by J.N. Klein
Ever since I was a little girl, I've had vivid fantasies about tiny people. Not just small, you understand, but tiny--miniature humans, in size anywhere from a foot tall to gnat-like beings almost too small to see. I read about them constantly, and was punished more than once in class for daydreaming about little people in my pocket when I should have been memorizing my times tables.
As I grew older, though, I began to wonder if I was completely sane. Fantasizing about little people seemed normal enough in childhood, but as I reached my teens and early twenties I realized that, far from fading, the fantasy had grown even more potent with me. I obsessed over what it might be like, for instance, to hold a five-inch-tall man in my hands--to feel his tiny weight against my palm, his fragile body cupped close and safe. Slowly, I began to wonder if I should go in for counseling. This couldn't be normal.
It was right around this time that Aunt Sylvie died, and I flew out to California for the funeral. Technically speaking, Aunt Sylvie wasn't a blood relative at all; she'd been a dear friend of my grandmother, though, and we all grew up thinking of her as family. Aunt Sylvie was gently described as eccentric by those who loved her, and less gently called a crazy old bat by those who did not. She wore bright purple dresses and floppy straw hats, and grew all kinds of unusual herbs with exotic-sounding Latin names, and had been all over the world. Her house was like a curiosity museum, filled with trinkets and treasures and strange art objects from all kinds of cultures. I loved visiting her when I was a child; she was the only adult I knew who seemed like a child in an oversized body. She'd been ill for some time, but her death still came as a shock.
I guess I'd known, growing up, that Aunt Sylvie was well off--nobody could live like that without some means of support--but I had no idea just how wealthy she'd been until after the funeral, when I was contacted by a lawyer.
Much to my shock, I discovered I was one of a handful of people Aunt Sylvie had specifically remembered in her will. Her son, a stern-looking businessman I'd never seen before, inherited her house and the lion's share of her money; most of the items in the house were parceled out among her close friends. But one paragraph near the end of her will, written by Aunt Sylvie herself, referred to me:
"To my dear 'niece,' Lauren Jacobs, I leave my collection of W.B. Yeats poetry, the crystal locket she has always admired, and the contents of my safe-deposit box at First National Bank. Lauren, I hope the last will be of special value to you."
Aunt Sylvie's businessman son scowled a bit at this, apparently thinking his mother had left some of her considerable wealth to me. But the contents of the box seemed random, almost disappointing: a few bills and coins that added up to $50.12, a sketch diary of medicinal herbs and their uses in Aunt Sylvie's scratchy handwriting, three eagle feathers bound together with red silk thread, a dollhouse chair, a stoppered glass bottle with a greenish liquid inside, and a sealed letter marked, "LAUREN READ IN PRIVATE" on the outside. I gathered up this odd collection of belongings with a look of confusion. Her lawyer wasn't able to shed any light on it either.
"Sylvie did things her own way," he smiled. "Near the end, I think she got a little odd. These things may have had significance for her, but I have absolutely no idea why she left them to you. Maybe the letter...?"
But the letter was just as enigmatic.
Dearest Lauren,
The contents of this box were selected especially for you. Don't worry, I know
what I'm doing. You'll understand if you put your mind to it; you were always a
clever girl. I hope they'll bring you the joy and peace you seek.
Much love,
Aunt Sylvie.
P.S. Don't worry, you're not.
I stared quizzically at the cryptic note, particularly the postscript. I'm not what? I thought. Offensive? Silly? What on earth had she meant? Still, I missed Aunt Sylvie, and even her odd collection of gifts for me had sentimental value. I packaged them up carefully and brought them home with me, reading the Yeats on the plane.
Things got busy at work, and I didn't have time to really look over Aunt Sylvie's legacy until a month or so after the funeral. I was bored and restless, and after a while I began picking through the box I'd brought home. I took out the feathers, the sketchbook of herbs, the little glass bottle. Curious, I opened the bottle and sniffed the contents; it had an intense green scent like rosemary, with lavender and mint trailing off. Was it meant to be a perfume or a tonic? I shrugged and brought out the dollhouse chair, and had a really good look at it for the first time.
It was an overstuffed chair, a dusty rose color, with wooden claw feet, and it fit nicely into my hand. I'd never seen such careful work done on a child's toy before; I turned it upside down and saw all the minuscule furniture tacks used to anchor the upholstery fabric. It looked very much like a chair I'd remembered from Aunt Sylvie's house, when I was growing up. I wondered where she'd had the work done, and who had copied her chair so meticulously.
Carefully, I set the tiny chair down and began to read over the sketchbook. Aunt Sylvie's handwriting was never easy to read, and the book was a mass of jumbled notes, some only half-finished, regarding the various properties of the plants she grew. I peered at one page, so filled with tangled notes I doubted Aunt Sylvie herself could have read it. She had sketched what looked to be my little glass bottle on the page, with a number of incomprehensible comments beside it; a few words stood out here and there, like "heart" and "ingested" and "permanent change" and so forth.
I held up the little bottle again, intrigued. What had Aunt Sylvie brewed up here? Curious, I held the open bottle against my finger and wet it very slightly with the greenish liquid, then gingerly tasted it. The flavor was pleasant and minty, and my tongue tingled with what I assumed to be peppermint oil. I shrugged and tried to read a bit more, but finally tired of the crazy handwriting and put the book down.
The next morning, a rainy Sunday, I felt strange and slightly out of sorts, almost like a hangover but without the intense throbbing headache. I sat up in bed, staring blearily at various objects in the room. Something didn't seem right, but I couldn't pin it down.
I plodded out to the kitchen to make some coffee, passing the table with Aunt Sylvie's odds and ends scattered over it. Once again I stopped to pick up the tiny chair. It really was beautifully done; the tacks were tiny and neatly spaced, and the seams practically invisible. I could almost wish it were a little bigger, just to make it easier to see how the work was done...
...and suddenly, it was.
I gasped and almost dropped the chair. It had been small enough to fit in one hand when I began, but was now precisely the size I'd imagined in my head, perhaps twice what it had been.
What on earth had happened? What had I done? I stood trembling in the kitchen in my pajamas, holding the miniature chair that had suddenly grown in my fingers. Because I'd willed it to.
I took a deep, long breath, feeling the remnant of Aunt Sylvie's brew still tingling on the end of my tongue, and sat down slowly. After the initial shock, I had to find out whether it was a fluke, or if I had really received a power--and if so, whether I could control it. I closed my eyes and concentrated, imagining the chair from Aunt Sylvie's house as I'd seen it as a child. As I did so, I could feel the tiny dollhouse chair swelling and growing larger in my hands. I opened my eyes to see the chair slowly expanding, almost like a living thing, becoming larger as I willed it. Soon it had become too heavy and I had to put it down, still touching it, feeling it grow. It increased in size until it had become a slightly oversized upholstered armchair, exactly the way I'd remembered.
