Personalias

Chapter 27 Unexpected developments If you trust in your song Keep your eyes on the goal Then the prize you won't fail That's your grail That's your grail “This isn’t what I had in mind when you said we were going to the riverbank,” Tommy said to his centaur companion. Both he and Nox stood at the edge of what was technically a river. The keyword in this scenario was ‘technically’. When thinking of rivers, Tommy (like most people) presumed water was involved. An understandable if predictable mistake considering where he was. Nothing was ever as it seemed in Malacus, Tommy was realizing. Dwarves pounded anvils only so they could keep a steady rhythm and sing their miraculous creations into life. Elves inscribed unspoken mind control magic into the floors beneath their feet; creating a kind of hypnotic snare trap. A Mana Pool was literally a magical pit filled up that could be swam (or drowned) in. Still, the seemingly endless flow of gold coins rushing past him, clinking and clanking like little shifting plates of armor was a little on the nose. “This is the River Bank,” Nox said in a gruff and frank voice. “Out of all the rivers in Malacus, this is the most likely to contain what we’re looking for.” “Scrooge McDuck couldn’t swim through this stuff,” Tommy complained. “Who?” Tommy waved off the question. “Never mind that. This isn’t a river. This is a controlled avalanche. Why here?” “The Quest of the Dragon is one of the most cherished and difficult quests on Malacus,” Nox explained. “If it were easy all would be flying without wings.” There was some merit in that thought. Tommy looked down at the little green dragon hiding just beneath his bib overalls. Had that been there the whole time. Whether it had or it hadn’t, didn’t matter. It wouldn’t aid him in solving his quest. Experimentally, and with the quickness of a child reaching into a mousetrap to snatch the cheese, Tommy skimmed his hands along the surface of the rattling river of coins and got a handful of thin gold coins for his trouble. Even so, his hand stung. It reminded Tommy of the time when he was little and he stuck his fingers inside a fan. “Ouch!” If this had been water, it would have been white water rapids! “Careful, friend Tommy,” the centaur warned. “Much riches flow through the River Bank, but a body can be buried by their own greed...literally.” But why gold?” Tommy asked. “And what’s with the runes?” Indeed, all of the coins Tommy had successful snatched up had the same stylistic runes that had once belonged onto his armor...and the playground back home. “Gold is the element that best conducts magic.” Now Nox was sounding more and more like a certain indignant and exasperated teacher that had lectured countless times over bored students that refused to pay attention. “Why else would it be so valuable?” Tommy didn’t have an answer for that. Back home, gold was valuable because humans like shiny things...or maybe gold had the same properties and people just forgot. “What about the uh..?” Tommy scribbled his finger in the air to indicate he meant the strange etchings. “To control the direction of flow of the magic,” Nox said. “You didn’t think your golden war armor had those markings on it for decoration, did you, m’friend? Magic has to be channeled properly and in the right directions or else...” Nox scratched his ears. “How do I put this?” “Kaboom?” “Precisely.” Nox’s ears twitched. His head jerked slightly to the right; as if he’d heard something, but was trying to focus on the task at hand. “Most likely, the answer to that riddle- or the next piece of your quest I should say-is somewhere near the bottom.” Tommy looked at the palms of his hand. They were still a little red. “The bottom?” “Would you prefer to search the River Sticks?” Nox sounded a little more distracted; not far off as much as slightly agitated. “Something wrong?” Tommy asked. Nox turned his head to face the boy. “Um...how to put this delicately?” the horse-man said “A boon of my body is that I have two stomachs. A bane is that when nature calls, it is difficult for me to delay answering it.” He gestured around, “And there isn’t much privacy.” Tommy blushed. “Oh...yeah.” Horses might drop their loads wherever they pleased, but centaurs were only half horses. In a certain regard, Tommy was lucky for what he was wearing. He’d answered nature’s call at least twice, but the goodnite dangling around his hips afforded him a measure of privacy (and with it, a sample of dignity). “If you need to go...I mean...leave...I’ll wait.” Mr. Jordan’s equine doppelganger patted his stomach and scraped the ground with his back legs. What might the intestinal track of a centaur look like? “Thank you m’friend. I’ll return as soon as I’m able.” He was galloping away- the sound of frantic hoofbeats already overlapping with his voice before he’d finished the sentence. “Good luuuuuck.” Tommy sat down in front of the river of gold. The clammy squish of his goodnite registering beneath him. “I’ll need it.” How the heck was he going to get to the bottom of that river to find whatever the quest required of him. He looked at the paltry sum of coins in his palm and jingled them around a bit and hummed. It’d been a bit, but the coins reminded him vaguely of every poor boys summer pastime: skipping rocks. The river was fairly wide, so at the very least he should be able to skip it a few feet. Maybe it’d help him think. The first coin didn’t skip as much as it plopped in the rushing pile, immediately becoming indistinguishable from the horde of coins that carried it along. “Scuba tank?” Tommy wondered out loud. No. That wouldn’t work. Breathing wasn’t the problem as much as being crushed was. A lot of gold...a lot of fast moving gold too...meant a lot of weight. The second coin had a little bit more spin, a little more force. It’s splash was less like a stone skipping across water and more like a cueball scattering billiards. Nature of the environment, Tommy supposed. “Fishing pole?” he wondered before dismissing it completely. Whatever was hidden beneath the River Bank was buried beneath moving solids, not flowing liquid. He’d need to be the world’s best blindfolded crane game player to pull off something like that. No dice. Tommy looked at the last coin in his palm, it was golden, but no bigger than a penny. Maybe when Nox was done pooping behind a tree, he’d have better ideas. Tom the Titan was a great war hero, but Tommy was a pretty cruddy quester. He wished he was better at this. He wished...he wished...Tommy stood up! He wished! He shouldn’t be skipping stones, he should be throwing coins in a well! Magic was real here, duh! Closing his palm, Tommy lifted the coin to his mouth and whispered. “I wish I had what I needed to finish this quest.” With a lazy, back and forth motion, Tommy underhand tossed the final coin back in the River Bank. Rather than be swept over, the coin stopped. The whole river did. Coins slowed to a clinking and clattering halt before stilling. The sound of a million piggy banks rattling around loose change rang out in the air as a sinkhole opened up in the middle of the river, coins clattering down into darkness as Tommy watched, mouth agape. The magic did not end there. For out of the hole, floating slowly up like an angel ascending from the pits of Tartarus was a woman. Her gown was simple and black, with a white apron and trimmings- a faux medieval twist on the stereotypical french maid’s outfit (and infinitely more modest and concealing besides), but Tommy would have recognized those mischievous mismatched eyes anywhere. “Nanny?” “Hello, Tommy.” The Nanny smiled back. “How are you, little boy?” “What are you doing here?” Tommy asked. “I live here,” she giggled as if Tommy had asked a silly question. Tommy did feel silly. She had said she was from Malacus, hadn’t she? Tommy peered down into the bottomless hole that had formed in the now stilled river of coins. “You live in a stream of money?” She giggled, rather coyly, Tommy observed. “Human legends tell tales of ladies who live in lakes. What’s so strange about a Nanny in a river of gold?” Well...when she put it like that... Tommy’s feeling of silliness was short lived, “But you have solved the first riddle for your quest.” “I have?” The Nanny floated over to Tommy and descended till her feet were upon the soft grass. “Of course, silly! You’re so smart! Nobody’s ever thought to just wish their way to victory. The answer was right there in front of their faces.” Tommy fairly glowed at the praise. “Grown-ups, huh?” “Yeah,” Tommy agreed. “Kinda obvious if you think about it.” “Now let’s get you what you need, little boy.” Nanny reached her hand out to the side, and as if peeling back a thick curtain, penetrated the air around them. “Just a second.” When she withdrew her hand, she held a very padded and very crinkly folded rectangle in her hand. To call it ‘cloth’ would be a misnomer. ‘Cloth-like’ would have been more accurate. Tommy stepped back half a pace. “A diaper?” Pampers, more specifically. “They don’t have these in Malacus, and I’d hate to stick you with a safety pin, while changing you.” Tommy gulped. “Changing me?” Nanny’s mismatched eyes sparkled. “A silly old centaur might not recognize a droopy wet diaper underneath a pair of shortalls, but I do.” She waved the diaper lightly in her hand, playfully slapping it into her open palm. Tommy’s cheeks turned almost sunburn pink. He couldn’t bluff. He couldn’t lie. Not to Nanny. “But-” “You wished for what you needed to finish this quest,” Nanny said. “And what you need right now is a fresh diaper.” Tommy didn’t say anything. He just stood his ground, staring at his sneakers. He didn’t feel much like Tom the Titan; just another little kid with wet pants. “I’m not going to let you go play in a wet diaper. That’d be irresponsible Nannying.” “PLAY!” The very word energergized Tommy. Heart rate increased. Breathing picked up. Toes wiggled as massive amounts of dopamine were released into his bloodstream. “Of course, play. Isn’t that what a quest is?” It was true. Pleasure. Vacation. Amusement. All just really big words to describe forms of play. And if he was playing, Nanny knew best. “Okay,” Tommy said. “Just make it quick.” He started fiddling with the brass buckles on his shortalls. “I don’t want Nox to see-” A gentle hand interrupted his thoughts. “Not so fast, baby boy.” Nanny whispered. “Do you know how expensive diapers are?” Growing up in Scrumpton Georgia in an abstinence only sex-education program, Tommy had a vague idea of how expensive such things were. The health education room was plastered with posters about the cost of raising a baby, diapers included. Being unable to get pregnant and very unlikely to have sex anytime soon, Tommy never paid attention to the actual numbers. “Pretty expensive.” His stomach gurgled in a kind of agreement. “And your tummy is making funny sounds.” Nanny pointed out. “You know what that means.” Tommy grabbed his tummy. “No...?” He left that little inflection at the end, but in truth, Tommy knew exactly what was body was signalling. He needed to find his own far off patch of bushes to hide behind or whatever. There wasn’t a latrine in sight. “If I changed you now.,” Nanny chirped. “I’d just have to change you again in a few minutes.” “So you’re saying you want me to…?” Tommy left the question hanging. Both of them knew what he was really asking. Seductively, the Nanny leaned in and pressed her forehead to his; her mismatched eyes twinkling hypnotically. “It just makes sense, doesn’t it Tommy?” “I...I...I…” Tommy stuttered. The smell of lavender perfume invaded his nostrils, and he wasn’t sure if it was coming from the strange women he’d met on the playground, the diaper in her hand, or both. Something else besides his diaper was swelling, though the two were in tantalizingly close proximity. “I can’t.” “Sure you can, baby.” Nanny whispered. “There’s not a potty around for miles, none of your friends- real or imaginary- are around right now, and I’ve got a fresh Pampers waiting just for you. All I want you to do is to use your diaper for its intended purpose.” A tiny, very adult voice, in the back of Tommy’s head reminded him that the goodnite wrapped around his butt wasn’t a diaper. It wasn’t something that was supposed to be peed and pooped in while he was awake; only for bedwetting. That voice used to be much louder once upon a time, but it had gotten increasingly distant over the last few days. It was a sad voice. A lonely voice. The voice that Tommy had had in his head before Mommy brought the clock home. His nanny (his nanny?) must’ve been able to hear that voice too. “Don’t worry,” she said seductively, “you won’t get in trouble. Just the opposite. Just close your eyes.” Tommy obeyed. “Bend your knees.” Tommy did. “Now push.” Tommy did. He grunted and pushed, but not with his arms. He pushed with his guts, pushed with his sphincter, pushed with his will. He pushed past every last bit of potty training he’d ever had, and little by little, he did as he was told. It was so weird pooping standing up. At first he wondered if he was doing it right, but then felt the first bit of mess hit the back of his goodnites. That’s when he knew. He breathed deep and pushed again and felt Nanny’s lips gently kiss his forehead. She was rewarding him, even as the warm mass spread in his pants. His manhood...manhood?....boyhood?...penis. His penis continued engorge even as he filled his pants. The warmth of the mysterious woman’s sweet kisses made him disassociate any disgust he might have or think about what the warmth coming out the back of him was. Truth be told, it felt VERY good as long as he didn’t think too hard about it, and Tommy just didn’t have enough blood going to his brain. Very quickly, Tommy’s body, internal inertia, and gravity took over. He couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d wanted to. “Good baby,” Nanny whispered. “Very good. Now use it allllll….” A strong grip between his legs told Tommy what she meant. Tommy shuddered his way into an orgasm as the woman gripped his genitals through pee-pee’d padding. “Oh Nanny!” he gasped, falling through his knees as his penis spurted out his seed, adding it’s warmth to match the warmth in the back. “All empty?” the Nanny asked. Beyond words and his heart pounding slowly in his chest, Tommy nodded. “Uh-huh….” He opened his eyes. She bared her breasts to him. “Then let’s fill you up.” Nanny was also a wetnurse, it seemed. She lowered to her knees and scooped the boy up, cradling him in his mess and guided his lips to her milky nipples. Overcome with instinct, Tommy latched on, his tongue licking and teasing as fresh milk. Warm in front. Warm in back. And now so-so warm on the inside as his tummy filled up. Tommy groaned with pleasure, not caring about either load in his pants. Eyes started to get heavy. “Don’t go to sleep,” Nanny warned. “It’s not time for nap-nap yet.” Tommy opened his eyes as she switched him over to the other breast. How was she cradling him so easily? Was he getting littler...er...smaller? Who cared? He lost himself as he latched back on and filled his tummy back up. The next time he made boom-booms would be easier, he knew. Nanny’s milk would help him. Finally, and yet all too soon, Nanny’s milk ran dry, and Tommy felt the fresh air and sunshine of Malacus back on his face. Why wasn’t Nox back yet? Why did he even want Nox to be here? His feet had yet to hit solid ground now that his milky snack had finished. Rather, he found himself draped over the woman’s shoulder, seated in the crook of her arm. The mush in his pants had since cooled and was now pressed up against him as his back was patted. “Give me burpies,” she gently commanded him. A bit of a bubble of hesitation, and then Tommy’s body obeyed. “UUUUUURP!” “Oooh! That was a loud one!” Nanny remarked. “Good boy! Such a good burper. Do you have one more for me?” In point of fact, he did. “Uuuuurp.” “Good baby,” she whispered, before laying him down on the grass. Tommy moved to sit up. “Okay...gotta...get…” His words were cut off by the gentle hand on his chest guiding him back down. “I’ve got it, sweetie. Let me change you. Nanny will take care of it.” Stupidly, drunkenly, futilely, Tommy did his best to fiddle with the buckles on his shortalls. “Not like that, Tommy,” Nanny giggled. “Then how?” In reply, Nanny reached between his legs. Tommy felt, more than heard, the little snaps along his inseam and crotch come undone. He definitely felt the cool breeze rushing up his thighs, and saw the nearly destroyed goodnites come into view as Nanny peeled back the bottom half of his outfit as though it were just a skirt. “Have those buttons been there the whole time?” he wondered aloud. “Of course they have, Tommy.” Nanny smiled coyly. “Snaps make diaper changes so much easier.” She leaned over his bed wetting pants and tore roughly at the sides. “Speaking of easier,” she grunted, “it will be a lot easier to change you when all of your diapers have tabs. No more ripping off sides or pulling down undies...” “All of my-?” Nanny didn’t wait for him to question her. Tommy stopped asking when he got a good look at his shoes juxtaposed against bright blue sky, and the warmth of his muck covered behind contrasting with the fresh wet feeling of baby wipes cleaning them off. He could get used to this. “You will,” Nanny said. “Everyone does.” “Beg your pardon?” Tommy asked, looking up as the old padding was swapped out for the clean diaper. He could have sworn he’d only thought that last part. Nanny busied herself powdering him and taping the fresh diaper snugly around his waist. Filled with a strange kind of guilty curiosity, Tommy craned his neck and looked at the loosely balled up mess to the side of him. The night diaper was clearly oversaturated with pee-pee, and there was no mistaking what the brown spots meant; but it would have taken a forensic scientist (if anyone) to find what else the teenager had done in his pants. No laundry worries. No crusty socks or jammies. No discoloration. The evidence would go to the bottom of a trashcan or a diaper pail, and who in their right mind would take a blacklight to a diaper? In terms of sexual gratification it was the perfect victimless crime. And when Nanny finished buttoning the snaps back up and set him on his feet, no one could tell that his outfit was meant to tear off at the bottom. “Wow…” His personal assistant/caretaker took him by the hand and lead him towards the stilled money whole. “Ready to keep playing?” Tommy bobbled his little head. “Uh-huh!” “Then in ya go!” She gave him a little nudge and his bottom a little pat. “Go head. In you go. It’s fun.” Tommy looked down into the blackness. It was his first day in Malacus all over again. He looked back up to Nanny. “You promise?” “Cross my heart. Before you fly, one must learn how to fall.” Breath steadied, the boy who would fly, swung his arms, readying himself. “One...two….” “THREEEEEEEE!” Nanny’s arms gave him a gentle shove, ensuring his courage as he went tumbling into darkness. This wasn’t like the first time, however. Once past the edge of the hole there was no plummeting drop into icy cold water. This wasn’t the most recent time either. No inflatable slide into a ballpit. Instead, just like a certain Victorian girl who crawled down a rabbit hole, Tommy wafted slowly and safely down into the darkness. He landed when the light from above was just a tiny pinprick above; indistinguishable from a single star. “Where am I?” he wondered. His words did not echo. What did happen, was a spotlight shown down from the blackness, a single table highlighted, a golden box, not quite the size of a Big Mac container, placed upon it. The runes were as alien to Tommy as any of the others. Thankfully, Tommy could only think of one thing to do; he opened it. “BEHOLD!” A voice from inside the box boomed. “HAIL GREAT QUESTER! YOU HAVE SOLVED THE FIRST RIDDLE OF THE DRAGON’S QUEST? ARE YOU READY FOR THE NEXT?” Tommy nodded, grinning wildly. This game was getting good! “YOU DO REALIZE THAT I’M A DISEMBODIED VOICE IN A BOX AND CANNOT SEE YOU, RIGHT? IS ANYONE THERE OR DID THE BOX TIP OVER IN AN EARTHQUAKE AGAIN?” The boy spoke up. “Sorry. I’m here.” “AHA! ARE YOU READY FOR THE NEXT RIDDLE, OH ADVENTURER?!” “Yes.” ‘VERY WELL!” Tommy wasn’t sure how a box could manage to clear its throat, but it found a way. “IF YOU STEP ON THE DEAD ONES, ALL OF THEM CRINKLE, STEP ON THE LIVE ONES THEY WON’T EVEN TINKLE!” Tommy frowned. Crinkle? Tinkle? Did this riddle have something to do with his diaper? “What’s that mean?” he asked the box. “IT’S A RIDDLE! NOW PLEASE PROCEED DOWN THE HALL.!” A second spotlight lit the way for Tommy to proceed. Tommy trudged off down the path laid out for him, crinkling all the way. It felt good to have a fresh diaper on, but was he now on a path that he couldn’t turn back from? (In more ways than one?)

Chapter 61: A Near Miss “Ooo awf awffng ow?!” “Clark. Chew. Swallow. Then talk.” I finished wolfing down my bite of massive cheeseburger with the fried egg on top and took a sip of soda. Back in those days I swear I could almost eat like an Amazon, be hungry an hour later and not gain a pound. I leaned forward in the restaurant chair and lowered my voice to a whisper. “You’re dropping out?” I whispered to my girlfriend. Cassie straightened up and smoothed back her chestnut brown hair. She was keeping it short. Not pixie cut short, there was still body to it, but enough so that pigtails and ponytails, basically anything with a bow would have looked out of place. For an instant I found myself staring at her breasts and felt my palms ache as I imagined myself cupping them. She was just light enough to where I could imagine myself picking her up and her wrapping those legs around my waist as I grabbed the back of her scalp and pressed her lips harder to my own. What? I was nineteen. I was always a little bit horny, even if it came in sudden, inappropriate flashes. Oh to be a teenager again, before the weight of the world had settled more firmly on my shoulders. I thought I’d looked so much like an adult, just like my father, but in hindsight I still looked like a kid. My goatee still had that scraggly look no matter how much I trimmed it. My frame hadn’t filled out as much as I imagined it had and so it almost looked like I was wearing a bit of costuming like a fake mustache. I dunno. Maybe ‘college Clark’ just couldn’t pull the goatee off and had to grow into it… I’m rambling though. My girlfriend of almost two years had just told me that she was dropping out of college over a breakfast burger. If that wasn’t the opening line to our inevitable break up, I wasn’t sure what was. I thought about the wild night we’d had last weekend at her parents house. Had that been...had that been break up sex and I hadn’t even known it? I’d just thought she was getting off to the thrill of fucking just quiet enough to not get caught. Instead she’d been getting me out of her system. Damn. Some deep dark part of me hoped that if the break up was coming, we’d at least go one last round at my dorm. I hadn’t gotten my break up sex. As inner monologues tend to do all of that whirred through my brain in the time it took for me to swallow, glance at Cassie’s perfect breasts, and then travel my consciousness upward towards those pools of brown she called her eyes. “I’m not dropping out,” Cassie said. She didn’t even say the last two words, instead mouthing them to be safe. “I’m dual enrolling at an online university.” I took another bite of the tremendous burger. Best to show that I wasn’t as worried as I was. It was a smaller bite, though, one that still left me room to talk. “Why?” “You know why,” Cassie said. She took a sip of vanilla malt. The Littles Student Union had just secretly released a list of professors known for disproportionately flunking Littles over on MistuhGwiffin.web. The campus was a minefield of stodgy old Amazons who didn’t make any secrets about their opinions on Littles being more suited to nursery school over proper academia. I’d just myself scraped by an intro to educational theory course with a B+ because I’d made sure to cram buzzwords from the Amazon teacher’s own book into my final paper. Yes, a B+ was scraping by for me. Not because I was an amazing, naturally gifted student, but because most Littles were on scholarship. Even those of us that weren’t felt like we were on a kind of automatic academic probation. Slipping grades, or anything less than perfect was enough of an excuse to get us kicked out. Getting kicked out meant going home a failure...and everyone feared that it wouldn’t be our parents’ home we’d be going back to. “Yeah,” I said. “Why are you dual enrolling? Single enrollment is difficult enough.” Cassie adjusted her seating on the stack of phonebooks held together by thick rubber bands. I did the same. In a very low, yet casual voice as to not raise suspicion, she said, “I’m enrolling at an online community college. It’s got a good track record for computer programming and an even better one for Littles. I’m going to take online courses there, and front load as many art classes as I can, even if I don’t pass them.” “But what if you fail?” An Amazon waitress about our age came and refilled our water glasses. “Can I get you guys anything else?” she asked. I raised my fore and middle fingers together slightly to indicate that I’d be paying. “Just the check please.” The young twenty-something who could have tossed me over her shoulder had she wanted to, reached into her apron and took out a slip of paper. “Here you go. Pay up at the front whenever you’re ready.” She left it face down on the table and covered it with some extra napkins. “Thank you,” I said. We waited for her to leave out of earshot before continuing our conversation. “What if you fail?” I repeated. “I’m going to,” Cassie said, nonchalantly. “That’s why I’m dual enrolling. I’m going to take all of the art classes I can, learn as much as I can, and then disappear back to my parents’ place where I’ll learn computer stuff.” “But you hate computer stuff,” I said. “You love art.” Cassie let out a long, almost mournful sigh. “I do. And I want to do it as long as possible in mediums that aren’t scented marker, finger paints, and crayon. So I’m going to get as much out of this place as I can and get out before I can’t.” She didn’t need to explain what that meant. “I can paint and sketch from home and make money. I don’t need a degree to make art.” “I need a degree to be a teacher,” I replied. “I can’t leave.” My girlfriend looked away from me. “Yeah. I know.’ We didn’t say anything after that for a while. Just nibbled on rapidly cooling hashbrowns and sipped on warming shakes. My heart sped up when the Amazon waitress got a booster seat from a stack next to the bathroom. It was for an Amazon lady with a toddler, a real one. “What made you decide this?” I asked. I don’t know if I was asking or about the inevitable heartbreak that would happen as soon as I paid the check or her decision to purposefully tank her stay on campus. Both? “My roommate,” Cassie said. “I got a new one.” I wasn’t connecting the dots; maybe even willfully so. “Lara, right?” I’d crossed paths with her a handful of times. “Um...sturdier girl? Likes anime? Film major? Kinda...quirky?” Cassie got this far away look in her eyes, revisiting horrors that I could not see. “She’s gone.” “What do you mean she’s gone?” “I think she started watching cartoons,” Cassie whispered. “She wet the bed. When our R.A. found out about it...now I’ve got a new roommate.” I let that sink in. “She’s a film student too. Just got the scholarship. Lara’s scholarship.” “I...I...I…” I didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry, Cass. I’m so sorry.” Stupidly I inserted, “I didn’t realize you two were close.” That wasn’t the point and I knew it. “This place isn’t just a degree factory,” she told me. “This place is an Adoption Agency. They move us on down the line until they’re ready for us.” Some stupid, prideful part of me bristled at that, not that I had any particular love for the ol’ Alma Mater, but nineteen year old me had this almost compulsive need to be correct even when I was obviously wrong. I patted the phonebooks beneath us. “Then why are we sitting on these and not those,” I pointed to the stacks of boosters. “Or those?” I thumbed to the row of cheap restaurant highchairs beside them. “We’re not ripe yet,” Cassie said. “We haven’t stepped out of line. We haven’t given them an excuse. We haven’t reminded them we existed enough.” I had nothing. She was right. I knew she was right. I was raised knowing that she was right. She kept going. “You know Shelton Prince, III Stadium?” Of course I did. It was literally a campus landmark. “Prince wasn’t some big brainiac. He was a Tweener who over a hundred years ago took all the courses on agriculture he could, dropped out, and jumped into the agriculture industry. We only know about him because he gave a ton of money to the University after the fact.” “So you want to be Shelton Prince the Third but with art?” I asked. “He didn’t need a degree to make money.” She said it with the kind of finality that I’d already grown to know that I was barking up the wrong tree. “Yeah but…” I paused. “...what if I never see you again?” My girlfriend looked away uncomfortably. There. I knew. She was breaking up with me. She might not have been planning to do it here at the restaurant, but she was going to do it. Like putting down a sick dog, she just hadn’t decided where and when to end our relationship. The sick old dog had a few tricks yet. “Tell ya what,” I said. “I owe you from last year. Let me pay you back.” “Last year?” Cassie said. “What do you mean? How did I-?” I grinned. “I seem to remember a pretty girl calling me on my bullshit in a class we shared. If I’d kept going that hard and fast, I’d be in a stroller by now.” Still in the heat of a kind of puppy love, Cassie blushed. “You can play it smart,” she admitted, “when you try hard enough.” “I’m also figuring some stuff out,” I told her. I got out of my chair, walked over to hers and offered mine. She grabbed the check and took mine. That simple touch, holding hands, lit my entire world on fire in the best way. “Let me see what I can do to help.” Cassie leaned into me, putting her head on my shoulder as we walked to the cash register. “Help how?” “You help me slam the breaks,” I told her. “I’ll teach you how to power through. Certain people are crazy,” I dared now slander Amazons as a whole so close in ear shot, thanks Cassie, “but if you ‘yes and’ them you can I dunno...watch!” “Clark, no!” I broke away from my girlfriend and made a straight away for the Amazon and her toddler in the booster seat. “Excuse me, ma’am,” I said. “Can I just compliment you on what a well behaved child you have.” I gestured to Cassie who looked like she wanted to literally hide behind the nearest countertop. My friend and I were enjoying our brunch and I was worried for a second that our conversation would get drowned out. Babies. Restaurants. You know the stereotype. It’s so good to see someone who not only has socialized their child to be out in public but clearly has a good relationship with them. I’m sorry for interrupting.” The mother seemed confused for a second and then smiled, blushing at the wave of absolutely nonsense compliments I’d just fed her. “Oh wow. Well, thank you! I see so many babies and Littles getting fussy in public and I just get the worst case of second hand embarrassment. I’ve gotten my Joshua used to it. Thank you for noticing.” I chose to ignore the Littles comment. No sense in arguing certain things. While she was talking, the chubby cheeked cherub that could likely have beaten me in a fist fight got a bowl of applesauce slid in front of him. As he began greedily digging in with a plastic spoon, I observed. “I’m guessing that Joshua is,” I mulled the odds over in my head. “Not quite one and a half?” “He’s seventeen months to the day,” the Amazon mother said. “How did you..? “Usually left or right handedness starts to develop around eighteen months and is usually solidified around age three,” I said. “You’re very articulate,” the woman gushed, staring at me. Just the slightest jingling of alarm bells entered my teenage head. “Thank you ma’am.” I ignored the implication that Littles couldn’t be or weren’t particularly articulate. ‘Articulate’ is a lot like ‘mature’, if the word needs to be said to describe you, the person saying it probably doesn’t think you are or should be. “I’m taking early education classes, and developmental milestones of various ages was one of my favorite chapters. I find it fascinating how brains and cognitive development evolve over time.” I saw her eyes go glassy. I went too hard with the technical jargon. “I’m learning how to be a teacher of young children. Kindergarteners and preschoolers.” “Oh!” the stranger remarked. “That’s wonderful. You’re going to be a teacher?” “I hope so,” I repeated. Best not to sound too confident as to be cocky. Something I’d learned from Cassie. “Thank you for letting me test my skills.” “I think a Little would make a great Preschool teacher!” the Amazon said. “You’d be so good at relating to the children!” I didn’t even flinch. “Empathy is an important skill set, you’re right,” I replied. I’d been ready for this. Saying she was right was enough to change her point into my own. “Sometimes educators forget that children are just people who haven’t had the time to figure everything out yet and sometimes get overwhelmed with their own natural emotions.” “My goodness,” the mother said. “That is so true.” Time to hit the dismount. “You must be so proud that you’re giving your child the time, attention, and skills so that he can grow-up into a fine young man.” I had her eating out of the palm of my hand. “Thank you so much for saying so.” “I won’t take up any more of your time,” I said and gave a polite bow as though she were royalty. “Thank you for letting me practice,” what I was practicing was besides the point. “You and Joshua enjoy your meal and the rest of your day.” I was almost turned around when I heard the giantess say, very calmly. “Just a moment.” I saw Cassie’s frozen panic, but kept my own calm. “Yes, ma’am?” “I used to be a starving college student. Can I pay for your meal?” “That’s very kind of you,” I said, “but not necessary. I’ve enough money. If you’d like to help with the tip, I wouldn’t complain...” Refusing an Amazon’s charity is sometimes just as dangerous as accepting it, so I gave us both an out. Best to meet halfway. She was already reaching into her purse. “No no no, I insist.” She leaned over and shoved a handful of bills into my palm. “You’re about to be a teacher and nobody gets into teaching for the money. Take it and enjoy the rest of your day with your Little lady friend.” The counter was a good twenty steps away, but I pocketed the money anyway. “Yes, ma’am!” I said. “Thank you, ma’am.” “You’re very welcome, sir.” We got out and paid while the getting out was good. The Amazon lady had given me plenty of money. Enough that would more than cover me and Cassie’s meal and the tip. If we didn’t leave a tip we could probably have gotten a light dinner. The waitress was also an Amazon, so we tipped and didn’t accept any change. “Did you just get us a free meal?” Cassie asked once we were clear. “Yup,” I said. “Looks that way.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek and pulled her into me. “Did you plan that?” “Not entirely,” I admitted. “It’s less chess and more like poker. Part bluff, part playing the hand you’re dealt. Sometimes you hold, sometimes you fold.” “Looked more like playing chicken, to me,” Cassie grumbled. “I won didn’t I?” Damn I loved showing off for her. “More importantly, next time she sees a Little, she might think ‘articulate college student’ instead of ‘potential baby’. Did you like that part about emphasizing growing up?” I asked. “I’m hoping that I planted something in there. I gotta work on that part, but I was trying to hint that if she adopted a Little, she might be a failed mother or something, ya know?” Cassie didn’t directly answer my question. “I think at least she’ll be less likely to want to adopt you,” she conceded. She shrugged. “Which honestly? Might be the best you can hope for.” “So how about it?” I rounded on our original conversation. “Let’s go back to your room, ignore your new roommate and-” She shoved me in the chest, but she was laughing. “Clark, you jerk! You wanna risk what the R.A. will do if we’re caught doing THAT?!” “I was going to say,” I winked at her, “Let’s go back to your room and re-look at next semester’s schedule. We can use the L.S.U.’s list about what courses to avoid, maybe take some gen ed classes together. We’ll figure stuff out from there. What do you say?” Cassie stopped on the sidewalk. “I don’t know…” “Come on Cass,” I begged her. “Give us a shot. Let’s stick with it.” “This place?” Casssie lifted her head and looked me in the eye. “Or us?” “Why not both?” I said. “Come on. Give us a chance. If something goes wrong, we’ll split and do the computer thing. Simple as that.” “Both of us?” “Always.”

