed so complicated in my panic-stricken and bumbling fingers. I wanted everything to be okay but as another guardsman began to use what almost looked like a leaf blower to clear the mist slowly, I saw Brian passed out Nearby, it seemed that Dwayne had suffered the same fate… and Leo wasn’t too far behind. Handing them two more masks, the guardsman quickly helped me and Brian place on our masks. I breathed in deeply… but once more, I could feel more of the mist enter my body. It burned yet felt like pure energy flowing into me, as if I had just had a at least five energy drinks. I didn’t feel wire… just more spent like that amount of energy had just forced it was way into me. It was exhausting, and with my mask on, I collapsed to the ground as well. The Guardsman approached me and prevented me from landing face first into a nearby curb of the street. “Hey. I got you. It’ll be okay. Just breathe…” He smiled through his mask and I complied. The fresh oxygen was wonderful against my strained lungs… but my eyes began to flutter closed, my energy spent or the mist taking it from me. I wasn’t sure, but I began to fade. “It’s okay,” he repeated. “Just breathe… just breathe…” Then, darkness. *              *              * “I’m placing my assets in a trust and likely will be resigning from the company,” Leo declared back at our usual spot at the courtyard for our daily lunch meetings. “In fact, I would highly recommend we either liquidate the company or sell our stock in the company and transfer leadership to others.” “You can’t be serious.” Dwayne had voiced it first, but from Brian’s looks and my own thoughts, he wasn’t alone in his shock. That being said, it should haven’t been so surprising. Since that day back on 16 April, now commonly referred to in polite society at least as ‘Orange Day,’ the courtyard was about the only thing that hadn’t changed. Looking around at recent billboards and even some of the other lunchtime visitors, the changes were obvious… and in some case, downright painful or even terrifying. “I am serious. I mean…” he shifted uncomfortably on the bench, “…have you even seen yourself lately, Dwayne?” Dwayne scowled back and Leo didn’t push it… but one would have to be blind, ignorant, or an idiot to not see the changes in all of us now. In less polite society, ‘Orange Day’ went by another name… ‘Baby Day.’ Cruel and disparaging, it was sadly accurate for many of the infected. A stole military compound released by a terrorist group, ’87, the strain had mutated once released in multiple cities in a coordinated attack and had already affected millions. Only three and a half weeks later, it was hard to judge the complete facts… but estimates put that least 60 million in the US had been dose with the orange mist. Overnight, age regression had gripped the country. “It’s not that bad!” Dwayne quickly defended. Even Brian had to roll his eyes at that denial. True, we had been spared the worst of the mutated virus from the mist. Some were reported to have regressed so quickly that it amounted to about one year every hour. Those reports were staggered but devastating. Some went to work in their 40s and would come back home after a long day and look like they were in their 20s. Most were lucky to stay in elementary school by the time the virus was done ravaging them… Leo sighed. “Look… I get it. All this is scary and unknown… but we have to face the facts. We are getting younger by the day. Just look at me!” He patted his already loose clothing for emphasis. We did and we could see it as plain as day. At first, we almost just chalked it up to a trick of the light or maybe a new shampoo or moisturizer. Caring about his appearance, Leo was the type… but a few days later, his grays were gone and the golden sheen to hair were back to looking like they did when we first started working under him. And looking in the mirror myself, my downward trajectory wasn’t as bad… but I had been working on some solidly engrained crow’s feet around my eyes and a frown crease right between my eyebrows for years now. As of this morning… totally gone. And while those things could be considered miraculous… a nearby disruption foretold why they were so problematic. “I don’t wanna!” an apparent kid, maybe five years old shouted. “I wan’ ice cream!” He even stomped on the ground and shoved the green wrap a kindly woman was offering him with an exasperated stare. “Please, Olly… for me…” She looked just about at her wits end. “I said no!” he shouted back, shoving the offending green wrap away. “I’m 32! If I wan’ ice cream now… I’m gonna get it!” Several people were looking on, and while a few weeks ago that scene would have been met with judgement and maybe even scorn by a few, today, no one batted an eye. With millions affected across the country, those who had only regressed into their teens were unusual to see in the workplace… but they were still functional. Those who had dipped below puberty… a question hung in the air now. Unspoken but ever-present. Are