Personalias

PART 7: Problem Child Chapter 75: Flick I was in line right behind Tommy, already belted into the line leash. Clutching Lion in my arms, I stared at the back of his head. Tommy had just been given a haircut that weekend and I could still see hints of pale flesh irritated pink by the morning’s chill wind. Everyone was relatively covered up that day and no one’s great padded shame was uncovered. It was the first time since getting shoved into a bug zapper that I had something covering up my socks. Even Ivy had been dressed in leggings. Granted, no passerby would mistake us for anything other than ‘baby’ Littles: The cut, style, and palette of everyone’s clothes still screamed of infancy and toddlerhood. All the pants had elastic waistbands and even a dry Monkeez still gave that signature puff around the target area. Everyone still crinkled when they walked and had pacifiers clipped to their collars. Monday wasn’t quite cold enough to see our breath. Fall was weird in Oakshire. Instead of gradually decreasing temperatures, it would be cold for a couple days, but then the front would pass, and the temperature would crank back up and things would fluctuate back and forth and it wouldn’t really get cold until late November. Sometimes the leaves wouldn’t change colors until a week before winter proper. As it stood, I’d have bet even money that Chaz would just be back to a t-shirt or onesie by the end of the week. Staring at the back of Tommy’s head I felt the slightest pang of jealousy. As a boy I didn’t have to worry about pigtails and ribbons in my hair and all of the bullshit that my lady classmates had to go through. If I’d been allowed to dress myself, my bush of curly red hair would have made me look unkempt more than childish. Paired with the bright red one-piece sweat suit, I looked too immature to even go to my old classroom, which was very likely the point. I would have yanked the hoodie up over my head if it didn’t have stupid teddybear ears on top. Tommy, by contrast, seemed ages above me. Heavy denim and a long sleeved navy blue t-shirt. It didn’t matter that the t-shirt had fire engines all over it, or that his light up sneakers were identical to mine. From a glimpse from far away, and disassociated from the rest of us, Tommy might pass as a Little who hadn’t yet had his life ruined. Maybe that’s why I started what I started. I waited till Zoge plopped down Annie and Billy. Like good Little children they took their places, practically buckling themselves into our tethered chain gang. Zoge went back into the bus to get the next two, and Beouf took a knee to make sure everything was secure and to hand them their stuffies. Ivy was chatting Mandy and Shauna up. All eyes were off me. Casually, almost lazily, I leaned forward and- FLICK! “Ow!” Tommy rubbed his earlobe like a mosquito bit it. He looked to his outside for the attack and then glanced over his shoulder at me. “What was that?” I blinked and jostled my head as if lost in thought, and Tommy’s voice just barely roused me from my waking slumber. “Hm?” “Something just bit my ear.” He rubbed it again. “Did you see a bug or something?” “A bug?” The poor man wrinkled his nose in irritation. “Or something.” He looked up to the cloudy morning sky as though that might provide answers. Nothing. My heart didn’t race. My pulse didn’t quicken. I didn’t even feel the sadistic urge to flick his ear the moment he turned his head back around. I was going to get through this day with a nice slow burn, I’d decided. Breakfast went uneventfully: Grilled cheese sandwiches cut into tiny Little sized portions. The cafeteria tended to favor finger foods, especially for breakfast; enough so that it counted grilled cheese as breakfast food. My stomach gave a warning rumble. Nothing urgent, but it was like having a rock in my gut. Quietly, I contemplated on whether or not I should poop here and inconvenience the Amazons to change me at breakfast or wait until just after Circle Time when everyone had just been changed. “How was your weekend?” I called over to Billy on the other side of the table. Billy shrugged. “It was okay,” he said back. “You know.” Our tiff on the playground was all but forgotten. I yelled at them. He gave me a polite ‘fuck you’ and the matter was settled. That was all the way back last week. “How’d you do on your progress report?” My friend/henchman cocked an eyebrow. “Progress report?” “The paper in the folder,” I said. “With all our work underneath” Billy gave another