Slowly I examined the chair. The stitching on the upholstery was small and even, the tacks neatly spaced. I realized this was Aunt Sylvie's chair, the one I'd remembered. Somehow she'd gained the ability to change the size of things, to make them bigger or smaller. It must have been the potion I'd tasted.
My hands trembled. I wondered if I could shrink the chair again. I tried to focus my attention without touching the chair, but nothing happened. I placed my hands on it, and it dwindled slowly back down to dollhouse size. Apparently I had to be in physical contact with the object.
A thought struck me, and I opened Aunt Sylvie's sketchbook diary again and studied the page with the bottle sketched on it as hard as I could. With the strange occurrences of the morning spurring me on, I was able to get a bit more of the sense of her scribbly notes on the subject. If Aunt Sylvie was to be believed, the potion she'd brewed up was able to change permanently the persons who took it, to give them the ability to change the size of any object at will.
Somehow she'd known about me.
I wandered around the kitchen for several hours, having fun enlarging the coffeepot and shrinking the dishes, gleefully changing the chocolate chips into Hershey's Kisses, and so forth, when it struck me to check...would it work on living things? I had a big potted plant in the corner, a parlor palm several years old. Cautiously, I touched the leaves; the plant dwindled slowly to the size of a fern. It looked healthy enough, but I needed to be sure. I went to the back door and called as enticingly as I could.
"Rufus! Kitty kitty!" Rufus was my neighbor's cat, who came around shamelessly begging for tuna because he knew I was a soft touch. I was counting on it. When he didn't immediately show, I got out a tuna can and began tapping on it with the can opener. Rufus, a fat tabby with long whiskers, came around the corner and meowed sweetly at me.
"There you are, big guy. You're not going to like me in a minute, but I've got to know something." I picked up Rufus, stroking him gently under the chin, and he purred happily. Slowly, so as not to frighten him, I concentrated on shrinking Rufus. His weight seemed to evaporate in my arms as I watched him slowly dwindle, smaller and smaller, until poor Rufus was barely the size of a tiny kitten. He still purred happily, as I'd continued stroking him the whole time--though my fingers now covered his entire body. I slowly grew him back to normal and gave him the whole can of tuna as a reward. He fell to hungrily, completely ignoring me, and I closed the door.
It was all right for plants, and it was all right for animals. So what about human beings?
You're nuts, some ethical part of my brain blurted out. You can't just shrink people like you can animals. They have rights. They won't like it.
But what if it were possible to find someone who WANTED to be shrunk? another part of my brain argued. It wouldn't be a violation of their rights if they wanted to be tiny. Besides, you could grow them back if they wanted.
This went on for most of the morning, my desire to create a tiny person fighting with my desire to do what was right. I was so distracted I barely noticed when the doorbell rang.
It was Mark at the door, carrying one of my books. Mark lived across the street from me, renting a house with five other college guys. One day I'd been out in the yard, reading, and he'd mumbled a question about the book. Since then, I'd lent him a number of my books to read; he would always return them without comment, but he'd also always accept another when I suggested it. Even though he was almost painfully shy and rarely spoke more than two sentences at a time, there was something I liked about Mark. He was very tall, thin and long-limbed, but on the rare occasions when he actually looked at me there was a childlike twinkle in his eyes. I looked forward to seeing him.
"Hi, Mark," I smiled, immediately damping down the inner conversation I'd been having. "Sorry about the casual clothing, but I've had a lazy morning. Want some coffee?"
Mark mumbled something that sounded like "Sure," so I let him in. On the way past the table I surreptitiously closed Aunt Sylvie's sketchbook, picked up the glass bottle and put it in my pajama pocket. Mark sat down, looking at the odds and ends I'd left behind, and so didn't notice me quietly shrinking the coffeepot back to normal. I poured a cup.
"How do you like yours?"
"Two sugars," Mark said quietly. "Where did you find this?"
I turned back toward him. He was holding the dollhouse chair, turning it slowly and carefully in his long fingers.
"Oh, that. My Aunt Sylvie left it to me when she passed away," I said, trying to be casual.
"I've never seen so much attention to detail in something so small," he breathed, turning the chair toward the light. "I mean, usually you can see the seams and the places where people didn't do that careful of a job, but this..."
I added the sugar to Mark's cup, rather taken aback. This was probably the most enthused I'd ever seen him about something before.
"I didn't know you were interested in miniatures, Mark," I smiled, setting the cup down beside him.
Immediately I could see a change come over him as he became self-conscious again. He set the chair down carefully, brushing the hair out of his eyes, and stammered, "I--I--actually I'm not, but--it's just--" He blushed and went silent.
Trying to put him at ease, I picked up the chair. "You're right, you know. They really did do a great job on this. You can almost imagine--" I paused for a second. The last thing I wanted was for Mark to laugh at me, but I was really curious to see how he'd respond. "You can almost imagine a tiny person worked on this chair, it's so detailed."
Mark was still blushing, but his eyes met mine. And he smiled. I didn't think I'd ever seen him smile before. He was actually rather handsome. "Exactly," he said. "If you squint your eyes a little, you can see someone of that size working on the chair, sewing up the seams with a needle so small it wouldn't be visible to our eyes..."
My heart did a few spins before it went back to beating normally. It would be just too strange and wonderful if Mark turned out to be like me. I had to swallow, and concentrated on the chair.
"I would have loved this growing up," I began. "Back then I read everything I could get my hands on about small people."
"Really?" Mark asked. "I mean, I wouldn't think that you... well, I mean..." He took a deep breath and started over. "I got all my growth when I was still in junior high. I stood out in crowds."
"I bet nobody picked on you."
"No, nobody did." A sadness came into his eyes. "But I hated it. I hated being big and lerpy and clumsy. There was a time when I would have given anything just to be small. But I didn't think anybody else felt that way."
Almost instinctively, I laid a hand on his arm. Mark looked surprised, but didn't flinch. "Everyone feels alone," I said. "Everyone wants to fit in. It isn't just you."
Mark slowly nodded, without comment. Suddenly a thought came to me, and I set the tiny chair down on the table.
"Tell me something," I asked lightly, "what would you do if you were small enough to sit in that chair?"
Another smile lit up Mark's face. "Hmm. Good question. Lots of possible answers." He studied the little chair for a moment. "What would you do?" he finally asked.
"Hey, no fair turning the question around... let's see, what WOULD I do? It would make life a little more dangerous, needless to say."
"Unless you had someone to watch over you," he mused, once again lost in thought.
