Reduction & Relocation - Lori Warren

Chapter 1 - Special Delivery

[September 22, 2005]

Lori Warren’s blue PT Crusier bounced over the several bright yellow, newly painted speed bumps leading into her development.  It was her day off but that didn’t stop her supervisor from calling her in for a few hours.  She didn’t mind since she could use the overtime and she was glad to be getting home before noon.  Everyone else seemed to have the day off too; perhaps a Teacher’s Day or some other administrative holiday that resulted in the local high school and middle school kids getting the day off.

‘Good for them’, she thought, smiling as she stopped for several children crossing the street bound for the neighborhood baseball court. She saw children playing in the street and parents sitting in chairs on their porches; it was a nice day for that.

Nestled deep in the heart of her suburban sanctuary, the driveway of Lori’s beautiful 5-bedroom was empty and waiting for her return.  She turned down the heated seats, cut the engine of the car, and didn’t bother to lock the doors of her car.  It wasn’t exactly cold out, but the pleasant warmth imparted upon her back, thighs, and rear by her heated seats had dissipated by the time she reached the front door.  Lori was greeted by the smell of the cinnamon air freshener plugged in at the door as she dropped her keys and purse on the adjacent end table.

It was a lovely house, the living room spacious and painted a light bluish purple. A large 3-cushion couch was centered in the room pointing at a large LED TV. Underneath the TV was a Blue ray player, Nintendo Wii, and a VCR.  Lori’s daughters thought the technological diversity was amusing if not quaintly charming but Lori had just always preferred VHS, evident from the neighboring bookshelf filled with old VHS tapes.  Her 17-year old daughter Isabella was the first to look up. Hard at work on homework at the dinner table, the elegant, brainy teenager shot a quick smile, her braces catching a mild glare off the overhead lighting.

“Hi Mama.” Isabella said sweetly before burying her nose back into the pages of her textbook.

Lori’s other daughter Victoria more or less offered the same greeting as her big sister but she said it into the television, her sneakers propped up on the large ottoman centered over the couch.

“Hello everyone.  Shoes off the furniture, please.”

Victoria’s white Nikes landed with a chunky thud next to the sofa.  and propped her feet back up on the chase, crossed at the ankles, now reduced to a pair of thread-bare black socks.

Lori looked around the living room and dining room for her third daughter but did not see her.

“Where’s Gina?” Lori asked.

Isabella replied from the dining room without looking up, “Upstairs talking on the phone, I think.”

Victoria ripped her eyes from the TV and twisted her upper body toward her mother. .“She’s prolly talking to boys!”, she interjected excitedly, never missing an opportunity to try and get her sisters in trouble.

Lori did not take the bait.  Instead the mother of three slid her stocking clad feet out of her flats and used her toes to align them neatly next to the unorganized, messy pile of sandals, slippers, sneakers, and boots stationed next to the front door.

“I see you’re making the most of your day off school, Victoria?” Her mother said playfully with some sarcasm.

Victoria scratched an itch on her left foot with her right toe and said something in response, and it was probably witty or quippy. Surely it matched Lori’s sarcasm.

Lori didn’t catch any of it.

Lori couldn’t hear anything…nor could she see anything.  She had tunnel vision and nothing else was registering to her other than what was resting inconspicuously next to her flats.

“What is this?” Lori asked with more breath than voice, swallowing hard .She stared down amongst the footwear, already knowing the answer to the question she just asked.  Despite wearing socks, Victoria’s footsteps were heavy and loud and Lori could hear and feel them getting closer.  Victoria followed her mother’s eyeline to the box.

“It’s a package for you, duh.  It was outside yesterday when I got home from school”, Victoria said.

The box was cardboard.  It was dull, small, and would have been quite easy to miss even if it weren’t lost in the midst of messy teenage footwear.  One of Isabella’s black flip-flops leaned vertically against the side of the box, toe-side up and the other matching flip-flop was lying flatly atop it, partially concealing it from all angles and fully obscuring it from others.  Isabella must have kicked them off her feet in a hurry the night before, either not seeing where they landed or not caring. The box was small, perhaps a third of the size of a shoe box.  The studious teenager’s flip flop hung off the edge on both sides and was nearly as wide as the entire box, so it was no wonder Lori hadn’t noticed it the night before or even this morning as she rushed out the door.