shrug. “I dunno.” He punctuated by popping another square of cheese and bread into his maw. “I don’t read it.” I pursed my lips in thought. Not all Amazon parents gushed and shared the perceived progress of their Little’s mind fucking with them. Interesting. Interesting “Oh. Okay.” I left it at that. When we were all herded back into Beouf’s classroom after breakfast, Tommy took a seat in the semi circle before I’d been unbuckled. There wasn’t assigned seating per se, but routines and habits tend to take hold quickly. I knew where Tommy would sit before he even sat down. Casually, I walked to my spot on the far end, passed Tommy at the top of the arc and- FLICK! -kept on walking. “Ow!” Tommy squealed. It had been the same ear and in damn near the same spot as I had earlier that hour. “Clark!” Like a good Little baby I sat down and ignored him. “Clark!” I feigned ignorance. “What’s up?” “Why did you do that?” My face twisted into a confused mass of cheeks, lips and eyebrows.“Do what?” “Flick my ear.” My face melted and unscrunched itself. “I didn’t flick your ear.” My target was still clutching the side of his head like he was holding back a torrent of blood. “Yes you did.” “Hey Billy, Annie,” I said. “Who flicked Tommy’s ear?” The prison couple disengaged from each other and looked at Tommy. “I don’t know,” Annie said. “Why?” Tommy put his hand down and muttered to himself. “Whatever.” I left him alone for a few hours. Correction: I didn’t flick him. I didn’t even touch him. But everytime he was close enough, like when we checked our visual schedules or during snack time, I’d start flicking my index fingers as hard as I could. Hard enough to make a sound and get his attention. Then I’d stop. Until the next time. The first few times, I’d stop as soon as I was sure Tommy had reacted to the sounds. Tommy would flinch or turn his head and look at me, and I’d stop. He’d look at me and open his mouth to say something, but then would stop himself. A few rotations in I became a bit more brazen. I wouldn’t make eye contact but I’d keep flicking even after he started staring at me, as if I didn’t know it was bothering him and I’d just developed a very specific nervous tic. When we went back into our whole group so that we could get yet another rendition of Amazon mind pablum in the form of story time, my index finger whizzed right past Tommy’s ear drum. He tensed up like it had been a bullet whizzing past instead of my index finger.“Quit it!” He hissed. I played innocent. “Quit what?” “You know!” I made sure to be behind him in the leash order while everyone was getting ready for lunch. “Mrs. B. Can I get another spot in line?” Beouf was busy buckling Littles into the group walking leash. Combined with pre-lunch checks and changes, they’d already managed to shave the transition routine down to about ten minutes give or take. If we’d been actual toddlers it would have been genuinely impressive. Buckling us all in was still more time consuming than having us hold hands. For all the hassle that Beouf and Zoge had been saved from keeping us from tipping ourselves over in used highchairs, they’d made extra work for themselves all over again by tying and untying us in colorful rope. She finished snapping Ivy in before so much as looking at Tommy. “We’ve got to get going to Lunch, baby. Not everybody can be right where they want to be every time.” “Clark flicked me in the ear.” His face paled as the accusation tumbled out. Even as he said it, Tommy looked mildly ashamed. Littles did not tell on other Littles. Not unless they’d gone full native. Not unless they’d all but forgotten that they were adults against their will or were trying to be a good Little Helper. “I did not” I gasped as though I’d been accused of murder. Everyone save Zoge froze and stared at us, now acutely aware of the building drama. “Why would I flick you? How immature is that?” “I was right here,” Beouf said gently. “Clark hasn’t touched you.” “I meant this morning,” Tommy said. “I don’t want him to do it again.” I stamped my foot in defiance. “Tommy! No!” I started huffing and puffing, making my face almost match my hair with how much blood was rushing. “I! Did! Not!” Beneath the hurricane of emotions I was projecting, I felt nothing other than a light, scornful amusement. I was just cranky and sleep deprived enough that I was able to force a hint of tears to threaten to burst forth. Not my best performance but it was working. Beouf ignored my faux tantrum. “When did he flick