"Yes, that would make it easier. Hmm. The back yard would be an adventure just to cross."
He took a contemplative sip of coffee. "You could sleep in a matchbox, or a pocket."
I grinned. "Or swim in the coffee cup. Interesting life, I think, if you were that small."
"Yep. Scary in some ways, but very interesting." He sighed. "In a way it's too bad we'll never know what it's like."
My heart hammered again. I had to try it, I just had to.
"What if we could?" I asked, very softly.
He gave me an odd look. "What do you mean?"
I hadn't yet let go of his arm. Slowly, very slowly, I began to concentrate. At first I couldn't even see the change occurring, but an odd look came into Mark's eyes.
"I feel strange," he said, looking at me. "What exactly was in that coffee?"
I couldn't help giggling. "Nothing but sugar."
It had been almost imperceptible at first, but now I could see it. Mark was beginning to shrink, becoming smaller and smaller with each moment that passed. He blinked and rubbed his eyes.
"Kind of dizzy," he said, "and my stomach flutters. And..." Suddenly he concentrated and stared. "I'm looking straight across at you."
I didn't dare make comment.
"When I came in here, you were shorter than me," he said, "and now I can look straight across... Lauren? What are you doing?"
"I'm shrinking you," I said softly.
"You're WHAT?"
"Shrinking you."
"But..." He startled back and drew away. "But that's impossible! It can't happen!"
"How tall are you?" I asked.
"Six-four," he answered without thinking.
"Wait here," I told him. "I think I can prove you wrong." I got up and rummaged in the kitchen drawer until I found the tape measure. "Here, stand against the wall a second."
Mark looked deeply distrustful, but he did as I had asked. I slipped the edge of the measure under his foot and pulled it out.
"This says you're five-foot-nine," I murmured. "That's a seven-inch difference."
"It can't be right," he murmured, taking the measure from me and holding it up to check. It still measured him as 5'9", though. The fear in his eyes was apparent to me.
"Don't worry," I said softly. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I'll change you back." I touched him again gently, and felt his skin shift under my fingers as he grew seven inches in a few seconds. He dropped the tape measure.
"How... how on earth?" he stammered.
"It's a long story," I lied, not wanting to tell him everything just yet. "I'm sorry. I didn't think I'd frighten you."
Mark sat down on the floor, obviously shaken. He said nothing for a few moments, thinking hard, gripping his own shoulders as though he felt cold. Finally, he looked up at me.
"It's a real chair, isn't it?" he asked.
I nodded slowly.
"Did your aunt teach you how to do this?"
"In a manner of speaking," I admitted. "She seems to be the one who originally made the chair smaller."
He blinked and thought for a moment. "What exactly do you do?" he asked. "How does it work?"
"It's pretty simple, actually. I just touch something and think about the size I want it to be, and about how fast I want it to change, and it just happens."
"You have to be touching it?"
I nodded.
"Show me."
"Well, okay..." I cast around the room for something to change, and the tiny parlor palm caught my eye. It needed changing back anyway. I picked it up gently, sat cross-legged facing Mark, and placed the plant between us. Touching the leaves, I concentrated and thought about my parlor palm at its usual size. Instantly it began to swell and grow, and within thirty seconds it was back to normal.
"There you have it," I shrugged, picking up the plant and putting it back where it belonged. "I've been shrinking and growing all sorts of things, and it works on everything I've tried."
"How--" He hesitated, then blushed. "How small can you make things?"
I considered. "I really don't know. I haven't tried. How come?"
Mark blushed an even deeper red. "Just curious, I guess. Would you, um, want to find out?"
I smiled. "Sounds fun! What would you want to shrink?"
Not a word came out of Mark. He seemed to have retreated somewhere inside himself. I tilted my head a little, trying to catch his eye.
"Mark?"
"I was thinking," he said, so quietly I could barely hear him, "that you probably haven't been able to do this very long. And I was thinking you probably haven't had the chance to change a person before this. So I thought I'd ask if maybe you would want to try shrinking me."
It was all I could do to keep from shaking with excitement. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Are you sure?"
He nodded. "Just promise you won't hurt me."
"Oh, Mark, I promise." I thought of something. "I need you to promise something too, while I'm at it."
"What is it?"
"You need to promise you won't tell anyone I can do this." I swallowed. "It needs to stay a secret."
Mark almost laughed. "Are you kidding? Who would believe me?" He shrugged, coming up out of his shell. "Okay, I promise."
"Thanks." I held out my hands, trying to keep them steady, but occasionally I'd tremble a little with anticipation. "Let me know when you're ready."
For a few minutes, Mark didn't respond. I stayed still, waiting, trying to be patient. Finally he reached out to me, his larger hands grasping and enclosing mine.
It didn't stay that way for long. I began to concentrate immediately, trying to go slowly so as not to frighten Mark or make him physically sick; for all I knew, shrinking hurt.
"Tell me what it feels like," I said softly.
He nodded assent. "Nothing, so far. Kind of a nervous feeling like butterflies, but..." His face changed suddenly, a strange expression somewhere between fear and ecstasy, as I watched him slowly begin to change. I could feel his hands sliding away from mine as he diminished in size, losing perhaps an inch a second.
"I can feel it," he breathed. "It's a warm tingling feeling. It spreads from your hands down my arms and all over."
"It doesn't hurt?"
"No, not at all. It feels wonderful." The fear drained away from his face, as he had to begin to look up at me. "Lauren, please make me small," he whispered.
I practically sizzled with excitement, leaning forward, hypnotized by the sight of Mark melting away before me like an ice cube on a July day. He shivered, his shrinking body obviously overcome with the sensations he felt. From what I could judge, he was the size of a small child now, and rapidly getting even smaller. My hands easily engulfed his now. I thought about picking him up, and got a warm shiver of delight.
"Tell me when you want me to stop," I murmured.
"No, please, not yet," he begged. His voice, I noticed, was the same pitch it had been, just much softer. There was something about being small that seemed to have swept away his fear and his inhibitions as well, and he looked up at me with such warm desire in his eyes that I was almost shocked at the change in him.
"Please, Lauren... please... make me smaller... make me tiny..."
He was small enough now, and this talk had me far too excited to do anything else. I gave in, leaned down and gently picked Mark up, cradling him in my arms like a tiny child.
"Yes..." he sighed, melting away in my arms. He was perhaps eighteen inches now, and still dwindling smaller. I began to wonder just how tiny I could make him, and concentrated harder to make him shrink even faster. Fifteen inches... thirteen... ten... seven... I could hold him in one hand now... four inches... three... two... I could close my hand and completely hide him within the palm... one inch... half an inch... a quarter...
