an ARV short story

The Actor Part 1

I could tell that morning had arrived, despite the blinds being pulled and I had not opened my eyes yet. I lay there enjoying the quiet. Not that it was totally quiet, mind you. The CD player on the dresser softly played the lullaby CD that ran 24/7. Soft notes wafted my way as I enjoyed the sound.

I stretch a little, trying not to make any noises yet. I feel my sleeper move from the feet to my shoulder. I lay there on my back, letting all these sensations sink in. I hardly notice the bulk around my middle and between my legs. I slowly work the pacifier in my mouth, careful not to bite it but just suck. It has a soothing effect and there are times I really need that. I can feel my blanket, the one with the silky edge, and hold it close also. It's mine, I know. I take it everywhere I go.

I open my eyes and look around at my room. Everything is the same as has been for months here. Through the bars of my crib, I can see the walls painted light blue with little forest animals painted on them. Directly above my head is the mobile that mommy winds up when I take a nap or go to bed.

I turn my head slowly, still making no noise, and look the rocker in corner. Every morning I get my first bottle there. Mommy picks me up from my crib and sits down with me. She already has my bottle warm and I can lay back, smelling her and enjoying her soft touch.

Next I get my night diaper changed. It is very wet and I sometimes leak. Mommy likes cloth diapers and plastic pants. Overnight I have to be double diapered, but during the day I just wear one. She puts an undershirt on me and we pick out my clothes for the day. She shows me 2 or 3 outfits and I point to the one I like. Then she get me dressed and takes me down to the living room and lets me play till it is time to actually have breakfast.

I really like the ritual of my day. Some days we go out, but mostly we are here until daddy gets home. I play with him till I have to get ready for bed.

My tummy rumbles and I know I will have to get up. I roll over on my tummy, feeling the bulk shift between my legs. I can stand now so I get on my knees and pull myself up by the rails. I stand there, looking over the place I call home. I can feel my soaked diaper sag and am glad I have a sleeper and snap-crotch onsie on.

I start my little bounce and begin to make my morning noises. The baby monitor will alert mommy that I am ready to get up. It takes about 5 minutes for her to get my bottle warmed up and get here. I get louder and more "anxious" as the time ticks by, until she bursts into the room, picks me up and tickles me as she heads toward the rocking chair.....

But not today.

Almost as soon as I make my first noises the door swings open and "mommy" walks in. She looks kinda sad and I stop bouncing in my crib. Then I see why.

In the doorway is an all too familiar person. She looks at me and smiles coolly.

"Hello Frank, how are you doing?" she says to me as mommy picks me up and takes me to the changing table. I pull the pacifier from my mouth and hold it in my little fist.

"Mommy" almost dropped me in surprise as I spoke. "Fine, Anne. Just great. Is it that time already?" I look at her as I am laid down and "mommy" slowly takes my sleeper off.




The Actor Part 2

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Frank Miller. Actually my name is unimportant. Technically I died in 1980. I was born 1945, grew up in the outskirts of Seattle, served in Vietnam, met and married my wife, Mary, in college, had 4 wonderful children ( 3 girls and a boy ) and looked forward to growing old and enjoying a life in the profession I really loved, acting.

That was before the diagnosis.

It was during the spring of 1979 that I began to realize I did not look like myself. In fact by the time July came around and I was celebrating my 34th birthday. The only problem was that I looked like I had when I was 21. Darla was 14 at the time, Angela was 13, Carl 9 and Brenda only 3.

Darla and Angela were the only ones that noticed, other than Mary, for the first while. At first I was able to ignore it, but by fall I had more pimples than either of my teens.

We went to our doctor who sent us directly to a specialist in Portland. I was admitted to a very new specialized clinic that quarantined "victims" like me. I never did go home again.