you?” she asked Tommy. “This morning. In the bus loop.” Every word was sounding like he was trying to whisper but was afraid to lower his voice. Tommy knew how this was looking. “Why didn’t you tell me then?” Beouf asked. The statute of limitations was unsurprisingly short for things like schoolyard ear flicking. Annie butted in. “You told me he’d done it during Circle Time!” “Yeah,” Shauna said. I buried my face in Lion’s mane and bit into my tongue so I didn’t accidentally grin. Annie was already a known accomplice of mine. Shauna was just a patsy and a bystander that circumstance was providing me. I hadn’t even known she’d been listening in on the exchange. “That’s when I saw you grabbing your ear.” “He did it both times!” I looked up from my stuffie. “Did not!” “Why didn’t you tell me?” Beouf repeated herself, asking Tommy. Sadly for Tommy, ‘snitches get stitches’ was not a viable excuse in Beouf’s world. “We were busy!” Tommy said, sounding indignant. “And I didn’t want to bother you.” “Such a good Little boy,” Chaz spat. “Such a Helper.” “Then why are you telling her now?” Annie asked. Then she piled on with, “I’m hungry. Can we go to lunch?” This got more than a bit of support from the surrounding peanut gallery. If Beouf had not invested in the mass toddler leashes, I wouldn’t have gotten away with it. Getting me away from Tommy would have been as easy as moving him to the back of the line and plopping me in front with Ivy and her iron grasp. “Mrs. B,” I whined. “I didn’t do it! I swear! Tommy’s my friend!” Straight faced and pleading I looked Tommy right in the eye. “My first day you were one of the first people to be nice to me. We climbed up on the tunnel together, remember? You’re my best friend!” I saw the doubt take root in Tommy’s mind. I saw him second guessing himself and questioning his own memory. “I..I..I..I..” he stuttered. Real bullies aren’t the nasty thugs you grew up watching on T.V. who pound you up against your locker and demand your lunch money. Those idiots get weeded out quickly. Real bullies are abusive in different ways. They aren’t outright mean all the time. They’ll buy your forgiveness again and again and again even as they continue to find ways to hurt you. They use societal norms and implied threats against you to give themselves plausible deniability. They pretend they’re offering you chocolates or are just following the letter of the law. “I thought you said a bug bit you,” I said. “I did,” Tommy got defensive. “But then you flicked me again. And you’ve been flicking all day. In my most reasonable tone I flicked the air in front of my face. “You mean this?” “YES!” “It makes me feel good. How am I hurting you by snapping my fingers to myself? I don’t complain about the crinkle when you rock in your seat.” Pressed for time and with nine people staring him down- eleven if you counted the teachers- Tommy started shaking. “I…I…I…” he stuttered. “Clark…” If the Little causing this drama had been anyone but me they wouldn’t have gotten away with it. No chance. Beouf would have picked them up and carried them to lunch on her hip. Problem solved. Littles in a squabble separated. “Can we go now?” Chaz called from his cheap umbrella stroller. “I’m hungry!” I ignored them as though this insignificant spat was the center of my universe. “Mrs. B. I swear! I didn’t do it! Keep your hands to yourself is a big super important rule! And Tommy is my friend?” With all that I could read behind Beouf’s glasses, I felt like I had super powers. I saw her reliving ten years of friendships and wrestling with her own training. Ten years of being each other’s confidants wrestling against a lifetime of cultural propaganda. The giantess broke eye contact and looked up at the clock. We weren’t late…yet. She still had time to wrestle with herself. “It’s okay,” I said straight to Tommy’s unblinking eyes. “I forgive you for the misunderstanding. You’re still my friend.” I held out my hand offering it out as some sort of symbolic gesture of peace. Meekly, Tommy took it and shook. He turned around away from me and cuddled his stuffie. Grasping Lion to my chest I gave two quick little thumping snaps as I flicked the air again. The way Tommy tensed up was completely and utterly gratifying. “Clark…” “Yes ma’am!” I said. “Sorry! Just nervous!” On the way over to the cafeteria, Beouf kept glancing back over her shoulder, not quite trusting herself. I kept my head on a swivel, like I always did, but made sure my hands were in plain sight