PART 6: Descent Chapter 60: “Nice” In case you’ve forgotten or I haven’t been clear enough up until this point: Oakshire is a dump. Not a dump in the interesting sense, either. Misty Brook and the surrounding area is a dump due to social and economic disparity. It’s made by people who have learned to survive on scraps. Living in a trailer park sucks, but it doesn’t speak to the character of the people who make up a trailer park’s population. No one with any hope left in them chooses to live in places like Misty Brook. They live there because they have to, not because of choice. Oakshire, on the other hand, is a cultural wasteland. It’s technically a city, but it’s not the kind of city that appears in movies or television. It’s simply not interesting enough to be worth filming. It’s got it’s basic luxuries like parks, shops, restaurants, and movie theaters. There’s malls and grocery stores and churches. It manages to maintain public transportation and city waste disposal. The people who settle in Oakshire struggle paycheck to paycheck and wait for retirement, but generally speaking most of their basic needs are met. Misty Brook is hard. Oakshire is just…’nice’. It’s just that the people who settle down in Oakshire really are settling. Oakshire is the kind of sleepy little town where stuff like a public Winter Parade or an Elementary School’s Fall Carnival are regular big events because there’s very little else to do. It’s the kind of place where people brag about the interesting stuff and attractions being an hour or so’s drive away in the next city over; as if being interesting adjacent beats interesting. Oakshire is where you can make a day trip to an amusement park but not have to worry about a hotel. It’s…’nice’. It’s the kind of place where the Amazons and Tweeners who have the means and motivation to do so leave when they’re able and never come back because there’s much more to the world than just ‘nice’. It’s the kind of place where the people who live there have an almost twisted sense of town pride based not on the fact that the people there have accomplished anything but because it’s ‘nice’ and not a trailer park. And obviously, it’s also a place where even relatively careful Littles get suckered into living there. It’s where the housing market worked in their favor, and they fooled themselves into thinking the relative population density would ensure privacy while keeping them from getting snatched up and shoved into a stranger’s stroller like in an actual big city. Oakshire is the kind of place where settling, for a Little, can seem like a tempting paradise. Because ‘nice’ can seem like something worth settling for when your options seem severely limited. I’d be lying if I said that any of this was going through my noggin while Janet pushed my fancy stroller along the pathways past overpriced concession stands to directional signs reading “Hippos”, “Birds”, and “Alligators”. Generally, people are unable to think and reflect in such clear and cynical undertones when their heart is racing and their attention is going every which way. The pace was slow and the ride was incredibly smooth. That didn’t stop me breathing in and out like I was on a roller coaster. It had nothing to do with the animals. We were at the Oakshire Wildlife Gardens and Rehabilitation Clinic. I know I just said that Oakshire was a boring, if ‘nice’ cultural wasteland. Even cultural wastelands can have their curiosities. Located on the edge of town opposite of Misty Brook, the Gardens was one such curiosity. Technically, it was a zoo and a place for veterinary students to get field experience without pay. Functionally, it was a place where broken wildlife got put on display and retired circus animals came to die slow boring deaths. The Gardens didn’t have much in the way of fancy enclosures. No impressive recreations of natural habitats surrounded by twenty-foot walls. Just animals in cages. Lemurs got a big tree with a tire swing enclosed by chicken coop mesh on all sides. Deer got a field to graze in with barbed wire that they couldn’t jump. The small reptiles and fish got dark rooms and aquariums. Otters got a waterslide. No animal on display got what they really needed, even by the standards of a zoo, but everyone got something so that the zookeeper's could feel good about themselves. The animals were kept in suboptimal conditions, but the walkways were clean and there were plenty of decorative plants enhancing the scenery so that it at least looked pleasant in the short term for the visitors. If that wasn’t a metaphor… Obviously, it wasn’t the poor animals that had me so on edge. Not counting the errands Janet had run to complete my adoption and transformation, this was my first time out in public as her ‘Little Boy’. The animals weren’t the only ones on display that day. Janet had dressed me up in one of Beouf’s toddler outfits: sunshine yellow shorts and a matching t-shirt to keep me cool. If the shorts had been a little baggier and a little higher waisted, it might have been easier to keep my cool. “Look, Daddy!” An Amazon child; someone who was old enough to be in my class, “It’s a baby!” Her father looked down, turned around from watching a bunch of alligators pretending to be logs, and said. “That’s not a baby, honey. That’s a Little. You can call him a baby, though. Close enough.” It might have been calming to hide my face in my hands or to stick a pacifier in my mouth to relieve tension caused by embarrassment, but I had ‘accidentally’ decided to unclip the pacifier Janet had given me and ‘lost’ it in the cushioned folds of my stroller. I made do by chomping down on my anger and biting the sides of my tongue. I was not going to curse out a child. I was not going to curse out a child. I was not going to curse out a child while her father was present. I was not going to curse out an Amazonian child while her father and Janet were present. “Let’s go see the monkeys,” the dad said. He held his daughter’s hand, and the stroller stopped as the actual parent and child crossed our paths. In passing, the guy looked above the stroller and mentioned, “He’s cute.” “Thanks!” I couldn’t see Janet but I could tell she was melting on the inside just from her voice. Some women want to be told they’re pretty. Others want to hear that their Littles are cute. I inhaled and dug down deep not to scream in either fear or anger. Janet had been acting in remarkably good faith, recently, even for a baby crazy Amazon, (sspecially for a baby crazy Amazon). It was stupid of me, but I’d quietly decided not to put up a fight if I was able. Some part of me wanted to reward her. More honestly, however, I just needed a break. I’d been adopted for slightly more than a week and resisted in what ways I could muster, but resistance is draining. It’s physically and psychologically hard to stay mad all the time. It’s difficult and draining to be on guard every minute of every day. It’s almost impossible to be sad and mourning everything that’s happened from the minute you wake up to the second you fall asleep. People just aren’t up for that, no matter their size. It’s why people grieving can go days, weeks, or months in between crying over their dead loved ones. Bills need to be paid. Life needs to be lived. Work only has so much patience for your grief. The tears stop because you’re overwhelmed and it takes less energy to go along with the program and live with your remaining crappy life than it does to change it or even process it. Same principle as to why captured Littles are suddenly ‘naughty’. Our Maturosis isn’t ‘flaring up’, it’s just that it’s sometimes easier to cry quietly and go back to sleep in wet pants than it is to put up a fight that’ll get us smacked back down in the crib. Then something else will come along and act as a catalyst and then we’ll grieve and process all over again how far we’ve fallen. If we’re lucky, we’ll see an opportunity and take it.. I’m getting off track though, and depending on who is reading this I’m either preaching to the choir or campaigning to the wrong party. Point being, I wasn’t escaping this weekend, and I needed a break. If I saw Cassie, I would absolutely lose it. Otherwise, I would do my best to play ‘nice’. Being strolled around the Gardens wasn’t all that bad. Oakshire was a cultural wasteland, and the technically-still-a-zoo was in that happy sweet spot of being a community landmark. Thus, everyone knew where it was, but hardly anyone went there. It’s like having a pool in your backyard. When you can go swimming anytime you take it for granted. Old couples took leisurely walks, getting their exercises and viewing parrots and tortoises that were older than they were. They paid us no mind. Bored highschoolers leaned against posts, bitching about essays they had to write. They had money and time to kill, but nowhere else to go, and paid me no mind. Employees dressed in khaki shorts and button up shirts like they were going on suburban safari breezed past, giving Janet a curt nod here and there on the way to muck out some pen or another. I practically leaned into the seat to the point of being enveloped when a pack of eight year olds in party hats obliviously tromped by. Somebody was having a birthday party… Still... After the first ten to fifteen minutes, I calmed myself down and unclenched. The Gardens was still relatively uncrowded. The second week of school was done. No discounts were being offered and no new exhibits were opening up to attract customers. It was just...slow. Very slow. Boring. ‘Nice’. Good. I needed slow. I needed a break. I needed a chance to be in the open air, with few machinations and hurdles to leap over. I needed…’nice’. Curiously, I was just beginning to get the sense of something else. Something that started on Monday around breakfast and was only really beginning to settle in out there in the open. No one was really looking at me. I was an adopted ‘baby’ Little. The old folks didn’t much care. Neither did the highschoolers. The kindergarteners and younger might point me out if they didn’t have a baby or a Little sibling too; I was one of the few things tinier than them at their age and thus a curiosity. But by the time they were even eight I’d lost my novelty to them. As a free Little walking around with a belt and tie on and a well trimmed goatee I stood out like an old circus elephant. More importantly, I was a target and potential commodity. I was someone to snatch up and adopt. I was, to say the least, interesting. Now? In the stroller? I was Janet’s Little. Taken. Spoken for. According to the schema of Oakshire as a whole, I was exactly where I was supposed to be and therefore worth noting but ignoring. Even if I fought or resisted, that was something to be expected, with giant society long since deadening their nerves to Little protestations. As long as I had an Amazon minding me, I was accounted for and socially invisible. On an existential level this was full on dread inducing. How cruel the world was to take anguish and suffering and write it off to the level of infantile fussing. I already knew that, though. So on a personal, shell-shocked level, it was possibly more privacy than I’d ever gotten while out and about. It was…’nice’. Once my muscles stopped aching and my tongue stopped hurting, I leaned forward and realized that the reason why I’d been able to notice these patterns and come to this realization is we hadn’t moved very much. Not since the father and daughter duo had complimented Janet on my cuteness. “Janet?” I called back behind me. I winced a second later. “I mean...Mommy?” “Hmmm?” Damnit! I shouldn’t have self corrected so fast. She might have responded to her name. Maybe next time… “Why aren’t we moving?” I asked. “We’re waiting.” I could hear her smile. “For what?” There was only silence. “Janet, for what?” “Not what,” she answered. “For whom?” Oh no. Oh shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This wasn’t just some Mommy/Baby bonding nonsense. This was a- “HI, BUS KID!” -playdate. I startled and jumped in my stroller. A half-second later, I whipped my head forward to the right, following the sound. A double stroller had pulled up beside me, it’s sole occupant in the far left seat closest to me. “Mommy,” Amy Madra said through missing front teeth, “look! It’s the bus kid!” She refocused her gaze on me and waved. “Hi, bus kid!” The second time she greeted me it was more like a stage whisper. “Amy, his name is Clark.” her Mommy, Helena, corrected her. “Gotcha. Hi, Clark.” “Bus kid?” Janet said. “Clark doesn’t ride the bus. Why does she call him ‘bus kid’?” “With Amy?” the other Amazon said, “Who knows? She’s always had quite the imagination.” Social invisibility theory: confirmed. Social amnesia hypothesis: created. The two giantesses stepped in front of the strollers and took a knee to make eye contact. “Clark,” Janet gestured to the stroller beside me. “This is Amy.” I looked at the Little that had gone full native. Of course it was Amy. Her hair wasn’t in a bow or a ribbon this time, but she was still missing those front teeth and had those light brown bangs draped above her eyebrows. The Khaki dress with decorative buttons down the front looked almost like the uniforms the zookeepers wore. It was probably something they sold in the gift shop. The floppy bucket hat didn’t quite match but it gave the rough appearance of a pith helmet. Helena had dressed her doll up to go on a mock safari. “Hi Amy,” I managed a polite wave for show. “Hi Clark,” she waved back. She opened her mouth to babble out some more, but then caught sight of her mommy’s eye. She made a zipping motion across his lip, instead. Helena said, “Miss Grange and I are becoming friends, so we thought to take the two of you out to play and get to know each other better, too.” The wardens were hitting it off and now their personal prisoners had to make ‘nice’. Typical. “Where did you two become friends?” I asked. “We met Thursday,” Janet said. Not quite an answer, but at least she wasn’t saying that they hit it off over the ashes of my burned down house. She had that going for her. “Do you want them to share a stroller?” Amy’s mommy asked. “Amy’s has room for one more, and we can park yours.” I glanced over at Amy. I don’t know when she started waving to me again, but she hadn’t stopped. Her hand was fidgeting at me more so than waving, and the close lipped smile and blank stare signaled she might be on a kind of mental autopilot. Definitely not thinking about me. If it had been Chaz, or even Billy or Annie; someone I could commiserate with and hand off snide little remarks to, I’d have been tempted to call Janet the M-word and play up the cute factor to make it happen. As it stood, the Little girl I’d met on public transportation that dark and stormy night was just this side of Ivy in terms of company. At least the smaller Zoge was something of a known quantity. Maybe some bit of reluctance showed on my face and Janet chose to read the signals I was sending.. “Let’s just keep their strollers close together,” Janet said. “I’m trying to break this one in.” I felt myself relax again. “You just haven’t pushed a stroller around enough, yet.” Helena said. “You want the experience.” “Yeah…” Crap. From the sounds of it, Janet had found not only a friend, but a kind mentor; an Amazon mommy that had been where she was. Which meant that Amy was another ‘good influence’. Very Typical. The two giants maneuvered themselves back behind the strollers. “Where first, kids?” “Hmm-hm!” Amy said. Her eyes were wide and bright, but her lips were still welded shut by an invisible blowtorch. Aaaaaand she had obviously transitioned herself into some kind of game. She tucked her middle and ring fingers on each hand behind her thumb, almost like she was at a heavy metal concert, but then turned her arms and pointed her remaining fingers at each other. “Hmm-hm-hmm-m-hmm!” I looked at her arms lightly clapping against each other, like a big chomping mouth with four prominent teeth. Then I read the directional signs. Fine. Why not? Screw it. “The hippos”, I said. Amy threw her hands up in the air and waggled them in celebration. “HMMMMMMMMMM!” “Hippos it is!” Janet said. I hung my chin to touch my chest and exhaled. This was going to be a long play date. Maybe I could lay back and pretend to fall asleep until the real thing happened. Would that count as ‘good’? As ‘nice’? The hippo pen was a muddy bank fenced and railed off from the park goers in case the lumbering dump truck of an animal decided to charge. The ditch dug in the ground made for a deep enough hole where the hippo could lounge, but it was basically a pig pen. “Hmm-hm-hmmmm-hmm-hmmm!” From her stroller, Amy pointed excitedly to a yellow sign near the cage that read. “Hippo Splatter Zone.” Her eyes were alive with excitement. From the drawing it looked like the backside of a hippo that was wagging its tail and shaking water off of it or something. “Hmmmm-hmm-hm-hmm!” What kind of bullshit meds was this girl on? “You can talk, you know.” The Little girl in the bucket hat opened her mouth. “That’s not water!” “What?” “That’s not water. When hippos poop they use their tail like a windshield wiper and make it go all everywhere!” she said. “They’re one of the only animals that can wipe themselves also they can fit about nine-thousand four hundred and sixty two marbles in their mouth without choking!” “Honey,” her mommy said. “That’s only the hippo game we have at home.” Amy paused for breath and looked at me knowingly. She shook her head slightly as if the giant woman misspoke but she didn’t have the heart to correct her. It was almost condescending, in fact. “Hippos are so dense they can’t float but that lets them run while underwater but unlike a certain documentary they don’t wear tutus when they dance with crocodiles that part was staged even though the choreography was pretty accurate.” Oh no. What had I done? “Amy…” I said. “Yeah?” “Were you playing a quiet hum talk game a second ago?” “Um….? Yeah I think so it seemed good cuz the grown-ups were talkin’.” “Do you wanna play it again?” “Nope. Too late. Some scientists believe that hippos are related to pigs which is why you should never ever ever feed one bacon because that would be cannibalism and that’s frowned upon in most non-komodo dragon societies this zoo doesn’t have a komodo exhibit and that’s a good thing for the goats also hippos are vegetarians so they wouldn’t like the bacon it's why I could never be a hippo. ” Damn. “Amy’s going through a hippo phase,” I heard Helena say to Janet. “I think it’s because she saw the commercial for those new diapers. The ‘hippobottomuses’.” “Oh yeah!” Janet said. “The ones with the little pink hippos on them!” “They fade when wet,” Helena went on. “Something about hippos hiding under the water. I’ve got some in her baby bag I can show you later. They come in blue, too.” Great. I had a nonsense rambling Little that had gone the way of Ivy, as so many of Beouf’s students eventually did, and two giants talking about what to put on other people’s bottoms. So much for ‘nice’. The strollers started moving again. Fortunately for my ears and sanity, the distance between our two strollers in motion was enough to send Amy Madra back into whatever quiet mindfucked haze she lived her life in. Unfortunately for my sense of dignity, the two so-called parents pushing us had no such compunction and their voices carried. “So, remind me you work at the elementary school?” Helena said to Janet. “Third grade,” Janet replied. “I don’t know how you do it.” “Third graders aren’t so bad,” Janet said. “I think they’re neat. They’re really just starting to figure stuff out and get into more complex thought processes but they’re still kids.” Before Janet could inevitably get out some twisted metaphor of comparing me to her students, Amy’s warden both beat her to the punch and corrected herself with a, “Oh no, not the third graders. Four? Forty? Kids of any age are great. I meant your principal. What was her name? Brawl? Bowl?” “Brollish,” I called back. “Yeah,” the Amazon said. “Brollish. She’s easily one of the most unpleasant people I’ve ever met. How does a woman like that even get into education? I remember talking to her at one of the Fall Carnivals when Amy used to go there and she just had this...this...incredibly nasty and fake aura about her. Like, I can’t quite describe it.” “Yeah…” Janet sighed. “Does she talk to you that way? Like she’s above you and you’re just a file or a number to her?” Professional courtesy might have been restraining Janet. I was no longer a professional by that point. “She’s a witch.” Then I dared to add, “or something that rhymes with witch.” “Clark!” Janet didn’t sound too upset. More embarrassed that her ‘baby’ had spoken out of turn. Helena laughed. “It’s true!” Over in her stroller, Amy was bobbing her head deeply as if I’d just expressed one of the great unspoken truths of the universe. “I know it’s true,” said Janet, “but that’s not something we’re supposed to say out loud.” “Don’t worry,” Helena said. “Amy and I won’t tell. Right baby girl?” “No, Mommy.” Amy puckered her lips. “Or yes Mommy. I won’t tell, I mean.” “Good girl.” Another mad giantess and her brainwashed Little. At least they didn’t like Brollish. They had that going for them. “And is that ditzy receptionist still there? I never learned her name, but I didn’t like her,either. I felt like she was always staring at Amy.” Okay. Wow. Two things. “Thank goodness, for teachers like you and Mrs. Beouf.” Swing and a miss. A ways away from the hippos were giant heavy wooden fences. They were closer to barricades, almost like a fortress. The fences were still not tall enough to conceal the lanky yellow horses with tiny nubs on their heads and ridiculously long necks.. “A giraffe’s neck is exactly as long as it needs to be,” Amy told me once our rides stopped. “Also it’s an even toed ungulate meaning each foot has two hooves that surround what would be its third and fourth toes so if they played piggy toes they’d only get roast beef and none.” My eyebrows shot up. That last part didn’t didn’t sound like complete horse crockery. “How do you-? Where did-?” “The giraffe belongs to the family Giraffidae the genus Giraffa and the species camelopardalis which I did not see coming at all.” My left ear almost went parallel to the ground in my confusion. Did that mean that hippos really were too dense to float and could wipe themselves? How much coming out of this lady was crazy and how much of it was actual fact? “Oh look!” Janet said. “They have feeders! Clark, do you want to feed the giraffes?” Amy burst in with more ‘facts’. “You should do it I love feeding giraffes they have purple tongues that protect them from the sun because if they didn’t their tongues would either get sunburned or they’d have to eat a lot more sunscreen and that’s not the best flavor although some people really really like coconut but I don’t think giraffes do.” “Is there a brand of diaper or something that features giraffes?” I asked Amy. She blinked. “No. Why?” The stroller jostled when Janet locked the wheels and stepped around “Clark? she said, ‘Do you want to feed the giraffes?’.” I looked up at the vacuum sealed horse camel things. I have no idea how old giraffes live to be but they’d clearly been here long enough to be as close to tame as a wild animal could get. Through big cow-like eyes they were peering down at us, looking from our group and then over to the feed dispensers, hoping that we’d take the hint. More importantly, Janet had asked me if I’d wanted to do something. She’d asked. Not told. “It’s okay if you don’t want to.” She was asking me. Really asking. And I had the option to say no. That was really...nice. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s feed the giraffes.” Janet reached in and unbuckled the lap restraints keeping me in the stroller. By the time I was riding her side Helena already had Amy up and out, too. “My treat,” she said, handing over some coins to Janet. The feed vending machine was close enough to the giraffes that they could see it but far enough away that even their serpentine necks couldn’t reach it.. There was a good reason for this. With her free hand, Janet popped a coin into a gumball machine-like contraption and twisted the big sterling silver handle until it clicked. We were treated to the sounds of tiny fine grains and pieces dropping and then ramming against a heavy steel flap. “Open it up,” she told me. “Both hands.” As instructed and inferred, I waited for her to stick her free hand beneath the flap and reached out to lift the trap door. Out into Janet’s hand came an Amazon sized load of animal treats slightly larger than bird seed but with the color, texture, and consistency of soft dog kibble. Without waiting to be told, I cupped my hands and Janet dumped about half of her payload into my combined palms. “I’ll go first, then it can be your turn.” We very quickly discovered how far the giraffes could or would reach to get their treats. The moment Janet’s outstretched hand was close enough, a mutant yellow goat lurched forward with a strangely purplish black tongue. My ex-coworker giggled as the oddly prehensile tongue licked her palm clean. “It tickles!” A few strides away from us, Amy and Helena were occupying the other giraffe with similar treats. “Your turn!” Janet took a step forward to account for the differences in our reach. Nervously I held out both hands and braced myself when the black adder snaked its way out of the giraffe's mouth and slimed my palms. “Aaaaagh!” I shrieked. “I told you it tickles!” Janet laughed. Her dark hair bounced as she stepped back a bit. I didn’t want to admit it, but my face was contorting in ways that weren’t completely rooted in disgust, fear, or anger. Other than the riding on the hip part, this might have been something I’d have enjoyed before last week. Hard to tell, really. I’d done research on the Gardens; know your terrain and all that; but I’d never gotten to go to a zoo before, either… “Giraffes have the same number of bones in their neck as people,” Amy rambled, “which is good because if their bones were missing then their heads would just be floating up above their torsos and that might be uncomfy.” My own captor laughed. “Is that true?” Janet asked. “Not the floating part; the bones part.” She wasn’t asking Amy. “I don’t know anymore,” Helena said. “It’s what I get for having such a smart Little girl with such a wild imagination.” She looked at Amy and nuzzled her head. Amy nuzzled back and the Amazon ended it with a kiss on the cheek, complete with “Mwwwwah!” If they’d actually been mother and child, it might have looked sweet. “It’s true,” a previously unseen Tweener in khakis stepped forward. “About the neck bones I mean.” The park kept employees nearby all the exhibits where people had any opportunity to physically interact with the animals. No sense in letting the customers break the exhibits. And like most Tweeners, this employee was just short enough to be overlooked, but just tall enough to be considered when she spoke. “Oh really?” Helena said. “Thank you for telling us.” “You’re welcome, ma’am.” “Anything else you can tell us about giraffes?” Janet asked the zookeeper. “Nothing your Little girl hasn’t already said.” The Tweener replied. She looked right at her. “Hi, Amy!” “Hi Laura!” Janet turned to the other Amazon and asked the question that was already brewing in my brain. “You two come here often?” “At least every other week.” Amy chimed in with, “It’s my favorite place in the whole world or maybe second favorite does anywhere with ice cream count as a place if they sold ice cream here it would definitely be my favorite place hands down that or the Little’s Science Museum but has more to do with the really good flavors of golf balls that they have.” “She really likes animals.” “No doubt.” The two giants moved in concert to put us back in our respective strollers. “Oops,” Janet said, reaching in. “You lost your paci.” She reached forward and dug it out. “Oh! Amy too. Littles,” I heard Helena say. “You get all this stuff for them and they lose it anyway. I swear they’d lose their diapers if they weren’t taped on so well.” That’s kind of the point. “That’s kind of the point,” Janet said. A great example of how an Amazon and a Little can think the same sentence and have it mean two different things. She buckled me into the stroller, and disappeared behind me long enough to get a baby wipe, clean the pacifier in front of me and then clip it back onto my shirt. I caught the tail end of Amy’s captor doing the same on her end. I waited until Janet had taken her spot behind the stroller to yank the clip off my shirt collar and toss the binky back behind me. Amy looked at me, looked at her own pacifier, and did the same. Was that…? Was that solidarity? Or just copying? Hard to tell. Like Ivy, did it matter if I could use it to my advantage? “Where to next?” Helena asked Janet. I spoke up. “Let Amy decide. I wanna hear what she has to say.” And so they did. The tour of the Gardens was far from organized and efficient, but it was interesting to say the least. We went to the reptile house: “Most snakes are venomous not poisonous they’re very good at finding insecurities and exploiting them a snake can unhinge its jaw to better swallow food but it has to be very careful not to lose it.” Then on to various bird exhibits: “As a baby the owl disguises itself as a Muffet.” Looking at the owlet, she was not wrong. “Some parrots can mimic almost anything they hear most of the time they just scream and laugh though so it’s honestly just like a daycare.” “Can confirm” Helena laughed. “And that’s why we’re never getting a parrot.” Also we saw a group of monkeys descended from when movie makers wanted to use the woods and swamps around a middle of nowhere town to shoot their picture and just left them behind because as bad as the animals had it now they had it worse seventy plus years ago. “Monkeys are capable of using tools and that’s why the diaper company named itself after them even though they had to change the spelling for copyright reasons turns out that tailed primates also have very good lawyers. Also Monkeez sounds better than Capuchinz” In between the stops where Amy was blasting me with bits of animal facts and fiction with such randomness and sincerity that sorting one out from the other was becoming a kind of mini-game, I caught bits of Janet getting experienced ‘Maturosis’ Mommy tips from Helena. So between learning that an alligator’s sex is determined by egg temperature or that skunks are oblivious to their personal flaws and thus are immune to rattlesnakes which may also explain why they don’t realize that nobody likes them, I also got to hear: “Don’t go to any kid’s movie that offers special glasses for the adults. Same with if you have to leave the room. If you can’t experience it with them it’s garbage and they’re telling the Littles stuff they don’t want you to hear for a reason.” As well as: “That green goo they sell for diaper rash? Different brands all over but basically the same stuff? Only use it if they have the runs or really really need hydration. It’s great for that. Good odor control too. Don’t spread it like a lotion. Put the diaper on first, then squirt it in. That’s what the attachment hose is for. But be careful how much you use and where you use it unless you want him masturbing.” And: “Ohbagosh makes some of the cuuuuutest clothes, but don’t buy from them. They donate money to organizations that promote outdated and unethical treatments. Surgical alterations. Shock aversion therapy. They don’t even officially believe in Maturosis.” So much to unpack there. “If it’s not a medical or mental health condition,” Janet asked, “then what is it?” “I know, right?” Helena agreed. “That’s why I buy knock-offs and custom gear.” Mixed in with that, were all the zookeepers in their khaki shorts and fake safari gear waving not to me, or Janet or Helena, but to Amy. “Hi Amy!” “Hey Amy! Hi Ms. Madra!” “Morning Amy!” “Hi Preston” “Hi Bill!” “Good to see you Jordan!” She really did come here often. To have that many Amazons acknowledge her, even as an adult might a child...so much for my social invisibility theory. The morning was slipping away from me, and I hated to admit it but it wasn’t entirely bad. “A polar bear’s fur is actually see through and not white they just choose to look white because it goes with everything.” “Amy,” I said. “That’s a black bear.” Amy’s eyes shifted. “I know I just don’t care about black bears and wanted to talk about polar bears.” I stopped. I opened my mouth. I shut it again. Finally, after much internal struggle, I burst out laughing.I laughed; actually laughed! Long and loud and full. “That might be the first time I’ve heard Clark laugh,” I heard Janet say. “Ever.” She sounded amazed. “Definitely all week.” Through my guffawing I could hear the relief in her words. I pulled at the curls my still freshly dyed hair to settle down and relaxed back into the cushion seat. I’d kind of needed that laugh right then. It felt good. Really good. I didn’t know how much I’d needed it until just then. There was a period of nice hazy silence from both pairs of the playdate for a minute or two. I was so worn out that I almost didn’t mind when a four year old boy pointed and waved at me. It was easy enough to ignore; this time. “Look, Clark!” Janet roused me. “Your favorite!” I dusted the momentary cobwebs out and saw what Janet was pointing to. Behind another barrier of enclosed chain link and a safety railing, much like the hippos, were a gaggle of old circus cats. Were they in the wild, they’d have been big killing machines hunting down gazelle on the savannah. Likely bred and born in captivity, these majestic maned beasts had the physiques of tremendous housecats. Amy took that as her call to action. “Oh you like lions? Lions have a gestation period of one hundred ten days and have no breeding season male lions become sexually reproductive around twenty-six months old and male lions will sometimes form tag team coalitions but then they’ll break up because their pride gets too big and they’ve forgotten it was all about the music.” This time Janet didn’t stay quiet. As Amy rambled about the reproduction habits of big cats, Janet dug me all the way out of the stroller and held me in her arms again. “Which one looks the most like Lion, Clark?” “They all look like lions,” Helena said. Oh dear. “No, no.” Janet corrected her. “Lion is the name of his favorite stuffed animal.” “He named his stuffed lion, ‘Lion’?” Helena put her hand to her chest. “How cuuuuute! That is such a Little thing to do!” “Oh my gosh,” Janet smacked her forehead. “I totally forgot to pack him. He’s back home in Clark’s crib. Rookie mistake!” Briefly, very briefly, I wanted to scream. I reverted to biting my tongue as Janet recalled her version of events. Obviously, it was a lot more bubbly sounding than mine. Amy waited for the self-appointed grown-ups to stop talking long enough to try and whisper to me. “What about Jessinnia?” My expression must have told her enough. “Jessinnia? The octopus stuffie in Mrs. B’s room? He wears a top hat and a monocle and he talks in an Albiene accent because octopuses are super smart.” She made a circle by touching her thumb and forefinger together and held it up to her eye. ‘Wat ho pip pip cheerio sweep your chimney Queen’s come for tea!” I was so befuddled I accidentally held my breath. “It’s okay, bud,” Amy said. “You’ll get it.” That entire exchange was ignored by Helena and Janet, either because they thought the conversation of two permanent children was beneath them or they were just as confused as I was and sometimes you just have to press forward. “I don’t know about you,” Helena said, stretching her arms, “but I could use a sit.” Janet thumbed behind her. “I saw a playground nearby. Why don’t we have a sit and let the Little Ones stretch their legs.” “Good idea.” The playground was well kept but clearly wasn’t meant to be a main attraction. With benches on the periphery a turtle shaped sandbox and the kind of generic jungle gym that could be found at most any fast food place sans the ballpit, it was doing what it was supposed to be doing: Giving very big people a place to sit and catch their breath and small people with short attention spans minor recreation. The area was so dinky that even the eight year olds I’d seen earlier would be too big for it. No one would come to the Gardens for the playground, but no one was supposed to. “Ooooof,” Janet said, sitting me down for a moment on her lap. ”You don’t realize how tired you are until you sit down.” She bounced me a little on her knee, then let me gently slide off to my feet. “You get used to it,” Helena said. She didn’t slide Amy off. Instead she said, “Clark? Are you a good walker, honey?” I looked at my feet like it was a trick question. “Um...yeah?” “Will you help Amy get to the sandbox? She’s not wearing good crawling clothes right now and I don’t want her knees getting dirty.” Oh yeah! Flashbacks from the bus incident came back to me. She was kind of wobbly. “If you’re tired,” Janet offered, “ I don’t mind carrying her.” “No, no. It’s fine. Let the kids help each other. I trust Clark.” Before I had a chance to digest any of that, the other Little took the moment out of my hands. “Mommy Slide!” With a single huff, she pushed herself off and skidded down her giantess’s knees and shins. “WHEEEEEE!” I won’t say it was instinct as much as me trying to be decent, but I ran the few steps and reached out. Amy’s hand reached back and clasped onto mine- not nearly as strong as Ivy’s but it was firm- and steadied herself. From her splayed out legs, the fact that the hem of the dress was too short to begin with and because it bunched itself up sliding down Helena’s legs, the state of the Little woman’s diaper was very apparent to anyone with even a day of experience with such things. Tiredly, Helena Madra tucked her feet under the bench so that she could lean forward and grab the back of Amy’s skirt. “I’m going to have to change that.” “Now?” Amy whined. Her mommy yanked the skirt back down with one hand. “I didn’t say ‘right now’, baby girl. Just soon. Go play with your new friend.” Amy used her free hand and smoothed out the front of her skirt. “Okie doke. Thank you, Mommy.” She nudged me. “C’mon, bus kid.” The walk over to the sandbox was slow but steady. Amy leaned on me, not putting her full weight but more like using me as a cane. Her gait was clumsy and unsteady, but she had strength in her legs. Months ago, I might have wondered if her legs had atrophied. Now I wasn’t so sure. It definitely wasn’t the diaper. Even with the thickest nighttime one Janet had put me in and feeling as weak as a kitten from exhaustion I could balance better than Amy. This was more like Chaz. Chaz’s Amazons had been using hypnosis on him to hurt his continence and to give him a childish lisp whenever he was wet. Based on Chaz’s speech lately, Beouf had nipped that in the bud early enough to prevent lasting damage. Maybe his and Amy’s impairments were the result of a more subtle form of hypnosis that Beouf either approved of or just didn’t know about. I wouldn’t likely get much useful information from someone as far off the wagon as Amy, however. “Thaaaaank you.” Amy said when we got to the sandbox. She turned around, sat backwards on the green rim and then pivoted her legs around so that she was facing the right way. “Good job.” “Um...you’re welcome,” I said. I stood there, feeling awkward. I was in the proximity of someone who clearly was possessed of a brain, but who as far as I could tell had had their eggs completely scrambled. I glanced at the jungle gym about fifteen feet away. Maybe I could go lean against one of the supporting posts and think about nothing for a few minutes. Me being alone with my thoughts wasn’t always the best option. Still might be better than this. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I was still mildly uncomfortable being in this place; the playground. It was the same kind of nasty back of my brain itch that I got whenever I was on Beouf’s new playground. There were no shovels or buckets in the sandbox, so Amy started digging in the sand with her bare hands. That wasn’t surprising. “Hmmmm….” she hummed. What was surprising was how she lightly dusted her palms off and then licked the remaining residue off. “Hm. Good sand,” she said. “Artificial but not too processed zero preservatives and free of cat urine and gluten. Very good sand.” “Eww!” I didn’t shout it but my face made my confusion and disgust pretty plain. “Why?!” She shrugged. “Why not? Also it’s gluten free. Now about Jessinnia...” “What is wrong with you?” The other Little tilted her head to the side and looked up at the sky. “Nothing really. I’m a little thirsty though that might have to do with all the talking I’ve been doing or it might be the sand why didn’t you look for Jessnnia he’s purple if that helps.” I rubbed my temples. Somehow I had been lured into sitting down at the sandbox. I wouldn’t have realized it except that I was looking dead at her instead of down on her. “I don’t care about your octopus stuffie. I really don’t.” I didn’t say it angrily. I wasn’t angry. It’s hard to be angry with a person just as powerless as you are and who clearly doesn’t know what they're talking about. “Pffft...rude!” She kept digging, picking up handfuls of sand and letting them fall back down between her fingers. “I love sand.” At least she didn’t lick her hands again. I rolled my eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t look for your favorite stuffie but-” “Apology accepted.” “-But, I’ve been kind of going through a lot lately.” I powered through the interruption. “That burned down house where we saw each other last? That was mine last week.” “Well why’d you…?” Amy froze. A new glint of recognition dawned in her eyes. “Last week?” I hung my head. “Yeah.” “Oooooooooooh,” she said, finally getting it. “Oh wow.” “Yeah.” “You’re still new to this.” “Yeah.” “Really really new.” “Yeah.” “I thought you got adopted like…months ago...like half a year ago or something.” I picked my head up, feeling slightly incredulous. “What?” “Yeah,” Amy said. She was doodling in the sand, not looking at me. “Two unadopted Littles. No grown-ups with them. On a bus. Dark and stormy night.” She was clearly choosing her words more carefully, but they still had that whimsical almost childlike quality. “I thought the bus driver might just drive all the way back to the bus station and say you were abandoned.” My throat felt dry. I hadn’t thought of that. I really hadn’t. “We just waited till it looped around and got off at the same stop you did.” “Oh? Okay. Good.” “Yeah…” She looked thoughtful again. “If you didn’t find your mommy because of the bus I guess I can’t call you bus kid anymore how did you find your mommy?” “I pooped my pants in the middle of basically a parent teacher conference.” I told her. “Then my best Amazon friends all turned on me.” “As they do.” “As they do,” I echoed. “Somebody spiked my coffee or something. I think somebody might have stolen diapers, too to make it look like I was sneaking them or something.” It was weird, telling another Little what had happened to me, even in brief. No obfuscation or coded language or worrying that an Amazon might hear me; just telling my truth. It was...nice. Amy started filling in the hole she’d made. “That’s kind of boring.” I looked down between my legs, and blushed. “Yeah. Guess so.” “Can’t call ya pants pooper kid. That’s all of us.” “Why doesn’t your Amazon remember the bus?” I asked. My box mate lightly shrugged. “I dunno. Grown-ups are weird sometimes.” She blinked and took a deep breath. “Like one time, I was playing kitty cat and I was crawling around on the floor and I was going in between Mrs. Beouf’s and Mrs. Zoge’s legs and they told me not to do that and that was dangerous even though my kitties used to do that all the time to me and they never got hurt and I’m bigger than most kitty cats maybe grown-ups aren’t good with things smaller than Littles do you think that’s why most of them don’t have pets?” I took a moment to process that all in. “What?” “I was just playing a game,” Amy said more slowly. “Sometimes grown-ups get upset when you’re playing games because they only really like it when you’re playing their games and it's their idea at least until you teach them right.” I thought back to as recently as Tuesday, or even the glorious potential that was Why Day and grinned triumphantly. “Yeah,” I sighed. “Amazons are control freaks. I got put in time out for asking ‘Why’ too many times.” Conveniently, I left out what an ass I was purposefully being. “Yeah?” Amy asked. “Did you get the naughty stool where Miss Zoge can see you or did you have to go to the other classroom where the snooty Little teacher reminds you that you're just a baby and you gotta tough it out or somethin’?” “Naughty stool.” I did a double take. “Hey! I was the Little teacher.” “I know,” Amy simply said. There was a silence as I tried in vain to get a read on her. “No offense I don’t think you’re snooty as a person I’m not gonna start calling you ‘snooty kid’ I just thought that was part of your job like an actor or something.” I didn’t talk to her as much as I talked to myself just then: It wasn’t like that. Except that it kind of was. All teachers were part actor, and I did have something of a spiel... “Who replaced you?” “An Amazon,” I replied. “An ugly one too.” “Oh,” she frowned. “That sucks.” “Yeah. Thanks.” “That won’t work as good Littles are used to being told they’re babies by grown-ups.” I just nodded, taking a kind of grim satisfaction in that. At least another Helper wasn’t taking my place. Somebody would have to be a bigger fool than me to take my place as a Little immediately after I’d been fired for essentially being ‘too Little’. Amy opened her arms wide. “Do you want a hug?” I glared at her. “No.” She may have been at least partly right about me. DIdn’t make me want to give her a hug. “Okie doke. Can you help me up? I think I want a change now.” Placing my hands on my knees I boosted myself up. “Okay.” I stopped and shuddered. Flashbacks of Ivy. “Don’t try to hug me, though.” “I won’t,” she replied. “Consent is key!” She said it like a kid rattling off a cartoon mascot’s catchphrase but...yeah. Who the fuck was this? She stood up and wobbled and had to grab ahold of my hand to stay upright, but she didn’t try anything. “Walk me over?” “Sure.” The hobbling wobbling waddling walk was a bit faster on the return trip than the way over had been. We’d developed a kind of rhythm and balance to the whole bit. Janet and Helena, meanwhile, had buddied up and were staring at one another’s phones. “Oh look at that face!” Helena cooed. “So serious!” The tub pictures. Had to be the tub pictures. Janet pointed over to our approach. “Look! They play so well together! This was such a good idea!” “Hi, Mommy!” Amy chirped. Amy was back in her captor’s lap in an instant. “Hi baby!” Janet copied using me. “Where next?” “Emus!” Amy said. Something else in my gray matter tingled and it had nothing to do with being on the playground. Emus? Why was that so familiar? “Okay sweetie! We’ll go see the ostriches!” “Emus!” “But first-!” In a series of movements so fluid that it was comparable to a military drill or a martial arts kata, Helena stood up, laid Amy down on the bench next to me and Janet and started changing her diaper. No warning. No preface. Amy’s dress was hiked up and the tapes of her sopping wet diaper were undone before I consciously realized what I was watching. I whipped my head around the opposite direction and held my hand up to shield my peripheral vision just in case. I hadn’t seen anything but not because of any hesitation on the Amazon’s part. “Fuck!” “Clark!” Janet scolded me. “That’s not appropriate.” “I said I was gonna get changed,” Amy called to me from her spot on the bench. “What did you think was gonna happen?” “It’s okay, Janet,” Helena said, still likely wiping. “He’s Little and his Maturosis is still new to him. He doesn’t know any better.” Amy started scatting the f-bomb like a jazz singer. “Fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck fucker!” “Amy...you do know better Little girl.” “Yes Mommy.” Janet bounced me on her knee. “Speaking of wet.” She reached her hand down my shorts and gave the front of my diaper a firm yet gentle squeeze. This is the part where I stop strolling down memory lane to remind you that no one pays attention to details in a story that aren’t important to them in the moment or in hindsight. So yes, my pants were wet. I hadn’t held it in because I knew I wasn’t going to be given a choice. No, I don’t remember exactly when it happened, but yes I was very aware when it was happening. Do you keep track everytime you go to the bathroom? I envisioned myself on the bench, out in the open, getting changed and tensed every muscle in my body. The idea terrified me. “Please don’t be too wet please don’t be too wet,” I whispered to myself, actually praying that I wasn’t close to leaking. “Wet,” Janet said. “Very wet.” I slammed my eyelids closed and clenched my teeth. Here we go… I felt Janet pick me up. Pathetically, I clung to her shoulder, bracing myself for the fall back down to the bench. “I’m going to go find a bathroom with a changing station. I need to go potty, too.” “Okay,” Helena said. “I need to find a garbage can anyways. What do you think of these?” Amy was still laying spread eagle with her skirt flipped up; a new, pink hippo themed diaper taped over her hips. “Very cute. Come on Clark.” “Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you.” “Welcome, baby.” Janet spoke aloud. She took us into the women’s room, right by the concession stands. Fortunately, the changing table was located in the handicap stall. Maximum privacy given the circumstances. A smile played at Janet’s lips while she laid me down and pulled my shorts over my ankles. A quick tug at the sides and the tapes screamed loose, but no louder sounding than in Beouf’s bathroom and unlike during Circle Time no one was around to hear. I hadn’t glimpsed any feet poking out of adjacent stalls.. The outdoor humidity and the oddly stagnant restroom air made the following wipes feel refreshing against my wet skin. Janet didn’t coo at me, but she hummed to herself tunelessly. She balled up the old plastic shell and tossed it in the trash can. “Just a second,” she said. She dug into the diaper bag and started unfolding it in front of me. Another rookie mistake. Had this been forty eight hours prior I might have considered pushing my bladder and hoping that I had enough in the tank to hit her. But Janet had been doing right by me lately. So I was trying to be ‘good’. I was trying to be ‘nice’. She slipped the fresh diaper underneath me. “Powder?” she asked. “No thank you.” Wow. Janet asking again? New high score? My ex-friend tilted her head, lifted me up by the ankles, and inspected my backside anyways. “Okay..” she said. My legs were laid down and spread. The diaper came up. Janet taped it back on, sealing me in In other words, it was a diaper change. “Shorts back on, please.” I mumbled. “Of course,” Janet replied. She pulled them back into place. “You didn’t leak.” I relaxed when I was fully dressed again and off the gray plastic tray. A dangling black strap that had never been pulled across my chest testified how confident Janet was feeling just then. I had been taken to a place I’d never been before, seen some poor but interesting animals, met a strange but oddly compelling Little, and Janet was showing more and more consideration for my feelings. I didn’t want to be in a diaper or a stroller, obviously. I wanted my freedom. I wanted my adulthood back. My last name, too. But right now; in the moment; for the time being; my humiliation and anxiety and grief and resentment were lower than they’d been in many days. I wouldn’t have chosen this or traded what I’d lost, but some part of me considered that other captured Littles most definitely had it worse. It was…nice. Not great. Not even good. But nice. “Hello, hello!” Helena’s voice called into the bathroom. “Any Granges in here?” Janet opened the door and walked out with me. Amy was back in her double stroller. “Just got him sorted out,” she said. “I still need to go. Mind watching him? I might be a bit.” The big blonde soccer mom leaned over sideways and took me from Janet. “No problem! How about I take them to see the ostriches?” “Emus!” “Emus,” Helena corrected herself. “You can meet us there.” “Sure,” Janet said. “Sounds great. Can I have a bye bye kiss?” My face remained absolutely neutral. I didn’t lean in. I was happier, more content, ‘nicer’, but if I was being given the option I was still refusing. Janet’s lips twitched, a look of disappointment, if not heartbreak, sketching itself on her face. Pivoting so that I was away from Janet, Helena Madra put a hand on the other Amazon’s shoulder. “Don’t stress, hon. It’s not just Maturosis he’s dealing with. I read a book and you’d be surprised to find out how Little communities teach their children to resist adult help if Maturosis sets in. Not that I blame them, considering history.” Janet exhaled through her nostrils. “Mmm-hmmm.” “He’s not just dealing with Maturosis. He’s dealing with years of programming and indoctrination.” Programming?! Indoctrination?! The nerve! “I’m still here, you know,” I huffed. “Let’s just have some fun at the zoo.” I was being ignored. Typical. Whelp, it was ‘nice’ while it lasted. I ended up back in the double stroller, buckled in right next to Amy. “I can’t wait to introduce you to Emulio Estevez and Emuly Dickenson. They’re the best.” “Hey Amy!” A passing zookeeper waved. Amy waved back. “Hi hi, Pete!” Fine. Crazy Amazon lady had a point. It was an unusually nice day. I wasn’t escaping today. I might as well enjoy it. Still… “We met on the bus.” Amy’s mommy finished buckling me into the double stroller and looked up. “Excuse me?” “We met on the bus a couple of months ago.” My voice was deadpan. If nothing else this giant nutter was going to know who I was. “I used to be the teacher right next door to Mrs. Beouf.” Helena was as nonchalant as I was pretending to be. “Mmm-hmmm.” “I’m serious,” I said. “You told me how much I helped Amy…? I had a goatee.” She walked around back and started pushing the stroller. “I know.” “What? No…?” “Your mommy told me how she got you.” “When?” “Thursday.” Amy tapped me on the shoulder. Lips pursed, she nodded. “Hmm-hmm-hmm.” Which I had to assume was hum talk for ‘Yes she did’. I crossed my arms over my chest and pouted to myself. Social amnesia hypothesis: debunked. “Hmm-m-Hmmm-hm-hmm-m-hmmm-hmm-m-hmm-hmm?” “Fine,” I grumbled. “Go ahead.” I needed a laugh. “Emus have coarse hair like feathers cause they’re basically dinosaurs,” Amy rambled, “they just refuse to be told to go extinct and go rawr emu females are dominant and larger they would rule the world if they only had thumbs or else would be pirate queens cause they love shiny things but most birbs like shiny things except for ducks in my experience but that’s largely anecdotal.” I started to chuckle a tad. The idea of basically an ostrich with a pirate hat rang funny in my mind’s eye. “Amy loves her emus,” Helena said, pushing closer and closer to the big bird pens. Emus. What was bothering me so much about emus? “The emu daddy sits on the eggs and they are monogamous but they don’t like labels if there was a fight between people and emus the emus would win decisively they like doing tap you on the shoulder tricks with their beaks. Also their name only has three letters but is very hard to pronounce. E-moo? E-myoo? These are the questions.” The emu pen didn’t look like much upon approach. It had probably been a bit of reclaimed farmland originally; just grass. The fences weren’t that high. There was no ceiling or roof to the pens. I knew emus couldn’t fly. Evidently they couldn’t jump either. Another keeper was filling up a bucket. “Hey, Amy.” “Hi Jillian! Feeding Emulio and Emuly?” The Amazon college student chuckled. “Which one is that, girly girl?” Amy pointed at the giant feather dusters and labeled them. “That’s Emuliano, Emurson, Emury, Emunuel, Emulia aaaaaand, that’s Emulio Estevez and his partner Emuly Dickenson.” “Wow, Amy,” the lady in khakis that perfectly matched Amy’s play dress said. “You’ve given them all names! That’s really neat!” “She named them all before, too!” Helena said with pride. Gears were just starting to turn in my too-slow brain. “Before?” “I love coming here,” Helena said. “Me too, Mommy.” Amy smiled openly, her missing top teeth even more evident to me. “This is my favorite place.” “So many happy memories.” Oh no. “Amy,” Helena said. “Since you already know how Clark found his Mommy, you should be fair and tell him how we found each other.” “We already told him.” Oh no. “We did?” Oh no. “Yeah. On the bus.” Oh no. She did tell me. On the bus, smiling. In the corner of my room crying, before that. She told me again anyway. “I was feeding the emus and I forgot to take my earrings out mainly because I wasn’t planning on feeding them that day but the schedule got mixed around and emus are very curious birbs and so when they saw the shiny things in my ears they wanted to take them and started peckin’ and peckin’ and peckin’ at me emus are very strong and can kick through steel fencing when angered.” “And I ran in and saved her!” “And Mommy ran in and saved me!” I was shaking and I wasn’t even sure with what. “You used to work here?” I asked Amy. “Yup,” she said immediately. “And here is where you got caught?” “Adopted.” “And all these zookeepers used to be your coworkers?” “Some of them, yeah.” “And you’re dressed in a baby version of what you used to wear to work.” “Uh-huh.” “This,” my throat started choking up. “This is your Oakshire. This is your dead adult life staring you in the face.” “Kind of.” Trembling, I reached over to the poor woman whose life I’d inadvertently helped destroy, took her hands into my own and asked. “Doesn’t that bother you?” The doll’s eyelids fluttered vacantly for a moment. “Not really.” “Why the fuck not?” “Oakshire has a really good Maturoses and Developmental Plateau unit,” Helena Madra answered for her Little. “You’re a Lucky Little Boy.” I looked at Amy Madra just then and saw something I hadn’t seen before. I saw acceptance. I saw contentment. I saw quirkiness and cleverness and a certain willingness to go with the flow and manipulate the rules to her advantage when and where she could. I saw so much of myself. More specifically, I saw myself if I chose to live another day like I’d lived this one. I saw someone who gave up and broke down.I saw everything that Janet and Beouf and Oakshire Elementary would do to me if I let them. I saw someone that had traded freedom, passion, her own adulthood and her professional pride for having a day that was just…’nice’. Now all she had left was a bunch of animal facts that no one else would bother with. “Okay,” Janet huffed and puffed. “I’m back. Sorry I took so long. I was halfway here when I remembered that I forgot Clark’s stroller. How is he?” “He’s fine,” Helena told her. “Amy and I were just sharing our story.” “Hey baby boy!” Janet said. “I missed you. Did you miss me?” I went quiet. Cold. Prickly like a hedgehog. Unblinking like an alligator. She unbuckled me and forced me into a hug. “It’s okay if you didn’t miss me.” She was lying, I knew, and it hurt her to do it. “I’m fine,” I lied. I made no effort to conceal my disdain. The rest of the day at the Gardens wasn’t nearly as ‘nice’, but there’s not much to write about in that vein. We’d seen everything by lunch. I got taken back to Janet’s, and I spent the rest of the day forcing myself to relive that awful, awful Monday. “I hate you, Janet.” I said back into the baby monitor that night. She wasn’t getting any sleep tonight. Neither of us were. Not if I had anything to say about it. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I’ll never forgive you. Never.” It’s physically and psychologically hard to stay mad all the time. It’s difficult and draining to be on guard every minute of every day. It’s almost impossible to be sad and mourning everything that’s happened from the minute you wake up to the second you fall asleep. People just aren’t up for that, no matter their size. But I could damn well try. It was a better alternative than being…’nice’.

Then if that was a deliberate choice, I support that choice.

Good worldbuilding and parceling out more information. Like how someone can be 148 and be frozen mid 30's etc. etc. If you're in the mood for critique: My one thing I'd suggest you change, is find a sentence or two to make it clear that this is a flashback. I figured it out quickly enough through context and title etc. but it took me a hot second to connect those dots. "Even just a Two Years Earlier..." before the main stuff might help. Also good use of technobabble to update us on certain things and world building and making it seem kafkaesque and boringly familiar through Josiah's eyes while using the two chapters to contrast against each other. We started media res when the main character is clearly in for a big change, this purification, but now you're pulling us back to at least hint that things were not always this way. So I'm intrigued how you'll use the medium and format. Shall we have a straight line from 148 to 150 and see how things went from boring old what's the point life to full on yaaaay NAN, or are we going to jump around the timeline to see how things compare and contrast asynchronously? Or some blending of the two or a third option I haven't thought of. Either way, I'm intrigued.

Appreciated. Will update later this week, I'm sure.

Your story repeats again after the "now would it?" Is this an intentional choice or a formatting error? Content wise: I think there's some potential here with the information and narrative you've parceled out so far and curious to see where you take it. Edit: As per your request to point out typos, (happens to all of us), I think the phrase you're looking for is "abject horror" not "object horror".

Kudos and thank you to you. The ideas were yours and you knew what you wanted, but you also gave me the creative freedom to deliver on your vision while continuously communicating. It has been a good collaboration. Oh, and regarding Unfair. I hope you like it, but it's a decidedly different tone than these stories, even if the characters inhabit the same fictional world.

I know the one.

Agreed. I'm really happy it turned out. As I recall, my commissioner influenced this one heavily and doubled as an editor.

And because these chapters got so much attention, let me take the time to thank everyone for reading and commenting, even if I don't reply to every comment every time. Let me also take the time to remind everyone that writing these stories is my primary source of income. It's how I pay for my family's groceries. So supporting me on patreon, even if it's just a dollar a month, is helpful to me. For $5.00 you will get access to 30 chapters of Unfair that have yet to be released to the public, as well as approximately 6 months worth of short stories that have yet to be published elsewhere. If you can't afford that or do not wish to spend that kind of money, I understand, and the only price to pay for the stories here is your patience and vigilance in looking for new stories and updates.

So I will never say what is going to happen next. Or what another character is thinking. I'll just say, "perhaps" most times. Okay. I'll bite. What is it? (Or has it been posted publicly yet?) I will say that Clark is an unreliable narrator, because no one can be 100% reliable when telling their own story. Take that as you will. With regards to Janet and most other characters I'll keep my opinions to myself so as not to overly influence interpretation. We're all reading them through Clark's lens, so I don't think it's fair (ironic) to give my personal interpretations at this time. Anything else I will leave up to reader interpretation and opinion, unless a message is received SO FAR off base as to be completely not what I had intended and possibly damaging. (Had someone think in a future chapter that Clark was contemplating suicide based on how I phrased something. Clarifying statements in the comments and edits to the original draft were made soon after. Clark is not suicidal and I don't think he ever will be.) But yes, I drew on some of my own experiences as a little in the non-DD sense and as a teacher irl when coming up with the "Why Day" concept. The only thing I really added was the idea that a bunch of "kids" might collaborate to the point where it's a shorthand open secret and classroom tradition of sorts. Usually it's one actor and others are smart enough to catch on and impulsive enough to go along with it. Perhaps. I will say that most of the characters have more flaws than they'd like to admit and more virtues than Clark will attest to. Because that's how I think people are. The real question is do the impacts of the flaws outweigh the impact of virtues or vice versa? Little Voices is...complicated, like most things. You'll see it soon enough. Yes, and that's what I love about it.

