By now, Aaron's hoodie was referred to as such only by honorary status. It lacked the requisite "hood," having disappeared without notice. The brick-colored fabric was also becoming lighter, thinner, and less warm than it previously had been. Aaron attempted to adjust the garment as he stepped outside, but it provided no further warmth than it already was. If anything, he was confronted by an increased exposure to the elements. His shirt hung loose and droopy. Not so much on the sleeves or waist, but the chest. The crew neck tee was sagging abnormally from his neck. Aaron cursed himself for stretching out and ruining an otherwise perfectly good shirt. A 22 year-old should know how to do laundry by this point in his life.
Aaron walked down the driveway to the mailbox. As he walked, he noticed his hands bumping into his lower body as he walked. How strange walking seemed now. As though his hands didn't recognize where his hips were. It wasn't completely bothersome, just curious. Aaron ran a mental list of the possible causes. Was he slipping on the wet ground? No, it was a sunny day. It hadn't rained for nearly a week. His new nails? No, he wasn't scratching himself, it was his entire hand that was grazing his hips. His shoes? Well sure, they seemed tighter than usual, and he felt an unusual amount of pressure on the balls of his feet, but that wasn't what was causing this.
Maybe Melissa was right. Maybe Aaron should cut back on the sweets. After all, he was 23 now. He didn't have a teenager's metabolism anymore. Aaron resolved to eat more yogurt and greens, and maybe visit the gym. As for now, he'd just have to accept the consequences of his dietary transgression. His hips were 36 inches wide and were going to jiggle a bit when he walked. Aaron flared his wrists out a tad as he walked. He found it much more comfortable than before. Why hadn't he always walked like this?
Aaron reached the mailbox and leafed through the junk mail. Coupons, flyers, advertisements, and so forth. This was barely worth the walk. He should know not to expect otherwise. All the household's bills were handled electronically and all the correspondence was handled digitally. The only surprising part was, there seemed to be twice as much junk mail as usual. As Aaron walked back to the front door, he read the names on the various deliveries. Jeff and Melissa Parsons. Jeff and Melissa Parsons. Jeff and Melissa Parsons... and then, for every single one, there was an identical delivery for Aaron.
"Well, drat," Aaron thought to himself. "How did I get on all these mailing lists? I don't even own a home. How could I refinance? What would I put aluminum siding on? Why would I want a delivery menu to Wan-Nin's Garden? They're all the way on the other side of town. And why should I support my college alumni association? I'm only 24. I've barely graduated myself." Had he not not been so intently focused on the postal service's irrelevance, Aaron would have noticed how not a single piece of mail in his hands read 'Aaron Parsons.' On every single flyer and envelope, Aaron's last name was either smudged, smeared, or scratched out.
Aaron tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear as he re-entered his house. He dropped the useless junk in the trash can. Melissa and Jeff wouldn't miss any of it. He bent down to scratch his calves, gingerly itching the back of his left leg. Normally, Aaron wore ankle-length socks, barely peeking out over the tops of his sneakers. But today, his socks were crew length. Or at least, they were now.
"Oh good," Melissa said as Aaron closed the door behind him. "I thought you left. I have to run out for a quick second. Can you do me a favor?"
"Why of course, Melissa," Aaron said. "What do you need?"
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