every time. My eyes never left Tommy’s feet. Looking around was just more plausibility for what came next. With all the precision of a mosquito threading a needle, I stepped on the back heel of Tommy’s right sneaker. He stutter stumbled forward and away from me, almost bumping into Jesse in front of him. He didn’t even get a chance to protest before I blurted out, “Sorry Tommy! Sorry! Sorry!” “It’s okay…” he grumbled, not even believing himself from the sound of it. “Clark!” Beouf let out a warning bellow. Beginning of the week and I was already getting so many more warnings than I legitimately deserved. Bullies are more than master manipulators of their peers and subordinates, but their superiors too. This early in the week and Beouf was picking her battles. Janet would hear about this for sure. I could live with that. “I said I was sorry!” I insisted. “It was an accident!” My own bullshit pleas were cut off by the overhead blow fan and the wails of the cafeteria. Obviously, Tommy and I were seated at different tables, much to his visible relief. We got buckled into opposite ends of the leash on the way back, too. “What’s with you and Tommy today?” Billy asked behind the tree at recess. “You’ve been bugging him all day.” I sat with my friends, Lion between my legs. “A few bumps in line doesn’t count as all day,” I said. “Yeah,” Chaz said. “But you’re doing it on purpose. I can tell.” “Oh?” Chaz rolled from the seated position to all fours. “Yeah. I saw you do it in Circle Time. You just walked up and flicked him and kept going.” Absentmindedly, I petted Lion’s hair. “I’ve got my reasons.” I stood up; something Chaz could no longer do without help. “Like what?” Chaz asked. “You’ll see,” I said. “Just trust me.” I didn’t wait for Chaz to reply. “I just thought of a new game. Wanna come play it with me?” I spoke directly to Annie and Billy, barely looking at Chaz. The pair cast doubtful glances at one another and back to their crawling third wheel. “It’ll bug Beouf,” I promised. That was enough. “Okay,” they said. “How do you play?” Chaz asked. “See how we’re all covered up?” I asked. “Perfect for battle tag.” I took their silence as consent to go on. “It’s like regular tag but instead of tagging it’s okay to give somebody a little push.” The shove I gave Annie’s shoulder was gentle. “Or a smack!” The muted thud against Billy’s back would have stung like anything if he’d had a sunburn. “Okay…” Billy was getting on board. Annie wasn’t. “But why?” “So that it’s more convincing when we fall down,” I said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “In regular tag, you tag somebody and they stop and then start chasing you right back. It sucks.” “Tag backs are the worst,” Annie nodded. “In battle tag, when you get tagged you die and then you’re it.” I got no reaction. I was trying to teach algebra to sharks. “Billy, tag me. Clothes only. No fa-” As hard as I’d thudded Billy, the son of a bitch thudded me back harder. It was no Amazon spanking but I felt it. “OOOOOOH!” I called out. “YOU GOT ME!” I threw myself straight to the ground and started flopping like a fish. “OH AGONY! AGONY! GAAAAAH!” I took a deep breath and went limp. “Dead.” “Clark?” In my exuberance, I’d flopped out and made a hell of a lot more noise than I usually did this time of the day. Beouf was standing up from the bench. “Are you okay, buddy?” I jumped up like an acrobat and spread my arms out in a kind of ‘ta-da’ pose like I was a birthday party magician who’d just done some sort of lame trick. “I’m fine, ma’am!” I hollered back; my voice loud but calm. “We’re just playing a game!” Beouf adjusted her glasses and sat back down. “Okay…” I turned to face my posse. “And now I’m it. Any questions?” “I get it,” Billy said. “Make it look more dangerous and give the grown-...” he stopped himself and corrected. “We make Beouf worry about us.” “Sure,” I said. “It’s all about toeing the line of horseplay. That and it’s a good excuse to get clothes dirty.” I received some appreciative nods. “And the more people we get in on it, the harder it’ll be to stop.” I was completely ignoring the data of my first Why Day and using peer pressure as a selling point. “Even Ivy?” Annie asked. “Especially Ivy. She’s our plausible deniability.” I told them. I took a few tentative steps and motioned for them to follow. “Come on, let’s play!” “How is this more mature or adult or whatever?” Chaz broke in. “Or are we not doing that anymore?” My nostrils flared. “You’ll see.” “What am I supposed to do?” Chaz said. “I can’t run.