ARs, or age regressors, still adults under certain ages? The question had plagued most of society and government institutions since Orange Day and while some initiatives were popping up to cope with the strain… the question remained. “I’m getting younger and they still don’t have a test to see where the…” Leo winced, “…bottom is yet. With the company’s future at stake and with all those rumors of ARs getting nabbed right off the street… why take the risk of my financial future being left to chance?” He then placed his hand in the middle of the four of us. “So, I’m in… how about you all?” To my surprise, Dwayne and Brian actually seemed to be on the same page today and nodded in agreement. “Well, I don’t like it, but when you put it like that… very smart.” Dwayne always followed Leo’s direction. Despite losing about ten years at this point, he still kissed Leo’s proverbial ring whenever he got the chance. “I’m in…” He quickly joined his hand over Leo’s. “And those rumors…” Brian shuddered a little at the notion. “I don’t know what I would do if they ever pulled me over…” For everything that had changed, Brian’s imagination still got the better of him. Now, it was being taken off the streets just because of being an AR. And frankly… I couldn’t blame him. For almost a month, the government had been cracking down on ARs. Between crime and new preteens not used to their new body chemistry imbibing alcohol… chaos reigned supreme in parts of the country now. The government, trying to maintain control, instituted Age Regressor Safety Enforcement Department, or ARSED. Swift, decisive, and always watching, they had ‘arrested’ ARs they felt were a danger to society or to themselves. Despite that notion of ‘protection’ most ARs were terrified of them. With a sigh, he nodded. “I’m in.” And he placed his hand in the middle with both Leo’s and Dwayne’s hands. I groaned at how quickly things were changing. “That only happens if you’re hurting yourself or someone else,” I countered, looking back at my friend and trying to hope I wouldn’t be the only dissenter. “You’re not going to suddenly start running with a knife, are you?” I tried to keep it light, but I could where things were headed. If everyone followed Leo, our company would be shuttered… maybe never open again. “No, but…” Brian winced. “I’m not sure if that matters anymore. Everywhere I go, I keep seeing others taking control of ARs. And… that’s us, Miles. Like it or not, we’ve regressed… and we keep going.” I sighed, feeling my coworkers and friends weren’t going to budge from their new positions. “Well, fine. Be that way…” I crossed my arms. “I’m not going to sign all my assets and the company away!” And without another word, I stormed off. Hoping to prove my point, even with their growing distant voices urged me to stay and talk and be reasonable… I wanted to be right. So, worried about three business partners backing out, I went to the bank right away. “I’m sorry Mr. Bau… Fau…” I could tell the aged bank manager was having problem with my name. On opposite sides of the desk, we were starting to look like opposites than the peers we used to be like. Now, my skin was smooth and youthful while his was wrinkled and even spouted several gray and white hairs between all the sunspots across the span that was exposed today. “Bosch,” I corrected. “Old Dutch if I remember. But…” I tried to press him for why I was here in the first place. “About my question?” “Ah… yes.” The bank manager then folded his hands and leaned over his desk, his rotund gut bumping a drawer briefly. “While we heavily value your business and we would love to give you a loan or to finance your… erm, business proposition… I’m afraid we can’t at this time…” I frowned. “And why not?” “Well…” the manager sighed. “I’m just going to be blunt with you, Mr. Bosch. You are an AR with the ARV. The virus is as of yet unpredictable and ours and several other branches have instituted a rigorous review process for all such requests.” My eye trembled with rage that being an AR, something I couldn’t help, was now being held against me. “And… may I ask why?” I hated it all… but I needed answers. “Simply put?” He scratched his balding head and then adjusted his glasses higher up his nose. “We have reports of some ARs using their money… unwisely. For example…” He then reached behind his desk and pulled out a newspaper. “Look at this… local mans buys a bazooka just to see what it would do to a junkyard car.” “And?” With a close eye for details, I spotted it was an old junker in the middle of nowhere. “No one got hurt…” “But they could have, Mr. Bosch,” he explained. “And I’m afraid that is the point I am trying to make. And yes, while we have no problem lending large sums of money to our clients… even if it is to buy a whole line of plush stuffed animals… we must instill a universal policy because…” His pale bony finger jabbed into the story on the front page. “ARs can do things like this. It’s a matter of safety and we could be held liable for