Splash Zone: The Disneyland of Water Parks. Also coincidentally one of the major water parks that was open year round and NOT owned and operated by Disney or one of its fellow megacorporation competitors. And like all good theme parks Splash Zone was part nostalgia, part right of passage, part tourist attraction, and part tourist trap. Just past the entrance, in a sign painted in bright yellow letters and glossed over to look like they were dripping were the words “Caution: You WILL get wet.” That’s where the security guard got to them. “Here’s your wristband miss,” the thirty-something bald guy said, quickly wrapping some fabric around Kimberly’s wrist. He came up so quickly and decisively that Kimberly genuinely thought she’d done something wrong. Not yet five steps past the ticket booth turnstyle and she was already being accosted. Kimberly drew in breath, ready to scream or call for help or demand to know what the guard was doing. Except he did the same thing to Sarah less than ten seconds later. Kim’s best friend held out her wrist, however, as if she were expecting it. “Been a while, huh?” she asked Kim. The college sophomore blushed. “Yeah.” She took a closer look at the man who’d just put a wristband around her. All around her people in official looking uniforms were tagging park visitors. This wasn’t a security guard as much as it was a park greeter. Kim hadn’t even been in kindergarten the last time she was here. Evidently the park had made some major updates. Taking the lead, Sarah grabbed her ticket and held it out to the greeter. “I come here a couple times a year.” So that’s why Kim’s dorm mate seemed so in control. The burly greeter took out a scan gun and scanned the ticket. “Sarah Mathers? Age twenty?” he asked. “That’s me,” Sarah said. The greeter quickly scanned her wristband. “One more year till I can get pina coladas in the lazy river.” The greeter laughed. It was the dry laugh of someone who’d heard that joke a thousand times. “You’re good to go,” the greeter said. Sarah stepped to the side and Kimberly dug her ticket back out of her pocket. He scanned Kim’s ticket. “Kimberly Marshall? Age nineteen?” “Yeah…?” Big and intimidating he may have been compared to Kimberly’s relatively petite frame, but the man with the scanning gun seemed to be able to read Kim’s confusion. “We use a barcode system,” he quickly explained. “A lot of people hate lugging around wallets in their swimsuits. So we do this barcode thing.” He gave the wrist band a little tug as he scanned it. It was very sturdy, possibly waterproof, and had a barcode on it. “So if you buy anything we just run up a tab and you pay on your way out of the park when we snip the band off.” Kim had a feeling that she wouldn’t be able to get this off even if she used her teeth. “Huh” So that’s why Kim had to show her ID at the ticket booth. “Neat.” Sarah, who was a head taller than Kimberly, butted in like a know-it-all sister. “They also use it to access different parts of the park. Super high tech security stuff.” “That’s mostly for the kiddie parts,” the greeter answered. “Parents can leave their toddlers in Tadpole Town and pick them up later.” He shot a warning look at Sarah. “It also helps with the cabana bar and keeping problem patrons off of certain slides.” Maybe he was a security guard of sorts. The taller of the two girls shrugged. “We won’t be those kind of guests,” Sarah promised. “Yeah,” the greeter guard smirked. “You’re not dumbass boys. Have a good day, ladies.” “Bye!” Ten minutes later, the girls had changed and were meeting outside the locker and changing rooms. Kim had to admit the barcode scanning system was awfully convenient. No bags or keys to lug around between slides. She just had to strip down to her swimsuit, put her loose fitting shorts, t-shirt and purse in a locker, scan her wristband and walk out. Speaking of swimsuits: “Wow!” Sarah gushed. Kim had chosen to wear her favorite sunset orange bikini. It perfectly complimented her short auburn hair. “You know this isn’t the beach, right? Like, you’re not gonna pick up any boys or work on your tan here.” Petite though she was, Kim was showing a lot of soft smooth skin. Like her mother, Kim had not been particularly well endowed physically, but in a bathing suit like that, anything looked big. Besides, Kim’s very existence - not to mention her social calendar - was evidence that plenty of guys liked cute little things such as herself. “Flaunt what you got!” “Pass.” Sarah was clearly taking a different approach. Six months older and taller than Kim, puberty had been much kinder to Sarah. She had a busty chest that bounced when she so much as shifted her weight and full hips that wiggled when she walked like a cat strutting down the alleyway. Yet here she was wearing a plain navy blue one piece, that while it nearly matched her raven hair, gave her an unmistakably more mature and more serious vibe. “What’s the point of being twenty and wearing a bathing suit if you’re gonna dress like your mom?” Kimberly joked. They’d had this conversation before regarding clothing. Sarah was something of an old soul, aesthetically, favoring practical and functional over cute and flirty. Some days, Kim swore her buddy was a crazy old cat lady who just hadn’t grown into the role yet. “I’m here to ride the Sharknado, not to get phone numbers.” She eyed Kimberly’s bikini. “And this mom-suit only cost me half as much as yours. You’re paying for what; two pairs of triangles sewn together and tied up with string? How does that make sense?” Like a runway model, Kimberly strode further. “I’m paying for the societal permission to show all THIS off!” She struck a pose and held it for a second before both of them broke down laughing. “Come on. Let’s check out this slide you’ve been gabbing about.” Before they got very far, Sarah stopped them. “Oh, before we get in line for anything,” she said, “do you have to go potty?” Kimberly let out another little laugh. “Do I have to pee? That mom-suit must really be going to your brain.” She hadn’t been asked if she needed to ‘go potty’ since the first grade. “Do you?” Sarah arched an eyebrow and gestured to a nearby sign, pointing toward ‘Boys’ Potties’, ‘Girls’ Potties’ and ‘Tadpole Town’. “I don’t want to get on a roll and have to wait on you because that tiny little bladder of yours can’t handle a full bottle of Diet Coke.” Kim rolled her eyes. “That was that one time!” she said. “It’s not like it’s a law that girls have to go to the bathroom together.” They resumed walking. “Yeah, but I don’t want to get so far ahead in line that I have to wait ten minutes for you to follow after me,” Sarah complained. Dang! Kim had no idea her friend was this hardcore about a water park. She looked up at the towering structures of steel and PVC, painted up and decorated to rival roller coasters. All of them had lines winding from the top of the towers to the base. “If I really have to pee,” Kim promised, “I’ll just go to the bathroom, sit out a trip and wait for you at the bottom.” Sarah seemed happy with this promise. “It would give me an excuse to go twice,” she thought out loud. A naughty joke jumped out of Kim’s mouth. “That or I could just pee in the wave pool or something. Isn’t that what people do at these places?” Sarah stopped so fast and stuck out her arm so that her roommate had to duck to avoid being clotheslined. “Don’t do that here,” she said, her tone deadly serious. “I was only joking,” Kim chuckled. “I’m not gonna pee in the pool.” “Good. Don’t.” Yikes! This was not a side of Sarah that Kimberly had expected to see today. And for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why; Kim wanted to poke the bear a little bit. “Even if I did. So what?” she smiled. “That’s what chlorine is for! This place already smells like an outdoor toilet.” Raven hair tied back in a tight ponytail shook itself like a crow ruffling its feathers. “Don’t. They take that kind of thing really seriously here.” “How seriously?” “Very.” The shorter of the two kept walking. “Okay. Sheesh. It was just a joke, anyways.” Sarah caught up with a few longer legged strides. “I know,” she promised, her tone softening, “I just needed to let you know. A lot has changed in the last couple years.” They were friends again. “Like the armband barcode things?” “Yeah,” Sarah said. “And other things. My ex used to come here. Now he doesn’t. He peed in the pool.” “He got banned?” Kimberly asked. “Not exactly,” Sarah answered. “They called his parents and had them pick him up.” “That’s embarrassing.” the younger gal giggled. “You don’t know the half of it. His mom picked him up and they did something on his file to make him never want to come back.” “Like what?” Kim didn’t get an answer to her question. “Ooh!” Sarah shrieked. “The line for Sharknado is short! Let’s go!” She grabbed Kim’s wrist and took off running for the entrance to the ride that Sarah had been blathering about the entire drive over. The way inside, unsurprisingly, looked like a giant shark’s mouth with the maw opening into a concrete tunnel. To get the turnstyle to admit them they had to scan their bands, but once past they were free to power walk up the inclined passageway. “It’s gonna be like this for almost every ride,” Sarah explained. “They don’t want little kids going on a lot of these.” Kim admired bits of decorative metal sticking out of the walls, as if it were debris lodged into the concrete by a tornado. “Okay. This is kind of cool,” she admitted. She was starting to get excited. This was gonna be fun! The jubilation was short-lived. A fast paced walk towards high sliding adventure slowed to a crawl as they caught up to the back of the line rather quickly. Not half a minute later, the girls were no longer the back of the line and were penned in. Waterslides, by their very design, have a relatively fast turnover, Kimberly knew. One person got on a slide, was given the signal to go by the lifeguard on top and that person went flying down the chute propelled by jets of water. They’d pass a certain checkpoint and a second lifeguard would radio up so that a third or fourth could be ready by the splashpool and the first lifeguard could give another rider the go ahead. Overall it was very fast, very efficient, and very safe. Water slides were basically a big conveyor belt. But even conveyor belts seem to move slowly when it’s one at a time and you’re moving step by step up an incline waiting for the person at the top to hit the stream. More to the point, a slide that took maybe forty five seconds total was still racking up a wait time of close to fifteen minutes. A lot can happen in fifteen minutes. As they got closer to the front of the line, the sound of the rushing water got louder, echoing in the concrete tunnel. Kimberly couldn’t help but think about Sarah’s earlier comments and just a hint of her bladder getting full. Sarah didn’t notice because Kimberly didn’t draw any attention to it. She wasn’t three, anymore. She could experience some minor bodily discomfort without dancing from foot to foot. Her bladder was filling up; didn’t mean she was close to bursting. She just made a mental note that she’d have to take that bathroom break (and endure Sarah’s razzing more than likely) soon after this. “Next!” The lifeguard called. Sarah stepped forward. “This is gonna be so cool!” “Go! Next!” They were almost there! The sound of the water was thundering now. Anticipation for something other than the bathroom helped Kimberly ignore her bladder. “Go! Next!” Sarah stepped forward and sat down on the slide. “Go!” Sarah was gone! “Next!” For the first time, Kimberly felt a tiny tinge of fear. She sat down in the little pool next to the slide and grabbed the top bar just overhead so she could fling herself down. She winced, feeling the water splashing up her backside and getting her bathing suit bottoms wet. It felt like sitting on a park bench just after the rain. She looked up to the lady lifeguard sitting above her. No eye contact, just reflective glasses and a serious set jaw. “Go!” Just like that, Kimberly was going, going gone! Chin tucked; ankles crossed, leaned back, arms over her chest. Her entire word became the dark twisting tube she’d placed herself in. She hadn’t even thought of it. Pavlov couldn’t have conditioned a better response. “EEEEEEP!” She shrieked with the first dip! “OOOOOH!” with the twist. “AAAAAH!” with the second. Flashing lights and lasers! Briefly, very briefly she put the adrenaline fueled kick she was getting out of the way, marveled at the technical aspect as cgi fish projected on a spirling tube, so that it looked like water was swirling all around her plummeting form. Gingerly, Kimberly reached out to touch it, expecting it to sting like putting her hand in a fan; bracing for the feel of PVC scraping her fingertips. What she got instead was pure water jetting across her digits. Holy crap! This was like if Disney put all of its budget into waterslides! She let out a surprised squeak of wonder before the- DROP! The slide dropped out beneath her into a steep ninety degree angle. Automatically, arms splayed out and ankles uncrossed like a cat trying to land on her feet. Right beneath her, so fast that she only barely registered it, a gigantic shark waited for her to fall into its mouth. Her awe filled giggle of a scream turned into a terror filled shriek. “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” The free fall wasn’t long. Less than a second passed before her back touched the ramp again and she skidded the rest of the way into the darkness. It wasn’t five seconds before she saw the light at the end of the tunnel and came skidding out across the surface of the splash pool before slowing and then sinking like a stone. Her head submerged under the water and for the briefest instant, her tiny frame was weightless before the balls of her feet pushed up off of concrete, and she pushed her way up back above the surface. “Hey kid! Are you okay?” Kimberly blinked and started swim-walking towards the stairs and railing of the landing pool. “Yeah,” she said, holding back nervous giggling now that she knew she could live through the ride. The adrenaline was really kicking in. She looked at the lifeguard at the bottom, a big dare-she-think ‘hunk’ with a six pack and tight cropped hair and baggy red swim trunks. She noticed everything about him but the concerned look on his face. He swam out to her even though she was just a step or two from grabbing the railing and scooped her up, carrying her out onto terra firma like a groom carrying a bride across the honeymoon suite threshold. “Come on, little lady. Up you go.” She didn’t mind that he’d called her little lady. She definitely didn’t mind the way he picked her up. Gleeful giggles erupted from her. “You okay?” “Yeah.” she said, doing her best to bat her eyelashes. “I’m fine. Never better, actually.” “Good.” He put her down next to the poolside and waved over someone near the exit gate. Another semi-security guard with a barcode scanner on their hip trotted up. “We’ve got a code violet over here.” The lifeguard pointed to the splash pool. “Already called it in. Filtration team should be here any second.” Sarah was suddenly next to Kim. “Oh no,” she gasped. “Kimberly. What did you do?” With an effort, Kimberly dragged her eyes away from the lifeguard she’d been just about to try flirting with. “What do you-?” Kimberly froze mid sentence and looked at the water she’d just been lifted out of. The water had turned a deep, dark purple, like grape kool-aid, and was spreading rapidly. “What is that?” She looked up to her friend. “Was that there for you?” Gravely, Sarah shook her head. “I didn’t pee.” “What do you-?” Kimberly looked down and realized that purple water droplets were clinging to her inner thighs. They were darker. More concentrated. Her sunset bikini bottom was looking more like twilight between her legs as the orange shaded into a dense purple. That, and Kimberly was realizing that she no longer had to go to the bathroom. “The swimming water is treated with a chemical.” Sarah explained.”It’s how people got caught.” A team in white jumpsuits was running to the splash pool. They stuck a vacuum hose into the pool and started sucking up the purple stain. Another jumpsuited team member threw in a few fizzing tablets the size of hockey pucks. “Told you to go potty before we started.” “I-!” “Excuse me.” Kimberly flinched while one of the guys with a barcode gun took her by the wrist and scanned her barcode. “Thank you.” “What the-?!” She yanked her hand away like it had just been bitten. “The fuck?!” “Don’t worry, ma’am.” The man with the scanner said. “Accidents happen.” He reached behind his back and offered her a white hand towel. “For your legs.” She took the towel, but did not break eye contact with the man. “Thank you.” She patted herself down and wiped the little purple beads off her. Thank goodness they didn’t stain her legs or anything, like that anti-shoplifter dye. The purple crotch in her bikini bottom… well, it sort of blended in like it was part of the natural color of the swimsuit, unless you knew about the purple dye in the pool water. Thinking about how she’d just peed herself and everyone knew about it sent shivers up her spine. So much for getting the lifeguard’s number. “Thanks,” she mumbled. “I guess.” The attendant took the towel back. “No problem. There’s a gift shop right around the bend,” he said. “You can go get a swim diaper over there and continue on enjoying the rest of your day. “Ha-ha. Very funny.” She pretended to scratch her forehead with her middle finger, making it very clear what she thought of the barb. “He’s not joking.” Sarah said. Kimberly’s jaw dropped at Sarah’s facial expression. “Yeah, no. That’s not happening.” Kimberly threw her hands up and stormed off. Sarah called after her, “Kimmy! Wait! You’re going the wrong way!” Kim moved as fast as her little legs would take her, rounding the corner away from Sarah and the lifeguard and the site of her humiliation. It was an accident! Plain and simple! The line had been long and the ride had been scary! The entire slide had been self contained! There had been no way for her to even anticipate that drop! She wasn’t going to be made a joke of because she’d...she’d...she’d accidentally done what everybody does at water parks! It wasn’t a joke. It certainly wasn’t funny. Weaving in and out through the crowd, Kim picked the nearest slide. “Amazon River Rapids.” Jungle Theme. Whatever. And stepped up to the turnstyle. The scanner wouldn’t let her through. The turnstyle wouldn’t budge. She got a very loud buzzing sound like she’d just gotten the wrong answer on a quiz show, and a screen flashing “Please See Attendant.” There was a snickering behind her. “Couldn’t hold it in, huh?” A forty-something schlub with a beer gut and a speedo said. “That’s what that buzzer means.” He pointed the opposite direction, the way she’d come from. “Gift Shop is that way, diaper girl.” Kimberly was about to take this fuck who was old enough to be her dad on a scatalogical tour of the Old Testament when Sarah suddenly yanked her out of the quickly forming queue, having finally caught up. “What are you doing?” She hissed. “Rules are rules, you need to go to the Gift Shop, weren’t you listening?” Another of the guard types came up. “Is there a problem here?” she asked. She might have been a woman, but she looked like she could be a bouncer at a bar. The reflective sunglasses, same as the lifeguards, also lent her an air of quiet intimidation. Definitely leaning farther into the “security guard” and less “greeter” than the ones at the front entrance. It was appropriate in a way that she was so close to the Amazon River Rapids, Kimberly thought despite herself. Sarah stepped in between Kimmy and the guard. “She’s new here. We were just going to the gift shop.” Sarah sounded rushed, apologetic, and even a little embarrassed. The lady who could have been in WWE unholstered her scanner and held out her hand. “Bands please.” Sarah held out her arm and got it scanned. “You’re fine. Thank you. Next.” Kim felt like she had no choice. She submitted. The same little buzz that she’d gotten at the turnstyle rang off. “That explains it,” The attendant said, looking at the gun’s readout. “You’re not cleared.” Surprisingly sweet looking blue eyes peered out over the top of the sunglasses. “And you’re obviously not dressed appropriately. Go get fixed up at the Gift Shop.” Kim knew what that meant. The attendant walked away. “Yeah,” she folded her arms over her chest and gave Sarah her best death stare. “No. I want to go home.” Sarah was having none of it. “Oh come on Kimmy! We just got here!” She was indignant. “You’re being silly.” “I’m not going to wear a…” She couldn’t even say it. “It’s normal in the park for people who forget to...who go in the…” Sarah lost some of her verbal footing. “It’s normal here. No one will look twice at you. It’s just a precaution.” “No.” Real mature, Kimberly thought to herself, but there was no way she was going to walk around looking like an overgrown baby just because she had a semi-common accident. A shadow fell over Sarah, the morning sun going behind a cloud or her mood made manifest? “We’re staying,” she said flatly. “I drove us all the way here. I’ve been planning this for weeks. I’m not the one that messed up. You can stay and not go on any rides, or you can swallow your pride and we can hang out the rest of the day. It’s up to you, Kimmy.” Kimberly shrank back, feeling ashamed and a little guilty, like she was being reprimanded by her big sister instead of being out with her best friend. Was it really that big of a deal? It’s not like anyone who saw her would recognize her. She relented and bowed her head. “Okay. I’ll do it.” The sun came out from behind the clouds. “Great. Come on. Let’s go.” At the very least, Sarah didn’t hold her hand on the way to the gift shop, though Kimmy plodded along forlornly alongside her, barely noticing her surroundings. As they got to the gift shop, Kimmy barely noticed a man coming out of the store who was very obviously padded. His baggy swim trunks weren’t nearly baggy enough to hide the roundness of the bulky undergarment or the slight waddle in his walk. Kim was still shellshocked enough to be unable to connect the dots for what that might mean for her. “Just go up to the counter and show him your wristband,” Sarah pointed to a scrawny man behind the gift shop counter and gave Kimmy a slight push in that direction. Legs trembling and feeling numb, Kim walked barefoot up. The man was about the same size as her, but she did everything she could to not look him in the eye. At least the scanner didn’t buzz like before. “Hmmm,” the man said, staring at a computer screen. “Okay. One washable swim diaper coming right up.” That cut through Kimmy’s mental fog; she tensed up again. The sales clerk had spoken at a normal volume but to her ear it felt like he’d shouted it into a megaphone. The man bent over and took out a plastic wrapped package. She looked at it. Yup. That was a diaper, alright. Puffy, soft pink, and decorated with an angel fish pattern, it looked like a bigger version of something a toddler might wear at the beach. The outer fabric was weird, too, like a silicone, waterproof outer shell instead of normal fabric, with the pattern underneath. “Anything else?” “Does it have to be pink?” Kimberly grimaced. “Sorry,” the man behind the counter apologized. “I took some liberties. I just thought it would go well with your new swimsuit.” “New-?” Kimberly hadn’t finished the thought when Sarah draped a swimsuit over the counter. “You’ll need this, too” Like Sarah’s suit, this was a one piece. Unlike Sarah’s simple blue unitard, it was bright pink, almost neon. The straps had decorative bows sewn into them and the butt had ruffles on it. It was one of the tackiest, girliest, and above all most babyish things Kim had ever seen in her size. “I think there’s a really cute bucket hat over on the rack if you wanna complete the look.” “Sarah?” Kim looked up at what she thought was her best friend. “The fuck?” The clerk held up a finger. “It’s park policy. Sorry.” Kim turned on him. “What? That I have to dress like a fuckin’ moron because I got scared on the Sharknado?” “Ah,” The clerk said to himself. “Sharknado; that explains it.” “Language,” Sarah warned. “You’re not my-!” “Sorry,” the clerk interrupted. “It’s park policy for guests who have accidents to wear diapers.” Again it felt like he was shouting, even if he wasn’t. He even had the nerve to sound bored, like he had given this speech a dozen times already. “It’s also policy that those diapers remain covered outside of dressing rooms and bathrooms.” “I can remai-...!” Kim froze and looked down at her bikini. “Okay. No. But-...” Sarah looked her in the eye. “Kimmy? Do you really want to go back out there in nothing but a diaper and a bikini top?” In answer, Kimberly grabbed the items from the counter and bundled them up in her arms. “Fine. Where’s the dressing room? Or do I have to get changed in front this perv?” She grumbled through gritted teeth as she gestured rudely to the clerk. The little man’s stare became icy. “Our dressing rooms are to your right,” he said. “But I’ll need to scan your wristband one more time.” His nostrils flared. “In case there’s a puddle when you walk out so we’ll know who made it.” “Oh fuck off.” Kimmy stuck out her wrist anyways and huffed as the clerk made a subtle adjustment to his scanning gun. She was scanned, and flipped the clerk the bird. Embarrassing garments in her grasp, the petite college sophomore skittered into the dressing room. The bare space, slightly bigger than a closet, had a full length mirror, a rack and a massage table. She set the swimsuit and the you-know-what on the table and went back to close the curtain. “Sarah? What are you---?” Sarah was closing the curtain behind her. “Let me help.” From the sound of it, Sarah wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer. “You really pissed off that clerk back there and I don’t want you getting in any more trouble than you’ve already gotten yourself in.” Kimmy wasn’t given time to object. In a blink, she was on the back of the massage table and Sarah was yanking her bottoms off. “EEEEEEP!” “Oh hush,” Sarah chided her. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.” That was true, but normally when she was on her back and someone was going for her skimpy underwear it wasn’t her roommate and it definitely wasn’t for the sole purpose of putting something even thicker back on. “I can get your diaper to fit better this way.” That much seemed true. Kimmy bit down on the urge to scream and kick and allowed her bigger, stronger roommate to cross her ankles and lift her legs up. The slick silicone shell of the pink cloth diaper slid easily underneath her bottom, and the bulk of the diaper felt almost like a cushion beneath her as Sarah lowered her legs. “I hate you so much, right now.” Kimmy grumbled, even if she wasn’t sure if she really meant it. “You look cute.” Sarah replied. She pulled the front of the diaper up tightly between Kimmy’s legs, tucking in the elastic leg cuffs like a seasoned babysitter might to ensure a snug fit. Two broad velcro tabs stretched across the front of Kimmy’s pelvis were pulled tight to finish the change. “Maybe we should take these to the beach next time.” “Thanks,” Kimmy growled. “But no thanks.” She took off her bikini top and handed it and her bottoms (still faintly purple in the crotch) off to Sarah. “You can see yourself out. I know how to put on a bathing suit by myself.” Sarah shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She ducked past the curtain. “Heh. I accidentally made a joke.” Kimmy glanced down at herself and the swim diaper encasing her lower half. It rose halfway up her tummy, like a bad piece of shapewear, almost to her belly button. There was no mistaking this for a cute bikini bottom, that was for sure. She stepped into the replacement swimsuit and pulled the gaudy thing over herself, hoping against hope that it might conceal the even more embarrassing thing beneath it. It did not. For the first time in her life, Kimmy wished she’d been fat. Some extra flab here and there might actually make it look like the bulge around her crotch was just how her body was shaped. As it stood, her skinny frame was obviously padded between the legs, and she somehow looked even more babyish than if she’d gone with just the diaper and bikini top. She turned to the side. It didn’t look any better from that angle. The suit clung to her body in all the wrong places, following the unnatural curve of the diaper instead of her legs and making the most disconcerting noise as the diaper and the suit slid over each other with every move she made. The butt ruffles fluffed out like neon arrows, instead of laying flat, and the decorative bows on the shoulder straps made their presence felt whenever she moved her arms. Growling she grabbed the pink bucket hat that Sarah had snuck in and plopped it on her head. At least she could use it to hide her face. Still rustling and already starting to blush up a storm, Kimmy peeled back the curtain and stepped out into the Gift Shop. Something had changed in the room again. For once Sarah looked just as embarrassed as her roommate, and from the look on her face, the embarrassment was directed completely at Kimmy. Two big, brawny attendants stood by the check out counter. “Is this her?” The scrawny man behind. “Yup. That’s her. Kimberly Marshall. Check her wristband, she’s only ticketed to have privileges for age 19...months!” “The fuck did you say?” The attendants ignored her and closed in on either side. Kimmy thought about making a dash for it, but two sets of very strong arms gave her pause. One of the attendants drew his scan gun and scanned her wristband. “Yup. Checks out. Her barcode shows that she’s had an accident already, so at least she’s appropriately dressed.” “She was throwing quite a tantrum,“ the clerk snarled. “No parent or guardian either. She must have gotten separated from them.” He gave Kimmy a nasty, thin smile. “Oh well,” one of the steroid monsters said. “Happens. We’ll drop her off at Tadpole Town. Have her parents come pick her up. Come on baby girl.” A terrible lightbulb flashed in Kimmy’s brain. They’d scanned her driver’s license when she came in. It had her home address, not her college dorm. They could actually find her parents! Would they drive all the way over here? And see her? Like this?! The two bruisers hooked Kimmy under each arm. They could literally carry her, tote her all the way to the kiddy pool, where every other resident was also in swim diapers more than likely. This. This is how Sarah’s ex got banned. It had to be. Who in their right mind would go to a park where they made you dress and act like a giant toddler? “Wait!” Sarah yelped out. A flash of hope. Salvation perhaps? “I’m her uh...babysitter!” “You are?” One of the attendants asked. Kimmy’s feet were still dangling. “Yeah! No need to call her parents. I’ll tell them how naughty she’s been! And about her accident.” The attendant on Kimmy’s right looked to the clerk. The clerk shrugged noncommittally. “Alright.” They set the girl back down. “We’ll release her to your custody.” “Thank you,” Sarah said. “I apologize that my uh...charge is acting up. I’ll keep a better eye on her and we’re going to have a long talk. A very. Long. Talk.” Kimmy had the good grace to be ashamed and look down at her feet; probably the most mature looking thing about her if only because they were uncovered. “You do realize,” the clerk interjected, “that you won’t be able to leave the baby unattended.” “No problem,” Sarah replied. “And that she’s not going to be allowed on rides that are meant for older park guests.” Sarah’s face fell. “So I wouldn’t be either.” The clerk nodded, that same tight-lipped smirk on his face. Sarah bit into her lip. She looked back up at the attendants still flanking Kimmy. “Would it be okay if she went to Tadpole Town and I picked her up later?” “WHAT?!” Kimmy started struggling. The attendants effortlessly hefted her back into the air, where her efforts to get away were reduced to useless kicking of her feet like a tantruming toddler. The one on Kimmy’s left smiled. “We’ll take good care of her, ma’am.” Sarah grinned with relief at her babified buddy. “Bye-bye Kimmy! Have fun playing in Tadpole Town! I’ll make sure to pick you up after I’m done going down all the big girl slides!” Her smile faded just a bit. “And not having accidents...and not making a fuss over every little thing. I tried to warn you, you know.” This is probably why Sarah's ex was her ex, now, too, come to think of it… That’s how Kimmy found herself in Tadpole Town, behind a white picket fence surrounding her available world and a gate and attendant controlling access in and out, where the deepest pool of water ran six inches deep and the tallest slide was a whopping three feet tall. Pudgy infants sat in bucket swings that orbited around a central flower stem and were gently misted from the flower petals above. Children laughed and played around her running from water spouts and stomping in puddles. Kimmy just sat moping, feeling the puddle underneath her butt seeping ever so slowly through the elastic leg cuffs into the swim diaper. Her swim diaper. In the distance, she could still see the towering structures of hydro coasters, and hear the thrilled screams as people her real age plummeted into fun. A shadow fell over her. “Need a juice box?” one of the kiddie lifeguards asked. They were practically just daycare workers who knew CPR. “No.” “Potty?” “No!” “Diaper change?” Kimmy whipped her head up. “GOD NO!” “Okay! Okay!” the lifeguard laughed. “Just asking. You big babies. All the same. So pouty. Go play and have some fun!” She didn’t wait for Kimmy to reply. Kimmy grumbled to herself. “I’m not a big…” Babies? As in plural? Multiple big babies? The sophomore looked around the concrete splash pad. There, in the corner, sat a young man about her age, with an almost identical pouting pose. They made eye contact. Slowly. Carefully as if approaching a tiger. Kimmy got up and waddled over to him. He was bigger and had a mop of messy hair, very surfer bum chique. He was also wearing a swim shirt with a smiling sunshine on it and a diaper that was covered by what was technically a ‘Speedo’ that matched the swim shirt; really it was just another layer over the silicone of the diaper cover. “Made you wear a diaper too?” she asked. “Yup,” he said. “Wave pool. You?” “Sharknado.” Kimmy admitted. “Did you piss off the guy at the Gift Shop?” “Yup. My big brother is laughing his ass off.” “Roommate.” Kimmy added. She took a seat next to him in the shade. “Wanna...I dunno. Hang?” “I don’t like this bullshit,” the boy said. “Me neither.” Kimmy scoffed. “But security won’t let me out.” “Same. He offered his hand. Connor.” “Kimmy.” (The End. But also a beginning...)

Chapter 59: Another Million Ways to “Why” The rest of that Friday morning passed by without either open defiance or clever subversion. The rebellion that was ‘Why Day’, once quashed, turned into a bunch of quiet whines and attempts to suck-up in order to get playground privileges back. No more ‘Why?’. Instead the question became varying degrees of ‘Am I being good?’. “Yes,” Beouf, or Zoge would sum up. “That doesn’t mean you’re getting the playground back today.” Honestly? It was kind of pathetic. Just the threat of going one day without going to the playground and all of them were starting to crack. I couldn’t be too mad at the sudden tail tucking. All it had taken to put the fear of Beouf into me was the threat that I might have to walk to the cafeteria in nothing but my Monkeez. Naptime came and went, but had been no longer than usual. Those of us who could fall asleep after a bloating lunch of spaghetti and meat sauce did so. No chocolate milk was handed out, the true sign of the Amazons’ displeasure. I managed to stay awake staring up at the ceiling. I wasn’t afraid to sleep; I’d come to the conclusion that the gentle music Beouf would sometimes play in low barely perceptible volumes was not subliminal or hypnotic, just boring. I just wasn’t tired. Occasionally, I’d roll over and look at Shauna, also staring at the ceiling. She’d sometimes roll over and face me; we’d make eye contact briefly and then one of us would turn away. All the excitement of waiting at a bus stop. It was still more interesting than Tommy in the other nearest crib. Tommy was asleep. Every now and then, I’d see him paw at his face or smack his lips. I started placing bets with myself on how long before he started sucking his thumb. No one talked. The baby monitor right by the door would pick up anything louder than a fart. It was an older model than the one in my nursery but it would keep Beouf aware of any and all conspiracies and whispers. We did not languish in our cells the rest of the afternoon, however. The threat of an extended or prolonged naptime did not manifest. Just like every other day that week, we were taken out of the cribs, changed, and then made to wait for the process to be repeated down to the last not-quite mindfucked prisoner. And Ivy, too, I guess. I did my best to hide my own grimaces of disbelief. As much as I resented her on a personal level, there was also a little bit of professional training that was also shaking its metaphorical head at her. She’d made a threat of withholding playground time for our disobedience. If she didn’t follow through with it there’d be less of a reason for the class to take future threats seriously. Getting us out of the cribs after mentioning that we’d have a much longer naptime was such a bush league move. Perfect. Underestimate us. Don’t follow through when they're cute and the prisoners would just learn to act cute when they were in trouble. The exact wrong type of lesson to teach. It’s why I winced when Billy had the gall to ask, “are we getting to go to the playground?” Goddamnit, Billy. Never correct your opponent when they’re about to make a mistake. As it turned out, Beouf wasn’t going to make that kind of mistake. She wasn’t going to force us to wait in a prolonged and restless timeout. She was going to do something much worse. “Mrs. Zoge and I gave it some thought while you were down for your naps, and we decided that keeping you in your cribs for naptime longer than usual wouldn’t be fair.” A collective cheer went up. I held my breath. “You still haven’t earned your playground time,” she said. Cheers immediately turned into groans. Zoge turned on the classroom projector and shined it onto the board. “Are we going to get to watch a movie?” Annie asked. If we were, we certainly weren’t now that she said something about it. “Not quite,” Beouf replied. “You might not be going outside, but you still need your exercise!” The screen synced with Beouf’s classroom desktop and an UsBox video was paused, just past the opening credits. Frozen in place were a man and a woman, Amazons likely, standing on a hardwood floor. Behind them was a mirror wall with a wooden rail running along it horizontally to the floor. In other words, a generic dance studio. Based on the neon colors of their unitards, the lady’s big curly hair, the pastel trim on the walls, and the faded quality of the footage signaled that this show was anything but new. I was very likely in diapers the first time around when this schlock was filmed; even if I didn’t know what schlock it was. I might not even have been born yet it looked so terribly retro. “Oh no!” Sandra Lynn moaned. “Why?!” Ivy just sighed and looked deflated. Evidently it had been a while since Beouf had broken out this particular punishment. “Spread out and give each other room so that everyone can move and see.” Even as we complied, Sandra Lynn repeated herself “Whyyyyy?!” It wasn’t a question. Neither was it a challenge or attempt at subversion. This ‘why’ was the whining plea of desperation; the call out to an unlistening higher power to intervene on one’s behalf. No help was coming. Zoge clicked play and an annoying synth keyboard assaulted our ears while the two models stared blankly at the camera. The camera closed in on the man, an Amazon with a spray-on tan and what might have been a mustache or a dead caterpillar. “Hi kids! It’s your old pals Newton and Olivia!” He better have been a fantastic workout instructor, I thought, because the man sure wasn’t an actor. The camera swung over “Are you ready to work up a sweat, stretch it all out and have fun?” “NOOOOOO!” More of us were joining in. It wasn’t going to fix anything, but when complaining is your only avenue, you take it. “THEN LET’S DANCERSIZE!” I quickly realized that the reason I hadn’t seen this particular video before: It was awful. Just plain awful. I have since learned that Dancersize was, in fact, a single season workout program aimed at promoting physical fitness for children and adopted Littles. It was sold to Pennycade and ran in syndication for nearly five years before an executive decided to pull the plug and take it off life support. It claimed to combine elements of ballet, yoga, and aerobics to a hip soundtrack that would really make children of ‘all ages’ want to ‘get out there and dance’. In my personal, unbiased opinion it counts as psychological and physiological torture. I don’t know who the target audience should have been, but it wasn’t actual children, and it certainly wasn’t Littles used to the playground. “Let’s do some plies!” The woman, Olivia strained while smiling. “Assume first position! Up on your toes!” “You heard her!’ Beouf said. “Let’s do this!” Newton started counting. “Plie-one-two-three, up-one-two-three. Plie-two-two-three, up-two-twothree” “Only six more to go!” Olivia beamed. The groans and moans from our Little audience almost drowned out the cheesy synth soundtrack that was put in place for anything that might have merited a royalty fee. “Uuuuug! Why?!” “That’s right! Feel the burn!” “Don’t forget to tuck those tailbones!” Ballet is hard. There’s a reason there are so few professionals. It’s also impossible to do well dressed like a toddler. Even with perfectly clean and dry diapers, not yet swollen or expanded from use, it’s difficult. ‘Graceful’ is not a word that would be used to describe us. Chaz, our classroom crawler, got no reprieve either. Zoge placed two chairs beside him facing out and hovered over him ready to catch him. Apparently, Chaz’s reduction to rugrat was a matter of impaired balance and equilibrium instead of weakened leg strength. Their chairs might have offered him some support, but not enough to stop the intense burning we were all feeling. “WHY?!” The jumping jacks, running in place, torso, and place toe touches came fast and furious. “That’s right, kids! Keep it up! You’re doing great! Really get the blood pumping!” “Why?” “Why?!” “WHY?!” Newton and Olivia weren’t even sweating. They either did all of this in multiple takes that were masterfully edited together to make it look easy or they were on drugs. Based on the glazed over looks in their eyes and the too wide smiles, it was probably drugs. I was at least able to keep up with the yoga segments. The downward facing dog transitioned naturally into the child’s pose which was just a quick segway into cat stretches. All of that was just a resting warm up for the pushups, sit ups that followed. “I’m so pumped,” Olivia said, “I think I could do fifty!” “Fifty? Why not a hundred?” Newton smiled back. “Wanna race?” “You’re on!” “Let’s go, kids!” No. I did not do that many pushups or situps. No one did. “Keep going guys,” Beouf nagged at us. “This is your exercise for today. You don’t have to keep count, but do your best!” To show off, Beouf spread out on the carpet in front of everyone and started keeping base with the thirty-something year old workout tape. “See? I’m doing it too!” “WHYYYYY?!” I might be bragging on myself, but I felt great. I was panting, and burning, and sweating with the rest of them, but I was exhilarating in it. This bizarre and painful workout was the most adult thing I’d been allowed to do all week. Even with the terrible keyboard notes and the way too peppy voices egging ‘kids’ on to do the impossible, it still felt like I was being treated closer to a thirty-something in boot camp than a naughty child. The marathon ended and the two Amazons on screen climbed to their feet. “Now that we’re all warmed up,” Olivia smiled. “LET’S DANCE!” “WHYYY-HIGH-HIGH-HIGH-HIIIIIIII?!” The classroom became a herd of yowling cats. The ‘Why’s’ were of the damned. To my classmates, this was torture. They were Sissyfuss, forced to push a boulder up a hill unless someone saw up his too short skirt and then he had to start over for all eternity. They were Tantrumuss forced to stand in a river of pudding that would forever lower whenever he went to scoop up a glob and a bottle that was just out of his grasp being hung directly overhead. Amazon and Greasian myths are messed up. Point being: being deprived of their precious playground time was punishment for my classmates. Having to ‘Dancersize’ was torture. If not for my own stubbornness and pride, I would have agreed and joined in with the moaning and groaning. “Five-six-seven-eight!” The screen froze. Beouf was back up and standing in front of the class. We all stopped, aching and sore and panting. Beouf looked at a clock on the wall. “It looks like we’ve got about ten minutes left before we have to get everybody ready to go home,” she announced. “You all were very good just now. Would you like to finish the workout video?” “NOOOOOOOO!” came the response. “Would you like to get some fresh air and go play on the playground!” “YEEEEEEAH!” A small, knowing smirk crept into Beouf. “Then line up, my good Little boys and girls.” WHOOOOSH! The other nine all lined up at the door, quiet and orderly. Chaz crawled up into Zoge’s arms. Their resistance shattered and traded in for ten minutes of playtime. I lingered for a second, feeling completely baffled. I went up to Beouf. “Why?” I asked. “Because,” she said. “Punishment is just the consequence of a bad choice. You were good, so you earned another choice.” She shrugged. “That and you’re all basically good kids. And it’s Friday.” Feeling defeated, I shuffled into line and went outside with the rest of them. ******************************************************************************** Less than half an hour later at the bus loop, two giant, feminine hands covered my eyes, blocking out the world. “Guuuuess who?” A long, weary exhale just made me deflate and slump my shoulders. With the exception of Wednesday’s magnificent cry fest, this was how Janet greeted me after school. “Hi…” I mumbled halfheartedly. Up, around, and over and I was back on her hip. “How was he today?” She sniffed. “Wow, you’re sweaty. Someone’s getting a bath as soon as we get home.” Beouf clicked her tongue. “He was a handful,” she said. “I think it might be a full moon or something. All the kids were acting up today.” Ivy moaned and said something in Yamatoan. A tap on the head from her Mommy was enough to silence her. Janet caught on quickly enough. “Wow. Even Ivy misbehaved?” Ivy hung her head in shame like she was being carted off to the stocks and a mob of angry villagers were tossing rotten fruit at her head. Stoically, Mrs. Zoge explained. “She did. My daughter is learning the cost of being naughty. No dessert tonight.” I actually craned my neck so that I could properly glare down at her. That was why she’d been so upset? That’s what had her breaking down into tears? Dessert? Really?! Playground time and dessert. My rebellion had failed due to playground time and dessert. Beouf and Janet went on without me. “Though he is using his paci more, so that’s good. He’s learning to self-soothe and placate an oral fixation.” Shit! I let the pacifier drop out of my mouth. All that hiding guilty smirks all day had had an effect on me, and of course the typical Amazon response was to attribute it to something they preferred. “Awww,” Janet said, picking up on it right away. “You shouldn’t have said anything about it. Now you know he’s going to go out of his way to avoid using it again.” The two teachers shared a knowing laugh at my expense. Sad part was that they were right. Back in Janet’s arms at the bus loop, I sulked reliving the relatively lax punishment. So close to some kind of victory; moral or otherwise; and yet so far away. Story of my week. Story of my life. “It might have been his babysitter,” Janet said. “She’s a good friend, but a real softie at heart. I think someone might’ve gotten the wrong idea about what grown-ups will let him get away with.” More knowing tittering at my expense. Beouf removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes, showing the first signs of wear and tear. “Babysitter?” she yawned. “Why a sitter?” “I had a meeting to go to.” Beouf’s yawn came out low and loud. “A meeting? What kind of mee-...” She stopped her yawn. “Oooh!” She placed her glasses back on her face. “You know you don’t have to get a sitter for those. You can bring him along.” “Yeah,” Janet said. “I know now. Next time.” “Next time.” There was that somewhat lazy, somewhat awkward pause that so often happened between good friends who didn’t know how to end a conversation. My frustration and anger settled into a tiny bit of sadness thinking that I should have been a part of that instead of a prop on Janet’s side. “Whelp.” “Yep,” Beouf echoed the sentiment. “Gotta do that paperwork and lesson planning so that we can get the weekend started.” “Same here,” Janet agreed. “Have a good weekend.” “You too,” Beouf started walking away. She paused long enough to wave at me. “Bye Clark! See you Monday!” Her voice lilted up to a quirky squeak. I openly rolled my eyes. That only made her cackle. “Let’s go, baby,” Janet murmured to me, shouldering her purse. I cocked my head and stared at her opposite shoulder. That was new. Why would she have her purse if we were just going back to her classroom? “Where are we going?” I asked. My question went ignored. Zoge saw something, too. “Ms. Grange?” she asked. “Where are you going? Your classroom is that way.” “Gotta stop by the front,” Janet tried to say nonchalantly. Tried; but failed. Her voice had acquired a certain nervousness to it that I just couldn’t quite put my finger on. Janet had answered Zoge’s question loud enough that Beouf stopped and doubled back. “Up front? Now? Are you sure?” Now Beouf sounded concerned. When Beouf sounded worried, it was time to either celebrate or worry too. Given the circumstances I chose option B. “Yeah. I’m sure.” Janet said. I was completely lost, and it was becoming unnerving. Beouf pursed her lips together and squared her shoulders like a soldier psyching themselves up for battle. “Want us to come with?” “No,” Janet shook her head. “I’ve got this. Thanks.” “Okay…” What were they so concerned about? I had no idea. I’d been cut off completely from their communication. Amazons now talked over me when they were unconcerned and hid from me what they were really bothered about. Good thing I didn’t have to wait long. Like a recurring nightmare, the events of Monday afternoon started repeating themselves. I gripped into Janet’s shoulder, hooking my fingers into her bra strap beneath her shirt while she opened the door to the front office and practically glided in. Raine Forest was directly across from us and talking on the phone. I tightened my grip, making myself false promises that I would be able to hold on instead of being torn off. Please not again. Please not again. Please not again! My prayers went unanswered. Janet whisked her way to the side and put me down on my feet despite me trying to sink my claws into her. She held my hand to keep me rooted in place while we waited for Raine to hang up the phone. I could feel my throat tightening up. Not again. Couldn’t someone else watch me while she peed? Anyone? Literally anyone? “Hell-o” Raine addressed Janet after she’d hung up the phone. “Signing out early again?” “No,” Janet said. Her tone had become casual as if she were making small-talk. “Once this week was enough. Can’t use up all of my time off at once.” Forrest faked a chuckle while her gaze drifted down to me. “Need me to watch your Little one for a bathroom break?” I saw that same vicious glint in her eye. “I don’t mind.” Softly, Janet let go of my hand and reached over to her purse. “Actually I wanted to talk to you about that.” She flipped open her bag and dug inside. “Oh, I didn’t mind,” Raine repeated. “No trouble at all. He was an absolute angel. For a Little, anyways.” Bitch had the gall to wink at me, as if we shared some precious secret together. By the time Raine had finished winking, Janet’s hand had stilled itself. She had found what she was looking for. “Oh, I know. Clark can be a handful. Mrs. Beouf was just telling me how his entire class was acting up today.” Raine put on a face of mock surprise. “Clark!” she said to me. “Really? You too?” She shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Littles,” she switched her attention to Janet. “What are you gonna do?” “Just love them the best we can,” Janet smiled. “It’s all we can do.” Raine was so relaxed she was leaning back in her chair. “Couldn’t agree more,” she said. “Couldn’t agree more.” “I’m glad we agree,” Janet said. “It’s why I wanted to share one of these with you. As a gift. As a way to say thank you.” Janet showed Raine what was in her purse. Out came a very familiar looking box. One containing cream filled chocolate bon-bons. Janet lifted the lid and Raine’s eyes got wider and wider all while her mouth puckered up smaller and smaller. “A...gift?” “Yes,” Janet said. “As a gift. To say thank you. Between co-workers. Maybe even friends…?” Slowly, deliberately, Janet reached in, into the middle of the box where the safe chocolate lay. “They’re good. See?” Slowly, deliberately, she offered the box over to the school receptionist. Still sitting in her chair, Raine scooted back, appearing smaller than Janet. “No, that’s fine.” Her voice was wavering. “Thank you for the offer. I’ll be happy to watch your baby anytime. For free. No payment necessary.” Janet pressed forward. “Please. I insist. As a friend. You don’t want to be rude, do you?” A new type of deja vu was setting in. This time with a queer kind of role reversal. I took the chance and inched closer next to Janet. I saw Raine close her eyes and gulp. “I’m on a diet.” Her voice had acquired a nervous crackle. “Are you?” Janet said. Said. Not asked. It’s very possible to ask a question without really asking a question. “So if I open that desk drawer of yours I won’t find a box just? Like? This?” “Ha-ha…” Forrest’s smile and her eyes were miles apart. “You got me, Ms. Grange. You got me.” Yes. Yes she did. “Please,” Janet said. “Call me Janet. We’re friends. Aren’t we?” Raine was starting to quiver. She had to reach up and dab the droplets of cold sweat off of her forehead. “Yyyyeeeeah….?” I heard Janet’s fake smile fade from her voice. “Then take one, Raine. Take a chocolate. I’ve already had one. Why won’t you?” Forrest’s eyes darted to the lower right of her computer, then up to Janet. She was calculating on whether she could eat one of the training chocolates and make it safely to a toilet ...or to a doctor. This late in the afternoon, Raine was in no real danger of messing herself at work; but her dinner plans might suddenly be altered. “Eat. A. Chocolate. Raine.” “Okay!” Raine’s voice came out as a pitiful, almost Little squeak. She reached in, grabbed a chocolate and stuffed it into her mouth. Her eyes slammed shut and remained. Her mouth worked and scrunched up, knowing that not only was she eating poison, but not even one that her spice loving palette liked the taste of. She swallowed and her eyes fluttered open in...pleasant surprise? “Chili flakes?” She licked her teeth. A surprise bark of a laugh tumbled out of her. “Not a training chocolate?” “Not a training chocolate,” Janet echoed, simply. Then she leaned over and in a soft, monotone whisper she said. “This time.” The color from Raine’s face started to drain. “If you ever give food to my baby boy ever again, if you so much as talk to him without my permission, that will be a real training chocolate you eat.” If I hadn’t inched in previously, I wouldn’t have heard the threat. Raine was now rearing back in her chair with nowhere to go. “I...I...I…” “I don’t care if you’re Brollish’s pet,” Janet hissed. “You mess with him, you mess with me and I’m crazier than you’ll ever be. Do you understand?” “I...I...I..” Janet stood high and spoke up. “Do? You? Understand?” “I...I...I...I’m sorry!” Raine blurted out. She put her hands up like she was afraid she was going to be physically assaulted. Her voice was loud and rang out, implicitly calling for help. No one came. The health clinic had already been shut down, no parents or coworkers were present, and Brollish’s office was too far away. Janet had either been lucky or had chosen her moment perfectly. Janet calmly backed up and put me back on her hip. The lids to her eyes lowered halfway, like a lioness contemptuously viewing a mouse. “I don’t care.” Then we left. “Where are the other chocolates?” I asked once Janet whisked me out of the front office back towards her classroom. “Down the garbage disposal.” Janet told me, her voice shaking from adrenaline and rage. “You’ve got nothing to worry about there, hun.” I asked the only question I had left. “Why?” “Because I don’t want you getting into them and thinking they’re regular candies. Those are for toilet training big kids by making them have to go potty more often. Those are why you’ve been having more poopy diapers than usual.” I brushed aside the fact that I had no ‘usual’. “No.” I said, pulling back and twisting so I could look her in the eye. “Not that. Why?” She knew what I was really talking about. She had to have known me better than that. Janet came to a stop just outside the door to her classroom and looked me directly in the eye. “Because sometimes me saying I’m sorry just isn’t enough.” Wow… Didn’t see that coming. Neither the action before it nor the answer. Atypical? (End of Part 5)