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as if I was summoning monumental patience. “You can watch the stuffies. I pointed to our cotton boned menagerie. “Make sure they don’t get stepped on while we’re playing.” “That doesn’t sound very fun,” a hint of a pout was starting to form on his mug. I scowled and scoffed. “Fun? This isn’t for fun. This is for agitating Amazons. Do you really think I want to play a dumb baby game if it didn’t mess with Beouf and Zoge?” “Yeah,” Billy chuckled. “Clark just being Clark.” I preferred ‘Gibson’, but I’d take it. “But what am I supposed to do?” Chaz repeated himself. “How can I help? I wanna help, too!” “Get other people to play,” Annie offered. “Call them over and talk to them. They’ll listen to you.” “Yeah,” I rubbed salt in the wound. “You’re the youngest. No way will they think you’re tricking them into fucking with the rules.” The little shit turned his nose up and sniffed. “Fine. I’m in.” “Who’s it?” Annie asked. I grinned maniacally. “Five…four…three…” They took off across our tiny playground. “Two…one…” Sparing one last glance at Chaz I told him, “watch Beouf and Zoge like a hawk. They won’t suspect you either.” That made Chaz perk up a bit. I couldn’t burn that bridge completely. Chaz just needed to know his place. “Okay. Deal! Go go go!” I darted out from behind the tree and started chasing Annie and Billy. Billy was taller than me and more naturally athletic, the Monkeez wasn’t doing wonders for my stride either. Annie was the safer choice. “I’m gonna get you!” I called. “Nuh-uh!” she called back. We were being loud on purpose. Loudness attracted attention and potential players. “Get ready to die!” “You wish!” I huffed and puffed until I finally, just barely nudged into Annie. “Gotcha!” She’d only been barely poked, but Annie went down like a bribed prize fighter. “OOOH! YOU GOT ME! AGONY! PAIN! SO MUCH PAAAAAAIN!” “Annie…?” Zoge called out. My cohort raised her head. “I’m fine! It’s just pretend!” “Okay…” It was the sound of a caregiver’s doubt that had yet to fully manifest. “Just be careful.” “I will!” She took a deep breath and continued. “AGONY! PAIN! MY SPLEEN! MY THORAX! OOOOH MY THORAX! Dead.” I was close enough to see her tongue flop out of her mouth. Mandy trotted out from the concrete crawling tunnel. “Annie, are you okay?” “Yeah. I’m dead,” she said. “Oh cool. Can I be dead too?” “Only if you get tagged,” I said. “Go to Chaz, he’ll explain the rules.” “Kay-kay!” Approximately ninety seconds later, Mandy was in the game and was the next to get tagged. .“OH NO!” She found a spot of especially worn grass and was all but making dirt angels. “DEEEEEEAD DEATH DEATH DEATH DEATH! Grah.” The death rattle was accompanied by delighted morbid giggles. “Hey, Tommy!” I called out. “Wanna play battle tag?” I must have given something away in my posture. Tommy stayed firmly where he was on teeter totter. Too bad for him Jesse wanted to play, too, leaving him stranded. The game went on. “Ivy’s playing!” Chaz called through cup hands. “Look out!” I made sure to get hit. It didn’t hurt, but that was because I made sure to roll with it. The poor mindfucked doll literally didn’t know her own strength. “Ivy! Too hard!” Beouf scolded. “Do you need to sit down?” “No ma’am.” Ivy said, extremely contrite. “I’m sorry, Clark.” I did Ivy a favor by going over the top with my ‘death’. I started convulsing on the ground, just flapping my cheeks and rolling around in a lop sided circle. I looked like I was having a seizure. I stopped, lifted my head, and said. “You’re fine, Ivy.” I flopped back down. “Dead.” “Clark’s it again!” I climbed to my feet and brushed myself off. I was tired, winded, and honestly too into the game to have it fulfill its original purpose. Speaking of original purpose, I saw Tommy playing on the balance beam, one foot in front of the other, away from the action pretending he was dancing on a high wire or something. “Time out!” I yelled, making a T with my hands. “Time out!” I jerked my head and Billy jogged up to me. “What’s up?” “Let me tag you,” I whispered. He snorted. “No way.” “Come on. You’re the only one who can tag Ivy back for me. I’m tired.” Billy smirked. “She’ll kill me. I’ll bounce right off of her.” “And if she does she’ll get in trouble. Just don’t whack her and you’ll be fine.” My crony held out his hand. “Fine. But only because you decided to be cool today.” I tagged him. He convulsed and did a somersault. “Billy’s it!” I