providing funds that endanger the lives of others.” He paused and grimaced. “No exceptions.” He then leaned back in his chair, his old vest likely a relic from at least two decades ago now. “Now, that being said, what I can do for you is that come back when you… what’s the term again when you bottom out and aren’t regressing anymore? I think I heard it on one of the sports channels last week?” “Bounce,” I clarified, still trying to keep my emotions in check. “It’s called bouncing.” “That’s it,” he said with a snap of his fingers. “Yes, bounce. Fun word… but until you bounce, I must deny you what you are looking for today…” Without missing a beat, he then set a brochure in front of me. “When you bounce, we can reevaluate then, but until then… maybe consider a few other options?” I took the brochure, but I still stormed out after seeing the title, ‘Placing Your Assets in a Trust.’ Trying to clear my head, I headed for the local park. On my way, I saw the refuge of the poor like before, but now it was apparent that most were getting younger. In response, like others, the mayor was enacting a help policy for all the homeless who were affected. It was terrible seeing the mass of most of them wandering around before, but now… teens and elementary school kids lived under bridges and in tents. As such, since Orange Day, the park and other public areas had been flooded with admittedly do-gooders to help just those sorts of people and the millions affected otherwise, but still… despite their good intentions, they were people who I’d rather not see right now. They preached and hollered and tried to hand out brochures at the entrance of the park. They wanted to save me and all the other ARs. Even though I didn’t look regressed to the average person walking by, they knew I probably knew at least one person who had been affected. These days, it just seemed to be a numbers game. “Sir! Sir!” one of the speakers calls out to me, hurrying over with a bag full of pamphlets from a spot he had nestled into next to a group of others holding up signs and handing out similar pamphlets. “I can help you or a loved one! Just take this! It’s all I ask… please!” I looked at him and sighed before taking the pamphlet. I only saw a face inscribed with the intentions of a saint or at least a person trying to do a good deed. And it was just a pamphlet… not a commitment to anything. “Okay… I’ll take a look,” I lied. “Oh, thank you, sir! Thank you!” He almost looked like he wanted to hug me for a moment, before he popped away, running after another passerby on the outskirts of the park. I sighed and pocketed the pamphlet, knowing I could always throw it away later. And so, I made my way into the park on the west side of the city. It was a large place, with parts near the river on one side and other parts surrounding two ponds that housed boats every Spring, Summer, and Fall. Now, at night, only a faint trickle from the river brushing against the rocks on dryer ground could be heard. I often came here when I needed to clear my head after a long day. There was another park closer to where I lived that was cleaner… but this place was magnificent in its own way. The designers had ensured that everyone felt like they were 500 miles away at one of the nearest forests and campgrounds… and not in the middle of the city. It didn’t work as well in the winter when the trees were mostly bare and the spires of the city poked through the wintry and ice-coated branches, but I appreciated it, nonetheless. And now, still in Spring, I found myself wandering around and trying to plan my next steps. The daffodils were in bloom and despite it being night, many of the other flowers similarly were shedding their winter dormancy. I knew in a month, bees and birds would all be fluttering around getting ready for the summer alike. And while I loved coming here during the day, at night, I was afforded a rare peace in the city. So, coming here so late, most of the time, I was alone with my thoughts and maybe the occasional jogger. But not today. “I… I… I don’t know where I am…” a near four-year-old said to himself, trying to rub their shoulders for comfort, warmth… or both as they sat on a nearby border between the grass and the sidewalk. “Where am I? And why… why am I so small? Why did this happen to me?” I winced in my distant view of them. When some ARs regressed under puberty, memory was discovered to be a delicate matter for most. Some could keep everything intact inside the old noodle. Others, however, proved to have a sort of forgetfulness… almost like early onset Alzheimer’s some said. Whatever the case though, this poor AR was definitely struggling today. “Hey…” I always tried to be nice to everyone affected. Leo and Dwayne thought the notion to be pointless and even dangerous. I disagreed and stepped closer. “You okay there?” “Stay away!” they practically screeched back at me, even holding a broken beer bottle in front of themselves as a defense. I jumped back and held my hands out. “Woah! Easy