"STOP!" Mark cried suddenly, as loudly as he could. I could barely hear him, but it did the trick. I snapped out of the half-trance I'd been in, staring down in complete amazement. Lying there in the palm of my hand was a tiny, ant-sized person, perhaps half a centimeter in length. I could scarcely believe this tiny being had been taller than I was only a few minutes ago. Even at this size, I could tell he was looking up and shivering in fear at what must have been, to him, a titanic giantess bigger than a skyscraper. If I'd tried to shrink him any smaller, he could have melted away to nothing. Even as it was, I hardly dared to breathe for fear he might be accidentally blown off my hand.
Slowly, I began to grow Mark back to a more manageable size, until his little body just filled my palm.
"Sorry about that," I said quietly. "I don't know that it's wise for me to find out exactly how small I can make people."
Mark lay in the palm of my hand, still trembling, but not necessarily with fear. "Wow," he said softly. "I can't believe this. You really did it. How small am I now?"
"I'm not sure. Let's find out." I put my palm down flat on the floor, letting Mark step off onto the carpet. Then I picked up the tape measure, still lying where he'd dropped it. Carefully I pulled it up along his back.
"Well, looks like you're just a smidge under six inches," I said. "How does it feel?"
He beamed up at me, tiny eyes bright with excitement. "Wonderful."
I wondered what the world must look like to Mark now, at his new size. Curious, I got down on hands and knees to lay flat on my stomach, my chin touching the floor, and watched him take a few tentative steps on the carpet. His feet sank into the pile up past his ankles as he stepped along, and he began carefully swinging his feet up with each step.
"I feel like I need snowshoes," he grinned. "This is weird. Not that I mind."
He was incredibly tiny. At his current size, and with my chin against the floor, the tip of Mark's head would just touch the center of my forehead. I squinted a little, trying to imagine what the room must look like to him--the massive table legs, the gigantic couch he couldn't hope to scale, the countless places he might hide if danger came his way.
"Are you scared?" I asked.
He turned and looked back at me. "A little," he admitted after a moment. "But to be honest, this is something I've thought about--dreamed about, really--for so long, the reality hasn't sunk in yet." Then a goofy grin spread across his face. "When it does, I'll start running around in circles panicking and yelling, 'I'm six inches tall! I'm six inches tall!'"
I giggled. "I hope not. You'd probably hurt yourself."
"Probably. So, would the nice giant lady be so kind as to get me a chair?"
"Oh dear, where are my manners?" I got to my feet and picked Aunt Sylvie's chair off the table. It was actually a little small for Mark now, so I grew it a bit, then placed it on the carpet beside him. He settled down in the chair, leaning back. It made a weirdly incongruous picture, this small man and small chair set in a gigantic room.
Mark looked up at me, and I realized I'd been staring. I looked down at the carpet.
"You have no idea how intimidating you look right now," he said.
"Do I? I don't mean to."
"I know. It's just that, by comparison, you're gigantic. I fit into the palm of your hand. If you didn't watch where you were going, you could step on me and crush me to death without even noticing."
He gathered up his formerly long legs into the chair, thinking about it, and I saw he was afraid. Time to change the subject for a while.
"Tell me about the book," I suggested. "What did you think?"
Mark brightened. "It was great! Not what I expected at all. I have to be honest, the cover looked kind of cheesy... but when I started getting into the stories... do you have anything else she's written?" He chattered on blithely about his favorite bits, the fear completely forgotten. I realized most of Mark's intense shyness must stem from his height and his feelings of awkwardness. Once he'd been shrunk, his personality began to shine through.
"Well, if you liked that, I have two more--" I began, when suddenly there was a knock at the door. We both froze. I didn't have time to think about changing Mark back, and I couldn't just leave him there unprotected in the middle of the living room floor.
"Pocket. Quick," I hissed, holding out my palm, and he climbed on and settled down in the center of my hand. I brought my fingers up protectively around him and slipped him into the other pajama pocket, at the same time realizing I was still carrying around Aunt Sylvie's potion. I gave myself a second to get composed, then went to open the door.
It was Gregory, one of Mark's roommates. "Hi, Lauren, have you seen Mark?"
I hesitated for a second. "Yeah, he came by here a while ago to return a book."
"Did he say where he was going?"
"'Fraid not. What should I tell him if I see him before you do?"
"Oh, just let him know I need a ride downtown."
"I sure will," I smiled, glad to be rid of him. "Talk to you later."
I closed the door and turned the lock, leaning back against it for a few moments, my heart thudding away. Mark hadn't made a sound or a movement the whole time, thank heavens. I slipped my hand carefully down into my pajama pocket to retrieve him, and felt his tiny fingers grasping my skin as he climbed into my hand. I brought my hand up, cradling Mark carefully. He was shivering a little.
"Well, that was a bit close," he breathed, clinging to my fingers. "I'm glad you knew what to do."
Seeing Mark again so soon after talking to Gregory brought back the sense of wonder and fascination at how tiny he'd become, how small I'd made him. He was a bit lighter than I'd imagined a tiny person would be, and I could just feel the feathery pressure of his fingers touching me, keeping his body steady. I so wanted to stroke and pet him, but knew he was a human being, not a toy to be played with.
"I'm curious," I said. "What does it feel like to be carried around in my hand?"
"Well," he replied softly, "let's see here." And he closed his eyes. "I can feel the patterns of your fingerprint, very slightly rough. I feel the muscles of your hand working under me. And right in the center of your palm, I can feel your pulse... very faint, but it's always there." He opened his eyes and looked up at me again. "I suppose I should be afraid of you--you're so much bigger than I am, and tremendously strong compared to me--but for some reason I'm not. I know how easily you could hurt me, but you won't, will you?"
I smiled and shook my head. "I won't. I couldn't. Besides, I made you a promise."
"You did. And you intend to honor it even when I'm so tiny?"
"It doesn't matter if you're six feet or six inches, Mark, you're still a human being and you're still my friend. And I won't break a promise to you."
Mark beamed. "How did I get so lucky?"
I lifted him up to eye level, grinning. "You know, most guys wouldn't consider being accosted and shrunk to six inches tall a particularly lucky thing."
"Most guys need to change their definition of 'luck,' then."
I laughed, and saw my breath ruffle his hair. "Well, then, I guess I'm pretty lucky myself."
Mark leaned back in my hand, his back against my fingertips. "How so?"
"It isn't every day you learn how to shrink things," I smiled. "And it certainly isn't every day that you meet someone who wants to be shrunk. I wonder what the odds are of having both those things happen on the same day."
Mark pretended to ponder. "About a kajillion to one?"
"Exactly."
"I guess you're right, then. We're both lucky."