screamed. “Scatter!” I pulled my hoodie up, making me look like a cherry red teddy bear. It also cut off my peripheral vision. More plausible deniability for me. As was tradition, everyone scattered the moment Billy hopped back up to his feet. Half a dozen Littles all scurrying around the same tiny playground. It’s a lot to keep track of. And I wasn’t it… I charged straight for the balance beam. Boundaries hadn’t been established, but it was safe to say that the actual playground equipment was decidedly out of bounds. “Billy’s it!” I yelled. “Billy’s it!” I pretended to look over my shoulder. “Billy’s it! Billy’s it!” I course corrected. “Billy’s it! BILLY’S IT!” One…two… “BILL-” I plowed directly into Tommy knocking him to the ground with me pretending to trip as an excuse to land right on top of him. I felt the meaty thump and heard the pained gasp as Tommy got the wind knocked out of him. I lifted myself into a pushup position. “Tommy!” I whispered, sounding surprised. “Dude are you okay?” “Clark! Tommy!” Both Beouf and Zoge had managed to see the spill. Damn. Not surprising, but damn. Hopefully. “I am so sorry!” I said, rolling off of him and stepping away like he was made of brittle porcelain. “What the fu-?” Tommy cut himself off. Either that or he didn’t have enough wind in him to finish the swear. The loose ground practically shook at the teachers’ approach. A pair of giant arms lifted us off the ground and turned us over, checking for scratches and bruises. “Are you okay? What happened? Does anything hurt?” A river of false apologies shot out from me. “TommyI’msosorryIdidn’tmeantoIwasrunningawayfromBillycausehewasitandIwasn’tlookingwhereIwasgoingareyouokayIhopeIdidn’thurtyou.” “Tommy are you okay?” Beouf asked. My target was a few pants away from crying, I could tell, but he held it in like a champ. “Yeah,” he choked out. “Just…surprised.” I repeated my entire apology again. Much slower but with just as many lies. “I think that’s enough tag for now,” Zoge said. “Battle Tag,” I corrected. “It’s called battle tag.” “That’s enough Battle Tag.” I sat down on the balance beam and looked Tommy dead in the eyes. “I’m sorry,” I fake apologized. “It’s okay.” I don’t know that either of us meant it. He probably did. “I swear it was an accident.” “Okay.” “We’re going to get ready to go back inside and get ready to go home in just a couple minutes,” Beouf said. “Yes ma’am,” Tommy and I said in unison. You might be wondering why I decided to pick on Tommy that day and the days that followed. Did I have a grand master plan? Some way to reunite and empower the A.L.L. and strike back at the Amazons through reverse psychology? Was I helping Tommy in some way? Toughening him up to keep him from regressing? Getting vengeance for some unseen slight perhaps? Yes. Exactly. Those were precisely the kind of excuses I gave to Chaz, Billy, and Annie the next day. They bought it too; even supplied answers I didn’t have on accident. Of course I was showing them how they could run interference for each other and act as distractions. Of course Tommy, who was so close to us yet so far away was in danger of losing himself unless he remembered what it was like to be a grown-ass man instead of a toddler boy. Of course I planned on giving Zoge and Beouf a thousand tiny heart attacks with plain reckless behavior. Of course. Really though? The unabashed truth was that I needed another win, and I was all out of wins against Amazons. So I took a day off. Played the game on easy mode. I picked Tommy because he was nice and considerate and empathetic and patient but didn’t have the support system to back him up like some of the others did. I needed a win. Tommy sat down and panted next to me, seeming exhausted. Poor, innocent, trusting Tommy. In some ways more naive than even Ivy. I waited till the teachers were more than halfway across the playground and back to their bench. I steadied myself, counted their steps. Annie ran up and tugged on Beouf’s pantleg, leaving less chance that she’d turn around. Billy did the same for Zoge. Then with practiced ease I reached out and- FLICK! “Ow! Clark! What the fuck?!” Same ear. Same spot. I was three for three. I blinked away pretend confusion. “Hm?”

Yes. It's been a while, but it's been finished for years. Fucking gross.

Fantastic job writing from an A.I.'s point of view and using sensory data (or lack thereof) to describe a scene. Incredibly clever. This story deserves so much attention.

Is there a reason you quoted this?