there! I just… do you need help there?” Based on the smell and the broken glass to their right, I could only assume the broken beer bottle had happened recently. Worse, as an AR four-year-old, they were probably drowning their sorrows. Substance abuse and rates of self-harm were extraordinarily high. Most simply refused to believe their new lives… even when they needed help now reaching the top shelf anywhere. The AR then got a horrified look on their face and looked at the broken beer bottle in their hand and dropped it in the grass bed behind them. In a second, they were in a pool of their own tears. “Sorry! Sorry! I’m so sorry! I… I didn’t mean to and I… I…” Most people would have run away. I noticed a couple approaching nearby and they did, likewise, seemingly terrified of what was happening in the park now. Problem was, ARs practiced self-harm… but horrifyingly, the virus had hit the innocent and guilty alike. These days, it was hard to discern between the formerly angelic members of society and the sadistic dredge… especially when they looked more suited for daycare than a learner’s permit. At least until it was too late. But I was an AR myself. I was still above 20 and that meant I had a privilege over most others. Dipping into the teens was a frightening prospect of suspicion and even violence for some ARs. The virus was still new and while scientists understood more aspects of it, many in society were shunned. Already, the person who cut my hair stared at me last week with unease when they noticed my slight receding hairline at my temples had grown back. It was small… but it marked me as an AR. “It’s okay,” I tried to soothe, taking one tentative step closer to them. “Just breathe and try not to panic. I’m sure everything will be okay…” “But how?” they mourned. “How can things be okay? My wife left me! She took the kids! And now… now I lost my job and my apartment and… all I had left was this stupid beer tonight…” His face was drooped in sorrow as they turned down and viewed the mess on the sidewalk. “But I… I…” I saw their fingers shaking and I knew what must have happened. “But your coordination is slipping and you knocked over your last beer of the night…” I could have just said plain ‘beer,’ but something told me that the broken one hadn’t been their only one. The four-year-old AR only could nod back in tears. I sighed. “It’s okay. It’s just beer. It can be replaced.” I wanted to tell them to stop drinking… but when an AR is this lost, telling them ‘no’ is a dangerous prospect. “But I’m an AR too. And maybe you just need to talk? Vent even?” I was always told I had an open ear and mind. Sometimes, even if it wasn’t much, talking about a thing could help, and I wanted to help this AR out. Maybe I saw something of myself in them… maybe it was just out of the goodness of my heart… but I felt I had to do something. At first, they seemed horrified and almost offended. But as with most ARs who dipped that young, their emotions were more or less unstable and they quickly swung to looking more relieved than anything. “I… I’d like that…” they said softly, wiping their snotty nose on their sleeve. I tried not to comment on the notion or the whole image that now sat before me. Rumpled up and ruined clothes, stained with beer and what looked like a sticky substance and now snot. Looking ever so much as a four-year-old, it hurt a part of my heart. I knew they were once an adult… but it was hard to see them and not believe they were anything but that now. They tried speaking clearly and I was able to discern their name was Simon and they had been 45 years old. They were mostly successful and had a family… but with a quicker regression, within two weeks they had seemingly ‘bounced.’ Unable to cope, Simon’s family soon left him and everything else seemed to collapse that had once been a part of his life. I wish I could say it was the first story I had heard like that from an AR… “Have you tried getting help?” I finally questioned when they seemingly had given up trying anymore. “I mean… the government is doing a lot for us ARs. Maybe one of them could help you out?” His eyes widened and he almost recoiled in fear. “No… no, no… no! I can’t!” “Easy, easy…” I saw others looking at us suspiciously and I knew we had to be careful. Simon had placed the broken beer bottle down but with someone obviously as an AR, his position was more than a little precarious. “It was just a suggestion…” “Yeah… sorry…” I swore he blushed. “Stupid emotions and all, but… do you know what happens to us there? I heard the caregivers always deal with ARs with a heavy hand. If they figure when you’ll bounce, they don’t care if you’re seven or seventeen, they’ll diaper you!” “What?” I hadn’t heard the best rumors myself about some places, but that felt like something others would tell you to try and scare you. “That can’t be. I think that’s just a silly rumor meant to…” “No! I swear!” he insisted, now clinging onto my shirt like the tide would soon sweep him