I found myself smiling helplessly. Here I was, having a conversation with a tiny friend sitting comfortably in my hand. What would I have given to do this as a child? What would I have given to do this yesterday, for that matter? He was so small and fragile, and so trusting, it took all the willpower I could muster just to keep from melting inside. I wanted to cuddle him so badly my chest ached. I took another deep breath.
"Look," I said gently, "I'd love to explore the possibilities here, but Gregory is waiting for you. I'd better change you back."
A look of profound disappointment crossed Mark's face. "Do you have to?"
"I think I'd better. Sooner or later the police would show up. Besides, I--" I bit back the words Besides, I'd like to keep you here forever. "I just think I'd better."
I gathered my fingers around Mark's tiny form, willing him to swell and grow larger, and felt him moving unsteadily as he increased in size. Soon I had to put him down as he continued to grow. I didn't have the tape measure handy, so I tried to eyeball it and actually got pretty close; I was off by only a few inches when I checked. Mark seemed shy and uncomfortable again, rangy and conspicuous at his normal height. He murmured something unintelligible and turned to go.
"Wait!" I stopped him. "Let me get something while I'm thinking about it." I went to the bookshelf and pulled two other story collections by the author he'd enjoyed. "Take these and tell me what you think."
"Sure," Mark muttered.
"And--" I paused, feeling unaccountably shy. "Look, um, when you come back, maybe we could try this again? I mean, only if you want to."
I rubbed the back of my neck nervously, not quite brave enough to meet Mark's eyes, and so I was surprised when he bent suddenly to give me a tight hug. He straightened, flashed a brief smile, pushed his hair out of his eyes and was gone.
A bit dazed, I sat down in the middle of the rug and thought for a while, toying with Aunt Sylvie's chair. My life had become suddenly, unexpectedly interesting. I felt a hard lump in my pocket and pulled out the glass bottle I'd been carrying around. The greenish liquid inside looked so harmless. I'd have to find a safe place to hide it; I could only imagine what kind of trouble it could cause if the wrong kinds of people got hold of it.
For that matter, I'd have to be careful. It would be so easy to misuse this power. How tempting would it be, for instance, to shrink Mark to some tiny, helpless size and hold him prisoner? But something inside me quailed and turned away from the thought. There could be no joy for me in imprisoning someone against his will. I remembered the quiet joy I'd seen reflected in Mark's tiny eyes, and a feeling of warm delight gathered in me. That was what I wanted.
And perhaps, if my luck held, that was what I would get.
Almost two weeks passed before I saw Mark again. I assumed he'd been busy with classes, and I'd been busy thinking of ways to escape my dead-end job proofreading at the Times-Dispatch.
It had quickly occurred to me that, with my newfound abilities, I could take a very small amount of gold, increase its mass significantly, then sell some of it as I needed the cash. In theory, I could set myself up for life. I wondered if Aunt Sylvie had done much the same thing; it would certainly account for her fortune.
In practice, though, it was tougher than it looked. It was simple to increase the size of my gold earrings, but how exactly would I melt them down into manageable pieces? And even if I managed that, how could I sell the gold without a fuss? Legitimate dealers in precious metals, I found, generally only accepted minted gold coins and bullion, not stray chunks of unmarked gold from unknown sources. Pawnshop owners accepted anything, no questions asked, but they paid only a tiny fraction of what an item was worth. I wasn't quite sure what to do.
In the meantime, I kept proofing birth announcements and wedding banns, wishing I had the reporting job I'd originally wanted at the T-D, and thinking about Mark. He was on my mind more often than I cared to admit. After a few days without so much as a glimpse of him, I wondered if I'd scared him off. Maybe he thought he'd dreamed the whole thing up, or that he was insane, or any one of a number of things. Several times, coming home late from work, I resisted the urge to go over and knock on his door. I didn't want to push things. Besides, I reasoned, he had to return the books eventually. Perhaps I could try talking to him then.
Maybe he'd let me shrink him again.
Maybe I was getting obsessed.
This could probably still be going on if I hadn't had another visit from Gregory. Actually, it wasn't so much a visit as it was a near-accident. I was pulling into the driveway, and he ran out in front of my car. My heart leaped up into my throat and I jammed on the brakes.
"Greg!" I hollered out the window. "Are you nuts?"
Greg came around to the driver's side of the car. "Sorry, sorry," he puffed, "but you're never home and we really need to talk."
"What is it?"
"It's about Mark." Greg ran his fingers through his curly hair, a nervous gesture. "Could I come in for a minute?"
The sound of Gregory's voice, unusually serious, startled me. "What about Mark? Is he OK?"
"Well, um, that depends on what you mean by OK," Greg murmured. "Could I come inside? I don't want the guys to see me out here talking to you."
I let him in, a horrible nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach. What had I done? Were there some residual effects of the shrinking I hadn't known about? What was going on?
I plopped down on the couch, twisting my fingers together anxiously. "Tell me what's going on."
Gregory paced nervously. He had, I noticed for the first time, a spiral-bound artist's sketchbook in his hands. He made a few false starts, then stopped and took to pacing again. Finally, he turned to me.
"Swear to me you won't tell the guys I was here," he said.
I blinked at the intensity of his voice. "I swear."
"OK." He sat down on the rug. "Mark and I share a room, right? And he's usually a really easy guy to share a room with. He's quiet and he keeps his stuff on his side of the room and everything. But I'm starting to get worried about him. He's been acting weird."
"Weird? Weird how?"
"I didn't notice right away, but he hasn't been eating. He doesn't sleep much. He looks sick and he's been spending all his time making sketches." He held up the sketchbook. "Have you ever seen his drawings?"
I shook my head. "I didn't even know Mark was into art."
"He is. And he's good." Greg opened up the sketchbook and showed me the second page. It was a pencil sketch of a mermaid, beautifully done, with foamy lace gills at her throat and a deep, enigmatic expression in her eyes. Mark was more than good; his work was better than some of the professional fantasy art I'd seen. I was impressed.
"Mostly he does fantasy stuff, but the other day he left this lying open, and I couldn't help seeing this." Gregory flipped over several more pages, turned the sketchbook toward me...
....and suddenly I was face-to-face with myself.
It was startling. He'd done a very good job, particularly since he must have been working from memory. It was a color pencil sketch of my face. I saw dark, slightly curly hair, a rounded face, hazel eyes, with the slightly preoccupied look I always had when I was reading. I blinked again, astonished.
Gregory turned the page, and there was another pencil sketch of me, and another, and yet another. The final sketch, though, had me blushing wildly in spite of myself. He'd drawn my face again, slightly downturned, eyes focused on my uplifted cupped hands. I knew exactly what he hadn't drawn, what was lying gently cradled in my palm.