Lori squatted down and moved the flip flops from atop the box, brushing off a few particles of dirt that must have come off the teenager’s sole.

“What is it? How come it’s got holes?” Victoria asked quizzically.

“Huh?” Lori replied.

“Right there on the top.” Victoria stated, extending her left foot toward the box.  She set her foot down on the box. Lori watched as Victoria’s toe approached a lattice of holes in the top of the box, several of them covered by Victoria’s pointing toe.

“Oh…that’s just for ventilation, sweetheart.  It’s a work product I have to…review.” Lori said, cringing at how phony she sounded.  Lori prided herself on being able to detect when her daughters were lying.  If her youngest was anywhere near as observant as Lori was, there was no way she’d be convinced.

“Hm, okay.” Victoria said, seemingly losing interest in the box.  She plopped down on the couch and resumed watching TV.

Lori sighed in relief, but still she was self-conscious, feeling as if her daughters’ eyes were.  As discretely as she could, Lori stood up, box in hand, and took a quick peek to see if either were looking.  Lori was relieved to see both of her daughters had returned to what they were doing.

‘Good’, she thought.

No one would see how nervous she was.  Her hands shook a bit as she cradled the box against her stomach.   It was a little bit heavier than she expected, but not much.  She inspected the box, seeing up close the few small holes in the top that Victoria had pointed out.  Lori wasn’t lying about those probably being for ventilation.

There was also a small, light pink heart sticker on the side near the shipping label.  The label read:

Sender: Dr. Katherine Walker

RR Laboratories of BxC

Research Triangle Park, NC 27709

Addressed to: Lori Warren

Seattle, WA 98052

Priority Delivery (1-3 Business Days)

No Signature Required

Lori swallowed dryly.  She couldn’t believe it.

It was here.

It was actually here.

Or at least…a box with that doctor’s name on it was here.  Would it actually contain what the young doctor promised?  Would Lori actually take what was in there and put it….where she promised the young doctor she would?

Lori took another quick glance and after confirming she did not have her daughters’ attention, the nervous mother of three proceeded upstairs, trying not to jostle the box too much.  The soft, plush carpet compressed softly under her tired soles. The cuffs of her slacks made a rhythmic swishing against the corner of the step as she climbed each one until she reached the second floor.  To Lori’s left was a short wing. On one side of the left wing was the door to Isabella’s room.  Victoria’s door was directly across from Isabella’s.  Between Victoria and Isabella’s doors at the end of the left wing was the upstairs bathroom that the three girls shared.

The right wing was similar to the left wing but it only had two doors: one to Gina’s room and one to Lori’s room.  Lori walked quietly, briefly listening in on her 18-year old daughter talking to someone.  Normally, she might have listened longer but her mind was understandably very much elsewhere at the moment. A sense of relief washed over the 37-year old as she broke the plane of her bedroom door, feeling the wind pressure from the spinning ceiling fan.  She quietly pulled the door shut and locked it.

Lori sighed deeply, leaning against the inside of her door. Her soft body compressed into the hard wood and she closed her eyes.

‘Finally alone…’, she thought. ‘…or…well…..’

Lori looked down at the box.  Her heart was racing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

1 Month Earlier…

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lori’s PT Cruiser chirped and the doors unlocked as she pressed the button on her FOB.  This session with her therapist wasn’t all too productive and she decided that it would be her last meeting with Dr. Livingston.  It wasn’t that she was a bad therapist; the sessions just weren’t helping her.  All she’d ever say is that Lori needed to meet more people and make stronger connections outside the four walls of her house, that she needed to lose weight, that she needed to work less, that she needed to stop babying her girls, yada yada yada.

‘Lots of memories here…’, Lori thought scornfully.

The great irony was that she had a previous understanding of the executive complex’s layout since her former couples’ therapist worked out of the same complex.  Even more ironic, so too did her divorce lawyer.

She passed the executive complex’s bulletin board, which was often littered with advertisements for self-help groups, research studies, mixers, charities, and other events.  Lori normally never stopped to look, but tonight was different.  It wasn’t eye-catching, the advertisement that caught her attention.  In fact, it was incredibly normal and…well…bland…compared to all the other flashy and noticeable posts.  Perhaps that’s why it stood out to her.