away. “My friend got taken and I saw them later when I was with my wife and they were just… gone!” He shuddered and I could feel his tiny bones vibrate into my body with where he was still gripping me. “Please… please… I… I’m afraid…” In that moment, right or wrong, I didn’t see an AR… but I didn’t see the 45-year-old man either. I just saw a small and frightened four-year-old kid afraid of something that almost sounded more like the boogeyman than a real threat. But still, I wanted to ease him up and call it karma or paying it forward, but if I ever got like him, I hoped someone would do the same for me. “Just wait and see. I’m sure that one place around here will be fine and take you in and help you out and…” A pair of sirens whirred nearby and soon, the patch of grass and trees near to us were bathed in red and blue. “You two! On the ground now!” a mysterious and commanding voice shouted out while Simon and I were blinded by the lights from the two vehicles. “What?” I could feel Simon’s hand rip away from mine after shaking even more. “But…” I quickly pulled him down and pressed my finger to my lips. “Shhh. Just do as they say. It’s probably just a routine check. Don’t fight them.” Trembling, Simon nodded and laid down on the grass. “Hold right there!” the apparent officer shouted. “Go… get ‘em ready…” I then heard a lower but same volume of voice from them. Apparently, Simon had heard it too. He didn’t waste any time and was soon back on his feet and clearly freaking out. “I’m not going away! St… stay back! I… I’m warning you!” Frantic and panicking as badly as ever, to my chagrin, he then reached for the broken beer bottle and shoved it in front of him. “I said back! Stay back!” “Easy kid,” the officer noted above me. “We just want…” “I’m not a kid!” Simon said, nearly foaming at the mouth and still waving the beer bottle all around. “I’m a man and I just got sick! That’s all!” “Yes, yes…” the officer almost said dismissively. “Just… oh…” I heard a groan and a sigh. “Fuck this. Take ‘em.” The order was so short… and yet the consequences so damning. In a second, I heard the command to ‘fire’ and right after, a flurry of small metal barbs hurdled through the air and struck Simon hard in the chest and even one on his forehead. Taser rounds… but enough to drop him quick to the grass in a spasm of pain and terror. “Damn it! Stop!” I cried out, reaching to pluck some of the wires away to stop the voltage arcing into my new friend. “He can’t take this!” The lights then dimmed and before I knew it, several officers were holding me up and back and even more hauling Simon away. Just as my eyes readjusted to the darkening of the park, I heard a tiny voice cry out in front of me. “Miles! Miles! Help me, Miles!” Simon pleaded from behind of the two cars that I now recognized as a prisoner carrier, now freshly labeled with ‘ARSED’ on the side. Quickly, I broke away and ran toward the car, now near where a crowd of people had gathered. Most were whispering. Some seemed terrified… others satisfied. Only an arm’s length away, I was tackled to the ground and held firm. “You can’t do that! He did nothing wrong!” I shouted to my own captors. “He was just scared! Don’t do this! We’re citizens and…” “He was threatening us and the park goers with a beer bottle!” one of my holders spat at me. “That’s fear when you’re under four feet tall!” I wasn’t that way, but considering my thicker hair and my morning back pain had disappeared already, it wasn’t exactly a leap to picture myself in Simon’s shoes someday… maybe even soon. “Don’t you idiots get that?” “He’s a danger to himself and others!” the commander barked at me before annoyedly getting in the truck and gesturing for the driver to drive off. In a second the van was screeching away, leaving me held by two officers. “Simon!” I yelled. There I was in a place that brought me peace, and now was the unfolding scene of violence against someone who just needed to talk and be counseled. Now, I didn’t know where he was going… only that the people handling him were rough, dismissive, and apparently ignorant of all other factors not pertaining to the ‘public’s safety.’ It was a sound argument for most… but it was too broad and too harsh. Inside, I burned with hatred and deeper down… fear. Finally, when the van was firmly out of sight, the officers quickly let me go in one big release, stepping back and toward their car. And while the first just scoffed and ignored me completely, the second looked at me differently. “Look… I’m sorry about your friend…” the second officer apologized, much to my shock. “But he needs where he’s going. He’s unstable and getting young. Can you really tell me he had a bed tonight or a meal in the morning already lined up?” Unfortunately, after talking to Simon, I knew he didn’t. I was going to offer… but with my own problems with the bank and my company… the longevity of that seemed slim. The second officer sighed. “I’m sorry. Just…” “Come on, rookie!” the first officer, already in their