"I know Mark," said Gregory softly. "I know how he is. He'd rather die than tell you how he feels. And usually I wouldn't tell you either. I'm not the kind of guy who narcs on his friends. But I've gotta tell you, Lauren, I'm starting to be worried about him." He closed the sketchbook. "Would you just--well, maybe think about inviting him over, or something?"
I swallowed. "Yeah. I could do something like that."
"That's all I ask. I've got to go." Greg hoisted the sketchbook under his arm and made for the door.
"Greg?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. Most people wouldn't have the guts to do this."
Gregory just smiled self-consciously. "Hey, he's my friend. I swear, though, if you tell any of the guys..."
"I won't tell."
"Good." He made as if to say something else, then shook his head and left.
I sat back, idly fiddling with an earring. Greg had given me a great deal of food for thought. I knew Mark had really enjoyed being shrunk, but I had no idea he was so involved--and so shy he couldn't bear to tell me about it. I felt like running across the street to talk to him, but I knew Greg would probably kill me if I did. No, this ought to be handled with a bit more finesse.
It was Wednesday. If I called Mark, I might be able to make a date for the weekend. Minor plans started to firm up in my head. This could work.
* * *
"Hi, could I speak to Mark, please?"
"Sure." There was the sound of a receiver being muffled by a hand, and I could hear, "MARK! Phone!" indistinctly.
Mark took the receiver. "H'lo?"
"Hi, Mark, this is Lauren."
"Lauren!" His voice actually cracked, like a teenager's. I couldn't help smiling a little. "Um, hi. How are you?"
"I'm doing fine. Look, I was just wondering..."
"Hey, um..." Mark broke in. "Lauren, I was going to call you... but, um, seeing as how you've called me, maybe I should just ask... are you busy this weekend?"
I grinned hugely in spite of myself. "No, not really."
"Good. That's good. Um. Do you want to go see a movie or something?"
"That sounds like fun. There's a new movie out with Robin Williams, oh, whatsitcalled, that's supposed to be hilarious..."
"Yeah, so I hear. You want to go see that?"
"Sure. What time?"
"Can I pick you up on Saturday around 6?"
"That sounds good."
"OK, Saturday it is then."
"Thanks, Mark." I hesitated. "It'll be nice to see you again."
"Same here," Mark murmured shyly. "See you Saturday." He hung up.
Well. This was looking better all the time. I sat back with a dumb grin on my face.
That Saturday, just at 6, there was a knock on the door. Mark was there, looking more pale and drawn than I'd last seen him, but handsome in a dark green shirt and khakis. When I opened the door, his eyes seemed to come alive, sparkling with happiness. He smiled.
"Wow," he said softly. "Lauren, you look beautiful."
"Thanks." I blushed, glad I'd decided to wear a dress. Guys never seem to understand how women agonize over what to wear. I'd finally settled on a cream-and-gold dress, slightly low cut in front, with my gold earrings and white sandals... and from the look in Mark's eyes, it had been the right choice.
"Oh, hey, I brought these back," Mark blinked, coming out of his reverie. He handed me the two books.
"Hey, great. What did you think?"
I'd picked the right topic. Mark loosened up instantly. "Anything Box was a good story. I had to wonder what I'd do with something like that if I had one..." He showed me out to the car, still chatting merrily away about the stories he'd read and the ideas they had given him.
Mark's car--okay, it was a truck--had seen better days. It was the sort that was probably held together with chewing gum and baling wire and the occasional prayer or two. But it got him from Point A to Point B. He hesitated for a minute at the passenger side, obviously embarrassed at the way the truck looked, then slowly opened the door for me. I was absolutely charmed. There are women who get offended by men with old-fashioned manners, but I'm not one of them.
We drove to The Magnolia, a quiet place overlooking the river, for dinner. While we were waiting for our order, it occurred to me to ask him (quietly) about my desire to quit at the Times-Dispatch, and what I ought to do.
"I've thought about increasing the size of these," I murmured, pointing to an earring, "and then selling off the gold, but the only place I could do that would be through a pawnshop. And frankly, they only offer pennies on the dollar of an item's real value."
Mark thought for a while. "Well, you could do that, but..." Then an idea brightened his face. "Wait a minute. You don't need all that much hard cash. All you need is seed money. You have the perfect talent for a legitimate business, Lauren."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it's not exactly glamorous work... but have you ever seen those mobile storage boxes? The kind where they're about the size of a tool shed, and you pack them full of your stuff and a truck hauls it away?"
I nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think I have."
"So," he grinned, "are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"What, you mean that..."
"I mean that you could start a business like that out of your house, if you wanted. Take the storage box off somewhere, shrink it down to the size of a half-pint container, or maybe smaller... you could sell storage space under your bed if you wanted, Lauren! You could stack them up in milk crates in your garage, or in the attic, or anywhere you had space--and if you ran out of space, you could just shrink them smaller. Places like that charge by the month, and they're not cheap."
"That is a brilliant idea, Mark!" I reached across the table and grasped his hands without thinking about it, smiling. "I could do that, I know I could... could see about getting a business license, and incorporating, and... well, I'd need to buy a truck--"
Mark was blushing. "You don't need a truck. Well, not for a while. You could use Maggie until you started making some real money."
"Maggie?"
"Yeah, my old beater. She's seen better days, but she's got a trailer hitch."
"This is great. Mark, you're the best." I squeezed his hands gently, and he blushed again.
Talk about the business, and about a number of other things Mark had dreamed up regarding my new ability, went on all through dinner. I hardly noticed when the waiter brought Mark the bill, but I did see his eyes widen. I knew what that meant.
"Mark," I began uncertainly, "I brought a little extra cash..."
"No, no no, no," he said. "I asked you out, I pay for it." Then he grinned. "Next time you ask me out, I'll let you pay."
Still, he looked a little concerned as he dug into his wallet, and I wondered how much money he had left. As we wandered out to the car, he cleared his throat nervously.
"Um... Lauren?"
"Hmm?"
"I... I'm sorry, but I really ought to tell you. I don't have enough cash left over to buy two movie tickets." He blushed again.
"Oh, Mark... I have enough to cover the difference, I bet."
"No. I really don't feel comfortable making you pay your own way." He hung his head. "I should've been more careful."
Suddenly a slightly wicked thought occurred to me. I leaned close to Mark and whispered conspiratorially, "Want to break the law?"
"What? How do you mean?"
"Well, I could always smuggle you in."
He looked down at me, and suddenly the realization of what I was saying broke over his face. He grinned hugely. "Would you?"
"Sure. Care to ride in my purse?"