Lori stopped to read it:

“Seeking Participants to support an ongoing residence-reassignment program.  Note that Participants themselves will not be asked to relocate.  Participants should be female, 35-50 years of age. Participants are expected to be open minded.  All heights, weights, sexual preferences, religions, races, and political alignments are equally welcome and encouraged to participate.  Participants with large backsides are more likely to be accepted.  Participants may be asked on infrequent occasions to travel but never outside of the United States. All expenses are covered. Participants will also be financially compensated for their time and effort during participation.”

Her eyebrow raised at the mention of backsides and she reflexively blushed.  She looked around half expecting to see someone jump out and laugh at her for even reading the words to herself.

‘Clearly some very bored teenagers looking to have some fun at a poor girl’s expense’, she thought, fidgeting nervously.

Lori was wearing a normal white blouse and gray slacks.  The slacks, like any pair of pants or shorts Lori wore, were exceptionally tight in the rear area.  Having a large bottom was something Lori had dealt with since she was a teenager and it had only gotten bigger as the years went by.  She usually didn’t allow herself to feel self-conscious about it even though she knew it garnered the occasional stare, but now she feared that someone was watching her read this obscene advertisement. Her hands almost lowered to cover her rear, just waiting for someone to shout something mean or suggestive.

She looked around, but there was no one else there, at least not visible to her.

She returned her gaze to the advertisement.  Lori was happy to see that no one seemed to be falling for it, as not a single perforated contact tag was torn from the sheet.  It still looked very pristine, in fact.  Perhaps it was hung recently.

Deciding that she didn’t want anyone else less skeptical than her seeing this and falling for it, Lori discreetly ripped the entire sheet off the wall in one motion, leaving one of the four plain, white corners remaining and pinned separately by a purple push-pin.  She folded it neatly as she walked to her car and dropped it into her center console.  Even if she wasn’t going to return, she still thought it prudent to mention it to the property manager or at least to Dr. Livingston.

‘That’d be a funny thing to warn Dr. Livingston about, considering her advice about downsizing certain assets.’ Lori thought with a self-deprecating smirk.

The next time the advertisement saw sunshine was a week later when Lori snatched it out of her daughter Gina’s hand.

“Are you sure that’s not it, Mom? I had it folded just like that.” Gina said in a confused tone, to which her mother quickly replied, “No, this isn’t your Learner’s Permit.”

Lori could feel Gina’s curious eyes on the paper now resting on her lap, and Lori reflexively folded her hands over top.  The teenager looked away and re-opened the center console to resume her search. Her brightly painted fingernails plunged back into the center console, digging through papers.  Gina sighed emphatically, pulling out nothing.

“It’s not heeee-ruh” she sang in that simultaneously annoyed and annoying tone that only a teenage girl could master.

Gina was 5’6”, taller than her mother and Victoria but not quite as tall as Isabella.  The eldest of Lori’s children, Gina had long, iron-straight, golden blonde hair down past her shoulders.  Lori often wondered where Gina got it since she, Gina’s father, and Gina’s two sisters were brunettes.  Like all the Warren girls, Gina was chubby all through childhood but she grew out of it at the end of middle school.

Lori replied, “Well you’d better go find it before I decide to go back inside.”

Gina rolled her eyes, moved her purse off her lap, and listened to her mother.

Gina had begged Lori to get her learner’s permit as soon as she turned 15. You can imagine how furious she was to learn that Lori had no intention of letting any of her daughter’s drive until they were 18.  Call it overly cautious, but she believed that kind of power did not belong in the hands of a 15-year old, she didn’t care who was supervising them. It was a challenge to say “no” as many times as she had to, but at least the younger girls, both of whom were now old enough to drive in Washington, had seen Gina’s begging fall on deaf ears so they didn’t even bother.  In any event, Gina was now 18 years old and couldn’t get behind the wheel fast enough.

‘And now she’s learning to drive…’ Lori thought, ‘...Lord, help me.’

A few minutes passed with no activity at the front door.  Lori could see blurs of Gina’s blonde hair, red blouse, and faded jean shorts through various windows throughout the first and second floor of the house.

Lori grumbled, “As precious as that thing is to her, you’d think she’d have tattooed that permit on her skin.”

While waiting, Lori couldn’t help but unfold and reread the bizarre advertisement.  She scanned the part that mentioned large bottoms.

“Yes…still ridiculous”, she said out loud with a chuckle.

