Christopher Boucher - Golden Delicious

“Of course you can.”

I said, “Do you know what divorcitis is?”

“What what is?”

I told her about it — the nausea, the skin irritation, the pre-divorce. When I mentioned that word, though, she laughed uncomfortably. “I’m not talking about marriage , . I just want you to sit next to me.”

“I’m telling you,” I said. “It won’t end well.”

“My parents are divorced,” Laura said, “and it’s not because of any sort of virus . My Dad was cheating on my Mom with his boss.”

I thought about that. “He must have had the virus. It was the virus that made him cheat.”

“But how could he get close to her in the first place if he had divorcis-whatever?”

I tried to sort that out in my mind, but my thoughts were feuding and giving each other the silent treatment.

“People just, fall out of love,” said the vending machine. “Or stop getting along. Or act stupid. That’s what causes divorce.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I just know I’m not supposed to get close to anyone.”

The vending machine’s display dimmed. “Is it something about the way I look? Is it my weight?”

“No, it’s nothing,” I said. “I just told you—”

“You know what? That’s fine. Don’t get close to me. Stay far away. Way far away.”

“I don’t want to stay far away,” I said.

“I think you should, starting right now.”

“I just need to give the music pills more time to—”

“Can you please leave me alone?” she said.

I stood up. I thought about walking toward Laura and kissing her right then and there, to translate how I felt, but I was afraid I’d get sick.

“Please leave ,” said Laura. “I don’t want you here.”

I turned around and walked up the stairs and out to the Bicycle Built for Two. I unlocked it and pedaled home.

I didn’t see Laura that whole week or the next. I thought she’d call but she didn’t. I called her twice, but she didn’t pick up the pay phone the first time and the couch picked up the second time. “Yes?” he said.

“Is Laura there?” I asked.

“Hah?” said the couch. He must have been partially deaf from being too close to concussion grenades during battles in the war.

“Is Laura there?” I said again.

“Is who where ?” he said.

I hung up the phone.

Whenever I visited the hospital after that, I stayed upstairs. One day, I was reading my truebook and Nurse Candle said, “No snacks today, ?”

I shook my head and continued reading.

I thought about going down to the basement to talk to Laura, but then that thought left with all of the others. What would I say to her that I hadn’t already?

But that weekend, a twig snapped in the wilderness of my skull. Did I want to live my whole life alone? I would not, could not, let the future — divorcitis, music — sloan me. I resolved to go back down to the hospital basement, put my hands on Laura’s square shoulders and tell her how much I liked her. That I might even love her. Then I’d lean in and kiss her.

That Monday, I didn’t even go upstairs first — I walked right from the bike rack down to the basement. When I turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs, though, I saw a very different Laura: she was slimmer, and wearing a belly shirt, and she’d changed her hair: it was teased high and shone with glitter. There was another vending machine in the basement as well — a soda machine with a fluorescent green chest. The two vending machines were sitting on the veteran couch, their faces close, saying words I couldn’t hear.

I walked over to them. “Laura?” I said.

Both vending machines turned to look at me.

“Hello, ,” she said coolly.

“Hi,” I said.

“You want some gummy fridges?” she slurred.

“No,” I said. “Can I talk to you?”

“About what?” she said. “There’s nothing to talk about, .”

“I have some things I want to say,” I said. I looked over at the other vending machine — he was smiling dumbly at me.

“This is Chad,” said Laura. “Chad, .”

“Yo,” said Chad. “This the divorce guy?”

“Could you give us a second?” I asked Chad.

“I think Chad’s fine right there,” said Laura.

I stepped forward. “Laura,” I said, “I’m not going to let anything come between us.” Then my stomach seized, and I ran to the garbage can and threw up.

“Dude!” shouted Chad.

I wiped my mouth and walked back over to Laura. “I really like you,” I told her. “Maybe even—”

“ ,” said Laura. “I’m with Chad now.”

All my thoughts were speaking at the same time — I couldn’t hear a single one above the others. Without thinking about it, I leaned forward and tried to kiss Laura.

“Whoa!” said Chad, jumping off the couch and pushing me back. “That’s my girlfriend you just tried to kiss.”

“Chad,” said Laura.

“Unless you want me to kick your ass right in front of her? I’d walk up those steps right now. Comprende?”

I should have turned around — should have left that basement and never gone back to it. It was over — couldn’t I see that?

But I stayed where I was. “ No comprende,” I said, bumping my belly against Chad’s plastic chest.

“Guys,” said Laura.

“Is this a joke?” Chad said, and he pushed me back against the wall. My head hit the cinder block; my ears rang.

I thought, I could kill this guy . “I’m warning you,” I said. “Leave me alone.”

Chad stepped right up to me, squishing me against the cinder blocks. I felt the air leave me and I thought I might pass out. “Or what?” gritted Chad.

Sometimes you don’t know what you know. It’d been months since I’d watched that tape about size-changing, and I’d only tried it that one time. At that moment, though, a thought said to me, You asked for it . Another said, Go small , . Go small .

It wasn’t difficult to become a sentence. You just arranged your thoughts in a line in your mind. As I stood there before Chad, I began to shrink: to five feet, four feet, three feet, two.

“What the fuck,” said Chad, stepping back. He looked at Laura and she smirked.

One foot, six inches, three inches, one inch. By then, both vending machines were staring incredulously. “Dude, what are you doing ?” asked Chad.

“Stop laughing,” I said.

“It’s funny,” said Chad.

“I’m going to freaking kill you,” I said. By that time I was as small as a fingernail — I was that angry. I ran across the floor, up Chad’s body and into the meaning slot.

“Crap!” said Chad.

“ !” shouted Laura.

I jumped into Chad’s chest and bolted through the rows of cans. I pulled a lever and freed them. “No!” I heard Chad shout.

“Thank you,” said a can of ginger ale.

I climbed a can of grape soda and pulled the tab — the purple bubbly spilled over the other cans and the wiring and machinery.