I was told I had something that had been named the "Age Regression Virus". There had been many recent cases and the data was very sketchy on what could be done to slow, stop or revese the effects. In fact, in each case the regression stopped at a different age and there was no telling where that would be. Some had "bounced", that is what they call stopping the regression, at age 10, others as young as newborns. The doctors looked at each other when telling me this and I could tell they were not telling me everything.

"Never younger?", I asked. All three of them stiffened and I knew I was not going to get an answer I was going to like.

"We deal with whatever stage you bounce here. This is a new malady and we are still learning about it, so please understand we do not have very many studies to go on."

For the next 3 months I continued to get younger, at least in appearance. While I was going from 12 down to 7 I had energy almost unlimited. It was great. I could go - go - go, all day long. I felt better than I had years. The downside was that I looked like a kid. 34 and I had to ask for everything. Most of the nurses and staff knew who I was but new ones would come in and treat me like any other kid.

I started to act the part. Being 6 was not too tough and I could act cute and get whatever I wanted. I was getting to be a spoiled brat.

My wife visited me weekly to bring whatever size clothes I needed and see how I was doing. She told me that our savings was running out and she did not know what she was going to do about finances if this kept up. She continued to pray that I would bounce and maybe try to get our lives back to some form of normality.

By the time I was the size of a 4 year old, she could not afford to get me any more clothes. She was bringing me things that Brenda had worn. As this was all that would fit me, the nurses would dress me each morning in pink overalls and little white shirts with flowers on the collar. There were snaps up the inside of the legs, a detail that did not go unnoticed. I still had some underpants from when me son was this size but they were quickly getting too large.

I could deal with wearing clothes that were obviously made for a little girl, but I dreaded the thought of having to wear her panties as well. I did not have to worry..about THAT anyway.

It was only a week later, and another year from me, that I first woke up totally soaked. The inevitable had happened and I had wet the bed. I was in tears and absolutely unable to be consoled. My wife was called and she came right away.

She rocked me and I poured out my fears and frustrations to her. I was, by that time, dressed in light purple corduroy pants and matching shirt. I had clung like a possessed man to the little boys underwear that I still tried to wear even though they were far too big.

We talked for hours as she rocked me. She also told me that we needed to find a way to get our family finances in better shape and she did not know how that could be done. She was just as stressed as I was, but for totally different reasons. We were dealing with our lives as best we could.

The time came for her to leave and I knew the inevitable was about to happen. I held it off as long as possible. Try as I might, she calmly got up and took me to a changing table nearby. She did not even look me in the eye as she undid the snaps of the pants our daughter used to wear and removed the underwear that had slid down one of the legs.

I turned my head in shame as she took a pre-folded diaper from a stack nearby and placed it under me. She expertly slipped the pins through her hair and held the fabric together with one hand and fastened the diaper on me.

Next came the plastic pants. She shook out one pair, looked at the size, put it back and took out a smaller pair. She motioned for me to lift my legs as she shook it out and held the leg openings for my foot. The elastic slid all the way up, then the top opening slipped over the top of the flannel and to my waist. I was diapered. Like a baby. I was becoming a baby. Mary snapped the legs back up.

Her smile helped some. It was strained and I could see she was not dealing with diapering her husband. I smiled back and the tears almost came. She was being SO strong.

She sat me on the edge of the changing table at looked down at me. I could feel the padding as it held my legs apart slightly. I looked like a 2-year old baby girl and I was going to stay that way. At least I hoped I would not get any younger.

We both heard the clearing of a throat at the door and turned to see who had walked in.

"Hello, my name is Anne Blanchard. Could I talk to you for a few minutes? I have a proposition for you."



The Actor Part 3


From the changing table I looked at Anne. She had aged in the 22 years since I first met her. I, on the other hand, was the same.

14 months.

I had bounced the next week. I thanked God I could still walk, but I was limited to baby food and table food cut into small pieces. I had 13 teeth, stubby little fingers and just a little covering of hair on my head. I was, for the entire world to see, a toddler, with all the needs of any normal toddler.