What on earth could having a large rear end accomplish? This surely was a sexual harassment lawsuit just waiting to happen! Probably some kind of pornography…but surely it would have made that more clear.

‘Oh sure, Lori’, she thought sarcastically to herself, ‘with all those pornography advertisements you see on a day-to-day basis, right?’

She read over the word ‘compensated’ again…and then again.

Gina had gotten accepted into Washington State University for Political Science. She was starting in a few months and god knows that it would cost a pretty penny.  Not to mention Isabella, who was exceptionally gifted at school and had big academic aspirations, would be seeking higher education. Probably a far more expensive one at that.

And Victoria…well…who knows, it was very unlikely but still possible that she may want to attend as well.

Lori looked once more at the number, requesting would-be applicants to text a specific SMS text code as a reply of interest.  Her short but thick fingers took control where her mind froze, dancing over the tiny buttons of her flip phone. Her eyes darted back and forth from the keypad to the instructions on what letters to type for age, location, etc.

RR-#C1728-WarrenL-37-WA-Y

She felt very strange about adding the “Y”, as it was her answer to the strangest question that a research place could ask: if she considered her rear end to be large.  As strange a question as it was, it had an incredibly clear, objective answer.

Yes.

Not a single Warren she’d ever met at any family reunion could say that they had a small backside.  Isabella’s was the smallest in the household, but even hers couldn’t be called “small”.  It was just genetics.

Lori quickly hit send before she could change her mind.

The driver side door opened and Gina sat down, shocking Lori back into reality.

“Well?” Lori asked.

Gina pulled the permit out of her purse, which had been in the car the whole time and Lori couldn’t help but smile.  She took one last look at her phone. The words “MESSAGE SENT” were long gone, and now on her homescreen was a flashing envelope icon, indicating that she had a new text message.  The message read:

“Thank you for your inquiry, L. Warren! Please schedule a phone interview to be conducted later today by selecting one of the available time slots.  Thank you and have a wonderful day. (7PM, 8PM, 9PM, 10PM).”

She couldn’t believe she was doing this.  She replied quickly, punching the keys 8-P-M and then stuffed the phone back into her purse. Gina put the car in reverse and backed out as her mother’s body stiffened in the passenger seat of her PT Cruiser, switching from one uncomfortable situation to the next.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Still leaning against her wooden door in the privacy of her bedroom, Lori raised the box closer to her face. She gave the box a gentle, Christmas-eve rattle, expecting to feel some movement inside.  She felt nothing, as if the contents inside were completely solid or as if the box was empty.  Had she been taken for a fool?

Of course she had! As if any of this could actually be real!

She set the box down at the foot of her bed and took a seat next to it.  As her wide backside sank deep into the mattress, the blanket-lined ground beneath the box bent and distorted; the box slanted and rolled toward her outer thigh as if it were a tiny little asteroid obeying the gravitational influence of a planet.

Lori crossed her large left leg over her right knee, reaching up under her slacks to address a persistent itch on her shin, and then allowed her fingers to wander down and rub her sore nylon-clad feet.  She was almost afraid to open the box.  Almost afraid of what seeing an empty box would do to her; she had built her hopes up around what this program meant, what was promised to her, what it would mean to her and her family.  She wasn’t ready yet to accept that it wasn’t real.

‘It can’t actually be real though, right?’, she thought.

The 37-year old tapped her foot nervously on the carpet.

Lori looked at her watch, it was 11AM.  She wanted to savor moments like family dinner with her daughters as much as she could, considering they were all growing up so fast.  She still had plenty of errands to run before she could even start dinner, and if the girls thought she wasn’t cooking they would just go out.  Thinking about dinner reminded her that she was famished, and she felt the pangs in her empty stomach, a consequence of not eating breakfast.

‘This is silly, I have things I need to do, lunch being at the top of my list, I need to just open it.’ She thought.

Lori lifted the box and centered it in her lap, carefully peeling the tape away from the edges.  It had been taped over several times to ensure it wouldn’t open and once all the layers were removed, she could see the darkness in the gap between the two cardboard flaps.  This was it.  She wedged a single meaty finger in the tiny gap where the two flaps nearly met.  The flaps flexed outward to accommodate the digit, and then the flaps were up.  The warm light of the bedroom filled the inside of the box.

Lori gasped.

~