He considered. "You'd have to make me really small. Sometimes they check purses to see if you're smuggling candy in."
"You're kidding."
"Nope. These people are really anal."
Then another thought, slightly more wicked, occurred to me. "Don't worry," I said, "I think I can find a safe place to hide you."
Mark parked the truck well behind the theatre multiplex, away from prying eyes. While he was looking around to make sure nobody was watching, I brushed his arm with my fingertips. A soft groan escaped him as he felt himself begin to shrink again.
"Oh, Lauren," he sighed, "I didn't expect that... mmmm, it feels even better this time than it did before." After a few moments, he climbed across the seat, still shrinking, and settled down in my lap as I slowly made him smaller, and smaller, and smaller. He was becoming so tiny and fragile, I couldn't help myself--I raised my fingertips and slowly stroked his little back. He practically purred with delight, and I suddenly had a rash of goosebumps all over.
When Mark was about four inches in height, I stopped shrinking him and very gently picked him up. He smiled a warm smile at me, completely unafraid.
"This is what I dream about," he admitted in his soft voice. "Being here, being tiny and held in your gentle hands, looking up at you..." He broke off suddenly, blushing.
His words were so warm and sincere that, without thinking, I leaned forward and placed a light kiss on the top of his head. Then, almost embarrassed at what I'd done, I tucked him into a corner of my purse and got out of the car.
Moving across the lot, buying tickets and so forth, I found myself being abnormally careful with my purse. I held it carefully so it wouldn't rock back and forth as I walked, as though I was carrying a dozen eggs all jumbled inside. All I needed was for Mark to become seasick--air-sick? purse-sick? hmm--and throw up in there. I was sure he didn't want to remember this date as the time when he barfed in my purse, regardless of the size he was at the time.
My heart started to pound the minute I entered the lobby. They were checking purses, backpacks and everything else. In the low light, there was always a chance they wouldn't see Mark's tiny form curled up in the corner... but what if they did? I had to make a choice, and quickly. As casually as I could, I dropped my hand into my purse, beckoning to Mark, and felt him climb into my hand. I wrapped my fingers around him in a loose fist, shrinking him even more as I did so, until I figured he was about two inches tall. I could feel the gentle vibration of his voice against my fingers; he seemed to be moaning. Carefully, still casually, I raised my hand up to my face. His tiny eyes were bright and excited.
"Do you trust me?" I whispered into my hand.
"To the ends of the earth," he replied, barely audible.
I nodded quietly, looked around once more, then snuggled Mark's tiny form into my bra. Another soft moan broke out of him as he realized where I was placing him. I blushed bright red, and the ticket-taker who checked my bag gave me an odd look. I wondered if he'd heard Mark; I smiled apologetically and patted my tummy.
Once I'd gotten past the ticket-takers, I had to move fast. I could feel Mark squirming and wriggling gently against me, and it was all I could do to stay calm. Somehow I managed to get into the theatre without making a scene, and took a seat in the very back row, well away from everyone else. Still, I didn't feel safe reaching down to retrieve Mark until after the house lights went down and everyone's eyes were facing forward.
"Mark," I whispered as softly as I could. There was no answer. "Mark, are you OK?"
"OK," came a soft voice from inside my bra.
"You can come out of there. The movie's starting."
Again, no response. Suddenly, though, I felt Mark's tiny body squeeze against me. I blushed purple and my heart began thumping at double speed.
"...want to stay here..." Mark murmured.
I had to admit to myself, there was a part of me that wanted him to stay there as well. Sitting there, realizing there was a tiny man hidden in my bra, I felt so excited my knees were trembling. But realistically, he couldn't stay in there forever.
"Come on, Mark," I murmured. "Please?"
"Mmmmm, never never never..."
"I don't want you to get the wrong idea about me. I don't usually do this sort of thing on a first date."
He only sighed happily.
"Mark," I giggled nervously, "don't make me come in there after you."
After a great deal of coaxing, Mark finally gave in and worked his way out of my bra. I gathered him up in my fingers and prepared to grow him back to normal, but at about five inches he whispered to me to stop.
"Would it be OK if I just sat on your shoulder?" he whispered. "I'd be able to see the movie, and nobody would notice me there. Please?"
The look in his eyes was so sweet that I finally capitulated, and set him up carefully on my right shoulder. He wrapped a bit of my hair around his waist for safekeeping.
"Can you hear me?" he whispered, so close to my ear it felt as though he was inside my head.
I nodded minutely.
"This is the most wonderful date I've ever had in my life, Lauren," his voice whispered. "Thank you." And I felt his tiny head lean gently against my neck, a sensation so sweet that I trembled all over.
The movie was the most enjoyable experience I'd had in a long time. It would have been funny in and of itself, but Mark's running commentary had me bursting out with laughter in places that weren't, strictly speaking, meant to be silly. I'd get control of myself and look serious again just as someone in the audience would turn to stare at me curiously. That, plus the realization that my date was five inches tall and perched on my shoulder, his soft voice tickling my earlobe, filled me with a sense of euphoria.
I was having so much fun that it didn't occur to me to change Mark's size. All of a sudden the house lights came up, and I had to scramble for a solution. I put up my hand as if to adjust an earring, gently wrapped my fingers around Mark's body, then leaned over, ostensibly to get my purse. Mark lay trembling in my fingers.
"What should I do?" I whispered. "I can't grow you back when people are watching."
Mark thought fast. "Shrink me smaller," he said.
"What?"
"Listen, if you make me small enough that I can sit just inside your ear, nobody will see me there. I'll be hidden by your hair. Then I can talk to you, and you'll hear me... and anything you whisper, I'll be able to hear."
I nodded, concentrated, and shrank Mark to perhaps an inch in height. He shivered with excitement, as he became so tiny I was afraid I'd hurt him. Very cautiously, I raised my hand and rotated it around, bringing my flat palm up as close to my ear as I could. I felt Mark slip just inside my ear, his feet brushing against my earlobe as he climbed in.
"This is something of a tight fit," came a soft voice--this time truly inside my head, I thought. "Can you hear me, Lauren? Don't nod," he added quickly. "Whisper something."
"I can hear you fine," I whispered. "Is this going to be too loud?"
"No, it's just about right."
"Good," I murmured. "Let me make you just a little bit smaller." I concentrated, thinking about half an inch, and heard Mark moan again with delight as he shrank inside my ear.
"From the sound of it, shrinking feels great," I whispered.
"Oh, Lauren, you have no idea," he breathed. "I wish you could feel it. Have you tried changing yourself yet?"
"I have," I admitted. "It doesn't seem to work on me, just on things outside me. Are you secure in there?"
"Nice and comfy. Hmm. Have I mentioned lately how sexy your ears are?"