Chapter 58: A Million Ways to “Why” “Pssst” Tommy whispered to me on our way out of the cafeteria after breakfast. “Clark.” I snapped out of my haze and pivoted sideways as much as I could look at Tommy while still being forced to hold Ivy’s hand. “What?” Unbelievably, I was more than slightly hungover and had been debating whether or not to go in my pants now or hold it till after Circle Time on the off chance that it would be an annoyance to Beouf and Zoge. My stomach made it very clear that it might not give me the choice. A baby wipe was starting to look awful good just then… “It’s Why Day,” Tommy hissed. “Friday?” “No,” Tommy repeated himself. “Why Day!” Did Amazon grade booze affect listening comprehension too? “What?” “Just watch and go with it,” Tommy said. “Oh, and don’t tell Ivy.” I blanched. “Why?” “That’s the spirit, dude!” The real spirit beame crystal clear during Circle Time. Beouf had elected to do diaper duty and Zoge was in front of the class and ready to roll. “Alright boys and girls, let’s start off this Friday right!” Sandra Lynn’s hand shot up into the air. “Yes, Sandra Lynn? Do you want to be changed next?” “Why?” A bit of snickering floated into the air. Zoge seemed slightly confused. “Why what?” She was still using her gentle, musical ‘talk to babies’ voice. “Why would you want to be changed next or…?” “Whyyyy….” Sandra Lynn froze. “Can’t we go to the playground instead?” “It’s not time to go to the playground,” Zoge said. From her place on the floor, Shauna raised her hand. “Why?” It clicked right there. I had had students in the past who pushed boundaries by saying “Why”. Said, not asked. The point wasn’t to find out ‘why’, the point was to stall; to make the teacher talk more than you and to talk about what you wanted to talk about, or to prevent them from teaching. I’d seen plenty of three and four year olds do it before. I’d heard stories of third and fourth graders resorting to it, too. Never though, had I seen a planned massive ‘group why’. This is what happened when you grouped people aged not quite twenty to almost forty together and treated them like children. “We have a schedule,” Mrs. Zoge kindly explained. Patient. Too patient. Cultural bias, perhaps? Maybe a language barrier? I’d have shut this down right away if not ignored it. “Right now, our schedule says we should be doing Circle Time so we can start our day off right.” Jesse took the lead “Why?” Before he could be answered, Zoge came out of the bathroom. “Clark, you’re up.” Jesse redirected his question to Mrs. Beouf. “Why?” “I’m not answering that,” Beouf responded. Yup. Beouf was wise to it. Damn, I hated that I still respected her on some level. I waddled toward her and she took me into the bathroom. As if by magic, my shortalls became a dress when Beouf quickly unbuttoned them and slid the hem up over my still dry and clean Monkeez. “Oops!” Beouf said. “Not yet Sorry, hun..” I saw myself wince in the ceiling mirror. The illusion of anything covering or secure was shattered with my ‘pants’ so far up above my waist and my diaper so easily accessible. For supposed ‘underwear’, diapers didn’t stay under much. “Maybe not long though….” Beouf brought me out of my padded naval gazing. “Why?” “Why?” “Why?” Outside the bathroom, the others were drilling Zoge mercilessly. “Guys?” Ivy asked. “Why do you keep asking that?” Beouf started buttoning me back up. “Ugh,” she huffed. “‘Why Day.’” She rolled her eyes as she reassembled the illusion of privacy and personal agency that were my clothes. “Not even two weeks in and they’re doing Why Day…” Like any kid tradition, the adults were more than aware of what was happening and seemed to barely tolerate it. “Jesse,” she called out of the bathroom. “Come on, baby boy. Diaper time.” Chaz was close to giggling like an idiot. “Why?” Mrs. Beouf stepped out of the bathroom. “Mrs.Zoge?” “Yes, Mrs. Beouf?” “It seems like our little ones are full of ‘Whys’ today.” “It would appear so, Mrs. Beouf.” “Almost like it was a Why Day.” “Now that you mention it, Mrs. Beouf, I think the Little ones might be playing Why Day with us.” There was a quiet but collective gasp from the others, punctuated by Ivy asking, “What’s Why Day?” The Amazons went on without her. “What are we going to do about this, Mrs.Zoge?” Zoge tapped her chin in mock thoughtfulness. “I think that if our students have so many ‘questions’ about the playground, then maybe we should take the time to answer those questions instead of going to the playground.” “I think that’s a very good idea, Mrs. Zoge,” Beouf continued on with the script. “I think that if too many Little boys and girls decide to ask ‘Why’ without really meaning it, then the whole class is gonna lose playground time at the end of the day.” Nine sets of teeth clicked together in silence. “Go on Clark and sit down, I’ll check you later big boy.” Big boy? Eight pairs of eyes honed in on me and concentrated. “Jesse, come on.” Jesse walked past me and shot me a case of stink eye. I went back to the circle, my stomach twisting itself in knots due to nerves instead of tequila. I’d already done the social calculus: My classmates thought that Why Day was a secret trolling tactic, Beouf just flaunted that it wasn’t. I was the new guy who’d just been trusted with it and Beouf revealed what she already knew just after taking me into the bathroom. The very Helper-ish nickname of ‘big boy’ was the nail in the coffin. “What?” I said. “I...I didn’t need changing yet…” I sat down, not even believing myself. Zoge started leading the same songs we had sung every day that week. The songs were so ingrained in just about everyone’s skulls, they were able to multitask by singing along and shooting me dirty looks every chance they got. If looks could kill, I’d be shoved into that bug zapper again and left there until my skin peeled off. I started clutching my stomach and rocking a bit to hold it in and distract myself. Besides the usual reasons an otherwise healthy thirty-something wanted to fill the back of their pants, the mob that might just form while I was being cleaned up gave me extra pause. The worst luck of the draw, and I’d lost any momentum I’d gained in making connections with people who might talk to me like I was halfway myself. Things had reset back to Monday. Further back, even! On Monday I was the former collaborator. Today, in their eyes I was just a snitch. Whether on the prison or the playground, snitches didn’t get much; certainly not allies. At least I’d still have Ivy…? I shivered from all the cold shoulders bumping me. Chaz’s lip turned up in disgust crawling by me. I took my token over to Mrs. Beouf’s teacher table, clenched my cheeks and sat down. This was going to be a miserable day that might just spiral into a more miserable everything. I hadn’t even thought I could go lower. “Hello, Ivy! Hello, Clark!” Mrs. Beouf chirped, taking her seat and gathering her materials; likely another cognitive dissonance inducing. If a Little could justify how an apple and an orange were essentially the same thing, they could be taught to justify how their age could be measured in years and still be treated as if it were counted in months. “Hi Mrs. B!” Ivy said back. “Ready to play?” Leave it to Ivy to talk to the Amazons in their own patronizing patois and unironically. Beouf seemed pleased. “Just about, Ivy. All I need to do is shuffle.” I reached forward for the deck of flashcards. “I’ll help!” Who knows. Maybe I could make ‘Whoops’ a thing. Beouf cradled the cards away from me. “No thank you, Clark. Unless you want the mittens back.” I brought my hands back to my stomach. “No ma’am.” An audible scoff behind me. Damn. That hadn’t been the way to build back any good will. I stopped focusing on what Beouf was or wasn’t saying. All the social capitol I’d built up over the past week was being undone by a misconception. I had no idea how to fix it, either. I started grimacing to myself. I couldn’t be alone. I wouldn’t be able to handle it. This place day after day after day? With no one besides Ivy, Beouf, and Zoge to talk to? They wouldn’t need New Beginnings to break me, just isolate me from all the other people that saw me as a person. “Mrs. Beouf,” Ivy asked. “Why can’t we go to the new playground in the morning?” Unlike Sandra, Ivy was legitimately curious. Beouf prepared to deal out the game cards. “Let’s not worry about the past or the future and just have some fun in the here and now.” Lightbulb! This was my chance. The others wanted to see that I wasn’t a snitch or a collaborator? Their memories had been that short? Fine. I’d show them. I’d show them good. “Why?” I said to Beouf. “About the playground, I mean.” I didn’t yell, but it was nothing like a whisper. Beouf shot me a questioning look. “Clark?” I gestured over to Ivy. “For Ivy of course.” I said. “I think it’s an honest question. Why can’t we go out to the playground in the middle of the day?” The more experienced teacher adjusted her glasses. “Because our playground time is at the end of the day, not the beginning,” Beouf said. “It’s our schedule, and keeping to a schedule is important.” I looked at the timer on the wall. How long could I keep this up and how many people would notice? The other inmates wanted Why Day but only wanted to say ‘why’? Amateurs. I might not make it the whole day, but I could stretch it out. More to the point, I could make a scene. Clock started. Game on. “Is it?” I countered innocently enough. “Doesn’t research show that children learn better when they’re actively engaged? Why not help with our collective learning by letting us learn through our interests?’ I started turning in my seat, half gesturing to the others. Heads were starting to turn. “Research shows that children need structure and routine,” Beouf was still prepping the latest cognitive dissonance-inducing propaganda disguised as a flashcard game. Correction, not prepping; more like absentmindedly shuffling while she tried to placate me. An errant thought: Was I getting more patience because of how long Melony had known me? “How’s that?” I pressed. I already knew the answer, obviously. This time one week ago I was still a fairly well read educator. But the answer was not the point. Beouf gave me the answer I knew she would. “Because kids learn better when they know what’s going to happen. It’s easier to play Hide and Seek when you already know the rules.” That got Ivy’s attention in the wrong way. “Hide and Seek?” Beouf started trying to deal out the flashcards. “Speaking of ga-” I cut her off. Loudly. “Is that so?” Her answer made sense, but I wasn’t interested in understanding the world around me. “We need structure? Repetition?” “Tommy, eyes to yourself.” Zoge said. Beouf was trying to regain control. “Yes. Now-” “Why can’t we do the game we did on Monday?” I interrupted again. “I liked that game.” A lie, but arguing in bad faith doesn’t require you to tell the truth. “That was Monday. Today’s Thursday.” Zoge stopped to redirect. “Shauna? Billy? Don’t look over there. Annie…” I didn’t need to look around. I knew who they were looking at. “Oh,” I feigned understanding. “So we’re going to play that game every Monday and this one every Thursday?” “Not necessarily…” “Sandra Lynn...Chaz…” “I thought routine and structure was important.” I put on my best confused face; the polite and well meaning one I had mastered dealing with Brollish and a million others just like her. “Do you mean that only some structures and routines are important?” “Yes, Clark.” Beouf replied. She was getting impatient. Almost snippy. Had to keep it going. Had to keep Beouf talking. New tack. “Or do you mean that there’s a... like a…” I patted my leg as if I was trying to find the right words. Accurate emotionally, but my definition of ‘right’ likely contrasted from Beouf’s. “Like, there’s a framework, but room for variation? Like jazz?” Beouf paused and her demeanor became more pleasant. “Yes, actually.” She thought I was learning! Got her! I was tempted to follow up with ‘Who decides?’ and add in a good old fashioned ‘Whyyyyyy?’ but a direct challenge to Beouf’s authority would get me shut down. Instead I chose, “How do you decide?” Ivy was looking back and forth at us like she was watching an expert tennis match. Really, this was more of a verbal sparring match, and I was boxing way outside of my weight class due to authority. “Can we play the game now?” Ivy asked. Her voice was steadily rising with impatience. Idea! Opportunity! I pivoted in my seat and looked at Ivy. “Is it a good game?” I asked her. Ivy nodded enthusiastically. “Uh-huh! Let’s play! I’ll teach you!” “Better than the one where I beat you?” I clamped down so hard on my tongue so hard it was in danger of bleeding just to keep from smiling. “You didn’t beat me!” “Are you sure?” “Yes!” Beouf “Clark, why don’t we play a new game? Then you can see who does really well.” Nice redirection, I thought. Now for one of my own. “Mrs. B,” I pressed, “Who won on Monday; me or Ivy?” I put her in the middle of it, when by all reasonable estimates she’d already put that snippet of Monday out of her mind. Ivy stood up out of her chair and raised her hand. “Me-me-me-me-me!” Beouf was beginning to show the first signs of being well and truly flustered. “I don’t think of it in those terms, Clark. I think of it as an opportunity to learn-” “Like what?” I started to stand out of my chair but another cramp forced me back down on my ass. A diaper change would be a great way to get me shut down. “What are we going to learn?” Beouf made a lowering motion with her palms. “Hold on, hold on, no need to get ahead. Ivy, go ahead and sit down.“ Like a good girl, Ivy sat right down. Me? “Can I play standing up?” I asked. Knees shaking, I stood up. Any moment now my body would start pushing on its own. I was fighting two battles at once and no realistic chance of winning either. There was such a thing as a moral victory. “Turn around, Mandy.” I still had an audience. “How about we just sit down?” Beouf was getting frustrated. Nice. I pressed my own agenda. “What will that accomplish?” Beouf was dealing out the cards and no longer waiting. I was losing her. The baiting could only go so far. “Mrs. Beouf? Mrs. Beouf?” I would not be ignored. “Mrs. B.? Beouffy? Beouf?” “Clark, I need you to sit down so that I can teach.” She was doing her best not to feed into me. “Why do you need that? I can be quiet and pay attention while standing up.” Beouf avoided eye contact and just kept dealing cards. “Because unless all students are sitting down, my head will explode.” My face contorted, and not because of what my insides were threatening “What?” “If you don’t sit down,” Beouf repeated herself, “My head will explode. It’s a teacher thing.” I opened my mouth to argue the absolute absurdity of that. No one with any common sense would think that! Not even someone as far gone as Ivy! Instantly, my brain generated a dozen counter arguments and I almost started to give them. Instinct kicked in! This was a trap! Don’t debate on her terms! “Oh yeah,” I said. “Exploding teacher head syndrome. I used to get that all the time.” I looked Beouf directly in the eye as I ‘yes anded’ her. “Mine always grew back after a second. My students loved it. Does yours not grow back?” Frozen there in her chair, I saw the slightest hint of anger from the woman. Considering everything I knew about her, that likely meant that her head did feel like it was on the verge of spontaneous combustion. “No, Clark.” she said. “Mine doesn’t grow back.” “How do you know it’s going to happen if it’s never exploded?” If smiles could kill, Beouf would have been a dead woman. “I just...know.” Fuck it. Prepare for killshot. “Whyyyyyy?” Beouf huffed for a second and closed her eyes. When they opened, I knew that this round of my new game was over. “Clark. Sit down.” “But-” “I don’t argue with my children,” she replied flatly. “You can either sit down at the table and play this game with me and Ivy, or you can sit in Time Out.” I jolted a bit. Time out? Pushing Beouf far enough to where she’d send me back to my old classroom?! The sensible part of me was terrified at the prospect of seeing yet another aspect of my world turned on its ear. The reckless nihilist in me was cackling in delight that it was this easy to push Beouf’s buttons. Guess which part was winning? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the timer. Had I really been keeping this charade up that long? “How long do I have to choose?” “Choose now, or I’m choosing for you.” I put a slight tremble into my voice. “Are you gonna be mad at me if I make the wrong choice?” Beouf started to shake her head. “This isn’t about me being…” she stopped herself, wise to my ploy. “Clark. Choose.” BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP! The timer went off! I stepped out from my chair and pushed it in. “New center! Gotta go check the schedule like a good-!” “Clark.” Beouf was around the table and picking me up. “You’re done. My choice.” “Why? I didn’t do anything!” A blatant lie but if it could work for politicians... “You know what you were doing.” Truth. “What’d I do?!” Instead of carrying me through to my old classroom, she took me over to her desk and dug out a tiny yellow footstool. She plopped me right down on top of it. “Stay,” she said, like I was a naughty puppy. “I’m just aski-” “Sit.” I settled. “I’m just trying to learn,” I insisted. When you lie, lie big. “Why are you being so mean?” She put the pacifier Janet had clipped onto the bib of my shortalls that morning up to my mouth. “Open up.” I moved my head to the side so that I could squeak out, “Is it a gag?” Another question that I already knew the answer to. Of course it wasn’t a gag. “Open up,” she repeated. An involuntary moan of pain gave Beouf the opening she needed. The bulb entered my mouth and I didn’t even have to wait to be told to close down. “Don’t spit it out. Don’t talk. Just sit there. You can suck it if it helps calm you down.” She turned her back to me. “Mrs. Zoge, can you see Clark where he’s sitting?” “Yes, Mrs. Beouf.” Zoge wasn’t the only one. “If you see his pacifier out or his mouth or him trying to get up before it’s time.” Inwardly, I smirked. What was she going to do? Tell Janet? Big whoop. I already knew she wasn’t a spanker. “...take his pants for the rest of the day.” “Yes, ma’am.” Zoge called back. My lips puckered when I heard that. My knees angled together and wrapped my arms around them, teetering on the stool. On perfect ironic timing, on cue, the inevitable happened and my irritated guts got revenge on me for inexplicable binge drinking. Bladder joined in on the fun. At least it wasn’t a loud one. My jaw clenched and as a result the pacifier started bobbing a bit in my mouth. The big rubber bulb didn’t inflate, but I still started sucking on it, nervously. In my show of solidarity, I’d opened myself up to a thousand tiny anxieties. It had only been a week and I’d already lost track of how many diapers I’d been forced to wear, but I was still infinitely more comfortable with them being concealed. Not even a full week and Beouf had figured out a big button of mine to push. Big enough that I would have rather sat in my own mush and suck on a pacifier than get up and suffer a repeat of Monday’s Dress Code. I pictured myself being paraded to Lunch or the bus loop with no coverage whatsoever and felt my face flush. Everyone important already knew...but then everyone would see. It was irrational, I know, but the thing about irrationality is knowing about it doesn’t help. If only the Amazon strength rubber could be bitten through. At least I wasn’t hurting my teeth working out something that felt halfway comfortable on the stool. “You can check your schedule in two minutes,” Beouf said. She held up two fingers as if I couldn’t understand her or count that high. Victorious, she walked back to her teacher table while the other Littles hustled and bustled to their next activity. “I’ll set an extra timer and let you know.” That settled it in my mind beyond a shadow of a doubt. Gloves were officially off. Honeymoon was over. I sat there, sucking on the pacifier, wincing with every inhalation. The looks of admiration from my peers were giving me strength and regaining my nerve while sulking in my setback. Setback. Not defeat. I wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot. My mouth continued working on the pacifier, fuming. Two minutes? Two minutes! How old did she think I was? The nature of the penalty told me she was serious, but the duration communicated a perceived fragility. I started to breathe through my mouth to try to calm myself. Sit still in a dirty diaper long enough and your brain stops noticing what’s going on down there. Turns out that can happen in less than two minutes. That and I was on a roll. “Why Day’ wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. But how-?” DING! An egg timer went off. “Clark, you can take your paci out.” Zoge called. “Do you want to go check your schedule now, Clark?” Beouf called from her table. “Or do you need some more time?” Several heads turned to look at me, wondering what I would do. Baiting Beouf had been the first step. Cementing my status and ensuring solidarity would need at least a second. “Either is okay, but you’ll have to wait the rest of the activity. I’m not gonna check on you every two minutes. It’s cool down in time out or go play on the toy shelf.” Cool down? Something was starting to cool but it wasn’t me. Resiliently, I grabbed the pacifier and held it close to my lips. “Whyyyy?” “Okay, that sounds like a choice to me,” Beouf said. “Paci back in, bud. We’ll see if you feel like acting like a big boy when the regular timer goes off.” Big boy? Big boy!? Big boy didn’t mean ‘big boy’. It meant being compliant; being a teacher’s pet; being a Helper. I was a lot of things, but by the end of the day, once and for all, no one would accuse me of that. Step one was baiting Beouf. I’d been doing that since Tuesday. I’d just now completed step two; defiance. Granted, it was defiance reshaped as a form of compliance, but the glances that my new peers spared me validated it. They all knew what was going on. Meanwhile, I took the time to stew and ponder. Fucking ‘big boy’. What a joke! I would never be ‘big’ enough. I would never be ‘mature’ enough. I would never be anything more than a ‘child’ not fit to argue with. Always under someone’s thumb to be cooped up or put away and have to follow standards that even a teacher couldn’t follow with reliability. DO YOU KNOW HOW IMPOSSIBLE IT IS TO GET A TEACHER TO RAISE THEIR HANDS IN A DAMN FACULTY MEETING?! Sucking on the pacifier, putting on a quiet show, I started to plan my next move. Extended time out was a strategic move, I told myself. A longer time out possibly meant throwing other routines off. I might become a distraction to the others, possibly put more pressure on Zoge to keep peeking up from her small group to make sure I was complying with Beouf’s directions. No such luck nor such willpower. I was being quiet and wasn’t ready to act out further. I just ended up chilling on the footstool; looking complacent and compliant like a good Little baby. Even if the others did occasionally sneak a glance at me, it didn’t achieve what I wanted it to. It disrupted nothing. It accomplished nothing. I was too stubborn to go to a play center and get back with the program. Too afraid to get off a simple stool. Well played, Beouf. Well played. She’d found my limit. They’d found my limit. I’d found my limit BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP! “Check your schedule, everyone! Clark? Getting up or do you need more time?” Even the way she said it was infuriating to me on a personal level. She didn’t even sound particularly bothered or angry anymore; like she was doing me a favor and offering me extra time to sort myself out instead of threatening me with more isolation. Knowing that was the point didn’t make it any better. Admitting that after a fashion that was exactly how I’d used the time made it so much worse. I stood up and stepped into Beouf’s view. “Getting up,” I said reluctantly. “Okay,” she said. “Go check your schedule.” Reluctantly I nodded and marched to the visual schedule. “Hold up!” I felt her reach out and hook a denim shoulder strap. I cringed as she patted me. “Yup. I smelled something. Mrs. Zoge, will you reset my center real quick?” “Yes ma’am.” Mercifully, the change was quick, and Beouf didn’t talk to me until I was sealed back up. She carried me back to her table, set me down on my feet, and got down on one knee. “Mrs. B. loves you,” she said softly, “and I know you’re going through a lot, but I can’t let you misbehave and set a bad example.” Play it cool, Clark. Play it cool. I averted my eyes to control my temper. “Yes, ma’am.” I said. “If you need to go and sit back on the stool, it’s okay to tell me,” she said. “Just tell me with real words and not fake questions.” ‘Yes ma’am.” Suitably cowed, I went and took the icon off for the reading center. Dropping off the token, I plopped down on the nearest bean bag and continued to sulk. Ivy looked up from an easy read book she’d have to have read at least three hundred times cover to cover. “You got in trouble,” she teased. ‘And you don’t?” I asked her. Another question I already knew the answer to. In a way I was using Ivy as a warm-up to an eventual re-match. Easy mode. Ivy grinned from ear to ear. “Nope! I’m a good baby. I don’t pretend to be big.” “Why not?” I ignored the implication that I was only pretending. I’d only get so far with someone like Ivy. Ivy was the poster Little for collaborators, tattletales and yeah, Helpers. “Cuz I’m not. I’m a baby.’ Now that my downstairs were cleared, something was brewing in my upstairs. “I thought pretending is what babies did best,” I said. “Does that mean you were really a frog on Tuesday?” A befuddled expression warped Ivy’s features. Based on a whopping four days of data and a decade of the briefest of glimpses, I’d already deduced that she was something of an outsider. Even the girls who talked to her seemed to do so out of a simple pity. This might have been the most complex conversation she’d had since Zoge had snatched her up back in Yamatoa. “No…?” Like a tumor, an awful idea took root in my brain. “So why don’t you pretend to be a grown-up like the other babies do?” Like the advice I’d given Chaz and so many Littles before him, I was looking to rebel, looking to disrupt, looking to subtly piss in somebody else’s cereal. Ivy Zoge was such a perfect Little success story, paired up with me to be a ‘good influence’. Right before me was a golden opportunity; or at least a fun one. “What do you mean?” Ivy asked. I pursed my lips together and took in my surroundings. Beouf could technically see me, but she was preoccupied. Zoge could hear us if she was listening, but Chaz was yacking her ear off and we had the bookshelf as a visual blocker. “We’re not grown-ups, right? Just pretending?” I forced my voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “Uh-huuuuuh…” “But you’ve never.pretended to be a grown-up? Ever?” “Yeah…” She paused. “I mean, no. I haven’t.” “Maybe that’s why the others won’t play with you as much, Ivy. You won’t play our favorite game.” This was it. This was my win condition that day. Step One: Bait Beouf and do it better than the others. Make it obvious that I was on board with these Little tricks and that I could do it better than most. Step Two: Openly defy Beouf to cement that I wasn’t anything like what anyone suspected. Step Three: Subvert expectations and coax the ultimate teacher’s pet into playing along. A week prior, I would have said something like this was beneath me. Back then I had a life, a house, a different last name and a wife. I’d wanted to live my life being a good influence to Amazon children. That didn’t work out, so I might as well try to be a bad influence on my fellow captives. Or so I reasoned. Ivy’s skull might as well have been transparent. I could see the gears turning with every word I spoke.. “You think that’s why?” She whispered back. “Maybe,” I lied. “One way to find out.” She scooted up close to me. “How do I play?” “It’s easy,’ I told her. “Just ask questions.” “Why?” “Now you’re getting it!” I winked. “Grown-ups ask each other questions all the time.” I felt like a certain snake in a garden. I was loving it! “All you have to do is ask as many questions as possible. It’s a game.” Ivy thought for a second. “Sooooo, do what you were doing?” I clicked my fingers and pointed to her. “Exactly!” “What if I get in trouble?” “Everybody gets in trouble,” I told her as nonchalantly as I could. “I just got in trouble. Would it really be so bad if you were like everybody else?” Ivy pouted out her bottom lip. “Hmmmm…I don’t think-” “Come on Ivy,” I dared to place my hand atop hers. Cassie forgive me. “I thought we were friends.” Calling myself her friend was like giving a shot of whiskey to a recovering alcoholic. When she stopped and breathed in, I knew I had her. Getting Ivy to agree to it was too easy. If a thirty something woman is convinced that she’s a baby, you can convince her of anything. “Okay.” She whispered back. “I’ll play.” “If you can’t think of a question,” I reminded her, “ just ask ‘why’.” “Just ask why,” Ivy said to herself. “Just ask why. Just ask why. Just ask why.” A few minutes later… BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP! Schedules checked. Tokens deposited in basket. Seats taken. “Hello, Clark. Hello, Ivy.” Mrs. Zoge said in her gentle, quiet way. “Are you two ready to have some fun?” She slid out a blank sheet of paper to each of us. “For this you’ll want to be using your non-dominant hand to color your emotions.” “Why is it called ‘dominant hand’, Mommy?” Ivy started. I slid my pacifier back between my lips to hide my smile. Game on. “Dominant is the hand your brain wants you to use, my love,” Mrs. Zoge passed out some thick crayons. “It’s the hand that is in charge.” I kept silent and urged my proxy onward with my eyes. “So it’s like the Mommy and Daddy hand?” Oh? That was a pretty good one. “You can call it that if you want to.” “Okay!” I grabbed a crayon so that I could resist the urge to slap my own forehead. I cleared my throat, and mumbled past the mouth guard. Ivy bit her lip. “Oh yeah! Who is more Mommy and Daddy hand? You or Daddy?” “Me.” Beouf’s assistant didn’t so much as hesitate. Yikes. I’d never met Zoge’s husband, but an unpleasant image that I never wanted to picture jammed it’s way into my brain. An air of suspicion settled of Zoge and she noticed the still-blank paper. “Ivy, my love, what are you doing?” “Nothing!” Ivy was such a rookie at this sort of thing that beads of cold sweat started forming. “Why?” “Are you feeling well, Ivy?” her Mommy asked. “Whyy?” Zoge narrowed her eyes, peering intensely through her glasses. “Why do you keep asking why?” Ivy was all but shaking. “Um...why?” Zoge started speaking Yamatoan. It still had that gentle, musical quality she had when she spoke, but Ivy started to look very, very tense. “Whyyyy?” A few more words from Zoge that I couldn’t understand. This time more clipped; less musical; almost forceful. “Dōshite?” Ivy wasn’t having nearly as much fun as I had been having. Zoge kept speaking, but I couldn’t understand her. Her words all tumbled and folded in on each other. It might as well have been one unbreaking string of babbling tongues to me. Ivy understood. “Dōōōōshite?” The only word out of Zoge’s mouth that I understood next was “Ivy”. “Dōōōōōōōshite?” Zoge placed both palms flat on the table. “Ichi…” “Dōōōōōōōshite...?” Ivy looked to me for support. I pretended to look away. Zoge continued “Ni…” Uh oh! I didn’t know Yamatoan, but even I recognized the tone and steady pace of a warning count. If I had any mercy or decency left in me, I would have spoken up or told Zoge to stop, or asked my own inane questions to draw the heat off of Ivy. It’s not what Cassie would have done. “San!” Ivy broke like a dam, blubbering in her seat. I don’t know what punishment her Mommy threatened but it was enough to traumatize her. Bawling, she pounded the table with balled up fists. “Dōshite! Dōshite! Dōōōōōōōshite!” The girl sounded like a death sentence had just been handed down. “Mrs. Zoge?” Beouf called over sounding concerned. “Is Ivy alright?” “All will be fine, Mrs. Beouf.” Zoge called back. “Ivy just needs to learn a lesson.” I looked around the room. All eyes were on Ivy. Bit by bit, I saw our classmates piece what had happened through half-heard snippets. “Did Ivy say ‘Why’?” Jesse asked. Very quietly, Zoge replied. “Yes. She did.” “Why?” That elicited a chorus of giggles. Beouf tried to reassert control. “Don’t worry about it, dear. Back to work.” “Why?” Tommy asked. “When someone is making a scene we tend to our own business, remember? Don’t pay it any mind. ” “Why?” Sandra Lynn now. “That’s between Ivy and her-” “Why?” Chaz interrupted. “Why?,” Jesse said. Mandy and Shauna piled on with their own “Why?” a second later. “It’ll be fine.” “Why?” Billy and Annie looked like they were on the verge of trying to start a chant. “Why?” “Why?” “Why?” Someone listening in might have heard it as an overlapping flock of seagulls. To us though, it was victory. In that glorious moment, Why Day was back on! “Hmmm,” Mrs. Beouf said in a very scripted monotone. “Mrs. Zoge do you think the children should have a longer nap this afternoon? Maybe skip the playground altogether?” ‘I think that would be very appropriate, Mrs. Beouf.” The squawking stopped, and was replaced by a discord of ‘AWWWWWWWW!’ and general grumbling. We had flown too close to the sun and were being punished. I was part of that ‘we’ however. No playground and the other Littles saw me as one of them? Win-Win.

Thanks. I try. It's a fun exercise to make the sort of stories that read differently the second time. I appreciate the honestly and thank you for giving it a chance anyway. What about the title was off putting, may I ask?

Chapter 57: Adventures in Being Babysat Thursday Night. The television clicked off. The Muffets were on and Lita Coreno was about to do her famous rendition of ‘Fever’, arguably the bit that first made the show in Season 1. It was a classic, and something I felt I needed to watch right then. I pounced up to my feet, letting the blanket slide off my bare legs. “Hey I was watching tha-!” I froze in embarrassment, realizing that I was in nothing but a diaper, again. The locking mittens over my hands didn’t count as clothes to me. Jessica stifled a giggle. “You’ve only got another hour before bed,” she said. “Do you really want to spend the rest of your time watching T.V.?” “YES!” “Ask a silly question…” That day had not been good to say the least. As opposed to the inspirational mischief I’d achieved on Tuesday, and the catharsis of Wednesday, Thursday had gone particularly poorly for yours truly. At first, I’d tried crying all day but couldn’t get it up to snuff quickly enough. “Don’t start that again, Clark,” Beouf warned. “You’re just being silly.” True enough. I’d come across enough fake criers in my time to know when I was trying to be one. Grieving is a process. Emotions come and go and one can’t force them. Best to just explore them while they’re happening, and they weren’t happening right then. My second mistake was deciding that I’d ‘whoops’ all day. No, that had nothing to do with the state of my pants, though I was quickly finding out that the aftershocks of the training chocolate weren’t done with me. Holding it in for upwards of a minute was still next to impossible, I just got painful warnings before the explosions occurred. ‘Whoops’, in this instance, was my attempt at ‘painting the frog’ all day long: Grab a crayon and drop it. “Whoops!” Bottle ends up on the floor and rolling under the table. “Whoops”. Pacifier becomes unclipped. “Whoops”. Puzzles; “Whoops”; paper, “Whoops” me trying to ‘help’ by grabbing a whole stack of diapers from beneath Beouf’s changing table. “Whoops!” On paper it should have been good. It was good...for a while. But one of many bad parts about legally being a baby is that eventually Grown-Ups can just decide to not put up with you anymore. That’s how my hands ended up in mittens, courtesy of Sosa the Occupational Therapist. My present state of undress came during dinner when Jessica chose to disrobe me for ease of clean-up. She hadn’t bothered to give me back my pants, and offered me a blanket instead. At least I’d gotten to zone out and watch T.V. “Come on!” Jessica tried to coax me. “Let’s play! Get some of that energy out!” I’d just wanted to tune out my surroundings and drown in nostalgia until unconsciousness claimed me. This woman wanted to play. Which one of us was supposed to be the adult again? “I don’t want to play,” I said as evenly as I could. “I just want to… I just want to…” I couldn’t say what I wanted to do. “Just please. Let me be. I’ve had a bad… everything.” Jessica, skinny, flat chested, and unimpressive for an Amazon, but still several times my size strode up to me, sat down and crossed her legs. “Wanna tell Auntie Jessica about it?” She patted the nest she’d made with her thighs inviting me to sit in it. “You’re not my aunt,” I said. “And Janet’s not my mother.” One full week of me being snatched up and my life turning upside down because of a shart; less than twenty-four hours after Janet made that heartfelt declaration of love for me; and she’d already decided she was stressed out and needed a night off from being a ‘parent’. Jessica seemed to get defensive. “Janet, I mean your Mommy is doing her best to learn how to make you happy and you’re not making it any easier for her.” “Easy?” I scoffed. “Easy? She thought taking a grown man and forcing him to be her baby was going to be easy?” Now she scoffed. “It’s not her fault that you poopied right in front of everyone. She’s just trying to figure some stuff out. Most mothers have at least a couple of months to figure everything out.” I opened my mouth to reply and came up short. Damn. She was right. Janet had benefited from my downfall, but I had no real reason to believe she’d caused it. Time to change the subject. “What does that make you, then?” “Her best friend,” Jessica said plainly enough. “Her sister from another mister.” Then she dared, “Your Auntie.” “You’re not my aunt.” “Your babysitter then.” I sighed. I knew where this was going. “Can I at least have my shorts back?” “They’re only gonna come off when it’s time for bed, anyhow,” Jessica replied. She was still sitting down, hoping I’d come cuddle with her. Good luck with that... “This diaper isn’t going to make it to bedtime either,” I retorted. “Does that mean I can walk around nude?” “No, silly. Little babies need their diapers.” Like a cobra, two fingers had shot down past the leg cuff. “You’re a little wet, though. Do you want me to change you?” Another no-win question. I’d gone underneath the blanket, anticipating a losing potty argument. I’d been right. Still...a question was an invitation to negotiation. Negotiation determined measures of control. This Amazon was Janet’s best friend. Someone Janet had gossipped about me to and was determined to see me as Janet did and was even pushier about being called ‘Auntie’ than Janet was for ‘Mommy’. She’d probably be another one of Beouf’s disciples if she had a Little of her own. She didn’t have a Little of her own, though. She had all of Janet’s cosseting, but no one to infantilize. No Clark to call her own. She had an Amazon crush on who she perceived me to be and absolutely zero experience with the real me. Maybe I could use this... “If I let you change me now, can I wear pajamas?” I asked. A smirk. The recognition of a hint of a challenge. “When I change you,” she replied, “I’ll dress you up in your jammies, yes.” Oh the power of language to assert control, demean, and subvert. A true Amazon. I could work with this, though. I really could. “Can I get the mittens off, too?” I asked. “My hands are all hot and icky” Her mouth cocked to the side. “I don’t know...Janet told me how you’d been acting up today.” Of course she had. “Did my Mommy say I had to leave them on till tomorrow?” I asked. Bingo. I knew I’d won as soon as I’d called Janet the M-word. “Well...she didn’t specifically say that...but I didn’t ask.” “But she didn’t specifically say,” I grinned, hoping my smile came off as precocious or whatever people used to describe a child with charmingly adult-like qualities. Jessica got up. “Okay. You got it, kiddo. Diaper change. Jammies. No more mittens.” Heh. Kiddo. Based on this exchange we were more similar than she’d ever want to admit. If shrinking rays were a thing she’d be more likely to pass as a classmate than as a babysitter. “Deal?” Miracle of miracles, she reached down with one hand and left it there for me to shake. I took it, grasping her palm like it was victory itself. “Deal.” “Great.” I lifted both arms up at an angle, and Jessica yanked me up by the armpits and onto her hip. Sad to say but I was already getting used to this sort of thing. “Let’s go get changed,” the sitter said. Riding around Janet’s house was hardly a novel experience. Outside of my nursery, and the living room, everywhere else required me to travel on someone else’s hip. I’d never even seen the inside of Janet’s bedroom. Jessica plopped me down on the changing table. I reached up and wiggled my wrists. “Mittens first, please.” “Please is the magic word,” Jessica responded immediately. She reached over to my wrists and undid the latches with a grip much stronger than mine and fingers more dexterous than the mittens allowed me to be. I wiggled my fingers as if it were the first time using them while Jessica’s hands went to undo the tapes on my Monkeez. I barely flinched. It’s strange how quickly I forgot to be embarrassed; actually forgot. Jessica had never seen me dressed as an adult or otherwise known me as ‘Mr. Gibson’. We were alone with no one left in the entire house, with no one to witness my position. She was being good about not commenting or narrating anything as she wiped me down and such, possibly lost in her own head considering how much she’d wanted to change me at the shower. To top it all off, after the new diaper was on, something would come to cover it up. Best of a bad situation, really. Speaking of that: “Whoah! Whoah! Whoah!” I called out just as Jessica was unfolding a super thick Nighttime Monkeyz. “Not that one!” “Why not?” Jessica said. “You’re about to go into your jammies. Might as well have your night diaper on.” “It’s really hard to move around in those things!” I said. “It’s almost like a pillow.” “So?” So? So? Crap, I needed a reason to...to...idea! “How are we supposed to play if I can barely move?” “Play?” Laying down, completely naked, I shrugged. “Why not?” I quickly added, “My pajamas all have snaps in them. You can change me into one before you put me down for the night.” That was enough. A regular daytime diaper took its place beneath me and I was powdered and taped in. The jammies I was buttoned into were sky blue, but at least the feet had tiny grips in the soles so that I could walk without sliding around too much. “So what do you want to play, cutie?” I was back on her hip and being taken back to the living room. Jessica’s grin was almost identical to Janet’s that first day that she took me. If she hadn’t told me that she and Janet weren’t related, I might’ve assumed based on that look alone. I looked around the room. I’d written a check to keep my thighs closer together. Now my ass had to cash it. “Um...I dunno.” I said. The babysitter was more than willing to help. “Peekaboo?” “No.” “Horsey ride?” “No.” “I mean you ride on my back, not my knee“ the technically more adult of us said. “Still no.” She looked over to the unfolding obstacle course. “We could…” “Nope!” “You’re just full of ‘no’ all of a sudden, aren’t you Little guy?” I exhaled and looked around the room. I was alone with a baby crazy Amazon that I’d just had some success at negotiating with. How could I turn this to my advantage? Inspiration! “Hide and seek?” I asked. “Whole house?” Jessica puckered her lips in thought. “I don’t know…” The more I thought about it, the more I knew it was a good idea. What better way to get into every nook and cranny of this place than to pretend to be looking for a hiding spot? “Come on,” I goaded her. “What’s the worst that could happen?” “You might try to run away.” Janet’s friend said quickly enough. She wasn’t cosseting on me so hard as to be completely oblivious to the fact that I was a Little and not regressed. It was only natural to assume that I’d book it. I gestured to the kitchen where the nearest door was. “Come on!” I said. “All the doors are baby proofed with those special knob things.” I hated using words like baby in place of Little; I was just playing to my audience. “And look at me. Even if I do get away, where am I going to go dressed like this?” “You could get hurt, and I won’t be there to save you.” My arms fidgeted, and I had to use my willpower to keep them still instead of gesticulating wildly. “This is the suburbs! It’s not like a great beast is going to eat me or something!” Oh, the absurdity of it all! “Yeah, but you might hurt yourself trying to hide from me or get out. You could get stuck, or crushed, or trapped.” I exhaled. “Fair point. Okay. So...boundaries? Certain places where neither one of us is allowed to go.” Come on Clark, I thought. You can do this. Control the conversation. Set the rules, even if you’re going to break them. Jessica hemmed and hawed for a moment. “Alright. Let’s talk boundaries. No hiding in the oven.” Yikes! Did she really think I was so…? I stopped myself. I could use this. “Okay. No oven. No refrigerator either. Cabinets are okay though.” “That sounds safe enough,” Jessica. “No trying to get into the dryer or the washing machine, either.” I made a show of thinking. “Can I hide in the garbage cans?” I had no desire to hide in the garbage cans. This was about getting concessions more than extra spots. Also extra options on her mind could only help me. “Ewww!” Jessica’s nose wrinkled. “No way. You’ll get disgusting and I’m not giving you a bath so close to your bedtime.” “Empty them first,” I said. “Nope.” I kicked at the carpet a bit. “Okay, okay. What about laundry baskets and hampers?” “That’s okay.” Jessica replied. She looked around the room. “Hiding under chairs and tables is okay, too, but no messing with the sofa. You could get hurt.” The game within a game was getting me excited. “What about the bathtub? Under my crib?” “All good,” she said. “Anything else?” “Yeah,” I said. “No messing with the lights when you hide. No fair turning the lights off to make you harder to find.” “Harder to find?” Jessica ran a hand through her short brown hair. “I’m not hiding. I’m seeking.” I had anticipated this. “What? Where’s the fun in that? We take turns.” I’d been hiding from Amazons in some form or another my entire life. Why not change it up a bit? More importantly, the seeker had greater freedom of movement. .Clearly she imagined herself leisurely walking through the house calling my name. ‘Wheeeere’s Clark?’ “I’m too big to hide in this house,” the Amazon chuckled “So you think you’re gonna lose,” I goaded her. “That’s an interesting way to play it.” She got that exact same look of iron willed competitiveness that I’d seen in Ivy Zoge’s face on Monday. Who says Amazons and Littles are that different? “If I chose to hide, kiddo, you’d never find me.” “Oh really?” I said. “Care to make a bet?” “What kind of a bet?” she asked. “A simple bet,” I suggested. “We take turns. Every time I find you… I get a cookie.” A look of understanding and recognition came across Jessica’s face. “Ooooooh! So that’s why you want to play hide and seek. You want a game you can win so that you can get a cookie!” More like I wanted to appear to be interested in something besides snooping around. I looked away trying to seem bashful. “Okay. What do I get when I find you?” she asked. I thought. What did I have to offer her? What to get for the girl who might not have everything, but it doesn’t matter because you have no credit card? “You can...tickle me?” Score! Again the hand came out, rather like an equal. “Deal!” We shook. She took out her phone and played with it for a moment. “One minute to hide. Five minutes to look. If the alarm goes off first, hider wins.” I didn’t like the time limit on snooping, but I knew where to push. “Deal.” “Oh, and no going into your Mommy’s room. I just don’t think she’d like it.” “What?” I whined. “We didn’t negotiate that.” “Sorry, kiddo. Them’s the breaks.” “I’m pretty sure I’m older than you!” She didn’t seem too bothered by that fact. “Take it or leave it.” I huffed. “Fine.” I was totally going into that room. If I wasn’t before, I was after that exchange. Jessica showed me the app on her phone. A one minute timer on vibrate followed by a five minute timer on speaker. “You hide first. Ready! Set! Go!” She put the phone down and covered her eyes. I started looking around for a place to hide. A bad one, too. I was planning pool shark tactics. Lure in my pursuer’s interest by lowering her expectations. Play just enough to give a feeling that I was doing it for real instead of biding time. Even with no life left to live, the fantasy of escape kept coming back to me. I wouldn’t escape tonight, but I could at least get the information that would eventually lead to my escape. Internally, I started counting to sixty. Memorize the doors, observe the windows. Nothing to it. There was the nursery, the guest bathroom, the greeting area, the living room, the kitchen, and Janet’s room. A couple air conditioning vents made me pause and consider. It did not last long though. The vent was small, even for me. I couldn’t rip the tapes off a diaper; forget taking a grate off. No go on the grates. “Ready or not! Here I come!” I shuffled quickly into my nursery and hid behind the curtain. It was a bad hiding spot. The curtain didn’t even come down to my ankles. Nobody would be fooled by this. That was the point. “Claaaaark?” Jessica called out. “Where arrrrrre yoooooou?! Wheeeeeeere’s Clark?!” Ha! Called it! Her footsteps were practically thunder in the house. “Wheeeere’s Clark?!” I decided to speed up the inevitable and forced a childish giggle. “Hee-hee! Hee-heee!” I covered my own eyes and shuffled my feet in place. Maybe Amazons were secretly tuned into the crinkle? I didn’t know. “THERE HE IS!” I felt the woosh of the curtain being pulled back. I heard Jessica stifle laughter. “Awwww, Clark! It doesn’t work like that.” “I know,” I sighed. “You know what that meeeeans?” Already, Jessica’s fingers were moving like spider’s legs. “Iiiit’s tickle time!” I pressed myself up against the wall and let the panic fill my eyes. “Wait!” I called out. “If I find you, will I get a cookie right away?” “Hmm?” Jessica grunted. She clearly hadn’t considered that. “No. I think if you get any cookies, you’ll have to wait till we’re done playing.” She started making like a cat that had cornered a mouse. “Then how is it fair,” I asked, “that you tickle me every time you find me?” The tickle monster stopped. “Fair enough,” she said. “But I’m gonna give you a really big tickle before bed then! It’ll be worth two or three tickles put together!” “Good thing I’m wearing a diaper, then,” I replied. Those are seven words I never thought I’d say in that order. The thought of somehow tickling me until I peed myself caused Jessica to bubble up. “Okay,” she said. “Your turn.” She grabbed my hand and led me back to the living room. She took her phone out and reset it. “Ready?” She had no idea. “Close your eyes.” I did. “Go!” I inhaled and slowed my breathing; waiting the full minute until the phone vibrated. No sense in cheating. Not yet. Not like this. I didn’t actually want that cookie. I started to prowl through the house, doing my best to hope that the diaper wouldn’t give away my position. Neither did I call out Jessica’s name. I didn’t want her to know where I was. Now was the time to really hide. Walking past a hall closet towards my nursery, I caught a hint of a shadow coming out from underneath a door. I didn’t hear words, but I heard the same giggling I’d heard moments before. Such a shame. She was totally going to win. No cookie for me. Oh well. I about-faced and walked as quietly as I could across the house to Janet’s bedroom. I wasn’t supposed to go in there, and I had less than five minutes to snoop what I could before the alarm on Jessica’s phone went off. The door was left open just a crack and I slid myself inside, making sure that I wouldn’t have to jump if I wanted to open the door back up. So this is what Janet’s room looked like! The room was painted a light, almost flamingo pink. Closer to rose petal, come to think of it. Oddly calming. The far side of the room had a computer desk and desktop, very similar to what I’d used...before. Likewise, the master bathroom was connected to the bedroom, just like...before. The bathroom was smaller, mine was...had been nicer, but it did the trick, especially for a woman living on her own. A sink, a mirror, a medicine cabinet, a toilet, and a shower. Nothing fancy. The shower had a screened in window, the kind with the warped distorted glass that would let sunlight in without anyone being able to see inside the shower. I fantasized a scenario in which I could somehow reach that high, toss a big enough brick to shatter it, crawl through the window and drop to the outside without breaking a leg. Unlikely. Back in the bedroom proper a vanity mirror sat across the bed where I would’ve put a chest of drawers. Janet kept makeup and jewelry on the stand and I could just imagine her putting on her finishing touches each morning before coming to wake me up. The walk in closet made up for the relative smallness of the bathroom. It was half the size of the Braun’s trailer...and just like that I made myself sad again. It was also very empty, only half full... and just like that I felt a bit of dark pleasure. The real centerpiece of the room, however, was Janet’s bed. Incredibly big, even for Amazon furniture, it looked extremely messy; a mountain of mattress, pillows, and disheveled comforters. Janet had fallen out of the habit of making it, it seemed. More important was the headboard. Massive, to the point of being gaudy, the head of the bed was actually a thick set of glass cabinets holding china and silverware. Someone liked breakfast in bed. Up at the very top were fancy glasses; champagne flutes, martini glasses, and the like. Someone liked more than just breakfast in bed. Mimosas perhaps? To the right of the headboard, just where an Amazon could easily reach if they were sitting up- or a Little might steal if he were standing on the mattress- was a dark black bottle. A cabinet with fine dishes to break was one thing. ‘Whoops!’ I was nothing if not spiteful. The bottle is what really drew me in, however. There was something that I hadn’t been in a long time: drunk. Time to fix that. I scurried up the mattress. My diaper was still dry and just thin enough that I could make a decent jump of it and pull myself the rest of the way up. The mattress didn’t squeak under my weight and I couldn’t hear the rustling of the soft plastic as I zipped and scrambled over pillows and bunched up sheets. Not much time now. Any second the alarm would go off and I would lose. I wouldn’t get this opportunity again tonight. I leaned out and grabbed the handle of the unlocked liquor cabinet. It opened out from the bed. Digging my fingers into another built-in cabinet I leaned out as far as I could and grasped at the bottle. Full! Very full! So full I almost dropped it! It was practically a baby in weight; a real one. Setting it down on the mattress, I rotated the bottle, looking for a label. No name on the bottle; just a symbol. A white boney hand holding a red oblong shape. I squinted and mused. Did no name make it expensive? Was I about to waste really good booze? What was it? Vodka? Wine? Did I care? Wedging the bottle between my legs, I held it in place with my knees while I unscrewed the lid. Sniffing at the bottle, my nose wrinkled at just a whiff! “Ooof!” I said involuntarily. This stuff was strong! It made sense that Amazons would have liquor this potent. They’d need it just to feel a slight buzz. The sound of an alarm faintly going off in the distance made my ears prick up. Time! Out of time! “claaaark?” I heard the distant voice of Jessica echo on the other side of the house. “Claaaaark?” I was going to be in so much trouble! “Whelp,” I whispered, gathering up my courage. “If I’m going to be in trouble, I might as well make it worth it.” I stood up on the mattress, opened my mouth as wide as it would go so as to fit around the bottle’s massive rim, gripped it with both hands and then tilted back as far as I could. In that split second, I imagined the scene as Jessica might perceive it. Coming and looking for me and finding a ‘baby’ nursing on a very different kind of bottle. This was going to hurt, but it’d be worth it. Worst case scenario, I reckoned, I could plug it with my lips to stem the tide if the booze burned a bit too much. Mistake! BIG MISTAKE! FIRE! MY ENTIRE MOUTH WAS INSTANTLY ON FIRE! Inside the lips, tongue, back and the throat, everything burned! Cheeks! Gums! Uvula! Someone had taken a match to the inside of my fucking skull! It burned, and not just in the way that all alcohol burns! The first three to four gulps had been just me chugging without thinking. I was not going to bed sober, no siree! I didn’t make it to a fifth swallow. My gag reflex was already fighting me. I exhaled and felt the burning, stinging, pain in my nostrils. It hurt! So much! Pain! It was like an Amazon spanking to the inside of my face! Stupidly, I puckered my lips. That only made more of my face burn. “FUUUUUUUUUUU-!” I screamed, heaving the bottle to my side while I sat up. Gasoline! I must have chugged a bottle of gasoline. I’d need my stomach pumped! “AAAAAAAAH!” I was crying, my eyes tearing up while I screamed and wiped at my tongue in agony. Breathing? Breathing only made it worse! “MOTHER FUUUUUU-!” I rolled on the mattress, licking the comforter in a bizarre and futile attempt to make the hurting stop. I didn’t roll far enough, and soon my tongue touched upon a gasoline soaked bedsheet as the puddle spread on Janet’s bed, and the whole thing started over again. Thunderous running over my howls of pain, but I still drowned them out with my own yelping. “OOOOOOOOOOW!” “Clark?!” The door slammed open. “FUCK FUCK FUCK! GODDAMNIIIIIIT!” I stopped swallowing and started drooling. It didn’t help the hurt any. Might’ve even made it worse. “Clark? Baby, what’s wrong!” Gasping for breath I pointed to the spilled bottle with one hand while I stupidly wiped my mouth with the other. “WHY?” I felt like I was breathing fire. My eyes felt like they were shooting lasers out of them. “WHY DOES….?” Talking hurt. I didn’t want to talk. Staying still hurt. I didn’t want to stay still. I kept flailing my arms and pumping my legs on the mattress just to distract myself. A thousand invisible ants had crawled into my throat and were biting me from the inside out. The tube! It was like the tube that Beouf had shoved me down into, only on the inside! IT BURNED! Jessica picked up the bottle and looked at the logo. She gasped. I went to wipe my eyes. “Clark! No!” Too late. The pain doubled in my eyes. I was no longer just crying because of how much everything below the nose hurt, now my eyes were on fire too. I didn’t need to see to understand that I was being picked up and carried out of Janet’s room. “Shit shit shit shit shit shit!” Jessica cursed. I also didn’t need to see to be able to scream. Which I did. A lot. “WHYYYYYYYYY?!” So many questions. Why did it hurt? Why did it hurt so much? Why wasn’t it stopping? Why was I so fucking stupid as to put something in my mouth if I didn’t know what it was? I had not a single answer to these questions just then, so a single syllable of “WHYYYYYYYY?!” had to do. “Clark? Open your mouth for me.” Jessica had lost all of the cutesy inflections in her voice. “Open your mouth, baby.” It hurt more to breathe through my nose than my mouth, so I didn’t put up much resistance. Not a second later, something cold and creamy squirted into my mouth. I latched onto the bottle without hesitation. “MMmm...Mmmmm..” The cold, fatty stuff, filled my mouth and glided down my throat and it still wasn’t enough. The fire inside was dying, but still too slowly for me to be comfortable. It was a relief however. “Hold still,” Jessica said, her voice still with worry. I felt wipes, first wet then dry, drag across my face. “Keep drinking. Open your eyes if you can.” Gradually, I blinked open, more tears came out, but it was hurting less. My sockets were flushing themselves out. My lips still felt on fire and I kept sucking them into my mouth. Jessica saw my face and took the bottle from me. “Close your mouth a second.“ I did, even though breathing through my nose still felt like I had nostrils filled with angry wasps. She squirted some milk directly onto my lips, and the pain started to go away one awful second at a time. Greedily, I opened my mouth and accepted the nipple again. “That’s right,” she whispered to me. “Drink it up. There’s at least one more prepped in the fridge and at least a couple gallons more to pour in if you need it.” Pathetically I nodded and kept suckling while she bobbed me lightly in her arms. I took the chance to test my throat when the bottle was empty. “What,” I gasped. “Was...that...shit…?” My babysitter put the second bottle to my lips and waited for me to drink. “That was ghost pepper tequila. It’s spicy, even for Amazons. What did you think it was?” I let up sucking long enough to answer. “Wine? Vodka?” I latched back on immediately. It still hurt to have an empty mouth. Jessica’s eyes brightened up. I got the same look when I wanted to laugh but didn’t dare for fear of hurting a child’s feelings. She’d laugh about this much much later, though. I could just tell. “Honey, there aren’t any Little drinks in this house, I’m sure. All of your stuff is in the fridge where it belongs, not in your Mommy’s liquor cabinet by her bed.” My mouth let go of the nipple. “Please...don’t...tell...Mommy.” I was beyond embarrassed at my situation. Using the M-word was a low blow meant to manipulate her emotions. No point in letting pride hold me back. The trick worked, just not how I thought it would. “You think I’m gonna tell on myself?” she said. “No chance. Janet would never let me babysit you again if she found out what I let you do.” Jessica carted me to my room. She put me down in my crib, but left the bottle. “Keep drinking, but slow down,” she ordered. “Swish it around. Maybe gargle. I’m going to Janet’s room to see if I can clean up your mess.” This time she got no complaints from me. I sat there for several minutes, swishing milk around my mouth. My stomach gurgled a bit from what I’d just added to the concoction inside me. This stuff would probably hurt coming out tomorrow if not sooner. I exhaled, sad, pathetic and defeated. How fucked up was it that this was my life now? Just then, I didn’t care. I just wanted the mouth pain to go away and for this awful, awful day to be over. Thursdays might be terrible for me for the rest of my life at this rate. The streak had held so far. Hadn’t it been a Thursday when my date with Cassie had gone sideways? Cassie... Tears of continued grieving and existential dread were cut off by a sudden not quite dizzy feeling. Tipsy. My cheeks warmed up, but it felt good this time. My everything still sizzled inside but I suddenly cared less. The mattress of the crib seemed a lot more cozy just then. I kept working on the nipple of the now emptied bottle because it felt good. Wow! I had been at least half-right. It wasn’t vodka, but it was some strong shit! Eyes at half mast, I laid back in my crib. Stupidly, feebly, I reached out for Lion and clutched the stuffed animal close to me, his synthetic fur lighting up my senses. “Okay, I think I…” Jessica said coming in. “Clark?” “Mmmm?” “You okay?” I let the bottle drop out of my mouth. “Oooooooh yeah...I’m really okay.” The room was starting to sway and spin a little. “Fanks for the milk.” “Uh...no problem sweetie.” She took the bottle out of my mouth and I let out a groan while my lips puckered. “Here ya go.” My bottle was replaced with a pacifier. “Wow. You’re a real lightweight, aren’t you?” I blinked to try and stay awake. “Well yeah,” I said. “I’mma...I’mma… Little... ain’t I?” “Yeah,” Janet’s friend said. “I guess you are.” Quickly, she unbuttoned my pajamas and changed my diaper to an overnight. “Very Little.” Before turning off the lights, she reached down and rolled me over onto my stomach. “Let’s have you sleep on your tummy...just in case.” “In cayshe what?” I mumbled from behind the pacifier. “Just in case.” The lights went out around me and I could feel my brain gleefully shutting down. Time to rest. Back to the drawing board tomorrow. Live to fight another day. “Hey hey!” I heard Janet whisper. The drowsiness and fatigue all but leapt out of me. My eyes remained closed but my mind started to race. How much did she know? “Oh!” Jessica jumped. She lowered her voice back down. “You’re back!” “Meeting got out earlier than I thought,” Janet said. “What’s that in your hand?” “Had time to go shopping, so I picked a special something up.” I heard the rustle of a plastic shopping bag. “How was he?” “A little fussy at first,” Jessica lied. “But I managed to tucker him out. Was just about to close the door…” “That’s great,” Janet said. “He hasn’t been sleeping very well. I knew you’d do well.” “Well...you know…” Jessica was sounding less and less confident. I managed my breathing, sucking on the pacifier and cuddling Lion to control my pulse. “He called you Mommy a couple times…” “Yeah,” I heard a tired heave from Janet. “Probably when he wanted something from you, am I right?” Jessica made no reply that I could hear. “They say it’s common at this stage. It’s still a step in the right direction.” It didn’t sound like she fully believed herself. “Glad you two had a good time, though.” Had I wanted to, I still had the strength to push myself up, and shout out exactly what had happened. Even if I slurred every word, Janet might smell the liquor on my breath. I didn’t though. Jessica helped me out of a lot of pain and talked to me better than most. Still, I blamed it on the milk. “Are you sure you don’t want me to write that letter of recommendation?” Janet asked. My eyebrows nearly lifted off my face. The Grown-Ups had moved onto other topics, apparently. “I’m sure,” Jessica sighed. “I want to get that teaching position on my own.” “And you will,” Janet softly murmured. “As soon as one opens up.” There in the darkness, my eyes peeked open, adjusting instantly to the pale nightlights. Jessica was a teacher, too? And unemployed? And Janet had been trying to get her a job?! Through blurry and drunken eyes, I peered out the bars of my crib. It was hard to tell from the angle, the darkness and the blood alcohol content, but if I hadn’t known any better I’d have said that Janet was holding a box of candy in the palm of her hand. Not just any kind of candy, either. From the outside, it looked like the kind for cream filled chocolate bon bons bought for fancy occasions, dates, presents, and the like; the kind that Rainne Forrest kept in her desk. And were I in a betting mood, I’d have said that the shopping bag had more than a few duplicates of the same. Why did Janet have so many? “Let me just give him a kiss goodnight…”