Noreen, that was my "mommy's" name, had my sleeper off and was un-snapping the crotch of the onsie. Anne snickered as my diaper and plastic pants came into view.

"You still wear cloth diapers?", she asked?

I smiled at Noreen the best I could as she pulled the plastic pants off and began to remove the pins. "Yeth" I lisped in my best baby voice. "I like dem."

I knew that talking had taken Noreen by surprise since I had not spoken since I had come into her care. I had been her baby, giggling, tantruming, learning (again), doing everything a normal pre-toddler then toddler does since arriving 6 months before.

That was the normal time period. Spring to Fall or the other way around. Couples that did not or could not have children could have their own baby for 6 months.

That was the deal Anne had presented us with. She made sure there were homes for me to live in and I had to agree to "grow up" all the time. "After all," she had said, "I understand you are an actor". I was going to learn my role very well.

Most times I arrived as a foster care placement in order to keep nosey neighbors and friends from asking too many questions, but sometimes I was the child of a missionary family that was going to the field for half a year. Whatever the story, I was the baby that made some family complete. Once placed I was destined to learn to walk, have a "first" birthday and be cared for until the allotted time ran out.

And now I was leaving another "mommy" behind and headed for who-knows-where. Some of them really had a tough time with it but Noreen seemed to be dealing with it very well.

My freshly powdered bottom had another cloth diaper under it before Anne stopped Noreen. "He travels in disposables" she said.

Both Noreen and I looked at her as she smiled smugly at me. "Mary agreed to it, and you have to do it. I am not carrying cloth diapers around and having to deal with them once you use them."

Noreen looked at me and I sighed in resignation. She took the Huggies size 5 that Anne held out to her and placed it under me. I felt the foreign papery feeling on my skin. I never got used to disposables and always asked that cloth diapering would be part of my care. Anne had always gone along with that clause but had never approved. Of course she did not really approve of much, to be really honest.

I knew this was the last time Noreen would dress me, so I did what I did best...I acted baby.

I kicked and giggled as she pulled a new onesie over my head. I fought just enough to let her know I able to, but she won our little battle with ease. She had actually been wonderful the entire time.

During placements, I am told what the "parents" wanted, and they knew what my tastes were. Noreen wanted to forget I was actually 56 years old. Therefore I did not talk, I crawled until I was 13 months old and I was expected to be crabby and fussy once in a while.

The only other thing she asked was that on occasion she could dress me all up in baby girl clothes. I had no problem with any of her requests.

I had stipulations of my own, of course. I had to have pictures taken every month and sent to my wife. Most important were birthday pictures as I had two first birthdays every year. They could be sent from an anonymous email address if they wanted but I wanted my wife (make that "widow") to know I was alive.

Next were my bottles. I REALLY hate formula with added iron. It has to be the nastiest stuff ever devised and they feed it to little kids. What a way to start your life, drinking that stuff....UGH.

If I got bottles, Anne charged extra, but there had been a few times over the years that the mother wanted to breastfeed. To be totally honest I don't mind, in fact going back to the bottle takes more getting used to than the other way around. Except that I have to suck a lot harder.

I prefer cloth diapers. Look, if I have to wear them, I am going to wear something that feels good and I think cloth diapers and plastic pants do. As new disposables came out over the years Anne would have my current "mommy" try them (usually without me knowing Anne had asked) and each time I would get as fussy as I could put on and would be back in flannel within the hour.

Lastly, I did not care what gender I was dressed in. If they wanted a baby girl, I could do that. From my point of view it made no difference. However, I could never go to daycare or the mall childcare facility or a church nursery. Someone was bound to want to change my diaper, and was definitely a boy under my diaper. Being a baby girl for short trips was usually enough to make the "mommy" happy.