I suppressed a giggle. "Don't do that... if I laugh hard enough you could fall out."
"Um. Wouldn't want to do that. I'll reserve my comments for later, then."
"Get yourself situated," I whispered. "Here we go."
I pulled my purse up along my shoulder, stood, and casually strolled out of the theatre and through the front lobby. All the time I couldn't help thinking how ordinary I must look, how most other people wouldn't give me a second glance, and yet hiding in my ear was a man I'd shrunk to an amazingly tiny size, whispering soft words to me. A little thrill of excitement washed down my back. I wondered how many others around me held such a secret.
"From the feel of it, we're in the parking lot," Mark murmured. "Do you want to drive?"
"Um, it's a stick shift, isn't it? I'm not very good at stick."
"I'll have to teach you, then."
"OK by me, but not now. I'd hate to have an accident with you still inside my ear, yelling 'CLUTCH' at me."
His quiet laughter echoed inside my head. "Point well taken."
I climbed back into the truck, smiling. "Well, we're in. Ready to get out of there and drive Maggie home?" I murmured.
"Not yet," Mark sighed, "please... I'm not ready to change back yet..."
"Well, at least climb out of my ear, OK? You're really ticklish in there."
I raised my open palm to my ear again, and barely sensed Mark's body climbing into my hand. I carefully brought him around and up to study closely his miniature body. Even having seen and felt him so small before, it still took my breath away how incredibly tiny he'd become. My fingertips were easily the size of a couch to him now; he was in real danger of being accidentally squashed, or blown off by a stray breeze. If I shouted, or even spoke loudly, I might burst his delicate eardrums. I grew him larger in my fingers, swelling him to about four inches tall, a slightly less fragile size.
"Sorry," I murmured. "I was afraid I might hurt you by accident if I kept you so small."
Mark sat up in my hands, holding my thumb in his tiny grip to keep himself steady, and looked up at me without saying a word. He was so still for so long that I began to get a little nervous.
"What is it?" I joked. "Trying to find some polite way to tell me I have spinach between my teeth?"
He smiled, but did not laugh.
"No," he said in his soft voice. "I'm trying to get up the nerve to tell you something while I'm still capable of doing it." He swallowed. "Somehow it seems easier when I'm shrunk..."
"I've noticed that," I responded quietly. "It's almost like your shyness drops away. Frankly, it's been nice to have the chance to get to know you." I hesitated. "You don't let many people inside yourself, do you, Mark?"
Slowly, Mark shook his tiny head. "I don't really know why," he said. "I can't remember a time when I wasn't shy. It just seems like when you open up to people, you open yourself up--"
"--to rejection," I finished.
He stared at me.
"Well, you certainly don't think you're alone in being afraid, do you?" I smiled. "I certainly hope you don't think I'm fearless. Hell, I'm scared all the time. I'm scared I'll say something stupid or do something to frighten you off..."
Mark squeezed my thumb. "Don't ever think that, Lauren," he said. "You'd have to do quite a lot to scare me off now."
I smiled. "Thanks. That's good to know. I guess my point is that you have to take risks sometimes--"
"Hold that thought," Mark broke in. "I'm trying to take a risk myself here, and..." He stopped, swallowing, and I could just see his little Adam's apple bob up and down. He straightened up, staring into my eyes.
"Look, I'll just say it," he breathed nervously. "I'm crazy about you, Lauren. I have been for a long time. I--I kept coming over to borrow books from you, wanting to start up a conversation, just a chance to talk to you, and I was always too scared, but... and then this..." He gestured at his own tiny form. "It's all just been incredible, and I don't know where to start, and I'm babbling like an idiot now, but I had to tell you. I dream about you, Lauren," he whispered, and his eyes dropped, his face burning. "I can't stop thinking about you."
It was a lot to take in. Here I sat in the car, listening to a wonderful man declare his feelings for me as he sat, tiny and fragile, in the palm of my hand. I began to shiver helplessly, and Mark must have felt the force of it hit him like a minor earthquake. He looked up again.
"Lauren, are you all right?"
"I'm more than all right," I murmured softly, and without considering the consequences I gently lifted Mark's tiny body up and cuddled him softly against my cheek, stroking him carefully. He sighed happily, and I felt all the tension drain out of him as he grasped my skin in a warm hug. Then he began to kiss me, tiny, delicious kisses across my face that caused me to tremble even more.
"Can't I just stay like this forever?" Mark pleaded. "You can make me as tiny as you want, and I could just stay with you, hidden in your pocket or your purse or anywhere you wanted, but just so I could be with you always..."
This was a very real temptation. Keeping Mark with me constantly, slipping my hand into my pocket to feel his little form close and safe... it was something I'd dreamed of doing. But Mark was a real person with a real life, not a daydream, and not to be used as a toy. I knew if I kept him in that way, it would cause some serious problems later.
"Mark," I murmured softly, "I can't keep you tiny all the time. It would be dangerous. Besides, you have your own life."
His face fell.
"Now hold on a second," I continued. "I'm not saying I won't make you small any more." I smiled, gently stroked his miniature back with a fingertip, and watched him relax almost in spite of himself. "You can be small any time you want," I murmured. "Just come over and ask, and I'll make you as tiny as you could possibly imagine, and we'll have fun. But I'm not going to take over your life for you. Is that fair?"
He smiled, almost drowsily. "I suppose that's fair."
"Good," I smiled, then carefully gathered Mark up in my palm and leaned very close to his tiny form.
"Because you know, Mark," I whispered right against his body, "I'm crazy about you, too. I don't want to lose you." And I kissed his little body very gently.
Mark moaned with delight and clung to me, kissing as much of me as he could reach. It occurred to me that I'd better start to grow him back, so I began, somewhat reluctantly, to think about making him larger. He grew very slowly in my hands, then in my lap. At the two-foot height, he stood and wrapped his arms around my neck, and I held him close as I continued to grow him. It was a lovely sensation, feeling him expand slowly to fill my arms. When Mark was nearly six feet again, he began to draw away from me, but I kept my arms firmly around his waist.
"Remember how I said you were the same person, whether you were six inches or six feet?" I said. "I meant it. Even if I lost the ability to change your size, it wouldn't matter. I'm still crazy about you."
Mark began to mutter something about being big and gawky, and I stopped him with a kiss. He froze for a moment, then slowly returned it--well. He was a very, very good kisser.
"Wow," I breathed.
He smiled at this, somewhat shyly, squeezed my hands and slid back across the seat. "I'd better take you home," he said quietly.
We drove back in silence, and at first I wondered if I'd done the right thing, but about halfway home Mark reached across the cab and took my hand. He held it all the rest of the way home.