Chapter 26- New Adventures. You'll have a treasure if you stay there, More precious far than gold. For once you have found your way there, You can never, never grow old. In the great forge hall of the dwarves, Tommy stood aghast .“Leadshoulder?” All around, the great burning song forges of the dwarves were dark and cold. Where once great anvils hammered hot to keep rhythm of the magic forging songs, now were tremendously tall shelves Shelves wasn’t completely accurate, however. When Tommy thought of shelves, he pictured flat surfaces with books resting on them in neat orderly rows. This was more like a wine rack with lattices criss crossing at diagonals creating fist sized diamond shaped holes. Rolled up scrolls made of ancient looking parchment took up each space, with bits of colored ribbon binding each scroll and drooping out of its resting place. Tommy had caught a glance and saw that the same dwarven runes were written on the bits of ribbon; the titles perhaps. The great booming forge had become a quiet library. Dwarves who had once feasted and sang at the mead table now sat quietly at it, contemplating writing. None of that caught Tommy off guard nearly as much as looking at “Aye, Tommy, m’friend,” the dwarf nodded. “It is I. Why do you ask?” He still looked vaguely like Trevor Macintosh stretched over a dwarven frame, but there was so much difference that it was startling. No ornately runed armor, just a simple tunic with a hempen belt. In place of a battle helm was a floppy sack of a hat. Even his rough beard that he’d been so proud to have grown had shaved down to stubble. He’d gone from looking like something out of Tolkien to an extra in a Disney movie. It was also a bit disturbing that he had an inch or two on Tommy, now. “You look so...so...different, is all,” Tommy said. “No armor. No beard.” Looking around, Tommy saw almost none of the dwarves had beards. Most were white and barely wispy things compared to the thick and bushy beards that he remembered.” Leadshoulder smiled politely. “It is peace time here in Malacus, m’friend.” “And the beards and armor were only for war…” Tommy finished the sentence. “Just so.” The young man curled his mouth to the side. “You didn’t mention all these changes before,” he said. “It had been a long time since we’d had peace,” the dwarf replied. “Never thought we’d live to see it. But now elves and centaurs, and dwarves are all harmonious, thanks to you.” Tommy dug his hands in the pockets of his shortalls. “I see your garments are changed, too. No more armor.” Tommy looked away. “Yeah…” As oddly comfortable as these clothes were, he really did miss his golden armor. Seeming to sense Tommy’s discomfort, Leadshoulder changed the subject “What brings you here?” “We seek a quest,” Nox said, plainly. Leadshoulder clapped his massive hands together. “A quest! That sounds like a delightful way to spend an afternoon!” Tommy felt the centaur’s strong hand on his shoulder. “It will be friend Tommy’s first.” Trevor’s doppelganger’s eyes widened with a sense of nostalgia. “Your first quest! Oh you’ve come to the right place, then!” It vaguely reminded Tommy of when he was a kid and friends were telling him how great a certain flavor of ice cream was or a really good movie. ‘Oh you gotta try this! Oh you gotta see that!’. That kind of thing. “What is a quest, anyways?” Tommy asked. “Why didn’t we do quests before?” “I already told you, m’friend,” Nox began. Leadshoulder silenced him and held up his hand. “I think I can explain it better, friend Equestrinox.” When the centaur did not object, he continued. “Malacus is imbued with magic; deep powerful magic.” “Uh-huh…” Tommy said. “I know.” “And on Malacus, Magic is a naturally occurring resource.” The dwarf was speaking kindly, but slowly, like he was explaining a basic arithmetic problem to a kindergartner. Tommy wasn’t complaining. “Sure,” he said. “In times of war, the magic becomes harnessed for war. Hydragons are bred. Elven mind control magic is spun.” “Armor is sung into existence?” Leadshoulder nodded. “It is raging river water being harnessed to power destructive mills.” Okay. Not the best metaphor, but Tommy understood. But when Malacus’s magic is left to its own devices during times of peace, it becomes a pleasant stream to take a swim in.” Tommy scratched his head. He started to shift about slightly, but the crinkling sound from his hips made him self-conscious. “So it’s like a field trip? A field trip to find good magic?” Leadshoulder’s smile was nearly identical to Trevor’s: Kind. Patient. And slightly condescending. “Exactly. For some on Malacus, questing becomes a kind of professional sport. Try to complete the most quests in a day for example” “Oh...okay…” Tommy said. “So what quest should I do?” The dwarf gestured to the racks of scrolls. “You pick a quest, m’friend!” “Pick a quest?” Nox clip-clopped forward. “Whenever enough magic pools in an area to create a quest, a questing scroll forms.“ As if on cue, a new roll of paper materialized in an empty slot. Nox pulled the scroll and examined the ribbon without opening it. “Harvest and eat world’s biggest turnip…?” The intonation made it sound like a suggestion. Tommy arched an eyebrow. “Why would I want to do that? “If you can eat it, you can eat anything,” Leadshoulder said. “Literally.” Nox picked another scroll. “Staring contest with the queen bee?” “Why would he want to be able to turn anything he touches into honey?” Leadshoulder scoffed. The gears in Tommy’s head finally started turning. He stepped forward and between his two magical friends. “So you mean that if I finish a quest, I get superpowers?” Both of them looked supremely amused. “Aye, Tommy.” Leadshoulder said. “Why else would you try to get a bee to blink?” “THAT IS SO COOL!” Tommy was practically bouncing. “No freezing powers, m’friend.” Leadshoulder said. “Not allowed. Too close to warlike. If it were winter, you might get a snowball power but…” Leadshoulder stopped. A beefy finger poked Tommy lightly in the chest. “That’s it!” “What’s it?” Nox asked. “The dragon! The quest of the dragon! It’s right there on your tunic! It’s a sign!” Tommy looked down. “Dragon?” It was slightly obscured, but sure enough, there was a tiny green dragon on Tommy’s shirt. Had that always been there, he wondered. “It’s impossible.” Nox argued. “No one ever does it because they’ve long given up.” “Which is why friend Tommy should try it! He could do it! The lad is very clever! VERY clever!” “Excuse me,” Tommy said. “What is the quest of the dragon and what happens if I complete it?” Considering anything martial was out, Tommy very much doubted that it had anything to do with breathing fire (or acid or lightning or cold). Nox sighed. It was a defeated gesture; very much like a teacher who’d been run ragged. “Flight. Anyone who can solve the quest gains the ability to fly so long as they’re in Malacus.” Flight! Like Peter Pan? Oh how wonderful would that be! Tommy wracked his brain. There was a catch. There was always a catch with this sort of thing. “What happens if I can’t complete the quest?” “You’ve wasted a day.” Leadshoulder gave nox a knowing elbow to the flank. “No risk beyond frustration.” He reached over and withdrew a very old looking scroll; it’s paper yellowed, it’s ribbon golden. “Unwrap it and it’s yours to undertake m’friend.” Tommy pulled the ribbon and unrolled it. Nothing. Right there in front of Tommy’s face was just old, yellowed paper with no writing on it. Then BAM! Flashes of golden light blinded Tommy causing hims to shout out. As his vision cleared, he saw the glowing runic letters flashing and cooling into dark black ink. “So cool!” Tommy said. He stared at the writing a bit longer, waiting for some other sign. “Uh...what do I do now?” “You read it,” Leadshoulder said simply enough. Tommy stared at the runes. They were little more than stylized chicken scratch to him. “I can’t…” “Here lad,” Nox took the scroll from Tommy’s hands. “Allow me.” “What’s it say?” Tommy asked. The centaur squinted. “What has a mouth but never talks? Always runs but never walks? What has a bed but never sleeps? Has a head but never weeps?” “It’s a riddle,” Leadshoulder proclaimed. “Aye,” Nox agreed. “But what’s the answer?” “Perhaps a Wabberjocky.” The dwarf speculated. He noticed the confused look on Tommy’s face. “Nasty things. They just lie around and scream all day. Terrible nuisances.” “Mayhaps.” “It’s a river,” Tommy said. “Mouth of a river. Running river. River bed. The head of a river.” He’d known that one forever. “Is there a famous river in Malacus?” A light of recognition came to Nox’s eyes. “The boy’s a genius! To the River Bank!” Tommy was so proud in that moment that he felt he was glowing. His skin was hot and tingly, but in a good way. So proud was he as Leadshoulder slapped him heartily on the back and lifted him back up onto Nox’s rump, that he almost didn’t notice how his Goodnite was starting to sag just a little more. Almost...

Synced Up. “What’s this?” Elizabeth asked, picking up the tiny little keychain ornament up from among the clutter encased in cardboard boxes. She squinted at the almost egg shaped disk in her palm and the tiny screen on it as if doing so might give her more clarity. “Jericho?” she repeated herself. “What’s this?” Jericho looked up from his spot on the couch, blinking himself back to life. He’d zoned out again. The T.V. was on, but her roommate wasn’t really watching it. Just zoning it and looking off into the distance. Elizabeth bet that if she’d turned it off, though, the first words out of his mouth would be ‘Hey, I was watching that!’ “Huh?” Jericho said. “What’s what?” Elizabeth dangled the not even palm sized bauble between her thumb and forefingers. It was just compact enough to where it could be put on a keychain or worn on a belt loop. “Oh,” Jericho said dismissively. “That. Yeah. You can have it if you want it.” “I didn’t say that I wanted it,” Elizabeth said, still knee deep in computer parts, action figures with mismatched parts, old comic books, CD-ROMs, and model airplanes that at one point actually flew. “I just wanted to know what it was.” “You know what a Tamagotchi is?” Jericho asked. “Little pet simulator game thingy?” “Yeah?” “It’s that. I built it a couple months ago. Was going through a retro phase.” The fact that Jericho had built it did not at all surprise Elizabeth. Her roommate was something of a creative and technical genius. He could whip up gadgets, games, gizmos, and gear seemingly overnight. The chairs that they ate meals at were carved and assembled by him in a little under a week when he went through a ‘carving phase’. Jericho was literally the kind of human being who could do literally anything he set his mind to. Problem was he didn’t set his mind to much for very long. He’d flare up, become something of a savant at a hobby or activity, then it would flare out and he’d never touch it again. It vaguely reminded her of Sherlock Holmes’s brother, Mycroft; a man so incredibly smart that he dwarfed the detective’s intellect yet was so confident in his ability that he was lazy and never felt the need to prove anything. Jericho would set out to do something, do it, then never do anything like it again. His brain just moved too fast for the rest of the world around him. “You can keep it if you want,” Jericho said again as if he didn’t remember saying it the first time. His eyes hadn’t left the screen, currently at a commercial for laundry detergent. “I’m done with it.” Elizabeth picked herself up and dusted herself off. “You mind helping me clean?” She gestured to the piles and piles around her feet. The floor was so littered with random useless crap that Elizabeth had to high step through a kind of minefield just to walk around their shared living room. Jericho’s eyes had already glazed over. “Yeah. Just...in a minute. After this episode.” “You said that last episode.” Elizabeth’s roommate shuddered and he sat up, like waking from a dream. “I did?” “And the one before that,” Elizabeth said. “You know most of this is your stuff that needs throwing out, right?” When Jericho’s room hadn’t been able to contain all his useless knick-knacks that he’d lost interest in, Elizabeth had been gracious enough to let him use a coat closet. Now it was the floor. “You said you were going to help me clean up.” Jericho stood up, seeming dreadfully embarrassed. “I’m just...my executive function is really high today. I...I...I can’t focus. On anything. It’s...hard…” The pendulum was swinging very hard on the unproductive direction today. Last couple days in fact. This is why they were just roommates. Jericho was just as flakey as he was hyper focused and Elizabeth didn’t want to put in the emotional investiture into someone who might literally forget she existed the moment she was out of sight. “No,” she lied. “It’s fine...it’s fine. I’ll do it.” Her roommate put a hand on her shoulder. “No. Stop. It’s okay.” He took his hand off and said ‘Tee-Vee! Voicelock. Off for two hours.” The screen winked off and Elizabeth just now noticed that Jericho’s laptop had been hooked up to it, a red light blinking picking up Jericho’s voice commands. “You voice programmed the T.V.?” Elizabeth asked. “Yeah. Why?” “Why don’t you make like a quirky Youtube channel or something? Then you can show off all these random little things you build to somebody.” “Huh. I haven’t made a youtube bef…” Jericho’s face scrunched up. “Not important!” He said to himself. “Not important! Take a break.” he said. “Go hang out in your room. I’ve got this.” Elizabeth looked around at all the garbage and clutter around their living space; most of it caused by Jericho. “Are you sure?” She felt like she was talking to her little brother: Well meaning but incredibly unreliable. “Positive.” “Okay…” Elizabeth said. “But I’m going to be pissed if I come out in two hours and hardly anything. “I’m going to be a machine,” Jericho said. “Promise. Guilt fueled cleaning purges just became my next phase.” Elizabeth didn’t need further prodding. She retreated to her bedroom and closed the door behind her back to the one little corner of order that she still felt was distinctly hers. She went over to her desk to open her laptop, only then realizing that she still had the little egg shaped gadget in her hand. “Hmmm…” she said, examining it further. There wasn’t a tangible on-off switch. A feature of such devices were that they were extremely difficult to turn off and on and kept a running record of everything. Way back in highschool, her health class had forced all the girls to walk around with these things for two weeks in an attempt to ward off teen pregnancy. The game could become a twenty-four seven obsession by its very design. As if dealing with a beeping bit of plastic compared to a flesh and blood child. As if a sixteen year old would think about either right before sex. The one thing that crappy ‘lesson’ did was jog her memory enough to know to look for a paperclip and find the tiny rubber button near the bottom to reset and start the darn thing. What could she say? Jericho was a genius, and he’d forgotten to show this off to her however long ago he’d made it. Maybe it was time for her own ‘retro phrase’. “Boo-doo-bee-dooooo-boop!” The tiny game beeped to life, playing what kind of sounded like the first five notes of Rockabye Baby. The screen blinked on and Jessica felt her breath catch in surprise. This? This was really good? For starters, it was in color, not just in simple black and white. It was still pixelated, but still had a sharper image than the level of technology warranted. Nintendo and Sony wouldn’t be breaking down any doors to get this, but it was still very good considering. “Awwww!” Elizabeth let out a little cooing noise accidentally. The child sprite that manifested on screen looked exactly like Jericho, too! It had his dark spikey hair, his brown eyes. It looked like it even had that cute little mole on the side of his face. It was a little rounder than he was, but that seemed to be the game’s aesthetic, with more corners being rounded out than jagged edges. Kind of how Luigi still looked kind of pudgy even if he was the tall and skinny Mario Brother. It made sense that Jericho would use himself as the basis for the game’s avatar. By what had to be sheer coincidence it was even wearing a baggie purple t-shirt and blue jeans, exactly like what Jericho had worn today. “Hey Jeri?” Elizabeth called through the door. “Yeah?” “I just started playing with your Tamagotchi thing. It looks…” Cute? No. “Neat!” There was a pause. “Thanks!” “Is there a way to change the avatar?” She asked. “What if I wanted to make it look like a mini me?” She could just imagine a little pixel version of herself, made of long brown hair for her pixels and the green eyes shining back, looking smart with the outline of her glasses. She wasn’t sure how her breats would look in Mario form, not that she had much in the way of breasts to show off. “Nope,” her roommate said flatly. “Just me. Didn’t have time to program another one in. Got bored.” “Oh.” Elizabeth muttered. The way he said it reinforced the notion that he’d never even considered to show this to her, yet alone include her in it. This is why they never dated. Behind him the mini-Jericho avatar had a pretty generic looking bedroom: A bed in the background. An empty shelf. Not much else. With her index finger, she poked the little sprite of Jericho. “Heeheeeheee!” “Something funny?” Elizabeth called through the door of her room. It sounded like something had left Jericho positively tickled. “Huh?” Jericho called back. “No. Nothing. Just cleaning. I don’t know why…” he let the sentence trail off. The flimsy crinkling of a plastic trash bag signaled that he hadn’t completely zoned out staring at a wall or something. Turning back to her new toy, she pushed a button on the little gadget, and saw a readout of the little sprite’s stats in meter form. The stats were, “Happiness”, “Hunger”, “Boredom”, “Potty”, “Rest”, and “Hygiene”. Pretty standard stuff, to be honest, impressive mostly because her friend had made it from scratch. Like most digital pet games, the stats were displayed in little graph bars instead of concrete numbers. Looking at the. “Hey Jeri?” she called. There was a pause before Jericho answered. “What?” “How does this game work?” Elizabeth called. “Like, do I want the little graph bars to stay low or high?” “You want happiness high. You want everything else to be low.” Jericho said through the door. The twenty-something woman suddenly noticed another bar that she hadn’t noticed before. “Even age?” That was strange. Normally age, at best, in these games was a measure of the passage of time. It wasn’t a variable that could be decreased or increased through other means. “Huh? What?” Then Jericho said, “Nevermind. Don’t worry too much about that. That was an experimental mechanic I was working on. Just don’t let the Happiness Meter fall to zero. That’s how you lose.” “How do I win?” Elizabeth called back. “Not gonna happen, but hypothetically? Get the Happiness Meter to max.” Elizabeth looked at the Happiness Meter. It looked to be stuck at a little under half-full. That seemed a lot like Jericho. For being so creative, he was often restless. “Okaaaaay…” Elizabeth mused. “Thank you.” Jericho didn’t answer back. Thankfully, the reason he didn’t answer back was because she heard the sounds of more clutter and hobby materials from months and years past that had gone untouched being put in garbage bags. Looking at the stats of the mini-Jericho, she saw that while the need for hygiene was relatively low, though crawling forward slightly. The Hunger, Potty and Boredom Meters were both over half full, with the Hunger Meter inching closer to about three fourths full. “Let’s take care of that one,” she said. She touched the meter on the screen, and the background changed to a brown cupboard, it’s contents suspiciously similar to the contents of their own. Was this why Jeri had never shown her this game? Was he embarrassed because he’d incorporated a bit too much of reality into the game? If so, that seemed silly. “What to eat, what to eat, what to eat?” She clicked her tongue and settled for a bowl of sugary cereal. It was well past lunch in the real world but mini-Jericho didn’t know that. The real Jericho regularly skipped breakfast too; sometimes forgot to eat. His miniature version could do better at least. She dragged and dropped the cereal into a digital bowl and when given the option added some milk. “Eat?” The screen prompted her. “Yes or No?” She selected ‘Yes’, then she watched, in real time, as mini-Jeri walked to the table, sat down and fed himself a bowl of breakfast cereal normally marketed to kids. The real deal was oddly quiet as well, Elizabeth noted. “Drink milk from bowl?” Elizabeth read. “Sure.” She watched the cutscene continue. “Wow,” she said. “This is pretty detailed!” The level of commitment to minutiae was actually kind of neat. This kind of reminded her of some of the Sims games, more than Tamagotchi. Come to think of it they were kind of the same game with one just being less portable but more advanced. “Jericho! This is pretty cool!” No response. Jericho was either too far away to hear her or too in the zone. She went back to the stats. As predicted, the Hunger Meter had gone down substantially, well out of anything that she’d consider a danger zone. The Happiness Meter was now approaching half. Well done! The Boredom Meter looked to have been decreasing, too. “Huh,” Elizabeth remarked, “I guess some people eat when they’re bored.” The ‘Potty Meter”, though. “Let’s take care of that.” A touch of the ‘Potty Meter’ brought the screen to the background of a bathroom. From the light blue tiles, this was another adaptation of their shared apartment space. She pressed the button and sent mini-Jericho to the mini-bathroom. Ka-Chonk. The sound of the bathroom door closing caught Elizabeth’s attention. She looked down and selected the toilet. Jericho’s avatar sat down on the toilet. It was...tasteful...but pants around the ankles and no privates on screen, but Elizabeth still felt a little weird watching this part. At best, she felt like she was taking a small child to the bathroom. “Go Potty?” the screen prompted. She selected, “Yes”. Feeling like a peeping Tom, Elizabeth exited out of the bathroom screen and watched the Potty Meter go rapidly down. Coincidentally, she could hear sounds coming from the bathroom too; liquid hitting liquid and gassy hints that Jericho was also sitting down on the toilet. Interestingly enough the Age Meter ticked back up a little bit. Mini-Jeri was being a big boy. She went back to the bathroom screen, and was given a prompt. “Wipe?” Guiltily, Elizabeth looked at the door. She knew that the right choice, but part of the fun of these things was breaking them and doing to imaginary people what you’d never have them do in real life. Elizabeth selected “No.” The Age Meter ticked down a bit. “Flush?” The gadget game asked. “No,” Elizabeth selected. Again, the Age Meter ticked down. “Hmmm...what next…?” Elizabeth wondered. She heard footsteps and the bathroom door opening. “Jeri!” Elizabeth opened the door and called out. “Did you forget to flush?” “Huh?” Jericho called back. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry. My bad.” The sound of rushing water greeted her ears. Good. From the sound of things that would have been gross to let that fester. Pulled back into her own head, she looked at the stats for Mini-Jericho. The Potty Meter was down to zero. The Happiness Meter ticked up, but so too was the Hygiene Meter. While the sounds of scuffling and scraping continued outside, the game’s meter for Boredom and Rest started slowly to increase. But everything was well below fifty percent, so she let it go. Feeling that sudden rush of dopamine, Elizabeth refocused herself and put the silly game down. She did have work to do, afterall. Game or not, she was an adult. ******************************************************** “Boo-doo-bee-dooooo-boop!” Hours later, the first few notes of Rockabye baby pinged and Elizabeth looked up from her work. She picked up the off-brand Tamagotchi toy and checked on Mini-Jeri’s stats. The Happiness Meter was going down again. The Boredom and Rest Meters were well over fifty percent. Hygiene wasn’t great either. “Oh. Yeah.” She quickly touched the screen and interacted long enough to send Mini-Jeri into rest mode. “Couch or bed?” She chose ‘couch’ and watched with some satisfaction as the tiny computer version of her friend started snoozing on a digital recreation of the same couch he regularly crashed on. Just as gratifyingly, the Hygiene Meter had frozen and the Rest Meter was decreasing. Boredom too, albeit at a significantly slower rate. Mini-Jeri must be having sweet dreams. “Better check on the real deal.” Exiting her room and out into the common area, Elizabeth was markedly impressed. “Holy cow,” she whispered to herself. “This...wow. He did turn into a cleaning machine.” The place was completely spotless! The young lady inhaled and then regretted it. The place looked spotless. Didn’t quite smell spotless, however. She saw Jericho, napping on the couch. He didn’t have the little anime snot bubble, but he was softly snoring. She crept up to him and got a whiff that she wished she hadn’t. He stunk of sweat and...and...had he not wiped himself or something? Gross! It didn’t smell THAT bad from far away, at least. The piles of garbage bags left in the kitchen for garbage day proved that he had become a cleaning machine, at least for an afternoon. Better than nothing. A lot better than nothing. Her stomach grumbled, and she walked over to the phone. “Looks like my own Hunger Meter has filled up,” she joked. Time for a pizza. “Hello? Big Nero’s? I’d like a…” her eye caught something still soaking in the sink. “Bowl of cereal?” *********************************************************************** “Boo-doo-bee-dooooo-boop!” Three in the morning did not find Elizabeth any happier than one in the morning had. That had been when she’d finally been able to get to sleep. Earlier that night had been spent with her combing the apartment, and especially her room, for hidden cameras or transmitters or something. Jericho was fucking with her. He had to be fucking with her. It was the only logical explanation. When he got up off the couch, Mini-Jericho’s Rest Meter had gone all the way down to rested. Same with the Hygiene Meter when he went back into the bathroom and took a shower. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?” She’d outright said as soon as he was out of the bathroom. She held up the Tamagotchi as though it were a piece of damning evidence. Jericho was still dripping. “Huh?” “This thing’s got like,” she searched for words, “.a twin receiver that tells you everything I’m doing on the game so you can copy it. Why else wouldn’t you wipe?” The flash of red across Jericho’s cheeks was sudden and from more than the hot shower. “You knew I forgot to wipe...?” Elizabeth growled. “You know what? You wanna play this game? Fine.” She pressed a few commands into the game. Without further comment, and still wearing nothing but a bath towel, her roommate went to the kitchen, ate a slice of pizza and then went to his room. Just like the game avatar that she’d commanded. Then he went back to his room, and got dressed in the gag footie pajamas she’d gotten for him last Christmas. She’d selected “jammies” from a few available clothing options. More to the point, she’d seen everything, too. Dude was in his birthday suit. There was nowhere for him to hide a monitor beyond even more ridiculous methods one might hear in a tarantino monologue about prison. Neither did he comment. It was like he was in some kind of fugue state. As soon as Jericho had caught up to his digital counterpart in terms of fulfilling the command, he sat on the bed and looked around as though slightly confused. “Hm?” Yet he did not try to take off the childish pajamas. Looking at the Mini-Jericho avatar, Elizabeth marveled at the SNES version of her roommate. Reviewing his stats, she also noticed that the Age Meter had decreased slightly upon the addition of footie pajamas. Prank or not, she was still having trouble wrapping her head around this; especially the Age Mechanic. The Boredom Meter started blinking in time with the Age Meter. “NEW TOY UNLOCKED” the screen told her. She went to the screen and saw a rattle. “Really?” No way did Jericho have a rattle. To prove a point to herself, she selected it and had the avatar start playing with it to reduce boredom. Shicka-shicka-shicka-shicka. A sneak peak into Jericho’s room showed that he’d started playing very enthusiastically with a maraca from when he went through a music phase. Elizabeth felt her pulse kick up. He was laying on the bed, his feet up near the ceiling, holding the rattle and shaking it; looking at it as if it were his entire world. Jericho wasn’t this focused. He wasn’t this committed to a bit. Jericho wasn’t this committed to anything Boredom Meter was going down, though. Happiness Meter was going up. It had freaked her out so much that she’d spent the rest of the night half-examining the device and half-searching for hidden cameras around the apartment until she passed out. Because of her split attention she did neither well, but she fell asleep positive that there were no hidden devices. Jericho’s thorough cleaning job had made it harder for him to hide anything. “Boo-doo-bee-dooooo-boop! Boo-doo-bee-boop!” Now it was doing it again. More notes too. Blurry eyed and exhausted, Elizabeth picked up the little egg thing and looked at Jericho’s stats. The Potty Meter was all the way up and blinking red. “Huh?” She rubbed her eyes and stared at it. “Warning” it read. “Bladder full. Toileting will disturb rest.” Then it gave her the strangest option. “Wet Bed? Yes/No” “Fine. You wanna play Jericho? Let’s play.” She pressed “Yes”. The Potty Meter plummeted in relief, the Hygiene Meter practically skyrocketed back up in equal measure, the Rest Meter continued to slowly dwindle back down, and the Age Meter...went down a bit as well. Elizabeth woke up late the next morning to the sound of the washing machine being run. The scent of stale urine still permeated the air in Jericho’s room, practically making a fog that hit Elizabeth in the face when she stepped out. “Jericho?” Jericho was fully dressed, out of the footie pajamas and looking flustered. His hair lay flat, unspiked. “Oh. Hi.” He said. “Just doing some laundry.” “Did you…?” Elizabeth asked. “Did you wet the bed?” Jericho blushed. “Yeah…” His roommate returned the blush and ran sprinting back to her room. Holding the door back she looked at the device she’d been playing with. “Did I do that?” She looked at the stats of Mini-Jericho. Everything added up to what she was seeing outside. Both Jerichos had their hair laying flat and were wearing jeans and a t-shirt. “Holy cow.” Elizabeth marveled. “I’ve done it. I’ve hacked my roommate!” A devilish thought entered Elizabeth’s head. Possibilities were beginning to stir. She had a devilish grin to match. *********************************************************************** “What are you doing?” Jericho asked her later that afternoon. “Just switching out your laundry,” Elizabeth assured him briskly. “You forgot to switch it out from this morning so I’m doing it for you.” With shopping bags still at her feet, she put Jericho’s laundry into the dryer. She normally wouldn’t have, but she had a feeling that the link between Jericho and the gadget he gave her went both ways. This was a nice, hopefully subtle way to fill out. Oh,” Jericho said. “I just got distracted. I’m going down this one rabbit hole about-” It’s okay, honey,” Elizabeth interrupted. “I’ve got you.” “Honey?” Jericho blanched. “Are we dating and I forgot or something?” “No.” Elizabeth said. “Why do you ask?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Here, if you want to be a help, you can do some chores for me. Put these away.” She pointed to some grocery bags on the floor. “Chores?” A quiet, “Boo-doo-bee-dooooo-boop!” told her that she had an alert. She took out the doohickey and started putting in commands. Quickly, Jericho’s eyes glossed over and he entered a fugue state. He started putting the bags and started putting them away. The baby bottles she’d bought from WalMart were put in the cupboards first, right next to all of Jericho’s cups. The diapers from the pharmacy went into his underwear drawer, next, as many of them that would fit anyhow. The powder and the wipes went on top for quick and easy access. The Age Meter was decreasing and blinking. Good. She was getting the hang of this game. ********************************************************************** “Are you sure this is necessary?” Jericho asked. He was lying naked and beet red on his remade bed. “This is just in case.” Elizabeth lied. “You don’t want to wake up in a wet bed again, do you?” “No, I guess not.” Jericho admitted. He lifted his hips while Elizabeth slid the diaper beneath him. “This is probably just for tonight, unless…” “Unless what?” She didn’t answer his question. Rather, she taped on the thick diaper, keeping it snuck and tight, checking it for leaks. “Here you go,” she handed him the bottle of milk. “I warmed it up to help you sleep.” Jericho cocked an eyebrow. “But isn’t sleep a bad thing? Like if I sleep to deeply,” “Just drink it, sugar,” Elizabeth cooed at him. “Boo-doo-bee-dooooo-boop! “Is that that game?” Jericho asked, concerned. “Yeah,” Elizabeth checked it and smiled. “Go on. Drink up. You need your sleep.” “Can I at least sit up and screw the top off?” Elizabeth fiddled with the electronic toy. “No.” Jericho’s eyes clouded over, but just long enough to get the nipple between his lips. “Mmmm…!” “See?” Elizabeth asked. She started maneuvering the diapered boy underneath the sheets and tucking him in. “Feels good, doesn’t it? The taste? The warmth? The positioning?” “Mmmmhmmm!” He started to say more, but his mouth wouldn’t stop suckling. He kept his talk to gentle humming noises so that droplets of warm milk wouldn’t trickle out of his mouth. “Muuuuuch better,” Elizabeth said. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and turned out the lights. The Age Meter was going down. So was the Rest Meter. So was the Hunger Meter. The Potty Meter was slowly starting to go up. So too, was the Happiness Meter. She went into the age settings and found a new feature unlocked. “Diapers at night?” The screen prompted. Of course, Elizabeth bit her bottom lip, and pressed, “Yes.” Easier than getting woken up in the middle of the night to force him to pee himself. Better yet, when she woke up the next morning and checked his stats: Happiness had not decreased. Rest was not needed. The Potty Meter and filled and emptied. The Hygiene Meter had ticked up a bit, but not nearly as bad as last night. “Time to go wake the baby up,” she chuckled. ******************************************************************* “Liz!” Jericho whined, pounding on the bathroom door. “Hurry up! I gotta go!” About time. She looked at the Tamagotchi-like gadget. The Potty Meter was full to bursting. Jericho’s tendency to zone until his bladder was close to bursting anyways played in favor, but he’d almost made it to lunch. “Drink water,” she’d ‘reminded’ him. Not even using the device to force him. She wanted to ease him into this next part and not have him suspect. She’d likely need it to do this part. “Go watch T.V.!” A few button presses, and she heard the T.V. on. Something childish and cartoony from the sound of it. Interesting, since she hadn’t figured out how to weave that level of detail into Mini-Jericho’s commands. With baited breath she watched as the potty meter flashed and flashed and... “Uh-ohhhhh.” Went all the way down. “Boo-doo-bee-dooooo-boop! She examined the Age Meter. “Turn off Potty Training?” Absolutely. Another glance. Happiness was falling! She had to act quick. Pocketing the gadget she left the bedroom. “Okay Jeri!” She said, “All...yours?” She caught him desperately trying to clean up his own puddle. “Jericho? Did you have an accident?” “NO!” Tears were streaming down his face. His pants were still wet. Like a little kid, he’d been so panicked that he started trying to clean the mess up without cleaning himself up first, making it more than obvious that he’d been the source to start with. She went up to him, and grabbed his wrist. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” She whispered. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Gentle now. Had to play this right. “Let’s go get cleaned up. “I’m not a baby!” “I didn’t say you were.” There was an unspoken and implied ‘yet’. She carefully led him back to his room, and laid him down on the bed. His knees buckled as soon as the backs touched the mattress. “Let’s just get these off for now.” “I..I...NO!” She slapped Jeri’s hands away as he pathetically tried to keep her from unbuttoning his pants. She slid them off and tossed them aside. He wouldn’t be needing them for a while. Maybe not anymore. Quickly, she went and got the wipes, powder, and what would end up being the first of many more diapers to come. She didn’t know what undoing Jeri’s potty training was going to do to him, but she didn’t want to chance getting peed on if she took too long. She shushed and cooed at him, gently wiping him down between his legs. First unfolding the new diaper, she crossed his ankles and pushed back his legs to force his hips to lift. Just like a real baby. Slipping the diaper underneath him, she didn’t let up until she’d dusted powder on his bum. Letting his legs settle back down, she spread them, gave his front side a good dusting, and then set the powder down. “You don’t have to do this,” Jeri whimpered. “I know,” Elizabeth whispered. “But I want to.” That and she kind of did. No potty training meant anything less than diapers would make for much more clean up. As though it were programmed into her, Elizabeth yanked the front of the padding up over Jeri’s privates and taped it on, making sure to tuck in the front while pulling the back so that it was nice and snug. She gave each tape a firm and final press as she secured them. “There. All done.” “Boo-doo-bee-dooo-boop!” That would most likely be the Hunger Meter. “How would you like some mashed potatoes for lunch? Fill you right up?” “Yeah,” Jeri sniffed. “Yeah. I’d like that.” “And maybe some milk to wash it down?” “Yeah...okay…” She didn’t catch it, but she wouldn’t be surprised to later find the Happiness Meter rising in direct proportion to the Age Meter shrinking. ********************************************************************** The next day… “Crap!” “Jeri!” Elizabeth scolded. “Language!” “Sorry, Ma- I mean Elizabeth!” Jeri stuttered. “But look!” Elizabeth looked up from her own bowl of un-frosted mini-meats. Jericho was drenched in orange juice. That would mean the Hygiene meter would be rising soon. “Ugh,” she said. “And I just changed you and got you dressed for the day.” Dressed for the day: A phrase here which means a t-shirt, a diaper, and socks to keep Jeri’s footsies warm. “I’m sorry!” Jeri sputtered, “I just-!” Jericho’s protestations were cut off by Elizabeth yanking his shirt off him and wiping his face and chest with a dry washcloth. “I don’t know what’s happening! A round of baby wipes followed. “You’ll need a bath now,” Elizabeth told him. Didn’t want any of the meters to get too high. “Don’t want you getting icky sticky.” “Okay,” Jeri mumbled, “I’ll go take a shower.” Elizabeth’s hand weighed down on his shoulder before he could stand up. “Breakfast first. Then bath. The tubby will feel better if you have a full tummy.” “Bath? I don’t wanna take a-” “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before,” Elizabeth bowled over his words. Simultaneously, she was pouring the rest of the orange juice into an empty baby bottle. “I just changed your diaper a few minutes ago, remember?” Something terrible clicked behind Jericho’s eyes. “You mean you’re giving me a-?” He was. “Drink up. Use both hands. I want you to stay hydrated.” And for the Hunger Meter to go down. Elizabeth had to admit. This was getting addictive. As part of the game, Jericho was so much easier to deal with, too. No more messy, inconsiderate roommate. The only messes Elizabeth wanted were the ones that she could control. The ones that stayed in his new absorbent underwear. Jericho glugged down the remaining orange juice. Elizabeth stirred around the cinnamon sugar oatmeal she’d cooked for him and held it up to his mouth. “I can feed myself, you know,” said. The spoon did not waver. “Can you?” Reluctantly, Jeri opened his mouth and Elizabeth gently slid it in between his lips. His eyes widened in pleasant surprise. “Mmmmm!” He swallowed and opened his mouth for the next waiting spoonful. Somebody’s Happiness Meter was going up! “Boo-doo-bee-dooo-boop!” “That’s right,” Elizabeth encouraged him. “Get it all down.” She let him take another sip from his bottle. “Fill your tum-tum up and then we’ll slip you into a nice warm bath. If you’re good, we can make it a bubble bath.” ************************************************************ And another day… “I don’t want a nap!” Jericho stomped his foot on the carpet It was actually really cute. No more excuses. No more vying for control. Not even a full on tantrum. Just a little bit of fuss at the inevitable. And it was inevitable. “I didn’t ask if you wanted a nap,” Elizabeth explained patiently. “I said you needed a nap.” “I do not.” He didn’t stomp his foot. Elizabeth didn’t need to look at the Rest Meter to know that her little man was tired. It was in the way he drooped and carried himself. (Speaking of droop, he’d need a change before his nap, too.) Thanks to another quick trip out to WalMart on her part he’d rediscovered hollow non-chokable blocks and had gone from stacking them up as high as he could (greatly reducing the Boredom Meter) to haphazardly sliding them around the floor. “You don’t need to make a fuss about it. It’s just a little nap.” “I want…!” He stopped. He really didn’t know what he wanted anymore did he? Did he ever? She reached into her pocket and dangled out a pacifier she’d snagged at the store and dangled it in front of him. “If you’re good,” she tempted him. “I’ll let you take your paci to bed.” His eyes looked at her breasts, then back up to the nipple on the pacifier. He was obviously thinking of doing the same thing to both of them, and the temptation, she felt, had nothing to do with the feelings a man might have for a woman. A boy? Perhaps. “Okay,” he said. “Can I hold Mr. Bear, too?” The lack of prompting over a stuffed animal delighted Elizabether. It felt like winning. “Of course you can hold Mr. Bear.” She got up and cupped the front of his diaper, giving it a good squeeze. “You can cuddle your stuffies and suck on your pacifier. Right after I change you.’ “Boo-doo-bee-dooo-boop!” “I need changing?” ************************************************************** And another… “Shoot!” The blocks crashed to the floor with the hollow clicking and clacking of tumbling plastic. “Shoot! Shoot! Shoot!” Jeri swore. “Jeri,” Elizabeth called from the kitchen. “Are you alright?” The man-baby called back. “Yeah! Just frustrated.” Elizabeth looked at the mini-Jeri avatar. Boredom was fine. Rest was fine. Hunger was rising but she was taking care of that now. The Happiness Meter, so close to being full, was starting to flag. Darn it! “Bout what, hun?” “I’m trying to stack the blocks as high as I can reach, but they keep falling over!” “Why don’t you just stack them wider but lower?” Elizabeth offered. “Because the point is to stack them as high as I can get them!” he whined. “That’s how I wiiiin!” “Boo-doo-bee-dooo-boop!” The gamer girl’s mouth twisted “As high as he can get them, huh?” She pressed a few buttons and messed with the settings. “Jeri! Take a break! Come in and get some num nums!” An exasperated sigh came back. “Okaaaaay….” The sound of crinkling signaled Jeri’s approach. Elizabeth didn’t see him until he looked down. Jeri was crawling now. Skinny as he was, it didn’t take much for his roommate to boost him back into his chair.by scooping him up under the armpits. “Hold on just a second.” She positioned him by slipping his arms into the safety harness and pinning his back to the chair. It was the same kind of harness used for special needs children who couldn’t be trusted to sit still on the bus. The result wasn’t quite a highchair-no feeding tray-but Jeri was buckled in so that he couldn’t escape on his own. Jeri didn’t complain. He knew it was for the best when he’d almost fallen out a few days ago. Same for the safety railings on his bed; even if they did make it look more like a crib. Little by little he was adapting. And little by little, his Happiness Meter went up. Elizabeth stirred the bowl of grits she’d made for lunch and he opened his mouth to accept the mush. Just like a good baby. The meal went smoothly, and the terry cloth bib caught any spills made from overfull spoons or bits of lunch dribbling out of the corner of his mouth. “MMMMM!” “Now I bet, you’ll be able to stack those blocks as high as they can go,” she assured him. In a way she was telling the truth. Like so many of the little changes, Jeri didn’t seem to notice them anymore or question his lack of abilities. It had seemed like ages since he had whined about naptime, or bathtime, or going to the potty. Speaking of which. “Still dry,” she announced after checking his diaper. She gave him a bottle of apple juice. That’d take care of that soon enough. She unbuckled him and guided him to the floor. His cute padded behind waggled a little as he crawled back into the living room. He wouldn’t be able to get off his knees, she knew. As high as he could stack them would be very very possible. She was doing him a favor really. “Boo-doo-bee-dooo-boop!” *************************************************************** Three weeks later… Elizabeth laid lounging on the couch, reading a good book. Jeri crawled on his pastel blanket watching cartoons, more focused than he’d ever been. He wasn’t focused on particularly productive things, but he was focused. According to the device, little Jeri was very happy, not bored at all, only slightly wet, and not hungry, but he might be due for a nap in an hour or so. His Age Meter was barely a pixel. There was a certain amount of clutter in the living room; assuming baby toys were cluttered. It was still nothing compared to Jericho’s normal mess. This took five minutes to clean up every night, and Jericho didn’t have much say in it. He didn’t have any say in it, technically, because Jericho couldn’t say anything. All he needed were giggles and cries, and it was for the best. Same with the crawling. It would have been dangerous to let him keep toddling around with all the sharp objects that were above waist height. Easy to keep him happy too, since baby brains didn’t need much to entertain them. The diapers were a lifesaver for the Hygiene Meter. Good odor control, absorption, and rash prevention. These new ones she’d found had little cartoons on them, too. and if he just lounged around all day, lower expectations made it so that Elizabeth found she wasn’t nearly as exasperated with his executive dysfunction. Big babies didn’t really have executive function, so executive dysfunction was a non-factor. She went to work, but the game was a better Nanny Cam and babysitter than she could have hired. She got alerts anytime something bad might have happened, and a few button clicks sent her little Jeri back to playing. “Hrrrn...hrnnn…” WIthout looking up from her book, she reached over to the coffee table and grabbed a fresh diaper. She’d need this in just a minute. His Potty Meter was about gone. As Jericho pooped his pants on the carpet, he exalted and thrilled at how everything had gone exactly according to his deepest darkest fantasies. When he’d figured out a way to turn his life into a video game of sorts, he craved EASY MODE. But the trick had been that he just couldn’t operate the device himself. Thankfully, he’d done research into the psychology of game design to make turning him into a baby just as addictive as being one. But Elizabeth was stubborn and wouldn’t have played if he’d told her. It was a delicate matter frustrating her to the point of being sick of his worst habits so that treating him like this would be easier. It was even more delicate tricking her into cleaning up his mess and “finding” the device he’d made. But it worked. As the mush slid into the back of his diaper and it ballooned out, he let out some happy gurgles to let his new Mommy know what he’d done. Well, as far as that sort of thing went. He’d never let her know what he’d really done. Happiness Maximized. Game Over!