Which is what Noreen liked to do. She would doll me up most Friday mornings to go shopping and have coffee in a town about 40 miles away. On that day of the week I was her baby girl and she WAS my mother. She made it a point to tell people that, too. I got a bottle in the car on the way there, but I knew once we were there, at some point in the day she would sit down, slip open her shirt, unclasp a cup of a nursing bra and I was to suckle for at least half an hour. Usually in the most public place she could find, like the mall.

We had worked out a pretty good system of communication. She talked to me and I cried and fussed or cooed and giggled. It worked marvelously.

Noreen held up 2 outfits for me to choose from. I was a little shocked to see that one of them was one of my baby dresses. I did not immediately respond, but looked at Anne and softly made little gurgle noises.

Anne walked over and took an outfit in each hand. "You have a choice to make, Frank. Noreen knows about it and is actually very happy for you. You can be happy for her as well. Let me explain.

"You have been at this acting stuff for 22 years. You were my first client and probably my most convincing. No one has ever picked you for an AR Virus victim. I have 14 other clients, all less time and all have been pegged. In fact, I know that at least once you were in the same daycare for a month with one of my other clients and neither of you knew it. She was actually 37 and you were 49. She bounced at about 2 years old."

I had known that at the time, but I never let the other woman know I was ARV because it would have caused all kinds of problems. She had been in the daycare for only 3 days when she had dropped something and had sworn under her breath. I smiled as I remembered the lecture she had gotten, how she put her act on and cried like a toddler at the time. She was good, but she had not acted the part all the time.

Anne continued, "You can go to the next couple if you want. They have been trying to have a baby for 4 years and have been unsuccessful. They are expecting you to be a baby girl, sleep through the night and be an absolute angel. Or you can take the other option."

She stopped at that, waiting for me. I sat there and acted like I had not idea what she was saying. To add emphasis I tilted forward and almost fell of the changing table. Noreen caught me with the expert swiftness of a born mother.

Anne gasped as I was caught, then smiled knowingly at Noreen. "Tell him," she said.

I looked up at "mommy" as she set me on the changing table again.

"I am going to have a baby of my own. With your stimulation every week I was able to ovulate and I am 10 weeks along. I know that you are actually much older than I am, and it would be nice to hear you talk to me now."

I was in shock. I had no idea I could have that kind of impact on someone. But I was delighted for her.

"I don't know what to say," I replied.

She looked sheepish and said, " Could you call me mommy just once that cute little voice of your?"

I did the acting job of my life right on the spot.

"I wuv yu mommie'" I said in the best little squeaky voice I could muster.

Noreen beamed and even Anne smiled. I hugged Noreen as much as I could, and then turned to Anne. "You had another option?"

"Yes," she replied. There is a couple that cannot have children whom has expressed interest in you. They wanted a "baby" that would pass at all times and could act anywhere from 6 to 18 months when out. You are big for a 6 month old but you could pass.

"The woman wants to be able to talk with your when in private. That means no more 6 months of silence.

"The really special part is they move 3 times a year. He is a corporate downsizing specialist and is constantly changing location. You can stay with them for the next 10 years if you wanted.

"So your choices are, keep moving to different families twice a year, or really be part of one, maybe for the rest of your life."

Anne held out the 2 choices. I knew the dress meant 6 months of being good, not talking AND being in dresses. Or I could be an actual PART of a family and even have the option to converse.

I eyed the outfits, then looked at Noreen. I could see how happy she looked, knowing she would have a baby of her own.

And I was happy that I had helped. Still looking at Noreen I reached for the dress.

"Are you sure?" asked Anne. "This may be your only chance to get this opportunity."

I clapped and giggled as I held the dress tight. I was not going to be just acting anymore, I was on a mission to really help people.

And that was is my story. If you see a toddler sometime that looks wise beyond his ( or her ) years, you might whisper a quick "Hi Frank" but if it is me, I will never let on. And if you see a mommy somewhere breastfeeding her baby or changing a diaper, just know that it might be me under or on that blanket. I see you walking by and I know you wonder if it is me...

Happy guessing.