squad car, growled. The second officer sighed and looked back at me. “I’ve got to go, but… please… just let us help and don’t interfere next time and just step away from people like him. They need help…” He then lowered his voice before stepping back into his squad car. “And ARSED just cares about the wider public… not ARs in these cases. So… just stay away and stay safe.” Their car then peeled away… leaving me all alone with a slowly dispersing crowd around me now. In that mass, I was horrified… but my mind was even more saddened and admittedly partially terrified when I saw the couple from earlier. ‘They called him in… they did this… they didn’t even give him a chance…’ I saw them as monsters right away, but I also knew they probably didn’t know about all this. They just cared about the 5 percent of truly violent ARs… not the remaining 95 percent. I couldn’t blame them… but I stared at them with absolute hate. I had just met Simon, yes, but Simon could have been me. I was in his shoes. Maybe different and I hoped I would never fend people off out of fear with a broken anything… but I could place myself in his shoes and I saw he needed a second chance. They hadn’t and it burned me that other people would rather sometimes judge than ask a simple question if someone is okay. And from their looks on their faces when they met my angry glaze, I saw they knew what they had done was just plain wrong. Guilty… they walked off. Terribly, however, even with that minor victory, Simon was still gone and I was still on the ground. And down there so low, suddenly, I felt a new perspective within me. If the bank had shown me the realities of living with ARV, and Simon had shown me the dark side of it… sitting on the ground at my new height, eerily similar to Simon’s… I was now shown the bitterness of the perspective and the vulnerability that would come with a bad case scenario. It didn’t include the thousands of other things that went with youth and I was still an adult. But I felt so small. The concrete jungle, once my home, felt like tall monsters and glass and metal gravestones to mark the death of my old life. And as if to accentuate that even more, I saw a nearby billboard advertising for a new school to open up exclusively for ARs to better ‘Relearn and Regrow.’ I only saw the plastered smiling faces of defeated victims and not a way out of this mess anymore. Surrounded by nature, however, I sought some sense of normalcy and dug my fingers into the nearby freshly cut grass, feeling their cool and slick green fibers. Looking around, the trees were taller… but they always were and I felt no different with them now. The birds in the distance still flew and the flowers still bloomed or were closed and soon open with the predicted warm weather approaching next week. It was all the same, and even at this height, I was the same. And I wanted that peace… but something was sticking into my ribs. “What the…?” I spun around and saw the pamphlet I had shoved in my pocket, was now poking through my shirt and hitting my skinny ribs. Frustrated, I pulled it out, ready to chuck it in the nearest trashcan. But under the dim overhead lighting parsed throughout the park, I saw the glint of the golden letters of the title and the tagline. A smile then appeared over my face. “This could work…” *              *              * The next morning, I strode into work. The weight of Simon and the bank’s decisions were still weighing heavily on my mind, but the pamphlet offered a solution. And as I went to Leo’s office, I saw the others waiting for me patiently as they always did, sipping their coffee and trying to desperately ignore the stares from the rest of the office. Arriving as I did and being the last in the room, I made sure to close the curtains. “Okay, Miles,” Leo pressed. “Have you made a decision yet?” He then pushed a paper in front of me. Thick and detailed, it was clearly a contract… now signed by Leo, Dwayne, and Brian. There were two boxes on the front. One called for a trust… the other rejected the idea. I sighed and nodded my head. “I will sign, but… I think I’ve found a way to avoid all those new schools popping up. I don’t know about you all, but I don’t want to spend my remaining time until I bounce trying to do long division again…” I saw Leo wince at that, and I felt I already had my foot in the proverbial door. “Make a long story short…” I then pulled out the pamphlet I had received last night. It nearly felt like divine intervention, and I knew there would be questions, but the now heavily used amount of paper had to be shown to be believed. “I found a place I think we can go to… someplace away from all… this.” Leo and Dwayne frowned, but Brian seemed interested in at least the idea of it. “Okay… but Miles… what is this place? Can we see it?” I nodded and placed the pamphlet on the desk in front of them, for me, the pictures almost speaking louder than words. “Guys… I give you… Camp Commune.” I held my breath and waited for what they would say.