Chapter 56: The Crying Game I cried all day that first Wednesday. It was spectacular! The best day I’d had at school since I’d come back. Big time fun and all it cost me was another sleepless night of telling Janet through the baby monitor how much she’d ruined everything until I passed out in the pre-dawn blackness. It was nice. Like the previous day- shit; like most good things in my life- Wednesdays successfully marvelous antics didn’t come as the result of carefully calculated planning but from luck, the ability to adapt, and an Amazon’s crazy and arbitrary rules being turned against them. Tuesday, I’d been super tired; punch drunk even. Everything was numb, emotionally speaking, except for that strange giddy thrill of taking a risk. Even then, the rush was felt through a filter. I still didn’t feel real. My brain had been in a kind of fog with a half-inch layer of cellophane around my personal reality. Good. Good things had happened. Wednesday went to a whole new level but in the opposite direction. “Why is Clark crying?” Ivy asked when the bus pulled up and Littles started getting loaded off. Tears were running down my face. Big ones. Dripping ones. My breathing was fine, more or less, save for the massive amounts of snot building up and pouring onto my upper lip. I didn’t scream or wail or bawl. I just cried. I can’t even say why I felt like crying. I just… I was standing there in my onesie and sneakers, and I saw Beouf carry out Mandy and Sandra Lynn, and Sandra Lynn’s outfit kind of looked familiar in a weird way. Not the design or cut, but a similar color and hue to something this one outfit that...nevermind. “Mommy?” Ivy kept tugging at Zoge’s dress. She actually let go of my hand so that she could point to me. “Why is Clark crying?” Whatever Zoge said in reply, I couldn’t understand it. Too low. Probably in Yamatoan. The others noticed it too. “Clark? You okay? Clark?”. My mouth drooped lower than the overnight Monkeez had in the morning. My breath was coming out in ragged little spurts like a sprinkler. If I ran my tongue past my lips I could taste mucus and everything from my neck up felt like it was on fire while everything south felt shivery and cold. And it felt great! So alive! The smell of the exhaust. The early morning sun through the treetops. The sounds of birds chirping mixing seamlessly with the fading echoes of students grumbling to the cafeteria for breakfast. I thought about all of it, took it all in, thought about Monday and just let myself go! It was like there was a sunburn on my very soul. Every thought, every emotion led to pain and crying and heartache. It hurt so much, but in that hurt I knew myself to be well and truly alive! I could’ve stopped, I supposed, but why would I? Stopping the crying would have been like stopping sex before orgasm. The feelings and pressure would have still been bottled up inside me and I would have been left feeling stunted and disturbed. And like laughter, this sadness doubled over and looped back in on itself; like when you laugh at a joke so hard that you stop laughing at the punchline and start laughing at yourself for laughing so long and hard. I wasn’t just crying, I was crying at myself! If you can’t cry at yourself, who can you cry at? “Mrs. Zoge,” Beouf said after taking stock of the situation. “Take Chaz’s stroller please.” “Woo-hoo!” Chaz pumped his fists in the air. “Front of the line! Now everybody’s gotta look at the back of me for once!’ I didn’t move. Didn’t need to. Beouf picked me up and draped me over her shoulder. She started gently rubbing my back and shushing me. “Shhhhhhhh. It’s okay, baby. It’s okay to feel sad. Just let it all out. Be in your feelings.” I was being picked up. I was being carried. Beouf was having to adapt to me. She was reacting to me. Even as I cried, there was this detached bit of reptile brain still calculating behind my own weeping eyes. A Raine Forrest or a Brollish would have shoved a gagging pacifier into my mouth and left it there until I became mute and compliant. Beouf considered herself one of the ‘good ones’, and in that perception she had a weakness. Her own particular brand of Amazon crazy wouldn’t let her treat me like a hostage. I wasn’t actively resisting, so I had to be tolerated. I let out a whimper. Not a full wail, just enough to work my lungs and be heard by those listening. Just enough to keep the negative feedback loop going. I didn’t raise the volume in the cafeteria. No one would reasonably accuse me of attention seeking or making a scene. I wouldn’t resist. No accusing me of being disobedient or willful. As far as they could claim, I was just a sad baby. Who knew why babies cried? Certainly not because of deep existential pain at having most of their personal identity invalidated and the love of their liv… The point was I’d found a way to argue from a position of strength. To Beouf’s and Zoge’s thinking, it didn’t matter if I was turning myself into an inconvenience. There was no rule against crying. So I cried while I was fed dry cereal. Others fed themselves, being allowed to pick with their hands. I sat there and cried and made Beouf have to spoon feed me. That only gave me more fuel to cry. The bitterness of my new lot made excellent fuel. I cried on the way out. I cried during Circle Time, not singing along, and just buried my face in my hands and rubbed my eyes. Every now and then I’d let out a few muffled sobs to keep my physiology primed. Simple really. Elementary, even. I wept during centers. “Clark?” Beouf asked. “What’s wrong? Can you talk to me?” Could I talk? Yes. Would I talk? No. They’d get my noise, but not my speech. Not at all. I allowed a “Ca...Cass….” And then I broke down into bitter sobs before muffling myself so as to pretend not wanting to disturb anyone else. It was amazing! So freeing! Zoge was particularly uncomfortable. Instead of doing our center on making up animals, she gave Ivy crayons and bounced me on her lap. All that did was give me a rhythm to whimper uncontrollably to. “Chō, chō ha ni tomaru. Happa ni akitara sakura to asobu. Sakura no hana no ue de. “Teishi shite saisei shite saisei shite teishi” The Yamatoan nursery rhyme didn’t have the desired effect on me. It only made me remember when Zoge- Zoge of all people- had watched out for me and saved me from this exact fate. Perfect crying fuel! My sadness spread like a plague throughout the room. Eyes were on me. Faces frowning. Uncomfortable sighs and glassy eyes. My classmates weren’t as hardened as they might have wanted me to think. “Clark!” Chaz shouted across the room. “Dude! Get over-...” He looked me in the eye and stopped. “Nevermind.” He muttered. I still don’t know what he saw in my eyes: the wonderfully vibrant anger and pain I was drawing from or the sadistic lizard king taking pleasure at everyone else’s reaction to it. Neither? Both? Nothing worked: Bottles; candies, both sour and sweet; toys; pacifiers; trips to the changing table. None of it was resisted or refused. None of it worked, either. Janet clicked in on heels and held me softly during her lunch break. It was nice. Comfy. Didn’t stop me at all, though. It was too nice knowing I was interrupting her lunch break. It was too nice to stain her blouse with tears knowing that she’d look down after her wasted time off and be unable to get the image out of her head. So sweet. So...so...sweet. Beouf tried again by taking me out of the room, across the walkway and to the playground. Fresh air; middle of the day; relative privacy I kept sniffling and gasping for air. I still hated that place. I wasn’t sure why, but just being there on that perfectly made playground bothered me in ways I couldn’t quite articulate at my best. Bad move, Beouf. “I know you’re feeling really bad today, Clark.” she told me. “I think I know why. Your Mommy told me the other night. Your old house…? Aaaand...” She paused, clearly choosing her words carefully. “I know you’ve lost a lot. You’re going through a lot. It’s okay to feel these feelings. It’s perfectly natural what you’re going through.” The grief was natural. The cause was anything but. With everything flowing out of me at that moment, I hit a kind of rock bottom clarity. The most bitter, angry, resentful parts of me held their tongue and didn’t refute, even internally Beouf’s claims. She did know what I was going through. It was her job to know what I was going through. She very likely had a variation of this talk with every Little that came into her life at some point or another. It was very unlikely that I was her first ‘student’ to go through this kind of grief. “I just wanted to tell you,” she stopped and course corrected. “Ask you…?” Her lips pursed. “I wanted to tell you that if there was anything you wanted to talk about I’ll listen. Your Mommy, Mrs. Zoge, and I care a lot about you and know you’re in a lot of hurt.” She placed a hand on my thigh. “Did you know that?” Sitting on the bench where she and Zoge camped every afternoon; just me and Beouf... Looking down at my legs I continued to sniffle, quietly percolating the next phase of my strategy. No strategy beyond waiting for the opening. “If there’s anything you want to say, anything at all, you can tell me anytime. You can say ‘Mrs. B. I need to talk,’ and I can bring you right out here where no one will be able to interrupt us and I’ll listen. It’ll be just the two of us. Just you and me. You can say anything you want and I’ll listen.” I looked down at my lap. Gingerly, I mirrored my fingers and thumbs together into a circle, as if I were holding a toasty mug of freshly brewed coffee. Just me and her. Just like old times… That thought gave me enough fuel to rack my entire body. Not disturbing anyone else, I gave myself the freedom to scream so hard that my uvula rattled in my throat. It was a mighty bellow from my perspective; a lion’s roar mixed with a whale’s song. My old mentor shifted me over to her lap and hugged me, shushing me gently in an attempt to soothe me; attempting to quiet me moments after she’d reminded me of her own betrayal.. I went into the nap room, early and alone; them hoping that I’d cry myself out and go to sleep till at least Lunch. Tracy slipped in looking worse than she had on Monday.. Her face had lines of concern and worry etched all over it. I’d seen this face from her before; usually when she had concerns for one of our students. “Hey boss,” she whispered. “Mrs. Beouf gave our room a call. Even got permission from Ambrose to borrow me.” She scoffed and let out a bitter chuckle. “Pretty sure Ambrose thinks I’m ripping you a new one.’ She got out of her own head. ‘What’s up?” Nothing. Nothing was up. I was just crying. The Tweener reached through the bars and offered her hand. I didn’t take it. I still needed to cry; had to keep the streak up; and the later in the day it got the more demanding it was becoming. Had to keep the game going. “I know about your house.” Tracy told me. “I heard about Cassie.” Damn. Just came right out and said it. Tracy was always too blunt, too honest to read the room. Thanks Tracy. I needed that fuel. I needed that honesty. Words didn’t even attempt to form in my mouth. Unless those words were “Hhhhhh...uwwwwwww…….hhhhhhh…..hhhhhh…...ahhhhhh….” and clapping my hand over my mouth when a particularly powerful surge welled up in me. Thank you, Tracy. “That sucks.” Tracy said. Understatement of the lifetime. It more than sucked. “It more than sucks. ‘Sucks’ doesn’t cut it.” Could Tracy read my mind? “I just suck at coming up with better words. Do you wanna talk about it?” I did not and made no effort. “No? Okay. I get it.” She reached in and grabbed my hand anyways. “Look, Clark. I messed up. I’m gonna try and make it right. I’m gonna find her, boss. I don’t know how but I’m gonna do it. Simple as that.” She gave my hand a squeeze. I didn’t squeeze back. “I don’t know what will happen after I find her, but we’ll go from there.” More promises that would be next to impossible to keep. More false hope. More fuel. I could have done this all day with what she was providing. She waved goodbye and left me to be by myself and cool down. Wasn’t gonna happen, though. Here’s a lesson about basic psychology folks: Every behavior is designed on some level to get an effect; an attempt at control. To avoid something. To get something in return. Plopping me in that dark quiet room in a crib was intended to drain me. No one to feed off of, nothing that could be avoided. What the giants failed to understand was that I was already controlling the situation to my liking. Making them uncomfortable. Making them sequester me. Seeing the world through those bars, knowing that this was going to be my life from now on, it gave me something to draw power from. Hope had left me, and after that hope came a kind of beautiful sadness. A power I had not yet experienced. Just when I’d reached my limit, all I’d have to do is think about how far I’d fallen and I’d regain the strength to quietly bawl again. Oh to feel. To really feel. It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Love was special, but the pain of its absence was exquisite like a cat-o-nine-tails lashing against my sense of self. ALIVE! WELL AND TRULY ALIVE! I cried all through lunch. Wept into my naptime pillow. Sniffled on the playground. Sulked and whimpered in the playpen Janet placed behind her desk for me. Kept it going and eventually faded into a quiet silence when we went back to her house. I needed this. I really needed this. It was the happiest I’d been all week. Janet wrapped me up in a blanket and rocked me. It didn’t diminish my happiness. She shushed and patted my back again. See previous statement. She said “I love you,” at least a thousand times and continually kept wiping my nose and eyes with tissue after tissue after tissue. Come to think of it, that might have been one of the first non-wet, non-baby wipes she’d used for me. Bonus! The hits just kept on coming. Dinner was much the same as lunch. No resistance. No real participation either. Just crying. If I felt this great tomorrow, I reasoned behind scrunched up and puffy eyes, I’d have to start early if I hoped to beat the record I was setting. World record? Probably not, but a new personal best for sure. She kept looking at her phone, too. I got glimpses of it throughout the evening. Reading more Little Voices articles. Looking for Mommy tips; ways to manipulate me. Articles like ‘What to do if you’re Little can’t move on from their old life’ or some such bullshit. Near bedtime, Janet put me in the crib standing up. She reached out and put her hand on my shoulder while looking me in the eye. “I know you’re feeling really bad today, baby.” she told me. “I think I know why.” My tears subsided and my breathing slowed. Holy shit. Almost exactly like Beouf. “You’re going through a lot. And um...it’s okay to feel these feelings. Perfectly natural. Anybody would be acting the way you’re acting with what you’ve just gone through. It’s okay to cry and be in your feelings. Nothing to be ashamed about.” I’d moved past shame for the day. That hadn’t been a concern. I started to pick up my tempo again. “I wanted to tell you that if there was anything you wanted to talk about I’ll listen. Me and Mrs. Beouf love you. You know that, right?” More fuel. Fantastic. I might be able to keep it up till dawn with all the momentum I was gaining. Beouf delivered the lines well. She’d been practiced enough to not seem practiced. Janet was clearly reciting stuff she’d just read off of a Little Voices website. “If there’s anything you want to say, anything at all, you can tell me anytime. Anything you want and I’ll listen.” The words out of her mouth were scripted, but the hurt in her face was real. She turned to leave and then circled back around. “I mean that. I really do.” She left again, turned out the lights, and shut the door. Standing up in the crib, still crying, I choked out a single “I hate you…” towards the baby monitor. The door opened and Janet came back in. She came back to the crib and knelt down. For the first time in maybe forever, I was above her eye level. “One more thing,” she said. “You can talk to me anytime, but I also want you to listen to this.” She sniffed. “You’re angry at me right now. I know that. You hate me, and that hurts. Alot. Alot, alot. I’m your Mommy, now, and I’m never going away. I’m never going to stop loving you. I’m never going to stop trying to make you happy. I’m never going to stop learning how to meet your needs. I’m going to mess up...I’ve already messed up,” she choked back. She wasn’t crying but I could almost hear it in her voice. “But I’m not going to give up on you and stop trying. If you want to hate me, you can. I understand. You can hate me and yell at me for as long as you need to. When I became your Mommy I was making a promise. I’m going to keep that promise. I’ll wait for you.” “And what if I never stop hating you?” It was the most I’d spoken since I’d woken up. It didn’t make my voice sound any less raw. Part of me had expected Janet to condescendingly smile. Lips to turn up, head to go down. She did the inverse. “If you want to hate me forever, you have that right. That won’t change a thing about how I feel about you.” She stood back up, laid me down, tucked me in, and left the room for the final time that night. My body, in crisis mode since the sun had come up finally came to rest and was refusing to get up. My head felt like lead on the pillow and my lungs begged me to breathe steadily for once. I wouldn’t be pulling an all-nighter tonight. Maybe tomorrow night. I grabbed Lion and tucked him under my arm. “Good game, Janet,” I said to the baby monitor. “Good game.”

Chapter 55: Technically... Tuesday. “Okie dokie, Clark,” Mrs. Beouf said to me. “For today, I want you to paint a frog, okie dokie?” I didn’t react. I just stood there at the easel, lightly nodding. “You can paint the frog any color you want, too. Okie dokie?” My eyes were wide open constantly scanning the periphery like a meerkat searching for predators. My tongue kept licking the inside of my teeth. “Clark?” I nodded, still saying nothing. In my mind I looked like some kind of ghost standing there with the paintbrush clutched in my fist, staring directly ahead. An old and worn button up shirt was draped backwards over my chest so that I was fastened up in the back. The makeshift smock was already splattered from years and years of continual use, and the bunched up sleeves dwarfed my arms. Along the easel’s ledge were several cups of tempera paint. I was the ghost of adulthood past, with all my life crumbled around me and nothing left to look forward to but to...paint a fucking frog. “Clark?” I bobbed my head lightly. “Clark? Honey? Do you wanna go lay down in the nap room?” My head didn’t shake as much as oscillated like a fan. “No ma’am.” My voice came out quiet but clear; not a hint of sleepiness in it. Sleep wouldn’t come for me. I’d refused its advances. “Are you sure?” More bobbing. “Yes, ma’am. Paint the frog. I’ll paint the frog.” “If you want, you can curl up in a beanbag over by the reading center. Nobody’s using it right now.” I’d already used the reading center. Not for reading of course. Nooks and crannies to not be seen were becoming a premium. That semi-closed off feeling was the closest I got to a bathroom stall. Oscillating head. “No thank you. I want to paint.” That was a lie, of course. I didn’t dare put in words what I wanted to do. Were I large enough to be taken seriously, those words might have put me in jail. “Okay, honey.” Beouf didn’t quite believe me but didn’t feel like pressing the point . “Call me if you need me. I’ll leave you be.” Music to my fucking ears. Beouf went to direct my other classmates doing their cutesy late morning activities. Painting. Coloring worksheets. Sand tables. Dancing and movement games projected onto the whiteboard. This was the part I had missed on my first day thanks to my breakdown. After the group centers, there were whole group activities- reading of Amazon propaganda and the like- followed more independent activities. Skinner, Winters, and Sosa came in for ‘speech’, ‘PT’, and ‘OT’ respectively and snatched Littles up in ones and twos for half-hour segments. There they would practice dulling skills and shaping behaviors to be worse than they started. Those not picked for extreme gaslighting that day were given these inane preschool activities to do. It was the kind of stuff that I didn’t put as much time into back in my own classroom because I was still responsible for academics. For actual children, playing in a sand table might be a treat at the end of a week if not a longer period of time for a job well done. For us Littles it was much more frequent; a normalization in infantilization. I was at the painting station. Apparently, I was supposed to “paint a frog”. Clipped to the side of the easel was a photograph of a frog for reference. Most days before this, I might have come up with some pithy observation, but I was too tired; emotionally blown up. Not sleepy. Just bone, dead ass tired. There’s a difference, I’d found. After staying up all night cursing at Janet through the baby monitor, I was woken up, changed, dressed in toddler clothes and then carted off to school. It was like my previous breakdown had never happened. Not so much as an extra day off to grieve. I wasn’t even asked. Janet made no comment about the contents of my diaper, but she’d gone heavy on the rash cream. The training chocolate had done its work and then some. She seemed wary of me from our last interaction, but far from exhausted. Someone had gotten a good night’s sleep. I made no reply when she’d asked if I’d slept well. “Must’ve slept well for all this poopy to come out and you not cry out. What did you eat to have all this go through you?” “Chocolate…” “When did you…?” She stopped and left it at that. I didn’t want to have that conversation anyways. The only thing worse than Mommy crazy Janet was sympathetic and regretful Janet. I just kept quiet. Not resisting anything, but not contributing unless asked and only the bare minimum at that. No schemes went through my head that morning. No tears came out of my eyes. An advantage of being bone tired is that it’s harder for you to feel feelings. Your body goes on autopilot survival mode and your brain becomes a crocodile. What is food? What isn’t? Where’s the danger? Where’s safety? No good or bad. No love or regret or sorrow. Just numbness. Your body becomes so tired that you’re not really you; but an avatar of yourself. I was playing the world’s most boring MMO and the mission objective was “Paint a Frog”. Zero experience points or gold awarded, but the game wouldn’t progress until I did. No cut scenes either. Running on adrenaline and spite...mostly spite, I had shambled through the day, feeling nothing. Breakfast. Circle Time. Centers. I was basically a cross between a zombie and a turtle; uttering few words beyond proving I was alive. Just doing what was asked of me but no more. Feeling numb. I needed the numbness after yesterday. There had been only one time when I hadn’t felt numb and that was when the bus unloaded that morning. No Cassie; adopted or otherwise. How messed up was it that I was looking for her? It was stupid to even get my hopes up by that much. Beouf’s class had a waiting list. If Cassie got adopted by someone in Oakshire there were any number of run of the mill Little-centric daycares that would take her, (and one particularly awful one). I was never going to see… No...no...don’t think about it. Just stay numb. Paint the frog. Paint the frog, shamble through the rest of the day. Go to sleep. Rinse and repeat forever. I winced as a cramp went through me. At least I was starting to feel the cramps again. I’d needed changing after snack time and the load in the back of me had practically teleported in there. I liked to imagine that cramps meant the training chocolate was almost out of my system. More likely, it just meant I’d get a warning before I uncontrollably soiled myself. Don’t think about it. Just stay numb. Paint the frog. I dipped the paint brush into the non-toxic paint. Blue. Why not a blue frog? “Paint the frog,” I sighed. “Paint the frog.” I leaned in and started to drag the brush across the art paper. Paint the frog. This was just busy work. The whole thing was busy work. We weren’t learning. Not what they were explicitly teaching us. They’d convinced themselves that I was just a dumb baby anyways. I could literally paint anything, call it a frog, and they’d be happy about it. Possibly happier if it was particularly inaccurate. I wasn’t even angry. Not even annoyed at this point. Too drained of everything to be annoyed. I’d lost it all. My wife was adopted. My house burned down. My career over. My personhood legally rebooted and kept in a holding pattern. To top it all off, the inevitable next few days of near helplessly filling my pants would cement everything the giants already thought of me. I wasn’t even mad at Raine, to be honest. It was hard to get mad at the scorpion for stinging. It’s what it did. The most painful thing, the thing that threatened even numbness born out of trauma, grief, and spite was the looming and ever-present fact that people like Beouf, Janet, and even Zoge were just as bad as Raine. I had fooled myself into thinking they were my friends and protectors, but they were no better than her. That’s why I was stuck in Beouf’s classroom having to paint the frog. I paused. Beouf was no better than Raine. Paint the frog. All Amazons were crazy. Paint the frog. They’d convinced themselves… Paint. …that I was a baby… The. No matter what… Frog. Clark; the reasonable, professional adult with complex thoughts and feelings that were considered by his peers and coworkers? He was gone as far as the Amazons were concerned; assuming he’d existed at all to them. I couldn’t rely on that perception or that approach. My captors were immune to it. But Clark the trickster; Clark the manipulator; dare I say it, Clark the daredevil? Clark of the infinite poker face, master of playing dumb, architect of the Silly Sock Day Fiasco. I looked and felt like a ghost. If Mr. Gibson, pre-k teacher of Oakshire Elementary was well and truly gone, what did I have left of me? Let’s show them. With bold, precise strokes, I dipped my paint brush into the tempera again and made my mark upon the paper. One coat. Two coats. I had to use the entirety of the medium made available to me, and make it clear in no uncertain terms who and what I was. Beouf wanted art? Then she’d get it. Like a tiny mischievous god I stepped back and looked at what I had wrought. I waited quietly until Zoge went on a bathroom break. “All done!” I announced, gesturing to the finished masterpiece. My demeanor had changed entirely. The zombie man-child dragging his everything replaced with an all too cheery, all too sinister smile. The same weary eyes in my head were still there, animalistic, only now they had gone from prey to predator. Beouf turned around from the sand table where she was playing with Ivy. “Hmmm?” Then she saw it. Her eyes lit up in surprise. Her lip pouted out and her eyebrows lowered immediately in question. “Clark? What did you-?” She wasn’t even sure if she should be mad or not. Just confused. The easel lay virtually untouched. Just a few random paint splatters from where I hadn’t bothered to take care so that I more fully completed the effect. The unlaminated photo of the tree frog, however… “You said I should paint the frog, Mrs. B! So I did!” From corner to corner, the entire surface was caked in blue paint. If someone had told you that there was a picture of a frog underneath, you’d have to either call them a liar or take their word for it. My former coworkers wanted a baby? Someone who was thirty-two years and just over twelve months at the same time? Then they’d get it. This. This was my art. As expected, Beouf’s lips retreated from her face. “Ha….haha…hahahahahahahaha!” She doubled over laughing. “Oh my goodness! Clark!” A few giant strides and she was back over me, her neck spasming and her trying to look away, yet unable to make herself. A cross between a cavalcade of whimsy and a car wreck. Ivy looked up from her sand. Chaz stopped trying to pop bubbles being spit out by a machine. Billy and Annie stopped trying to subtly grope each other and call it the Hokey Pokey. All eyes were on us. No. All eyes were on me. Beouf dug into her pocket and took out her phone. “I’ve gotta take a picture of this and show your Mommy!” Gladly I stood by my masterpiece and grinned like I’d just won a prize. If only Beouf had known. This really wasn’t my masterpiece. I hadn’t won anything yet. This was merely phase one. “That is just too stinkin’ cute,” Beouf gushed. Her phone clicked, immortalizing what was yet to come. “So clever!” She started chuckling to herself again. “I did say ‘paint the frog’.” “Yup yup!” I chirped like a good Little boy. “I’m real good at this!’ “You always have been, sweetie.” Beouf replied. “It’s just coming to the surface more often. That’s a good thing.” I threw my hands up into the air. “YAAAAAAY! I DID IT!” “YOU DID IT!” Chaz, Annie, and Billy stared at me like a second head had shot out of my mouth. Ivy just copied me. “YAAAAAAAY! CLARK DID IT!” Tittering to herself, Beouf went back to her desk and picked up her classroom phone. She was still standing up and at the wrong end of her desk, so her back was to me. Yes! “Hello. Ms. Grange? This is Mrs. Beouf. Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to tell you what Clark did just now. No, no, no. Nothing like that! He’s fine! He’s good! Little out of it, little grumpy this morning, but he just did the cutest thing and I had to tell you about it.” She punctuated her sentence with another laugh. Time for phase two. I looked to Chaz sitting on a laminated floor mat dotted by sudsy speckles from popped bubbles. “Chaz…” I mouthed. I jerked my head towards the easel. “C’mere…” The teenager crawled up to me. “What?” he whispered. “Say ribbit.” I told him quietly. “Say it loud.” “Huh? Why?” He followed my gaze over to Beouf. “I know! Right? I did say ‘paint the frog’. He got me there.” She was shaking her head. Laughing at herself as much as me. Let’s really give her something to laugh about. “You heard her,” I hissed. “I’m allowed to paint the frog.” A dopey, adrenaline fueled smile that a plane could fly through appeared on Chaz’s mug. “RIBBIT! RIBBIT!” My brush struck out. It wasn’t as neat as my original creation; I missed a spot here and there; but within seconds Chaz was smeared with non-toxic blue tempera paint from ear to ear. Forehead, nose, chin, cheeks. The whole shebang. It almost looked like a race track or a fancy treasure hunt path like in those painfully unfunny comic strips. Beouf was still on the phone talking with her co-conspirator. Zoge was still out to the faculty bathroom. “Hey, have you been noticing some loose stool from him? Tummy problems maybe? No, no. It’s not too too bad but I saw the rash cream when I changed him this morning and he needed more. Yeah. Two in one day seems odd unless something is upsetting his…-” Chaz waved over Annie and Billy. “Guys. Beouf said Clark could paint frogs!” The same look of understanding dawned on the couple’s faces. “I want Green,” Billy said. “RIBBIT!” he got green. I opted for a zig zag method. I was an artist after all. “Do my hands, too!” BRILLIANT! COLLABORATION! I coated Billy’s palms and he dragged them over the back of his forearms and neck. Very kind of him to not mar my original work. “Ribbit!” “Paint the frog!” Annie was next. “I want yellow. Ribbit.” She pulled her bangs back and closed her eyes. “Careful. Don’t mess up my hair.” I shrugged “Why? It’s not like you’re going to have to wash it yourself.” Annie opened her eyes and let her hair down. “Good point.” I started with the hair. Water soluble or not, it’d be a pain to get out. Not my pain, though. “Here,” a very green and gloppy Billy offered. “Let me help.” He reached for another paintbrush. I slapped his hand away with mine. For a split second he looked like he wanted to deck me. “Mrs. Beouf said that it’s MY job to paint frogs.” I said. “We wouldn’t want to be breaking any rules, would we?” Billy nodded appreciatively. “Ribbit. Ribbit. No we wouldn’t, would we?” “What do you mean chocolate? Did he specifically say chocolate?” Ivy went so far as to get down on all fours and leap over to the easel. “Rrrriiiiiibit.” She wanted in on the fun too. I started scanning for the best color that would clash with her dress. Bright red, perhaps. Turning around revealed strange, uncomfortable looks. My three newest cohorts were giving Ivy a quiet but distinct case of stink eye and that gaze was starting to drift towards me. “Ribbit! Rrribbit!” Ivy hopped some more. “Paint the frog!” I put the paint back. “Sorry Ivy… “You what?!” Beouf practically shrieked. Her tone was no longer so casual. Meanwhile… “Your Mommy will be back from her potty break any second. I don’t want you to get in trouble.” I gambled on technically following rules and expectations in one breath and claimed Ivy might get in trouble with the next. I’m going to be honest. Looking back on that, it was not my proudest moment. In that moment though, I needed allies and friends, not playmates. “Oh, honey,” Beouf started to turn around. “You and I have got to talk on the phone later tonight. I think that…” She saw our gaggle of painted Littles gathered around my easel. “Gotta-go-I’ll-call-you-back!” She hung up the phone. Her body posture was somewhere between panicked and storming. Chaz spoke first. “Ribbit!” Billy and Annie followed suit. “Ribbit! Ribbit!” “Paint the frog! Paaaaaint the frog!” Ivy whined. The door opened. Perfect timing. Zoge, and the therapists came back with the other half of the class. “Good job today Tommy,” Sosa said. “Now can I please see Aaaaaa-?” They froze, taking in the situation. Chaz started crawling and hopping as best as he could on four feet. Annie and Billy puffed their cheeks out so that their faces had maximum surface area. Ivy, bless her heart, started hopping around too, trying to be part of it all. “What’s going on here?” Zoge asked, genuinely startled. My classmates were much less worried and much more vocal. A cacophony of discordant giggles bubbled into eruption. In less than five minutes I’d managed to subvert and disrupt an entire organized play routine and add clean up to the mix. “Oh no!” Shauna howled with delight. “And I just got changed half an hour ago!” Jesse was collapsed on the ground, clutching his sides. “Me too! Don’t care! Ribbit ribbit!” “I wanna be a frog!” “Me too!” “RIBBIT!” Zoge stepped in front of the newly arrived ones. She didn’t yell and I could barely hear her. I couldn’t see her face, either. She only said one word. “Children…” The therapists formed a perimeter. Mass Teacher Glare. Realizing they were cut off from us and surrounded, the ones who had missed the opening act clammed up. Seeing Mrs. Beouf adopt a similar pose, Chaz, Billy, and Annie took similarly submissive postures. Ivy toddled over and clung to her Mommy’s skirt. No matter. It was time for the finale. I gazed up at the god of this classroom. “I was trying to be good, Mrs. B.” I lied. “You told me to paint the frog!” I gestured around to my croaking comrades. “What else was I supposed to do?” Beouf puffed air out. “I…I…” She shook her head, torn somewhere between anger and exasperation. “You. I… Hm.” I put on my best confused Little face. “Did I do something wrong, ma’am? Do I hafta go to time out in Miss Tracy’s room?” I’d concede that space as Tracy’s. Never my replacement’s. “Clark, you kn-“ “You just looked so happy that you called my Mommy when I painted one frog and…I just…I mean…I wanted you to…” I looked at the classroom, feigning confusion and being overwhelmed as if finding out for the first time that I had done bad. I had gone from beyond exhausted straight to the top of my game. I could have gotten an award for this performance. “Clark.” “Yeah Mrs. B.?” I looked away, pretending to be fearful and repentant. She blustered. Grunted. “Mrs. Zoge?” “Yes ma’am?” “Take Clark and the others. Let’s do Circle Time again and maybe another story before lunch.” “Yes ma’am.” Beouf grabbed one of the ever-present packets of wipes from around her room. “I’ll clean the others up.” “I’ll help!” I offered. The teacher’s chin jutted out. “No thank you, Clark. I think you’ve helped enough for now..” Victory. On the way to the sitting circle, the therapists passed me coolly and took some wipes to help speed things up. It must be nice to have coworkers to pitch in. I had new kinds of coworkers, I supposed. They’d definitely pitched in. “That was very…creative, Clark,” Zoge said. “Don’t do it again, though.” “Yes ma’am,” I promised. That wasn’t a lie, either. I wouldn’t mess with the paint ever again. Why be terrible the same way when I could find new and creative ways every day to push their buttons?

