Tom was ready to enclose his shrunken boyfriend in his fist and walk out of the laboratory, but Eric piped up in protest.
"Not that I don't trust you, but I think we need some better way to transport me," he said.
"Yea?" Tom asked. "What do you recommend?"
Eric brainstormed for possible means, but was coming up blank until he remembered what he had noticed in the biology lab down the hall that morning. He provided the details to his boyfriend who winked at him before he enclosed Eric within a giant fist for the short stroll to the other laboratory.
Unprepared, Eric tried to squirm, but he found very little freedom permitted by the enclosed fist. He soon began to sweat in the flesh prison and, despite the warning that he might be somewhat frail at his new three-inch size, Tom didn't seem to really pay attention to how tightly he squeezed his tiny boyfriend. Needless to say, Eric was relieved when the fist unfurled a few moments later. Gasping fresh air, he saw the small cardboard specimen boxes stacked on the table in the lab. Each individual cardboard box had tiny perforations — holes to allow specimens within the box to breathe fresh air — and a small handle at the top for easy carrying. The usual occupants were laboratory mice and, considering Eric was now even smaller than the average mouse, the cardboard container looked like a perfect way for the trip back to his home.
A few moments later, Eric tried to adjust to the swinging motion as the box dangled from Tom's hand for the journey from science building to the student parking lot where Tom had left his car. The holes in the cardboard walls, besides allowing air, also provided him a means of peeking at the outside world, although everything rushed past in such a blur that he soon began to feel quite queasy.
The drive was uneventful except for Tom's choice of loud music. The volume was turned so high that Eric's protests went quite unheard after Tom began driving.
His ears were still ringing fifteen minutes later when Tom pulled to the curb in front of Eric's house. He started to lift the box when he remembered something.
"Eric, I don't have a key to your place!"
At almost the same instant, Eric felt his tiny shrunken keys in his pants pocket. He felt like slapping his own forehead. He had been considering giving his boyfriend a key, but he'd never gotten around to it.
"You have a spare key hidden somewhere?" Tom asked. "Under the welcome mat?"
"No," a dispirited little Eric answered.
"Ah, cheer up," Tom said. "We'll just go to my place."
"I really would rather stay here...."
But Tom had already started the car, and the loud music assaulted his ears again. Eric didn't like Tom's little apartment. It was not in the best shape, Tom never bothered with much in the way of cleaning, and most of his friends felt free to come and go without even asking Tom's permission. He told himself that it was only for the night. Tomorrow, they could concentrate on getting the shrink ray up and running again.
Besides, his usual complaint — the smallness of the untidy apartment — probably no longer truly applied to him.
"I think I'll stop and grab some food in a drive-through," Tom spoke over the volume of the music. He tapped the roof of the small box. "You need anything?"
Eric tried to yell louder. "Could you turn down the damn music?"
Tom cut the volume. "What did you say?"
Eric looked chagrined. "Never mind."
"You can just have a few scraps of whatever I get," Tom said.
Although he didn't like the indication that he was relegated to table scraps, Eric realized that even a drive-through kid's meal would be much more food than he could handle.
Sulking in a corner in the cardboard box, he just groused at his big boyfriend. "Let's just get to your place, OK?"
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