Chapter 54: Every Little Thing Falls Apart “Are you sure you want to do this?” It was Janet, because of course it was. She’d coaxed my cooperation out of me by dangling this last meal in front of me and now she was trying to talk me out of it. “This could...this could go not the way you want it to go.” She sounded cautious; choosing her words carefully. Trying to let me down easily. I was still in my sailor suit. From my car seat I looked down at my stomach, not feeling anything but well aware that something was happening on the inside. Chances are it would be another few hours before it kicked in, yet it was inevitable. “Yeah. I’m sure, Janet.” One losing battle at a time. “Clark, I know you don’t like Miss Forrest but…” Her eyes flickered with indecision. Perhaps she was feeling the cognitive dissonance of what she’d just done to me. A trace of guilt. Another wedge between us. Was she trying to justify? “Janet…” I stowed away my boiling anger. Bottled it up. “...can we talk about this after I say goodbye to my wife and tell her how much I love her and will miss her and how at the very least she owns our house now and is safe. Can we please wait and have this conversation after that?” Janet stared at me in the rearview mirror, then looked away. “Fair.” Janet didn’t know the meaning of the word. Not really. I was beginning to think that no Amazon could. “How do you want to do this?” I thought for just a second. What would Cassie do? Answer: Cassie wouldn’t do it. But what if she had to? “When the GPS leads you to the block, keep going,” I said. “Then find somewhere out of the way to park. I’ll switch it into those clothes you got me.” “Make sure she’s home, and then change you in the backseat,” she paraphrased. Damn those choice of words. I couldn’t even tell if she was doing it on purpose or whether her particular brand of Amazon cruel and crazy was kicking in. Then a fragment of the old Clark Gibson charm kicked in. “If you want, you can stand outside the car and watch, but I’d appreciate it if you gave us some space.” It’d be easier to talk to Cassie and tell her to wait for a Tweener messenger if no one else was listening in. “For her sake. It might show her how trustworthy you are.” If I couldn’t stop the crazy, I could at least direct it in a way that would benefit me. Even from the driver’s seat, Janet seemed uncomfortable. “Okay,” she finally said. “But please don’t leave my sight…” I bit my lip. “Yes, Mommy.” Best to hedge my bets. Just do this. Just do this and get through the night. Tomorrow I could probably find a way to message Tracy for her to deliver to Cassie. What message though? I didn’t exactly have a plan, yet. Just a framework for delivering a plan. Escape infrastructure, if you will “Clark…” Oh! New Idea! I could test Tracy out. I could give Cassie a codeword to wait for, like ‘Sharkbite’. “Clark?” And then Cassie would have to tell Tracy something like ‘Minnow’. “Clark? Honey?” That way when Tracy got back to me, I could ask her what Cassie said. If Tracy replied with ‘Minnow’, I’d know that she really talked to my wife. “Baby? Clark?” Any other response would mean Tracy was lying to me, which would suck, but then again I could at least know whether to trust my old assistant. I wanted so badly to trust someone from before this mess went down. Mess… Damnit now I was doing it to myself. Doing it to myself…? DAMNIT! “Clark!” I fidgeted in my seat and wriggled out of my own head. “What?” The car was no longer moving. “Is this your old house?” I craned my neck as best I could and stopped breathing. No blinking. If I could have willed it I would have stopped my heart right there, but was left with the thunderous pounding starting in my chest and spreading all the way from my ankles to my ears. “Clark?” Janet looked genuinely distraught, unsure of what to say. “Get me out.” The words sounded hollow coming from me. “I want to see.” A lie, technically. No one wants to see something like this, but there was an underlying compulsion; a bit of thanatos. “Clark. I’m so sorry.” “I want to see.” “Clark. Cassie’s not in th-” “I WANT TO SEE, JANET! NOW LET ME SEE!” Janet jumped in her seat. Her, the mighty Mommy Amazon, jumping at my roars. Who said I didn’t have a teacher look or a teacher voice? The cost of confirmation, however, was too much... Janet cut the engine and walked around. She opened my door, and unbuckled me, picking me up out of the car. She was mumbling something to herself, her lips moving but no sound coming out. “Put me down, please.” My voice came out hollow again. Quiet. Dead. She put me down on the ground, and I walked around the front of her car to see it for myself. No hand reached down to grab mine or yank me back up. I stepped and beheld a terror that I had never even pondered. From the sidewalk I could see where my bedroom used to be. I could see into my bathroom, the giant sized toilet cracked but standing like a monument to the fallen. I needed neither door, nor window to see through to them. There were none to be found. I knew the kitchen, the living room, the spare bathroom and the guest room that would never have any guests from memory and guesswork alone. Nothing stood to mark their passing beyond what the wind couldn’t sweep away. My house: Broken. Burnt down to ashes. Yellow caution tape squared off my entire front yard. The blaze had been contained so as to preserve most of the sod but everything else had been torched. Outside that initial patch of green, from the closest blades of grass to the crumbling frame, were in shades of gray and black. The gray of smoke and the black of ash. Despair and death. The closest neighboring house had those same colors bleeding into the outer walls. Smoke damage. I don’t know if I imagined it or if the wind still carried the smell of burning cinders into my nostrils, even though there was no heat. My life. Literally everything I’d ever built up and strived for had collapsed into dust, with just the broken skeleton as a bare remains. I took a step forward. “Clark…” I heard Janet but I ignored her. I was numb inside. A deer in headlights. I took more steps. A moth to flame. It would be easy to duck under the tape. For someone of my size, ‘duck’ would be a misnomer. “CLARK!” Footsteps behind me. Too far behind. She’d given me too much space. She’d catch me in a dead out run but… I could run. Run away. Use the openness to my advantage and make a run for it. I didn’t have to duck and weave to get through the wreckage as much. “CLAAAARK!” She wasn’t picking up speed. Not running. If I sprinted now I might stand a chance. Or I could just go back to my room. Go to my bedroom. Lie down. The mattress didn’t look too bad. Maybe I could smother myself in it; impale myself on charred up coils of spring. Maybe I... “Careful, Little boy.” I was yanked up before I could finish the dreadful thought. “That’s not a playground.” Two unfamiliar hands hoisted me up by the waist and whipped me through the air. “Let’s...put...you...riiiight here while I talk to your Mommy.” The umbrella stroller I was placed into enveloped me. The new Amazon’s hands worked fast, faster than Janet’s; maybe even faster than Beouf or Zoge and I was restrained in what felt like the blink of an eye. “Huh?” I looked up and saw my attacker. Not Janet, but familiar; oddly so. Dirty blonde hair that was neatly parted in front and swept into a ponytail. Green condescendingly smiling eyes shown against scarlet lipstick. They popped against her light gray shirt and greenish brown vest. The comfortable “mom jeans” looked like something Janet might wear on campus. The whole look screamed so casual as to somehow seem bougie. Total soccer mom. Where did I know her from? I didn’t know any soccer moms. Janet was on us in a flash. “Clark!’ She said my name for what felt like the millionth time that day. “Honey! You can’t go in there!” She immediately regarded the newcomer. “Thank you so much!” Followed quickly by, “I am so sorry!” The women waved Janet’s apology off. “Don’t worry about it. Babies sometimes get ahead of themselves. And us,’ she laughed and extended her hand. “Helena Madra.” “Janet Grange.” The new Amazon threw me a wink. “You’re Little boy is an adventurer, isn’t he?” My house...my whole life...everything I’d ever built was crumbled not sixty feet away and my grief was being reduced to the misadventurous curiosity of a child. You know what I was almost thinking...I just didn’t have the strength to think it. Sometimes even the T-word is not enough. Janet let out a tired laugh; a fake laugh. “It’s been an adventure alright.” “Just like my sweet, Amy.” Something almost clicked in my head, “Amy?” “Hi.” My tunnel vision cleared up. I wasn’t the only Little in this stroller. It was a double. Like almost all Little clothing, the dark blue dress failed to come down far enough to hide her padding with the diaper swollen and pressed up against the buckle. The dark, almost navy blue dress complimented the near pristine white of my own outfit and dark blue trim. Even if the Peter Pan collar wasn’t quite the same style. The Mary Jane shoes looked uncomfortable as anything, not that she’d have to do much walking in them. Light brown hair and artificial freckles stared back at me and sent me to a happier, if more precarious time in my life. It was the missing gap in her front teeth that finally made me recognize her. I’d met them on the bus after me and Cassie’s date at the barbecue joint. They’d gotten off at our stop and we stayed on even longer just to avoid them. “Have you had your baby long?” Helena asked, sounding casual. Finding someone who didn’t seem to judge her relaxed Janet. “Not long,” she replied. “But I knew him before his Maturosis manifested.” That was apparently the right combination of words to unlock Helena’s mouth. “Maturosis? Oh my goodness! You know about Maturosis?!” “I do,” Janet nodded. “I work at Oakshire Elementary!” Helena put a hand to her heart. “That’s so sweet that you adopted your baby right when his Maturosis flared.” It didn’t take a degree in psychology to see that Janet was low-key eating this up. It was the weekend all over again.“Thank you.” “Is your Little boy enrolled there?” “Today was his first day.” “Mrs. Beouf was absolutely instrumental in helping my Amy realize she was a baby. She’s so much happier now! I just know yours will learn and grow.” She was talking about me like I wasn’t even there. “They even have a Little teacher there who helps out from time to time so that the babies can see that it has nothing to do with their size! Isn’t that a happy coincidence?” I felt the blood drain from my face. She’d looked me in the eyes and buckled me into this stroller, but hadn’t made the connection. She’d ID’d me on that random bus encounter, but now was talking as if she didn’t recognize me? Did I look that different without my beard? Maybe it was just a matter of expectations. Next to me, the Little woman with the missing teeth’s eyes lit up. I heard her whisper, “Bus kid!” Away from the stroller, Janet smiled. The smile didn’t quite register as anything more than polite. She didn’t correct the woman about the status of that Little teacher. Instead she changed the subject. “I notice you have a dual stroller. Twins? Siblings?” Madra started to gush. “Hmm? Oh no. My sweet girl is the only Little I need in my life full time. I just got the double stroller so that if she’s helping me watch one of her friends, we can go on walks together and she won’t be separated by another stroller. Socialization is very important for a baby Little’s continued happiness. Sometimes we can get so protective of them that we put ourselves at the center of their lives and cloister them off from each other. We tell ourselves that Mommy and Daddy attention is all they need, but they also need their own friends.” “Babies need friends who are like them. Not just parents. Not just classmates. Not just bigger children.” Janet was nodding along, but her tone had taken on something of a rote quality. She was quoting something. Amy’s Mommy beamed. “Exactly! Little Voices?” “Just started reading some of their literature,” “Oh you’ve totally got to come and-” “Hi!” Speaking of ‘Little Voices’, the one right next to me spoke loudly enough to grab my attention. The finger attached to that voice was poking me in the shoulder relentlessly. “Um...hi?” Great. Another Little who had gone past the edge. Another Ivy. “You’re the Little boy who I saw with the Little girl on the bus that one time and my Mommy talked to you and I went down on the bus and I found the gum I wanna say it was cherry no wait it was strawberry the cherry gum was another time and then we got off the bus and the gum tasted real good but my Mommy made me spit it out because she didn’t want me to choke and we talked about emus and what birds say what’s your favorite color?” Correction: She wasn’t Ivy. This might be worse… “Um...you didn’t talk this much before…?” “Nope.” I kept one ear on the Mommies chatting each other up. “Why are you talking to me now?” “You were a stranger. Now you’re a baby so it’s ‘kay. So anyways I like strawberry gum and my Mommy said I shouldn’t have gum cuz I could choke and it stays in your tummy for a long time but she said I could have strawberry ice cream but ice cream has a different mouth feeling and I like chocolate and vanilla ice cream better maybe if I could get that fancy space ice cream. My favorite color is lavender. That’s like a fancy purple, ya know?” Slowly, I nodded, though I did not speak at first. Too many emotions. Too much crashing down all around me. I’d been debased, advanced on, mocked, harassed, condescended to, intimidated, coerced, and brow-beaten. This blast from my past was one straw away from breaking my back. “Um…yeah?” “-Littles who lived here.” My ears perked up. They were talking about what happened! I leaned forward in the stroller. Janet’s eyes made contact with mine. “Oh? There were Littles who lived here?” “Oh yes. I think so. A Little girl, I think. Poor thing-” “What happened?” A finger poked my shoulder and out of habit I turned to face its source. “So why do you think they call it a rectangle because it’s not very tangled up its lines are super straight and the angles aren’t wrecked either so that can’t be it,” she paused long enough only to snort at her own words, ”seriously though I think I ‘member reading it being from another language but I don’t read magazines that don’t have crayons anymore. What’s your name?” “Clark.” I immediately realized I shouldn’t have answered. It only encouraged more talking when I needed unfettered hearing. “It happened this weekend. Amy and I live a few blocks over but-” “- going into Mrs. B’s class are all the toys-” “-Little girl had a breakdown or something. Maybe her Matur-” - there’s a difference between toys and blocks ya’know-” “Lucky none of the others houses caught fi-” -eouf does she still have those funny glasses-?” “Police and firefi-” “-bout Jessinnia he’s the octopus stuffie- “ “Vans from Child Protective Services came and-” “-home with me some of the other kids prolly call him somethi-” “So it’s sad about the house but at least she’s likely getting the love and care she needs.” “You can’t let them call him the wrong name, it’s rude.” I hadn’t heard it all through the inane babble but I’d heard enough. This clueless, typical Amazon gossip, believed that a Little girl played with matches or something and set the house on fire. Instantly, I knew the truth. No. Not my Cassie. That’s what went down. Not by a longshot. My love. My brave, beautiful wife did something much more poetic. Much more rash and angry. Much more herself. When I didn’t come home, Cassie had figured out what had happened right away. Of course she had. But she hadn’t known about Janet’s ‘gift’ to me in fully declaring my adult status dead. She had seen the trap. She had known that sooner or later the Amazons would come for her in one form or another, and decided to go out with a bang. If we couldn’t have our house, no one could. Burn it all down and escape back to the trailer park. Start over. Divorce me, become Cassie Braun and not look back to protect herself and everyone else left in her life. It was exactly the kind of thing we talked about doing in the worst case scenario. She got sloppy though. Sloppy or unlucky or both. She got caught fleeing the scene, or they realized it was arson immediately, or the Amazons realized there was a Little living in the house and the fire was all the excuse they really needed. Gone. My wife was gone. Gone and chances are I’d never see her again, and if I did there was a fifty-fifty shot that she wouldn’t recognize or remember me. She definitely wouldn’t love me anymore, regardless. I’d doomed her with my hubris. Doomed her with my ambition. Didn’t fucking listen to her and lied to her and myself for far too long. I’d won so many battles that I’d thought myself invincible and instead of taking a single defeat- a defeat that was really only admitting she was right- I doubled down and cost us everything. “-and that’s why I think axolotlotls are like Little frogs.” Janet came over and unbuckled me, scooped back up and plopped me back on her hip like the last five minutes hadn’t even happened. “Well thank you for telling me all that Helena. I appreciate it.” “No problem,” Helena said. “I love chatting people up. It’s my only vice.” My everything destroyed and trampled in less than a week and it was just gossip to her. My past and future no longer existed but at least she had a neat bit of trivia. “How did your Little stinker get away from you anyways?” “Oh it’s embarrassing,” Janet lied. “I stopped to change him in the backseat and he just slipped off when I was balling up the old Monkeez.“ “Ha! I’ve fallen for that one before. Don’t beat yourself up.” Janet was keeping my secret and honoring my privacy. There was a strange kind of honor in that. I should have been touched. I was just furious. Furious with myself. Furious with Janet. It didn’t make sense but I was furious with Cassie, too. Why couldn’t she have waited for me? “Say bye-bye, Clark.” I said nothing. My eyes went dead like a shark’s. “He’s just shy.” Amy piped in for me. “Bye-Bye, Clark! He’s just shyyyy!” “Oh my sweet girl!” the Gossip said, “She was talking about her baby.” “I’m a baby!” “I know, but you’re my baby. She was talking about hers.” “Oooooh,” the Little girl nodded sagely. Back in the car. Back to another prison. Back to a life with no chance of reprieve. “Clark,” Janet said. “I’m so sorry, hon.” Dead silence from me. “I swear I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have offered or suggested it if I knew it was going to happen.” I was shaking. Humming on a toxic cocktail of near homicidal emotions and with nothing left to look forward to. “Maybe you’ll see her in Mrs. Beouf’s class…?” “I hate you.” “Hmmm?” She’d heard me. “I hate you.” I said it again, even softer. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate...I ha...I...” I’d cried a lot already over the past several days. Had managed to go almost an entire day, tear free. Had thought things were looking up. I was quiet this time, but I cried all the same. I kept muttering “Hate...hate...hate...hate...hate…” Softer than a whisper no one could hear me. A rain of grief over my face. All water. No thunder. The lightning, I kept bottled up inside my heart. “I’m so sorry,” Janet told me as she held me. “I’m so, so sorry.’ “Hate…” She coddled me and cuddled me. “I’d take it all away if I could.” “Hate…” She hugged me and fed me. Wiped away the torrent from my cheeks. “You can call me Janet if you want.” “Hate…” She fed me real food, not stuff out of a jar or anything pre-processed that could have been tampered with. Fresh fruit and vegetables. “Even in front of others...I won’t get mad if you call me Janet.” Took a few bites just in case. “Hate... She bathed me and washed my hair with relaxing shampoos. “If you want to talk about it, I’ll listen…” “Hate…” She wrapped me up and changed me and plopped me in front of the television. The Muffet show was on. One of my favorite re-runs...the one at the train station because the usual venue was being fumigated. “It doesn’t even have to be...I mean it can be about anything you want.” “Hate…” She checked and changed me again. Put me in jammies and put me to bed. “Goodnight, Clark. I’ll have the baby monitor on. Call me if you need anything and I’ll come running. I finally found my voice after she left. “I hate you.” It was loud enough to hear this time. “I hate you so much. So fucking much. I hate you.” On the cushioned mattress I muscled myself up to standing and looked directly at the baby monitor. ‘I hate you.” “I hate you.” I didn’t yell it, just said it loud and clear. “I hate you.” Kept it up for hours. Kept saying it again and again and again until the room got dizzy from exhaustion. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” Janet never came. For all I knew, she’d heard me and then went and cried herself to sleep and turned her end of the transmission off. Didn’t matter much to me. I needed to say it. The thing of it was, I wasn’t even entirely sure who I was saying it to. “I hate you.”

Chapter 53: Apologies, Promises, Lies, Love, and Defeat People think that love is patient. They think that love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It goes on a bit, all the great and benevolent things about love and how nice it is. It’s a nice sentiment. It’s also patently false. Love is when you feel incomplete, missing something, like a hunger for your soul. Then suddenly, you meet someone and they complete that part of you. You’re complementary to each other, and when you’re around each other you feel less empty; more complete if not totally complete. And selfishly, oh so selfishly, you want to be around that person who is a bandaid to your brain and nourishment to your soul. Love is selfish. Love is a longing that can only be satisfied by having a certain someone in your life. Love is just as intense and addictive as the sweetest drug. Love makes you desperate. Love makes you stupid. Love tears you open and spills your guts out onto the floor if you don’t get it or isn’t returned. To hear someone say that they love unconditionally and freely cheapens the very concept of love and makes the connections that you have with that love flimsy and less special. To say that is to say that everyone is equally replaceable in your eyes; no difference beyond perhaps a choice of menu item at a fast food joint. Love makes you do stupid, stupid, horrible things. Janet loved me. Of that I had no doubt. It was a twisted, crazy, Amazonian love, but to her it was love nonetheless. It’s that love that destroyed our friendship when I couldn’t return it. It’s that love that got her to adopt me. It’s that love that made her agree to take me to see Cassie one last time, even though there was no good tactical reason for her to do so. In the same way that I’d come to the realization that seeing Cassie this one last time would do nothing to help me or her in the long run, Janet must have realized that dangling my wife over my head was a carrot that would quickly expire. She agreed to it because she loved me. Later on, other Amazons would tell her that she was spoiling me and approaching that love from the wrong angle… I loved Cassie. She was the love of my life and I was doing something incredibly dangerous, incredibly stupid, and profoundly tactically unsound. I’d allowed myself to be cowed and gaslighted throughout the day all on the promise that I’d get to see her one last time before being taken away (as far as my captors were concerned) forever. I’d have done it again, too. If the previous day, Janet had promised me that I could see my wife, but only if I lasted a week without incident, I’d have done it. A month. A semester. A year. I would have chased that carrot right over a cliff. I’d have still plotted my eventual escape; the rendezvous with Tracy would have gone over the same, but I would have behaved. Within a week I’d have been dismissed as a model prisoner. That’s what love does to a person. It makes them stupid. Breaks their spirit and reins them in faster than any amount of torture could do. I behaved that first day in Beouf’s class: swallowed my pride, filled my pants, tried not to cry, and did everything I could not to make the scene I so desperately had wanted to. I did it for love. I did it for one last chance to see Cassie. If you’re reading this, I want you to step back from the particulars of my situation. Maybe you’re a Little that has avoided capture up until this point, and you’re judging me strategically. Perhaps you’re a Tweener and you’re idly curious as to what life might have been like for you if you were just a couple of feet shorter. You might even be an Amazon, cosseting and chuckling to yourself that this can’t possibly be real; no Little could really write this well; certainly not one who was so immature. Stop that. Clear your mind. Pretend you have an affliction that’s more universal than adoption and a quack diagnosis of Maturosis. Pretend you’re afflicted with a terrible disease, one that will eat away at you and leave you a shell of your former self. Perhaps you’ll live; but odds are you’ll die. Not only that but you’re going to die far away and sequestered from almost everyone you’ve ever known and loved. A few people will visit your hospital room, you can tell that they don’t see you anymore, but the cancer that is eating away at you. Now pretend that you’d get one final chance to see the person whom you love most in the world one last time. You still might live, but that’s an outside chance. You might never get the opportunity to see them ever again. The catch is, in order to be cleared to see your love, you’ll have to undergo a series of painful treatments. Treatments that will hurt you and make you scream out in pain and agony; they might even cause your disease to progress faster. But it’s the one and only surefire chance to see the love of your life, even if it’s just one last time. Just one last time. So much hurt. So much risk. You might even accidentally infect your love. Would you do it? Love is neither patient, nor kind. You’re damn right I would. I stood there on the curb towards the very very back of the bus line, anchored in place by the incredibly strong Ivy Zoge and her Mommy watching over us. Beouf was busy loading the other Littles onto their bus, with the help of a driver and attendant; strapping them into child seats that they had no hope of escaping. The ol’ cheese wagons staggered their arrival times in the morning, but left as one giant fleet in the afternoon. Even with strict travel routes and teachers doing their darndest to herd the massive tide of kindergarten through fifth graders, it still had the rushing disorganized quality of an anthill that had just been kicked. Almost there. That’s what I kept telling myself. I was almost there. Almost to Cassie. Everyone at school already knew. They’d already seen me in my white and navy blue play clothes. Even the kids knew that the sudden waddle and the bulge in my pants had nothing to do with weight gain. The worst, for the time being, was over. A few more minutes and I’d be home...sort of. One last time. I’d at least get to go to sleep in that crib with fresh memories of my own front door. I told myself this and stood there, being a ‘good baby’. A bad report from Beouf seemed unlikely, but still possible. An inopportune freakout might be witnessed by Janet and then I’d be labeled as too fussy to go see a ‘Grown-Up Little’ like my wife. So just breathe in and out. “Sorry I kissed you Clark.” I looked to my side and regarded Ivy. I was legitimately surprised. “Um...I forgive you…?” I said. I didn’t say ‘it’s okay’. Another old teacher trick. Don’t use words that give the kid tacit permission to transgress again. What happened wasn’t okay by me, but I had forgiven her; in part because Ivy really was a kid on some level of my psyche. I’d never known her any other way. “Mommy said that even though I’ve known you for a long long time that you’re still new to being a baby and so I gots ta treat you like a new kid instead of an old friend.” “Oh...um...I understand.” I shrugged lightly. My head started swiveling. From Ivy to the bus. As usual, the pre-schoolers and the Littles were last to load up. Where was Janet? She normally dropped off her students by now, and it’s not like she didn’t know where to find Beouf’s bus. Had I misunderstood the plan this morning? “So do you want to?” I stopped making my neck do an impression of a sprinkler. “Want to what?” “Be my friend?” Ivy asked. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Beouf come out of the bus. All of my new classmates had been loaded up. Next stop: their own personal nursery prisons. “Sure,” I lied. “We can be friends.” I held up a finger, half expecting a pair of puckered lips. “But just friends. You don’t kiss just friends do you?” A not-so-goody goody grin snuck onto Ivy’s mug. Over the roar of the departing buses, Ivy’s answer would only be heard as an atonal murmur. “Just the cute ones.” She put her pacifier in her mouth and started sucking on it, looking away from me. “Another day, another dollar, right my love?” Mrs. Zoge asked Ivy once the rumbling roaring fleet had pulled out onto the concrete riverway. The surprisingly strong girl let go of my hand and reached towards her surrogate mother in the near universal sign for ‘uppies’. Just that space was enough to make me feel an inch of relief. Beouf was standing beside me, staring at me like I was a kitten or something. “So what now?” I asked in the sudden quiet of the moment. In reply two hands covered my eyes, blocking out the world. “Guuuuess who?” “Ja-....?” I halted my speech. It wasn’t just the two of us. A deal was a deal and I hadn’t gotten what I wanted from her. “Mommy…” I said as monotone as I could. Not aggressive, but certainly not the cheery little bleating she’d be craving. Damnit. There is literally no way to call someone ‘Mommy’ and have it be dignified. My vision came back, and the walkway fell away from me. “Thaaaaat’s right!” I was back on her hip in that instant, holding onto her shoulder for balance even as she scooped her arm under my bum. Her lips were peeled back in a bright toothy smile. “It’s Mommy!” She kissed me on the cheek. “I missed you!” Not that I wanted to, but I didn’t get so much as a chance to reply. “How was he?” she asked Mrs. Beouf. Her voice was slightly lower, more even keeled in talking with the other Amazon; the other ‘Grown-Up’. A blatant reminder of my status, as if I’d had the opportunity to forget. “Clark was very good,” Beouf replied. “He was a little cranky at breakfast but he ate it all like a good boy after he went poop. Just needed to make some more room.” A very large part of me wanted to curl up and die. I would have thought I was emotionally numb to it at this point, but the present company and lack of other suffering Littles made the talk feel hyper focused and the burden heavier; less spread out. “Oh? He went poop?” Janet repeated as if it wasn’t loud enough the first time. “Good. I was worried he might be constipated when I changed him this morning and didn’t find any presents.” The two women laughed, knowingly. Zoge too. The tired laugh of motherhood from people who had to find humor in the banality of everyday situations. Ivy kept sucking on her pacifier and stared at me. “He was very good the rest of the day,” Mrs. Beouf went on. “Got along with all the other kids, even after Ivy went and kissed him.” Janet looked over to the Little in Zoge’s arm. “Ivy!” she scoffed. “That’s too nice!” She sounded like she was scolding a naughty puppy, but not particularly mad about it. The opposite was more likely true. “Don’t worry, Ms. Grange,” Zoge said solemnly. “Ivy and I had a talk about it. No more kissing without asking. Promise.” She looked at Ivy. “Right, Ivy?” Ivy buried her head in her Mommy’s shoulder and elicited ‘Awwwws’ all around. Was Ivy actually blushing? Did this full native actually have a bit of pride left to embarrass? Why had I never seen this side of her before? Maybe because I hadn’t looked for it. Or maybe she was playing them, which would have been even more cunning than I had given the girl. “He was a tad over-stimulated, after our first round of centers,” Beouf continued. “So I gave him some quiet time. Miss Tracy even gave him a nice visit and talked to him for a few minutes.” “That was nice of her,”Janet commented. “We’ll have to tell her thank you later.” She bobbed me up a bit to let me know I was included in that ‘we’. Almost all of this was something I might have told Janet on my own if she had asked me directly. She didn’t though. I wasn’t trusted to be a reliable narrator in my own life, anymore. Typical. “Last time he needed changing was just before Lunch. He woke up dry and was dry just before we left for the buses. But we gave him plenty to drink. If he hasn’t turned into a fountain yet, he probably will soon.” Beouf’s report on the state of my pants got me another jostle, this one a not-so-subtle attempt to see if I squished more than crinkled. It was true. I woke up from the nap and walked the playground needing to pee. Not desperately, mind you, but my bladder was likely over half full. Had I actually needed diapers, I’d most certainly have been wet. It’s almost like I wasn’t actually a baby. Funny that. “I hope he’s not trying to hold it in,” Janet raised her tone slightly. “We had a talk with the doctor about that. It’s not good to try.” “Don’t worry about it,” Beouf waved the concern off. “He’ll get distracted or tired and anything that needs to come out will come out. Happens all the time with them. Happened before Lunch.” As things stood, I’d resigned myself to no potty breaks until Janet was good and sure that I’d accepted my fate. I was going to hold it in until after I’d said my goodbyes and whispered my plans to Cassie. The padding wasn’t going to come off, but I could still keep it dry a while longer. Easily. “So good day?” Janet asked. “Very good day.” The three started walking. “Coming over?” Beouf asked. “I don’t mind if Clark plays with the toys while we chat. Or are you going to your room to grade papers?” Janet slowed and started to pivot towards the front office. “Neither. I’m checking out early. I promised someone a treat if he was good on his first day.” I saw the wink. I felt I was meant to. “Ivy and I are going to get going too,” Zoge said. She appeared to be headed toward her car. Beouf nodded and waved. “That’s fine,” she said. “See you all tomorrow, bright and early!” My old mentor looked up at me and added in a chirpy “Bye, Clark!” “Wave Bye-bye,” Janet whispered. I did, just so that Beouf would stop trying to get me to copy her. “Oh! MY! GOODNESS!” The sound of Raine Forrest’s howling was loud enough to hear even before Janet had opened the door all the way. She was standing up from her desk and hopping. “HE LOOKS SO FRIGGIN’ ADORABLE!” “Hey Miss Forrest,” Janet said amiably enough. I looked back over Janet’s shoulder, counting the seconds to when I’d be buckled into a five point harness and taken back down the familiar path to my house one last time. “Just leaving work early.” The school receptionist took out a book and opened it. “Sure, sure. Sign here. Date and time.” I started looking away and could still feel Raine’s eyes burning a hole into the back of my skull. “Thank you.” Janet started signing out. Slowly. So slowly. I was beginning to understand why Ivy sucked on a pacifier. My tongue would be a bloody stump by the end of the month and my teeth would be ground into nubs if I didn’t find some kind of replacement behavior. When even an eye roll could be seen as a form of rebellion, sucking on one’s thumb or masking with a rubber bulb felt safer. “He looks so much better this way.” Raine said. “So much more appropriate. I just wish it had happened sooner.” “Well, his Maturosis hadn’t kicked in yet,” Janet replied dreamily. “Thank goodness it did.” Both women appeared to be glowing; oddly content. “Finally. You’re so lucky.” “Thank you,” Janet kept glowing. “I think both of us are. Some things are just meant to be.” Raine slumped back down into her chair. “Yeah. I guess so.” If only I could bottle that bitter disappointment lurking just beneath the surface, I’d sell it as a cologne and be rich. “Actually,” Janet said, putting down the pin. “Before I head out, I need to go to the bathroom. Would you mind watching Clark for a minute?” That’s how I ended up in Raine Forrest’s lap. Raine was already bobbing me up and down in her lap, holding me loosely by the wrists like I was her marionette. “I’d love to.” “Okay, Clark. You be good for Miss Forrest.” Don’t growl, don’t growl, don’t growl, don’t growl. “Yes.” “Yes…?” It was Raine who was verbally proddingprodding me. Damnit. I kept my eyes off my least formidable enemy. “Yes...Mommy.” I was going to call her Janet as much as possible when we got in the car, just to counterbalance her crazy and remind her that there was more than some imagined baby riding in the back seat. “I’ll be right back!” And she rushed off to the bathroom. If I had done it like that, Raine would be snatching me up proclaiming ‘potty emergency’, or something equally contrived. No need now. She had me, and the only consolation I had was that her hold would last only as long as it took for Janet to wipe, flush, and wash her hands. “Hi Clark.” I felt her smile and sneering down at me from her lap. She bounced me. “Little crinklebutt!” she cooed. “So cute.” I didn’t respond. If you can’t say something nice and can’t get away with punching them in the nose… “This is so much better, don’t you agree?” She prodded me. “Don’t you.” Lie. Lie for Cassie! Lie just to shut her up. “Yes, ma’am.” For once, I sounded as defeated as I felt. So that was kind of nice in a weird cathartic way. “Aren’t you happier now that you’re in your proper place?” “If you say so, ma’am.” “No more having to pretend to be a big boy. You finally got what you needed!” “Yes, ma’am.” Comparing and contrasting my experiences, I imagined I looked like the Little girl back in the salon chair a few days ago. I certainly felt like it. It was weird when Janet Grange, Melony Beouf, and even Zoge infantilized me. I’d had good memories of them. Adult memories that made it hard to completely close myself off to their treatments. Raine? Emotionally speaking, this was cake. “Ohhhh Clark.” I looked up at my long time nemesis. “I have something for you.” She’d let go of my right wrist and opened a desk drawer. In her hand was a lump of chocolate. A bon bon. Something that came in a tiny pre-packaged box, possibly with a safe chili variant that Amazons might find tolerable and proof to a foolish Little that the rest was safe to eat.. “A treat. A gift.” If I ate that training chocolate, I’d be all but bowel incontinent in the space of a few hours. Possibly it might last for days. Longer, depending on how my system reacted. “I…” I faltered. “I’m not hungry, Miss Forrest. Thank you.” I started wriggling in her lap, uncomfortable. Wanting distance. Needing Janet to get back. “Oh, it’s just a chocolate,” she replied, ever the snake staring at its mouse. “One teensy chocolate. For being such a good baby.” “I want to be a good baby,” I said. “That’s why I don’t want to spoil my appetite.” I felt like breaking into a cold sweat. Her other hand coiled itself around my waist. “This won’t spoil your dinner, baby. I promise. If anything it’ll help make lots and lots of room.” Threat confirmed. My hands started prying at her fingers. The hand with the chocolate started closing in. “Clark,” the monster woman hissed. “Do you really want your new Mommy to see you like this? Struggling and fussing? What would she think? I know she wants you to be good.” “I don’t have to eat it!” I took a swipe trying to hit the chocolate out of her palm and onto the dusty carpet below. Missed! “Oops!” “Clark,” she leaned down and whispered. “Be a good baby and eat it. No need to be naughty.” Teeth clenched, I snarled, feeling like a cornered animal. “I’m. Not. Naughty.” “Good babies don’t struggle and fuss when offered a treat by a Grown-Up.” Raine said simply. “Good babies don’t cuss and say naughty words to the Grown-Ups who are watching them. They don’t call those Grown-Ups bad names like bitch...or cunt…” Oh fuck that noise! I had never called that fucking cunt a bitch to her face! “But I didn’t…” “Do you think she’ll believe you?” Yes! Maybe…. Not really… No. Probably not. Not with the incident at the shower fresh in her mind and the nasty things I spouted off to everyone. Not with my history with Raine and my obvious disdain for her. I didn’t verbally reply. I just opened my mouth. Accepted the candy. The worst part of it all? It was delicious. Sweetest poison I’d purposefully tasted. A terrible, near illegal laxative, coated in the most decadent chocolate I could imagine. I swallowed. Reminding myself that if the rumors were true, this wouldn’t hit me until close to dinner or bedtime. If nothing else, I might sleep through the night. For Cassie. I’d do anything to make sure I saw her this one last time. Janet came back too late to stop it, and was seeing the world through mad Mommy eyes. “Okay. Back!” Raine released me into Janet’s slightly more tolerable grip. “He was a perfect Angel,” she said without prompting. “You’ve got a good one, Janet.” “I know, thank you. “ Janet blushed. She actually blushed. We were starting back towards the door. To my reward. To seeing Cassie that one last time. I was Orfeus escaping the underworld. Or maybe I was Eurodice and Janet was Orfeus. Her leading, and me following. The point being that I was just a few Amazon sized strides to being out of that particular hellscape for the day when... “If only he was this well behaved last week.” Like Orfeus before her, Janet stopped and turned around. “Why? What happened last week?” “Clark locked me in the staff bathroom.” Raine was trying to act nonchalant about it, but I could see the spite simmering just beneath the surface. “It’s okay though,” she said. “It was probably just his immaturity or Maturosis or whatever kicking in. Playing with the potty.” Janet glared at me. “Is this true?” “No!” I said. “It’s not like that! Not like that at all! She was trying to lock me out!” “I just went into the men’s room,” Raine replied coolly. “The bathrooms are unisex, and it’s cleaner because we have so few grown men on campus. If I had known it would have upset him so…” Like a quantum yo-yo I was back behind the front desk, now on my feet, and with Janet behind me crossing her arms over her chest. “Clark,” Janet said. “That wasn’t a very nice thing of you to do. Say you’re sorry.” I wasn’t sorry. Not one bit. “But Janet-!” “What did you call me?” “Mommy!” I strained. “You know how she is!” “How is she?” I was walking myself into a trap and I couldn’t stop it. Raine spoke up behind me. “Janet, it’s fine. Really. Clark didn’t know what he was doing. He just thought he was playing a funny joke. He didn’t stop to think about all the calls I missed.” “I-!” “He’s just a baby. They do these things from time to time. They can’t help but be naughty every once in a while.” “Not my baby.” Janet insisted. “Clark, apologize.” “I-!” I was shaking. Of all the days for Raine Forrest to figure out how to best me! “Clark…” I turned around to face Janet. “You helped me dress up for silly sock day!” I pointed my finger up at her accusingly. My face felt like it was swelling. My gut was tying itself up in knots. “And that was my fault,” Raine said oh so gently and condescendingly. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper. You were following the rules the only way you knew how, and you did nothing wrong. I’m sorry about that, but that was last school year. You hurt my feelings just last week.” “She’s right Clark,” Janet said firmly. “You should apologize for what you did.” I couldn’t take it! Apologize?! To literally one of the worst people I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing? No. Never. “Janet! She tried to-” “CLARK! GRANGE!” My back went stiff and my ears burned as Janet boomed my new name. She knelt down and wagged her finger in my face. “You apologize to Miss Forrest right now or no treat, and you know exactly what I mean.” My bottom lip started to jut out. For Cassie. I’d do it for Cassie. “Yes Mommy,” I rasped. I turned around and looked at the floor, staring at my shoes and grinding my right heel into the carpet like the naughty Little boy. Standing there, in the front office where I used to be one of the faculty passing through on my way to work. I was stuck and dressed like an eighteen month old, wearing underpants that I now had zero chance whatsoever of either keeping clean or so much as making dirty on my own terms. “I’m sorry...Miss Forrest.” It wasn’t loud. But it was loud enough. “It’s okay, baby.” Came the cooing reply back. It wasn’t. Janet reached down and took my hand. “Good job,” she said. “Thanks for telling me about it,” Janet said. “No problem.” I heard Raine say back. “It takes a village and all that. Let me know if you ever need a sitter. I’d be happy to look after him for a few hours.” “Sure,” Janet said. She tugged at my hand. I was being allowed to walk to the car instead of carried. “Come on, Clark. Let’s go.” “Home?” I sighed in defeat. She waited to respond till we were out of the front office and well out of earshot “Yeah,” she said. “Home. Your old one. To say goodbye. One last time.”

Chapter 52: Anything but Child’s Play Right after nap time I was taken out of the crib, checked, and lined up. All said, it was pretty fast. Only Jesse and Mandy ‘needed’ changing. Everyone else was either dry or ‘not that wet’’. A shame, the mean survivalist part of my brain decided. If I had been the only one clean and dry I might have warranted the boldness to ask for the toilet a second time that day; being making a case for my “developmental plateau” to be closer to three or four instead of one or two. Nothing is ever that simple. Or Fair. Typical. We didn’t have to hold hands on the way to the playground. The trip was that short. Enough so that all it took to corral us and discourage runners was to have Zoge to the left and Beouf to the right. The playground was just across the walkway; a diagonal straight line. Correction. The Little’s playground was just a diagonal straight line across the walkway. Kindergarteners got a small but notable jungle gym play place, not unlike the kind at any fast food restaurant minus the dressed ball pit: Monkey bars, a straight slide and a corkscrew one, along with a fireman’s pole, plus it was elevated so there was space beneath the steps to crouch and crawl. It was still compact for a class of eighteen to twenty kids- two classes at one time would have been far too much- but throw in some sidewalk chalk and some bubble wands for the space immediately surrounding it and it was a good spot for recess. To accommodate the upper grades, the P.E. field had a swingset, a basketball court with four square on the side and a kickball diamond, as well as tetherball poles and a jogging track. The coaches were decent about keeping the first through fifth grade teachers appraised of where they would be and what equipment they’d be using, plus were amenable to teachers checking out various play equipment as long as the items were returned promptly and one teacher’s recess didn’t interfere with the coaches’ lesson plans. The Littles of Mrs. Beouf Class? They got a tree and a fence. A steel ramp led from the walkway led up to a fenced in plot of land that had been elevated off above the ground. From the walkway, the playground was high enough off the ground that an Amazon would have to boost themselves up to sit on the brick wall surrounding it. The chainlink fence jutting up from the wall kept any Littles from falling off (or escaping) while playing. The giant oak near the center of the playground was so tremendous that not even an Amazon could wrap their arms around it and climb it; a true mammoth that kept the surrounding area in constant shade, starving the light out of all but the heartiest blades of grass. It was also likely the reason for the Little playground’s existence. During construction it had been easier to wall off and fence in the oak and surrounding patch of land than it would have been to cut the monster down, up root it and grind the stump. I suspect it wasn’t intended to be a playground at all, but Beouf managed to repurpose it. Other than the tree, the fenced in flat top had mulch and a metal bench for teachers to sit on, but that was about it. Beouf would bring out balls and had found a second hand push car more suited to carpet than mulch, but without proper funding, the space offered room for tiny legs to be stretched and not much else. Technically, my students had been welcome to play there, too. I’d passed and improvised where I could, preferring indoor recess where I could more easily control the environment. That and the shortest way to that spot would have been cutting through Beouf’s room… That was the old Littles playground. True to her word, Brollish had seen a new one take its place. “Whooooah,” several voices echoed and chorused. The chainlink did nothing to conceal the surprise that awaited: A blue concrete tunnel had been wedged into the ground, easy for someone our size to hunch and walk through; easier to crawl through. A yellow balance beam, not even a foot off the ground; more than enough challenge for someone with soggy swollen padding throwing off their balance. A stout red slide that only came up to our heads. A blue teeter totter; more like a seesaw rocking horse hybrid, making it impossible to slam an end or for one rider to completely drop the bottom out from under the other. A trio of spring ponies, or more accurately a spring ducky, a spring piggy, and a spring froggy stood spaced out and ready to race. Colorful. No sharp edges. Everything low to the ground. Nothing that could be twisted or tangled up in. Fresh mulch if somebody stumbled and fell. To top it all off the tree was still very much intact and things were spaced out enough so that a body could stroll around for a few laps if they had the need. A good playground for small children. Shame it was for us. “IT’S A MIRACLE!” Ivy screamed the moment her Mommy opened the gate to herd us in. She hobble ran as fast as she could. She wasn’t the only one. Several of the others pushed their way past me to check out the latest contraptions for their amusement and conditioning. A hand gently placed itself on my shoulder. “Go ahead, Clark. Go play. Let yourself have fun.” Chaz, who was still riding on her hip, urged me forward. Reluctantly, I walked in. “This is so neat,” Mandy’s voice echoed out of the tube. I bent sideways to get a better view. She and Sandra Lynn had already made themselves comfortable in the cool concrete cylinder. “Great for like, hide and seek or just getting away from-” “ECHO ECHOOOO ECHOOOO ECHOOO!” Tommy screamed as loud as he could on the other end. He popped his head up and made eye contact with me. “Hey! It works.” “Ugh...boys,” Mandy finished her thought. “So immature,” I heard Sandra Lynn agree. I walked away, feeling a weird buzzing in my brain, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on the why of it. Ivy had positioned herself at the new slide which was right in front of the teacher’s bench and waited for Beouf and Zoge and sit down. “Go on, Chaz.” She gave him a light pat on the back of his onesie. “Go be with your friends.” The two women’s shoulders slumped and they exhaled in unison. The wear and tear of keeping ten Little people in line and playing their assigned parts was finally starting to show. “Mommy! Mommy!” Ivy goaded. “Watch me! Watch! “I’m watching, baby girl.” In clunky measured steps, Ivy climbed to the top of the ladder, then swung her feet out and slid down the ramp. Total elapsed time: Five seconds, four of which was her climbing. For her part, Ivy looked like she’d just climbed a mountain or something. “Yaaaaay! I did it!” “Very good, Ivy!” Zoge said, tired but condescendingly. “Watch me do it again! I can do it all by myself, see?!” “Show me, baby.” I pursed my lips and walked on by. Again, I felt like there was something wrong here beyond grown Littles behaving like children. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. “Come on, Shauna,” Jesse pleaded. “I want a turn on the pig!” Shauna rocked on the thing like it was a bucking bronco instead of a thoroughbred racer. Honestly, probably the more realistic scenario. “Why?” I heard her ask. “Try the frog or the duck.” “But pigs are the fastest!” Jesse insisted. His voice was inching up to a wine and his thumb was inching up to his bottom lip. “You just wanna ride the pig because of your stuffie.” Jesse’s face turned pink “No!” “Uh-huh! ”Nuh-uh! Shauna hopped off the Spring Piggy. “Why don’t we try the teeter totter? Then you can race me back to the pig.” There was almost a grace to the way she dismounted the playground rocking horse, like she’d been built for it; or it built for her. “Okay…” More brain buzzing, this time behind my ears and at my temples. It felt a little like guilt. Why would I feel guilty? Because my capture ensured Brollish’s bribe of getting this stuff? No. Fuck that. Hypocrisy implies a choice and I had no hand or knowledge in that. Something else was bothering me. “Hey Clark!” Tommy called from the balance beam. “I managed five whole steps before stepping off!” Bet I can stay on longer than you!” Oh thank goodness! Another halfway friendly voice! For an instant I felt some emotional relief. It took two whole steps for me to stop from breaking out into a jog. “No thanks,” I called back. “I’m gonna...chill.” There was nothing terribly infantile about sitting in the shade of a tree. I wasn’t here to play and never would be. I had better ways to use my time. Bigger nuts to crack: How to best get over Cassie’s anger and discreetly tell her to look out for a certain Tweener for instance. Cassie had an admirable paranoid streak, but she knew I knew how to work with the medium-sized folk to our advantage. Maybe I could get “Get your own tree,” Billy barked at me. “This one’s ours.” I’d circled around to the side of the big oak where Beouf and Zoge couldn’t directly see. The coaches and kids out at P.E. could make us out if they chose to pay attention and turn their heads to us, though. Speaking of making out, Billy wasn’t alone. He’d draped his arm over Annie and was busy nibbling on her ear, sending her into quiet naughty giggles. “Do you mind?” I said, feeling a twinge of jealousy that I couldn’t even do that with my own wife right now. “I don’t,” Annie giggled. “I like to make people watch.” “Go play with one of the other babies,” Billy waved me off. “You know you want to.’ “What I wanted was some peace and quiet,” I quipped. “Not softcore porn in the park.” The bald headed asshole glared at me. “What are you gonna do about it? Tell your favorite teacher on me?” My nostrils flared. This guy had been an asshole to me all day and enough was just about enough. I wouldn’t get to see Cassie today, but that wouldn’t stop Tracy from dropping messages by anyway. “Maybe I will tell her. Maybe you’ll get timeout in the preschool room. Get changed on the floor where everyone can see.” He was up on me in an instant. Eye to eye. “Say that again, Helper. Say it again and find out what happens next.” I didn’t blink. “I don’t know what I did to hurt you, but I know what I’m-” A tug on my ankle. “Guys! Guys! Cut it out.” Chaz hissed. Annie pulled her boyfriend a few steps back. Enough to look like we were talking instead of bristling for a slugfest. “You two fight, you’ll get sent to New Beginnings. You don’t want to go there, do you?” The lady was right. “No,” Billy said. My own “No” overlapped with his. Two crinkly sets of steps backpedaled to a safer distance. Billy leaned against the tree. “How the hell do you know about that, anyways?” he asked, eyes suspicious. I was about to tell him about my ex-assistant, but that was knowledge that neither Billy nor Annie nor Chaz needed to know. “Don’t you remember what Mrs. Springfield said? I’m Ms.Grange’s baby. Teachers talk. Littles listen.” Billy rubbed his chin. In another life he might have had a beard just like mine. “Teachers talk and Littles listen. Okay.” he nodded. “Okay.” His gait was becoming more relaxed. It should have worried me, but it didn’t. “Sorry about…” I pointed my fingers between the prison couple. “You know...interrupting. It’s been a rough day.” “Everybody’s first day is rough,” Annie offered. “You shoulda seen Chaz on his.” Chaz suddenly found.the mulch beneath him very interesting. “No wonder he got mistaken for a baby. He’s such a crier! Between how soggy he was and all those tears, I thought they were gonna have to hook him up to an I.V. to prevent hydration.” Chaz’s lip pouted. “Don’t you mean dehydration?” He asked curiously. There was some uncomfortable laughter; mostly from her. “I...used to be a nurse.” The last word was just barely audible. The sad sigh was very noticeable I drooped my head. “I’m not trying to start a fight, but why are you guys such assholes?” “Better an asshole than a brat.” Billy said. He said with the conviction of a man willing to get the mantra tattooed across his chest. I looked at the others playing on the fresh equipment. So happy. Slipping away and losing themselves. More of that weird cognitive dissonance where I just couldn’t place the source. “Granted.” “I’ll lay off tomorrow,” Billy promised. “Just don’t go spreading that story around.” “Deal.” Annie piped in, “And don’t be pulling that rookie stunt like asking to go potty like they’ll really let you do it. You’re in the Little Leagues now.” “Yeah, quit acting like you’re better than us,” Billy said. “You’re not. You think you’re gonna be the next escapee? Cuz you’re not.” His words were unkind, but his tone wasn’t for once. A pleasant reversal from this morning. “That wasn’t my intent,” I half-admitted. I was going to escape eventually just not… “How do you guys know about that? None of you were enrolled when that happened.” Chaz chuckled grimly. “Something passed down to all the newbies. We don’t even know the kid’s name anymore, teach.” “Dang,” Billy griped. “I forgot, you were here too. Why didn’t I think of that?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you take the fall for it?” I shuddered. “Mrs. B. vouched for my innocence.” Oh for those halcyon days of old. “I’ll talk to you later. I’ll let you get back to your...whatever this is.” It sucks making yourself sad by accident. Walking away, I started muttering to myself. Had to distract myself. Had to figure out something to do with the time I had left. It wouldn’t do to blow my shot at seeing Cassie in the final inning. I saw Tommy still playing on the balance beam. Almost automatically, my gaze wandered over to the blue concrete hidey hole. Gears were starting to turn. At the time, I couldn’t say why. Maybe I needed another victory. Another monster to conquer. An obstacle to overcome. A Raine Forrest to outwit. Just...something bothered me about this playground and I didn’t have the personal insight yet to find the words as to why. Casually strolling back along in short pants I waved over to Tommy. “Hey Tommy!” I called. “Wanna give me a boost?” An impulse was tickling its way up my spine. Time to see if Chaz’s intel was right. Competitiveness could be harnessed into helpfulness. The guy pivoted so fast that one of the snaps on his inseam popped open. “On what?” I pointed to the concrete tube. Tall-ish. Smooth. Not meant to be climbed on per se; just climbed in. “There!” He met me at the sight of the tube. “Help me climb it.” Tommy’s look of inspiration mirrored my own. Without further prompting, he rushed over and got on all fours. I used his back as a stepping stool and squirmed up belly first to the top of the tube. The girl’s voices were still echoing with quiet whispers and giggles but I didn’t care. Still on my belly, I shuffled around and offered my hand. “Just don’t yank me down.” Using my arm, Tommy pulled himself up to join me. “Neat idea, dude.” I’d done it. The most minor of victories. There was a small rush of endorphins just from sitting on top of the darn thing. Suddenly a little bit of that strange guilty buzzing was out of my skull. It was still there, but the act of climbing up; nay, the act of doing it with help from another Little reduced the pressure. “So how’d they really get you?” Tommy asked. “Because none of us really have accidents at first.” Zoge was on us before I could reply. “Tommy! Clark! No, no, no! That’s not for climbing on! Get down from there!” Tommy’s shit eating grin didn’t fade all the way as the teacher’s aid scooped us up and set us down a good ten feet from the equipment. “I love you both, but don’t scare me like that. Next time I see you on top of that thing, you’ll be in timeout with me and Mrs. B! Got it?” “Yes, Ma’am.” we said in unison as if we’d rehearsed. Beouf threw a wink at me behind Zoge’s back. That’s when I realized I was having a tiny bit of fun. Goddamn it... Patiently, I spent the rest of the time sulking by the gate for the rest of the play time. Next would be getting ready and loading the kids back on the bus before Janet picked me up. “I’m very proud of how you’ve been today,” Beouf told me, opening the gate so we could return. “Your Mommy will hear good things from me and you’ll get that special treat she was promising.” I fake smiled to hide my real one and went back inside the air conditioning. Funny side thought: Just because I was given kudos for expressing my bodily autonomy with Ivy, didn’t prevent any of them from checking my pants again and again and again. “Always give them back clean and dry if you can,” Beouf said. “Yes Ma’am,” Zoge said. She inserted two fingers past Billy’s leg gathers. “Billy my love, it’s diaper time.”

The Pastel Gift Vampires don’t have many heroes, historically speaking. When one lives their unlife in the shadows, it’s very difficult to pick their own historical role models. Vampirism resulted in a secret society less like the Illuminati and more like the Sith. Eternal nocturnal existence wasn’t a vast sweeping empire that secretly influenced society through the ages as much as it was secretive little pockets of vampires and the thralls they let in on the joke. If you were a member of an undead secret society, the emphasis would more than likely be on the secret; and less so on the society. Vampires didn’t have George Washingtons or Cleopatras, or Louis Pasteurs. Both because if anyone had given the Dark Gift to those people it would have potentially ruined the big secret, and because vampires by and large still thought of themselves as people. The historical, philosophical, scientific, and artistic influences of the human world were the same in the darkness as they were in the sunlight. Simple as that. Still, if Melissa had to name any great ‘vampire history’ figures, she would have put a disproportionate amount of weight on the likes of Bram Stoker, Anne Rice, Charlene Harris, and Stephanie Meyer. Each of them had gotten close enough to the truth to aid vampirism and yet got so many details scattered and just plain wrong that the quality of unlife for those of the blood sucking persuasion was better for their work. As a result, most everyone knew what a vampire was, even if they didn’t know the exact strengths and limitations of said vampire. The many contradicting details in the various fictional novels and mediums vampires were portrayed in kept the real vampires like Melissa safer by relegating her in people’s minds to being fictional herself. No one went looking for vampires when vampires weren’t considered an option anymore. Conversely, it made thralls easier to recruit and manage. Everyone knew what vampires were, and all it took some years to recruit an ideal servant or snack was to prove that the fictional status was incorrect. Yet those fictions kept things easy for Melissa. Knowing or just suspecting that vampires were real was one thing. Knowing their weaknesses was another. Melissa hated sunlight, and preferred to sleep in total darkness, but Apollo’s chariot did nothing to harm her beyond making her eyelids droop and muscles ache. Crosses and other religious iconography had no effect on her other than making her uncomfortable about the sort of people that wielded them and how they chose to worship their god. Finally, vampires had no need to be invited into any domicile to force their way into it. Breaking and entering was simple when you could walk up walls and force open windows that had no fire escape next to them. Few people would think to lock the point of entry and even fewer would look for it as a point of breach. Being a thoroughly modern vampire, Melissa pitied her ancestors who had to find less suspicious ways to feed simply because people lived in single story, poorly ventilated huts that would have collapsed had a vampire tried to use their strength to enter. Come to think of it, that might have been the origin of that particular bit of superstition. Besides attributing weaknesses that just weren’t there, the various fictions completely missed out on many of the actual limitations of the condition. For starters, the Dark Gift had increased her dietary needs instead of transforming them altogether. Melissa had to eat, drink, pee, and poop just like anybody else. The blood sustained her immortality and strange abilities, but she largely sated herself on hamburgers just like anybody else. If she was careful she could make the blood in her system last for days, sometimes over a week before her fangs started popping back out looking for more. That bit of misinformation, that vampires subsisted on only blood, had helped her dodge a hunter seventy some odd years ago. Proving her ‘innocence’ had been as simple as eating a salad, popping off to the little girl’s room and then ‘forgetting’ to flush. The idea had felt particularly inspired, Melissa thought. Better than submitting for a blood test that somehow might find evidence of mixtures of different types of blood. Another fun secret about vampirism was what the blood could do for Melissa. The Dark Gift had a way of giving her more than just her victim’s life fluids. Whenever she fed, Melissa would take on the traits and skill sets of her victims. It was how she’d managed to live so comfortably when she wasn’t on the prowl. A nibble of an investment broker here; a lawyer there; a witness protection expert for good measure, and Melissa could continuously drum up money, pose as her own descendant, and inherit her own generational wealth again and again and again. Ironically, the pulpy television show about a crime solving zombie was a more accurate portrayal of vampirism than any number of fang laden love triangle melodramas. It’s also why vampires tended to be metropolitan monsters. Dracula, if he really did exist, most likely moved to London because he was sick of having the skill set and temperament of a superstitious Eastern European serf. Which brought Melissa to tonight’s hunt. Lorraine Schmitt’’s was an insurance agent, a good one too, and Melissa badly wanted to know of any loopholes that could be exploited. Her winter home in Alaska was almost up for coverage renewal, and Melissa had reached that point where she was looking to either cut costs or arrange an ‘accident’ to recoup her investment. It turned out the downside of having thirty days of continuous night was having to live in Alaska. With an aura that dampened the sounds of every footstep, creaking floorboard, and even the occupant’s quiet purring snores, Melissa opened the door to the insurance agent’s bedroom. She frowned and shut the door behind her as she entered. This was supposed to be Lorraine Schmitt’s bedroom. The layout and floor plan matched what her thrall had researched perfectly. If her spacial awareness and memory wasn’t beyond anything remotely human, Melissa would have doubted herself. No. This was the exact address and apartment that her insurance snack was supposed to reside in. If that was the case, though, why was the only bedroom home to a baby’s nursery? No. Not quite. Back in the early 1970’s, Melissa had experimented by sampling psychedelics. For an instant, Melissa was brought roaring back to a bad trip when scale, perspective, and common sense was thrown into a shredder. A quick blink and rapidly adjusting night vision brought Melissa back to the present. As her eyes adjusted to the soft night light and her ears took in the gentle lullabies playing softly on a speaker, the vampire soon understood that she was neither tripping balls nor was she in an infant’s room. Rather she was in a bizarre funhouse replica of one. Like a patron in a museum, Melissa glided through the room taking in each sight, sound and smell; piecing together a story from the room’s contents like a carefully curated experience. The closet was filled with professional looking clothing that might be expected for a white collar industry. Based on the size and style, an adult woman clearly lived here. There. Full-stop. Out with the expected. The chest of drawers on the opposite side of the room was not actually a chest of drawers. Originally it might have been, but it had since been heavily modified into an enormous changing table. If the sturdily padded top hadn’t tipped her off, the alcoves containing tubs of baby wipes, rash cream, and baby powder dashed that lie. Speaking of padding, the diapers on the middle shelf were definitely not for a baby. The size of the pre-folded disposables would have smothered an actual child. Though the cartoon prints might have fooled a casual observer. Adult diapers that looked like baby’s? Adult baby diapers? How was that even a thing? Why was that even a thing. By the time her eyes locked onto the stacks of folded up adult sized onesies, baby t-shirts, and decorative panties, Melissa already felt she knew more than enough about her latest snack. It looks like Little Lorraine had a dirty little secret. Compared to the feast for her eyes, the other senses felt left out by comparison. Yes, she heard the gentle lullaby that Lorraine played on loop in the faux nursery. Yes, her nose detected the lavender scent of baby powder masking the subtle aroma of urine and feces sealed inside a diaper pail. The problem, as far as curiosity was concerned was that it was very difficult to scale up the babyishness where smell and hearing were concerned. Sure, her heightened sense of smell detected the scent of bodily waste through even ‘odor lock technology’ but it didn’t smell any more odious to her nose than a bathroom that hadn’t been freshly scrubbed. Of course her fantastic ears noticed the faint whispers laced into the lullaby- she could hear a mosquito buzzing its wings from a football field away-but she’d fed upon numerous people who listened to soft whispers in their sleep. ASMR was a thing! She didn’t quite understand what it was, but it was a thing! Compared to the cake and icing that was the oversized furniture and clothing, she paid no mind to the decorative fondant of the music and smells. Melissa was fresh out of surprise by the time she approached the crib. She looked down at the slumbering woman-child, sucking on a pacifier in her sleep. Revulsion wasn’t even a factor in Melissa’s mind looking down at the girl. In nearly two centuries of unlife, Melissa had seen some of the worst that humanity had to offer. A woman sleeping in a pink-onesie and wet diaper was hardly anything to get upset about. It was odd, perhaps, but she’d felt she’d encountered odder. The infantile sights, sounds, and smells did nothing to stop her fangs from extending. Melissa stopped breathing. Like most of her snacks these days, this baby woman would survive and just wake up a little woozy tomorrow morning. If she didn’t feed soon though, her next meal might not be so lucky. Binge eating was a potentially deadly habit to those with the Dark Gift. Everything was academic after that. It was nothing to slide down the side of the giant crib; no different than parting a bed curtain during a more genteel era. Like always, the girl didn’t wake up as Melissa slid her fangs into the precious neck artery; the magic of the Dark Gift being less disturbing than even a mosquito bite. From there it was pure elementary. This. This was the best part of the Dark Gift, where Melissa took the blood, thoughts, and perhaps even part of the soul of the young lady. All of that knowledge. All of that experience flowing into her. Literally living vicariously through this complete stranger that she’d never met before. This. This was better than sex. Better than heroin. Better than Kobe beef. Better than caviar. More so than the immortality and the physics destroying power, this is what Melissa un-lived for. She might still need food to survive, but the experience gained through the blood made existence worthwhile. Her task complete, Melissa licked the wounds she made close. Playfully, half-instinctually, she pressed the button on Lorraine’s pacifier. As expected, the girl started sucking on the rubber teat. Good. Melissa hadn’t taken too much. Quickly, her eyes darted over to the changing table and the stacks of diapers contained therein. A feeling of deep longing mixed with guilt creeped up the base of Melissa’s brain. Unexpected, but not surprising. Unconscious tendencies were the first thing to surface after drinking. So for now, she had a fetish. Great. Whatever. She’d once spent nearly a fornite with the brain of whorehouse madam. The behavior of her thralls had greatly improved as a result and she continued many of the habits long after that particular morsel had worn off. So what if her heart fluttered a little bit at the thought of getting padded up (there was an errant thought if ever there was one)? So long as Melissa knew all the loopholes that the insurance companies didn’t want her to know she’d be satisfied. “Yup,” she whispered to herself, “It’s all there.” She gave her temple a self satisfied tap. Dampening the sound of her departing feet, Melissa glided out on the breeze slipping through the window she came in. Her conscious mind picked up only the (suddenly) pleasant sounds of a slight crinkle on a sodden diaper and the scent of baby powder. Her unconscious mind though... If only she’d paid more attention with her impeccable senses to the underlying whispers in Lorraine’s music box lullabies, this night would have been little more than a curiosity and a metaphorical bullet dodged. Melissa didn’t though, and stole off into the dark of the night with a new kink, and a mind that had been experimenting with some very interesting subliminal hypnosis tracks. ************************************************************************************************ Catherine O’Hara was never going to be a vampire. She’d decided that long ago. It wasn’t due to her vanity, Lord knew that. She was well past her prime, and her prime wasn’t that great looking to begin with. The pale skin and dark hair (assuming hers didn’t turn white) might have even looked appealing from a certain angle. The blood red eyes whenever her temper threatened might have been a bonus. A little intimidation never hurt anything. So overall, the Dark Gift as her master called it, likely would have smoothed a few things over in the looks department. Not that Catherine was particularly homely either. She could stand to lose a few pounds for her height and her hair was something of a curly tangled mess that wasn’t getting any better as stress and old age hung like the sword of Damocles over her, but no one would be calling her Quasimodo or Igor, neither. Matronly, some might have called her, if not motherly. A lifetime ago she would have been perfectly content being a sexless school marm out in the settler days, happy to keep whipper snappers in line and teach good little boys and girls all about the three R’s. If she’d been born into money, she’d be looking forward to being the Old Maid Aunt or the stern lipped Matriarch leveling judgement at passing generations. Unless reincarnation was a thing (and Catherine O’Hara very much doubted it was), she’d lost the lottery on that front. No, what this lifetime had in store for Catherine was an abundance of service to a vampire. While the idea of becoming immortal had initially appealed to Catherine - and the promise of eternal night as a reward had been the thing to initially string her along- experience had taught her that the Dark Gift was something she didn’t want to accept. What was the saying? No faster way to turn a Catholic into an atheist than getting them to read the Bible? Well, the fastest way to turn a vampire’s thrall into someone aching for the stillness of the grave was to have them actually live with the vampire. Vampires were nutters, the lot of them! One time, her master came home after drinking from a professional daredevil, and spent the better part of four days trying to chase an adrenaline rush, and it was Catherine’s job to sort out the details. An adrenaline rush? A death defying stunt? For someone whose very existence already defied death? But did her master give her any options? Did she appreciate how hard it was to quickly and legally (okay, sort of legally) acquire and learn to plant dynamite just so a semi-immortal being could jump over an explosion?! NO! NO SHE DIDN’T! NOT EVEN A THANK YOU! At least the ramp had been easy to find. Catherine had been wise not to scrap the scenery from Starlight Express when her master had gone through that “Theater Director” phase. Presently, it was Friday. This meant that her Master was going hunting tonight. Thankfully, the master was going after boring blood tonight; insurance agent. The only thing safer (from Catherine’s point of view) might be an accountant. The master came back to the manner early that night well before the pubs and clubs had closed. Catherine took this as a good sign. The insurance agent must be kicking in; why else would the master be home this early if not for the influence of a little boring blood. The master preferred to feed on the sleeping, and Catherine had gone out of her way to find the most boring candidate possible. Nothing had been on the target’s social media profile beyond etsy photos and niche office jokes. That explained why she was in bed by ten. Good. Maybe that meant this would be a relatively easy week. “Good evening, Miss Catherine!” the master practically chirped. She skipped in and left the door behind her wide open. Catherine shut the door behind the master, then did a double take. Skipping? Was the vampire actually skipping? “Good evening, master.” Catherine replied. “I trust your hunt went well?” The master stopped and spun around, fluttering a little bit. “Oh yeah!” she said. “Super good! Lotsa fun!” Catherine arched an eyebrow. “And you decided to come back early?” Candice asked. “Not go out to a club or a bar or…?” The thrall wasn’t sure where to lead this line of questioning so she just let the question drop. Raven hair went flapping as the master shook her head. “No, ma’am,” she said. “Too loud and smelly and sweaty!” She pinched her nose as if she were imagining it then and there. “I just wanted to come home and watch some cartoons.” “Very good, ma’am.” Catherine said. Her body began to ache in sympathy. That dull tired sickness that people get only when their body starts to feel as if it can lower its defenses was creeping in. She just wanted to watch some T.V. Maybe this would be an easy week. Maybe Catherine would finally be able to get some... “Wait? Cartoons?” The master tilted her head curiously. “Yeah! Do we still have the DVR?” “Yes, master.” Catherine stumbled. “But I don’t think we have any cartoons stored on there.” The vampire slumped a bit. “Awwww. Okay.” She let out a tired, disappointed sigh. Catherine’s more servile second nature kicked in. “I think I have a few streaming services. Netflix? Hulu? Disney?” That did the trick. “Disney?!” Her embrace was cold but strong, and Catherine was reminded why she was terrified of the undead, (not that she needed much reminding). “Yes, master.” Catherine blurted out. “You can have my password!” The vampire released her servant. “Yaaaaaay! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Then she went skipping, literally skipping. “Take the rest of the night off, Ma-! I mean Catherine!” “Yes ma’am.” Catherine replied automatically. There was a look of emotional confusion on her master’s face; like she understood what was being said but didn’t like what she was hearing. “I mean, yes, master?” Nothing changed. “Yes...Melissa…?” That did the trick. “Kay-kay!” she said. “Have a good ni-ni! Is it okay if I wake you if I need anything?” Catherine felt a kind of shock. “What?” Why was she asking? If the ancient creature wanted something she usually just demanded it. “I mean, of course. You know where to find me if you need me. Ma-...Melissa.” “Kay kay! Ni-ni?” The aches of long forgotten relaxation was just starting to set into Catherine, and with it a new lingering question. Who had her master fed from? It certainly wasn’t an insurance agent. ********************************************************************************************* Melissa bobbed up and down on her bottom, belting out the lyrics to her new favorite T.V. show in the whole world. “Whoa oh oh, Vampirina! I may be blue with pointy teeth! Whoa oh oh, Vampirina! But I’m not so different underneath!” This insurance agent blood had done a number on her in the best way. Cartoons seemed brighter and happy songs seemed happier. She felt like she had all the time in the world and yet everything seemed to move along at a rollercoaster pace! It was the best of all worlds and experiences as far as Melissa was concerned. She had already cleared straight through an entire season of this children’s show and was ready to devour another. Like so many things about vampires in fiction, many of the finer details were missed about the Dark Gift, but at least it was a positive portrayal. If Vampirina were a real vampire girl, Melissa knew deep in her heart of hearts that they would have been best friends. More than best friends, actually. Melissa pictured herself in the cartoon girl’s bat wing pigtails, and spider-web pattern jumper dress. It still seemed so much bigger and more mature than how Melissa envisioned herself. She would have been perfectly happy wearing a onesie; maybe one with a decorated hoodie that she could pull over her eyes while she was feeling shy. Vampirina wouldn’t be her best friend; she’d be more like a big sister to play with Melissa take care of her when Mommy wasn’t around. Shame she wasn’t real. Melissa let out a little yawn and looked out the window. Dawn was approaching, the first traces of amber light cresting over the horizon. No wonder she was feeling so sleepy. It’s what Melissa got for finding Doc McStuffins first and bingeing that. A tired yawn escaped from the little vampire’s throat and an even tinier trickle leaked out into her panties. The yawn turned to a gasp and Melissa patted herself down to her panties. It was only a tiny accident, she assured herself. Not enough to stain the pretty (but very grown up) dress she was wearing today. “Ooops,” she whispered. “Gotta go potty.” Nervously she hugged the couch pillow. It wasn’t as nice as a teddy bear, but it would have to suffice till tomorrow. Before sitting down to watch cartoons, Melissa had gone on an online spending spree. Nothing major. Just stuffed animals that looked cute as well as some...other things. Things that would help her play and watch cartoons longer. She spent extra money to have them all expressed shipped so hopefully they would all be here by the time she woke up tomorrow night. She felt a strange itching in her being at that thought as well as a muted wave of embarrassment. She both wanted these things and felt ashamed for wanting them at the same time. Did this come with the desire to sleep in cribs, or was it a natural tendency of insurance agents? Melissa didn’t know. Whatever it was, it hadn’t stopped Lorraine from living her best life, and it wasn’t going to stop Melissa either. Oh yeah, and she’d figured out a way that her little home in boring old Alaska could basically pay for itself by turning it into a timeshare. So that was neat. “Time for beddy-...” From her place on the floor, Melissa looked behind her to the couch and only then did she realize that Catherine wasn’t there. Rationally, she realized that Catherine shouldn’t be. She’d given her thrall the night off because it was a nice thing to do. Rationally, she realized that Catherine wouldn’t be interested in something like Vampirina (even though Vampirina was clearly the best thing in the world!). Still...it would have been nice to have someone else in the room with her. Someone to keep her company and occasionally say nice things to her. Melissa got up and started to walk to the bathroom. First potty. Then bed. Then she’d wake up. Eat some sugary cereal, and get to play and watch cartoons all tomorrow night. Technically, she could do that all day since Catherine wouldn’t make her go to bed. Catherine. The vampire stopped at the door to her thrall’s bedroom. It was a relatively tiny space. Only room enough for a Queen size bed, a closet, and a dresser. Melissa had hidden in motels with more floor space. But it was cozy. Her own bed and living quarters was sunproofed and far more luxurious. But it was also empty. A strange impulse overcame the undead stalker. “Maybe…” she said, opening the door with preternatural quietness. Yes. Maybe indeed. Maybe a day cuddled up secure to the closest thing she had as a friend might be better than sprawling our in a big empty room on a big empty bed. Cozy even. Maybe she could hold off going potty until tomorrow night too... ********************************************************************************* Catherine woke up thinking she was dying! She’d never watched the vampire feed, but with the fangs and the blood red eyes, she’d always assumed that the act of feeding was dangerous and messy and above all bloody. So she could be forgiven for thinking that the wet feeling that was engulfing her and drenching her legs was that of her own blood spilling out onto the bed. Her master had finally tired of her and was going to consume her whole. That’s why she’d gotten the night off of work. It had to be. That’s what Catherine thought as she started screaming her head off, leaping out of her bed. “NOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOO!” It didn’t help her misconception that Melissa was in bed right next to her. For a split second, her master appeared for all intents and purposes to be a corpse. Vampires just looked that way while they slept. The corpse soon animated though as eyes fluttered open. “Huh?” she looked down at herself and the puddle that had gathered in the middle of the mattress. “What?! Oh no!” She flew out to the other side of the bed, and landed daintily on her feet. “Cahterine!” she shrieked. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to-!” Her skin remained as ivory pale as always, but her eyes turned a shade of rose petal pink. Was this the undead equivalent of blushing? “I’m so sorry! I’m sooooo sooo sorry!” “Sorry?” Catherine echoed. Not only was that a word that the thrall couldn’t remember hearing out of her master’s mouth, but she wasn’t sure. She looked down at her legs, there was They were wet but not with blood. “Did you...?” Her nostrils filled in the rest of the sentence. Yes, Melissa, vampire queen of the night had wet the bed. Correction: She’d wet Catherine’s bed. “I just wanted to cuddle and I forgot to go potty and...and...and…” Flabbergasted beyond comprehension. Catherine remained silent. What was this? Some kind of test? Hurriedly she started stripping her bed as adrenaline pushed her the rest of the way awake. She looked at the clock. The sun hadn’t even been up for two whole hours. That made Catherine feel even more exhausted. Living under a vampire’s roof had long ago shifted her sleep to third shift. Even with the night off, Catherine had only managed to claim sleep an hour or so before dawn. “I’m sorry Miss Cathy!” A bundle of peed on bedsheets in hand, Catherine glared at the slender immortal standing blushing across from her. “Miss Cathy?” Her vision started to come more into focus. “Are you wearing one of my nightgowns?” She’d never seen Melissa wear anything that pink before. “It looked comfy…” She took the foul smelling thing off and unhelpfully added it to the pile. “I’m a big girl.” “Of course ma’am...” Catherine said. “Sure you are.” “Say it.” the vampire said. “Say it I’m a big girl…” her voice was right on the edge of trembling and a tantrum. This was something she needed to hear and if she didn’t that nightmare that Catherine just imagined might be more than just a misunderstanding. “You’re a big girl…” Catherine said. Then she ventured. “You’re a very big girl...Melissa.” That seemed to do the trick. “I’m gonna go…” Melissa said. “Lay down in my bed. I mean. If that’s okay.” Once again she’d become submissive and demure. “Of course, dear.” The ‘dear’ came naturally, this time. A vampire’s thrall learned to anticipate their master’s needs. What Catherine couldn’t anticipate for, she could at least quickly adapt to new situations. This was certainly new. “Go get changed and go back to sleep. It was just an accident.” She noticed the slight flutter in Melissa’s posture, both at hearing her own name as well as the pet moniker of ‘dear’. Something in her was getting a major thrill out of just hearing it. This was certainly a development. The two parted ways, with Melissa floating off to her much nicer bedroom, and a still exhausted Catherine headed for the laundry room. She’d need a shower if she was going to get back to sleep. But first... “Melissa…” she called back. Melissa stopped and looked back over her shoulder. “Yes, ma’am?” There was a bit of guilt still rattlign around that skull. “Who did you eat last night?” “Insurance agent,” the vampire said. “Why?” “Just an insurance agent?” she asked. “No one...younger?” “Nuh-uh. Why?” “No reason…” *************************************************************************************************** DING-DONG! Catherine stirred from her sleep, still feeling exhausted. The couch wasn’t nearly as comfortable as her own bed. “I’m coming!” She called. Damn it. Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Even when her master was high on insurance agent blood, she couldn’t get a full rest. The thrall had little doubt that what was at the door was some kind of impulse buy that Melissa just couldn’t resist. The real question was a matter of what. Blearily she eyed the nearest clock. It was just after three. The usual courier was waiting at the doorstep. Being an overpaid mailman he didn’t ask questions. Good for him. It made the frequent deliveries more bearable when Catherine didn’t have to explain anything. This time, the middle aged thrall had wished there was some kind of explanation. Boxes and boxes and boxes lay piled up at the doorstep. All looking fairly heavy, and none looked the least bit distinct. Catherine spared a glance at some of the labels. “LKB LLC?” She read. “Strom Holdings?” said another. What was this stuff? “Sign here,” the courier said. He was sweating. He’d needed several trips to get everything unloaded. “Sure, sure.” Catherine sighed. “Do you mind helping me get these in?” Brow drenched with sweat the delivery man let out his own sigh. Both of them were thralls to blood sucking monsters in their own way. It’s just one was more literal than the other. “Yeah. I guess so. I’ll get ‘em across the door for you.” It was the most talking either of them had done to each other in their many years. Strange. “Do you need a box cutter?” The courier offered. He went to go for his pocket but Catherine waved him off. “I’m fine, thanks.” Then she remembered a bit of kindness. “Can I offer you some water?” “That’d be great...thank you.” Strange, Catherine thought. Melissa never offered such basic courtesies. She had infinite time and wealth, as did a certain delivery mega corporation, but it was the servants who showed one another the most respect. A sad state of the world she thought. After the water glass was drained, refilled, and then drained again, the courier went on his way. Most days, Catherine would leave the packages where they lay, letting her master’s impulse determine where they should go next, but a certain amount of curiosity had infected the woman. A sharp knife from the kitchen did the trick to satisfy her curiosity. The first box had vacuum sealed t-shirts. The colors were soft and muted. Pastel mostly. Some had, frankly, childish patterns on them. Light Blue with Frogs wearing scuba gear; another mint green with playful pigs; and so on. The dark one with the amalgamation of a cat and a skull seemed more Melissa’s aesthetic but it was still far too whimsical for her baseline mood. Tearing into a second package filled with bottles and pacifiers caused Catherine to go back to the box of shirts and fully unwrap them. Just as she hadn’t thought. These weren’t t-shirts, they were unitards. Except these unitards weren’t the kind that gymnasts wore. These were onesies, the kind that had snap buttons right in the crotch area. The kind of thing a baby might wear over their… Oh no! She tore into another box, and just as she suspected found the diapers. Packs and packs of them. Over half of the mountain of cardboard hid thick, tapable, plastic backed underwear that had bright and smiling cartoons on them. Everything that wasn’t a diaper wasn’t much better. Pacifier, bottles, rompers, frilly panties just barely big enough to cover the diapers; Lolita-ish dresses; jumpers. All of it looked like a carnival version of something a toddler or younger would be dressed in. Had Melissa eaten a baby? Had that actually happened? No. That didn’t add up. Babies wore those sorts of things because their parents dressed them in it. Left to their own devices they might just…watch cartoons all day… And crawl into their parents beds… And wet the bed… But did they buy their own diapers or toddler dresses or onesies? In sizes that fit them no less? Looking at the pile of accumulated nonsense in front of her, Catherine realized that there was also a distinct lack of practicality involved. There were diapers, but no wipes. Bottles but no milk. Bibs but no food. No powder or rash cream or any of the other little touches that an actual child might need. Catherine dug out her phone. As a thrall, it was her job to anticipate her master’s needs. She might not have eaten a proper child, but there was something certainly screwy going on. It was only a few hours before sunset when the master would wake up. She had some additional shopping to do and…. WHOAH...a lot of reading apparently. “Ay-Bee-Dee-Ell?” ******************************************************************************************** “Ma...Catherine?” Melissa moaned herself into consciousness and yanked the thumb out of her mouth. How had that gotten there? Her mo...thrall was already in her room and appeared to be rifling through her closet. “This one can go...this one can go...this one can go…” Long black dress after long black dress was being draped over Catherin’s forearm. “Hey!” She Melissa called out. “I wasn’t done wearing those!” Catherine stopped. “Good evening, Master!” she chirped. Melissa sounded much brighter and cheerier than she usually did. Normally the woman was relatively reserved. The almost forced happiness in her tone made Melissa’s brain tingle in so many ways. “Did you sleep better?” Melissa stretched and felt oddly refreshed. “Yeah,” she said. “Actually…” she rolled over to get up and froze when she heard the light plastic crinkling. She KNEW that sound. She LOVED that sound. But a part of her FEARED others hearing that sound. Stupidly, as if in a trance, Melissa slid the rest of the way off of her bed. Clinging to her waistbut lightly wet, was what her mind told her was something called a PeekAbu. A drawing of a yellow giraffe with smiling eyes poked its head out shyly just at the waist band. The sizing star on the right told her it was a medium, even though it was a “Size 8” according to the branding. “Why am I wearing a diaper?” The question came out of Melissa’s mouth even as her psyche provided the answer. This morning! The bed! But not her bed! Catherine’s! She could feel her eyes turn rose petal pink. Her own sheets had already been stripped. She’d been sleeping on a bare mattress with a spare comforter! That meant that...that...neither part of her mind wanted to fill in the blanks. Catherine continued to fold sheik black dresses and put them in cardboard boxes. She eyed the vampire with the same casual wariness that all mortals in the know tended to do, but she remained calm. “Your new clothes came in this morning with the diapers, and I’m putting your old ones away until it’s time to put them back on. Is that alright, little Master?” Little Master! Melissa wanted to swoon. Not at the master part, but at being called ‘little’. I’m a good little girl, she thought. Gingerly, her thumb crept up back between her lips. “Yeah. That’s fine, Miss Catherine…” “I put the diaper on because you had another accident in your sleep and I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. Are you comfortable?” “But how?” Melissa reached down between her legs and squeezed the soggy padding. She knew it was wet only because she had a keen knowledge and memory of what a slightly damp diaper felt like. As far as her skin was concerned, she was wearing regular panties. Thick, crinkly panties that another woman had put her in and taped up for her while she slept. And she was perfectly comfortable. Good little girls use and wet their diapers. They need their diapers, even when they’re asleep. They don’t worry about going to the yucky old potty. As long as they have their diapers they’re perfectly comfortable. “You’re a very deep sleeper, little Master.” Again, Melissa inwardly rejoiced at the l-word. “It’s why you have me here. To protect you.” Melissa sniffed. “Did you use baby powder on me?” She winced. As much as she liked it… “I don’t remember ordering baby powder.” “You forgot a few things that should have been on your list,” Catherine explained. “So I took care of them for you. You forgot some things. Nothing big. Just some silly mistakes. I took care of it.” The vampire’s eyes blinked red. Some primal, undead part of her raged at the idea. Her thrall was correcting her. How dare she-? Good little girls always listened to their Mommies and Daddies. Their Mommies and Daddies take care of them and know what’s best… “Thank you,” Melissa said. She started. “But you’re up,” Catherine said. “So I’ll put away your big girl clothes later.” She strode up to Melissa. “Hmmm...I can’t tell how wet you are. Do you want changed yet?” Good little girls don’t decide when their Mommies and Daddies change them. “No…?” Catherine took her free hand and started leading her out of her bedroom. “I think you’ll be okay for at least one more wetting,” Catherine said. “Or a mess. I can change you then. But let’s get you some breakfast first. How’s that?” ************************************************************************************************************** “Catheriiiiiine!” Melissa’s voice whined out. “Where’s my chicken nuggies!” “Comiiiiing!” Catherine called back, exhausted again. Three days... It had been three days. Three days of changing diapers, and wiping mouths, and feeding bottles. And reading stories AND finding stuffies that were THERE one minute but then dropped and forgotten about the next until an hour later they were the vampire’s favorite thing in the world. Three days of Catherine feeling even more like a servant than she usually did. When she’d peaced together that these Adult Baby fetishists were, she thought this might be an easy week. Oh boy had she been wrong. “Catherine, look at this!” “Catherine watch me!” “Catherine get me grilled cheese!” “Catherine I wanna play a game!” “Catherine where’s my stuffie?” “No, not THAT stuffie!” “I wanna watch more cartoons! Catherine what’s a good cartoon?” “Catherine buy me that! Buy me that!” From one angle, it was like having to be a nanny to a child who could murder her. From another angle it was like having to be an undead monster’s thrall AND wipe her ass for her. Yes, she blushed more and she was unusually cheerful most of the time, but it was no less draining than when Melissa had feasted on an MMA pit fighter and needed a sparring partner. She thought that adult babies were supposed to be submissive! Now, Catherine had learned that there was such a thing as topping from the bottom. Whenever Catherine changed her diaper or fed her a bottle, she got quiet in a weird type of happiness paralysis, but it was like when a lion had you rub her tummy. Purring or not, you didn’t take your eyes off the teeth. When Catherine had been tempted into this service, she practically knew she’d be giving up motherhood...now she wished she had. “CATHERIIIINE! NUGGIES!” Catherine took the plate of chicken nuggets into the T.V. room. It was two in the morning and Melissa was watching the same episode of Vampirina for the seventh or eighth time. She bounced in her highchair, slapping the feeding tray. “NUGGIES! NUGGIES! NUGGIES!” Oh yes, the vampire had an adult sized high chair, now. The entire manor was slowly being converted into a giant daycare. Packages kept arriving at the manor. Not just diapers and clothes either. Highchair. Changing table. Crib. Melissa had ordered them all and it was up to Catherine to assemble them while she slept. All proportional and very very heavy. And then, in a few days when the blood war off, Catherine would have to disassemble them, and fold all the cute big baby clothes and put them off somewhere to be forgotten about or burnt. Then she’d have to get the habits and hobbies of whoever the next victim was. But for tonight, it was just chicken nuggets. Melissa was well into her fourth helping, and had honey mustard and barbecue sauce smeared all over her lips. “Here you are, little Master.” She put the next course of overly processed children’s food on the tray. The babied vampire looked down at them and her face twisted into one of pure disgust. “These aren’t dinosaur shaped!” “We ran out of the dinosaur shaped ones,” Catherine said carefully. “These are still very good. They’ll taste absolutely lovely “I! WANT! DINOSAUR SHAPES!” The strength and speed of the plate being flung against the near wall was practically a lightning strike. The shattering of the dish and the scattering of the chicken rang out like thunder. Melissa had shown such an unpredictable temperament before. Under most circumstances, Catherine would have been terrified; startled into submission. She should be scrambling to pick up the pieces while saying bright and happy things to appease her master. Catherine knew this. This wasn’t most circumstances, however... Catherine stepped up to the adult sized high chair and waggled her finger. “Nnnno!” She sounded like she was scolding a puppy. “Nnno! Bad girl!” Was there really that much difference between one and the other? “Bad girl?” Melissa echoed. She looked spooked. Genuinely hurt. Hurt! Yes! That was something she’d read about. Something Catherine hadn’t done yet. With as much courage as she could muster, the middle aged woman unclicked the tray off of the high chair and tossed it onto the floor. “Bad girl? What are -?” Before the vampire could react, Catherine grabbed her by the ear and started dragging her out onto the couch. It felt like her heart was about to explode. She was grabbing a tiger by the tail and hoping it thought it was a kidden. “Bad girl! We do not throw our food!” Spurred on by her own momentum, Catherine sat down on the sofa. Incredibly, her vampire master followed, splaying across the heavy set woman’s lap. Only one thing left to do. “NO!” She slapped the immortal’s padded bottom as hard as she could. “NO! BAD GIRL!” The sound was impressive, but from the cushion and the pulp from the diaper, Catherine knew it couldn’t have hurt too badly. Even real children required more than a few swats to leave a mark. A nigh invincible predator wouldn’t feel a thing. Except...the most miraculous thing happened. Melissa started to cry. She started to wail and bawl and squirm in Catherine’s lap. And even though she could likely bench press a grown-man, she screamed and mewled impotently. So what did Catherine do? She kept spanking the brat of course! ************************************************************************************* Bad little girls get spankings! Bad little girls get time outs! Bad little girls lose their Mommy’s and Daddy’s love! Being a bad little girl was the worst of all possible worlds! Those words, unprompted, were racing and raging through Melissa’s skull. She couldn’t help it! When the words came to her, even if they weren’t her words they were said in her voice. They were the same words that told her if she wanted to be good she shouldn’t use the potty and shouldn’t hold it in. They were the same words that told her to eat in her highchair and watch cartoons. The same words that made her want chicken nuggies and cuddles and attention. Ooooh the attention! Now she was getting attention; the wrong kind of attention. The words were screaming inside her own skull, with Melissa powerless to stop them. Her body was unimpressed with the flurry of blows raining down on her diapered bottom. The words in her mind, however, insisted that they hurt. So they did. Like a steak being driven through her heart. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! STOOOOOOOP!” “You’ve had this coming for a long time, little missy!”, Catherine yelled. She didn’t let up for an instant. “A! VERY! LONG! TIME!” Little! She was little! Helpless! A baby! A bad baby! A bad little girl! NO! Melissa had wanted to be good! She hadn’t meant to be bad! She was trying to be good! She just thought that doing what she wanted to do all the time was good! She wasn’t being mean on purpose! She just needed someone to tell her what good and bad was! She just needed...she just needed a …. “Moooooooommmeeeeeeee!” Melissa wailed, kicking feebly over Catherine’s lap. “Pleeeeease! I’ll be good!” The spanking paused. Melissa could feel Catherine peering down at the back of her head; could feel the spanking hand still raised, ready to strike. “What did you call me?” Like an owl, Melissa turned her head all the way around. Despite being something no human could do, she felt weak and helpless in the normal woman’s lap. “Mommy?” A bizarre glint came to the woman’s eyes. “Yes,” she smiled. “Yes you did. Now, are you going to be a good little girl for Mommy or am I going to have to spank you some more and put you in time out?” Time out?! Not time out?! Not more spanking! Be a good girl! Good girls listened to their Mommy! “I’m going to be a good girl.” The predator brain inside the vampire realized how hard Mommy’s heart was pounding, but the thousand pounds of kink and conditioning that was piled up on top attributed it to excitement rather than fear. “You’ve made quite a mess of everything,” Mommy said. “After I change you and put you into a clean onesie, you’re going to clean up your mess.” Mommy started standing up. Reflexively, Melissa made herself lighter. Mommy noticed. “Good girl.” The words were music to Melissa’s ears. The only thing better was what came next: “Let’s get you into a nice dry diaper.” “Yes Mommy…I’m sorry Mommy.” Mommy repositioned her and started patting her on the back on the way to the changing table. “I know you are, Melissa. I know you are.” She sounded kind of sad, actually. “You’re nothing if not sincere when you’re like this.” “I just wanted…” Melissa stumbled. “I didn’t mean to be bad...I just wanted…” What was the word. “Attention?” Mommy offered. “Yeah…” “Hmmmm…..” Melissa heard Mommy smiling, her ears literally pricking up at the upturning of her lips. “I think I might have an idea…” ****************************************************************************************************** Lorraine Schmitt stood shaking in her shoes. What kind of fucked up place was this? On the outside it was an impressive estate; upper echelon on the edge of the city. And on the inside? On the inside it was a dream come true. Just the wrong dream….the dream Lorraine never would have told anyone. A play pen. A ball pit. A walker. A bouncer. A playmat for tummy time and one with a mobile. A rocking horse. A sit and spin. A tricycle. A frankly absurd amount of non-choking toys. This place had a baby; just one that was much bigger than usual. That’s how the fantasy went. That’s how Lorraine’s fantasies went. A giant nursery for a giant baby that was already done growing up. Usually run by an idle rich person with too much money and love to give who would just love to spoil a little girl rotten. Lorraine wasn’t really a little girl, not by most definitions. But since she started those self-hypnosis tapes, it was getting easier and easier for her to think of herself as one. Especially in her nursery at home...her nursery that now perfectly paled in comparison to this palatial wonderland. It was better than even Capcon. This place was so big it could be it’s own ABDL convention center. “And this is the kitchen,” the client, a Miss Catherine O’Hara finished the tour. “Any questions?” “Um…” Lorraine choked out, “What does this have to do with insurance?” She was playing dumb out of self-preservation and habit more than anything. “Oh? That?” the middle-aged, slightly overweight woman said. “That was a lie just to get you here.” “Why do you want me here?” “Because,” Miss O’Hara said. “I’ve already got one lovely little girl. I thought I could use a second.” Little girl! She was a little girl! She wanted to be a good girl! A good girl! The insurance agent bit her tongue, doing her best to block out the voice in her head that sounded so much like her own. “I’m not running an adoption agency…” Miss O’Hara let out a little growl. “Fine, little miss. We’ll do this the hard way.” Her voice went into a high, playful musical tone. “You can either come with me and get everything you ever wanted like a good girl.” Her voice lowered back down, “Or you can be a bad girl and after I spank you and put you in time out, I’ll tell everyone you know know about your nursery and diapers at home. Lorraine nearly fell over, feeling like her brain was on fire. So many of her trigger words set off at once! It was almost too much to stand. This wasn’t supposed to happen! Not until she found someone to trust! Not until she was ready to be little full time with someone. This wasn’t real! It couldn’t be! It was like...it was like so many of the stories that she read online. “The hypno recordings you’ve been playing in your sleep are quite a doozy,” Miss O’Hara cooed. “Poor thing. I’m very sorry it’s going this way. But I’m a little short on time. I’ve only got a night or two left, you see.” Lorraine almost collapsed from excitement and mental exhaustion. Her walls wouldn’t last long. They weren’t meant to. “Please…” “Of course,” Miss O’Hara said. “Of course I’ll please you. Mommy will take care of you. Good good, care.” Mommy! She had to be a good girl for Mommy! “Stand up, dear, Mommy can’t carry you.” On wobbly, Bambi-like legs, Lorraine was being led deper into the house. She couldn’t resist; not enough of her wanted to. How did one fight against their wildest dreams when the alternative was one of their darkest nightmares. “That’s right. Come with me to the nursery. Then we’ll get you into a nice dry diaper.” Diapers! She needed diapers! Good girls wore their diapers! A wet patch blossomed between her legs. Her bladder wasn’t even waiting for her to be wrapped up and secure in crinkling plastic. “Why...why are you doing this?” Lorraine whimpered. “How do you even know this?” “It’s my job to know such things, little girl,” Miss...Mommy said. “Or it was. If I must confess, I got a little sloppy when I was researching you. Good thing I did. Otherwise I might still have my old job.” “What...what are you talking...?” They were entering a bedroom; an adult baby nursery. Lorraine wasn’t even close to surprised, and only eighty percent of her was thrilled at this. She was powerless to resist when she was boosted onto an ornate adult changing table. “Mommy?” A new voice called out from a darkened corner of the room. “Is that her?” “Yes Melissa,” Mommy said. “But I need to get her changed first. Then you two can get to know each other.” A brick of Lorraine’s willpower fell out of the wall as she started sucking on her thumb. “She really is a baby,” the new voice said. “Just like me.” Mommy yanked the young woman’s pants and underwear off. “Oh you have no idea,” she chuckled. “I think you two will have a lot of fun together.” She was being changed! By someone else! It was finally happening! Finally! She was a good baby! A good girl! Lorraine boosted her hips up so that a thick four taped Bunny Hops could be slid underneath her. That was one of her favorites! How did this woman know? “”I don’t believe in fate,” Mommy said. “But I do believe in happy accidents.” She gently and expertly wiped and powdered Lorraine clean, then brought the diaper up and taped it on. “And you’re going to have a lot more happy accidents, my little girl.” She sat Lorraine back off and removed her bra and blouse from her. “The only hard part for you, I think, is adjusting your sleep schedule. You’ll get used to it though.” “Get used to what?” Lorraine asked, thrilling and hearing the crinkle with her tits out and bouncing. Another woman, another little girl crinkled forward. She was skinnier than Mommy. Taller and paler too. Her long black hair was done up in pigtails, which was funny, because that’s exactly how Lorraine would have styled it if she had hair like this. Same for the use of the dark purple onesie to complement her pallid flesh. She was something of a goth by the looks of it, but definitely still a baby. “So...first thing’s first,” Mommy said. “Lorraine. This is your new sister. You don’t know it, but you’ve been a very positive influence on her this last week. You’re going to continue being a positive influence.” “Yes...Mommy…” Lorraine was already shivering with joy. She was going to be a good girl. She was going to have a sister. She was going to have a Mommy! “Melissa,” Mommy said. “This is your new sister. Whenever you need blood, you feed from her. Not too much though. She’s very delicate. Do you understand?” The paler baby girl smiled. “Yes Mommy. I’ll be super careful.” That’s when the fangs came out… As the fangs sank in and Lorraine started feeling woozy, she heard Mommy coo. “Good girls. Both of you. Forever.”