Chapter 74: Lack of Progress Report Janet was grinning like an idiot all the way home after school that Friday. On one hand, this was unsurprising. Beginning of the weekend meant she had more time to obsessively try to be ‘Mommy’ with me. Just being around me and holding me in her lap seemed to recharge her batteries. For my part, I dozed in the car seat somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Such a shit week. Everything was falling apart in the worst ways. It was like the old saying: A Little plans and gods laugh. I’d been relatively ‘good’ that day and spent most of it half-awake inside my own head, daydreaming what awful ways I could hurt the giants in my life. I’d barely noticed when Beouf handed a stack of envelopes to the Littles’ bus driver that afternoon, eliciting promises to hand them off to their parents. How to repeat my early successes of catching them off guard and making them as uncomfortable as possible? How to use their own rules against them without them adapting? How could I Gibson things up a notch? I didn’t know. I really didn’t. Somehow, that Friday, I’d felt more alone than I had on Monday. Perhaps it was because of the sailor onesie Janet had dressed me in that morning. White with navy blue pinstripes, and a matching collar and a fake dress try stitched in it was like what I’d worn on my first day, but worse. Zoge, of course, felt compelled to gush about it. On second thought, ‘alone’ wasn’t a good word for how I felt. Beyond bedtime, I was never really alone. Chances are I wouldn’t be ‘alone’ this weekend, either. No doubt Janet would be projecting perceived ‘jealousy’ onto me and use that as a pretense for spending every waking moment possible with me. At least she was leaving me alone in the car. Just reliving what I’d done to myself, right in front of her and that douche Mark made me shift uncomfortably “Poopin’?” I opened my eyes. “No!” “Okie dokie. I’ll check when we get home, just in case.” She didn’t even comment beyond “dry” a few minutes later. But why would she? “Janet, can I please get this onesie off?” I asked as soon as I was out of the car and in her arms. She took us from the driveway through the front door and straight into the living room. “Sure. You can toddle and crawl around in just your diaper.” She sat down on the couch and shifted me over to her lap with one hand while she pulled something out of her purse with the other. “But first, look what I got!” A manilla envelope full to nearly bursting was clasped in her free hand. At the speed of thought, at least a dozen semi-hopeful scenarios blitzed in my brain. They came to a screeching halt when I saw the Oakshire Elementary insignia stamped on it. “What is that?” Janet squeezed me tight with her other arm. “It’s your progress report! Mrs. Beouf handed it to me this morning. I thought we could read it together.” Immediately, I tensed up to the point where I could hear my heartbeat faintly thumping in my ears. Fuck. I knew this day was coming, but I’d thought I had at least another week. No such luck. Progress Reports: The not quite report card given halfway between reporting periods. For most students (and their parents), progress reports are either warnings or reinforcers. The student is doing great! Keep going to maintain that A average! The student is slipping. Best dig in and make sure that that C doesn’t slip further. The student has eight missing assignments and an F. Conference requested! Beyond the fact that report cards were more ‘permanent’, there wasn’t much difference. To people who were either too young or treated as too young to the point where graduating to the next grade wasn’t really a concern, there was no difference. My three and four year olds didn’t see the difference; one way or another they would eventually go to Kindergarten. I hadn’t given much thought to it, either. It’s not like I’d get to ‘graduate’. Professional courtesy would likely keep me in Beouf’s room even after they’d figured out how to soften me up for a ‘regular’ daycare. The other thing I hadn’t thought of, was that progress reports and report cards were the perfect place for Skinner, Sosa, Winters to add in any kind of comments in my therapy notes alongside Beouf’s analysis. Teachers sent reports home at the end of the week to give them time to avoid the hot wrath of a potentially angry parent completely incredulous that their perfect angel might be something other than the epitome of academic excellence. As a student, I now had two days in isolation with a Mommy who would be reading about all of the naughty, bratty things I’d been up to behind her back. Bend my life over and fuck it sideways. “Let’s see, let’s see,” Janet said, pulling the envelope open. My jaw all but unhinged looking at the massive stack. I held my breath. How much could these vindictive assholes possibly write about me? She peeled a stack of brightly colored construction paper and worksheets off the bottom of the stack. Evidently, Beouf and company sent home school work and other classroom artifacts with the report. “For the fridge.” I exhaled. The tremendous stack of papers was whittled down to a scant five. Stupidly, I expected there to be something resembling a grid like a normal progress report: Subject; Percentile; Letter Grade; Behavior comments coded by a numbered list; that sort of thing. Of course there wasn’t that. That format started in Kindergarten. I was considered beneath that;. beneath even my old classroom. Instead of hard and fast grades and assignment listing I got qualitative diagnoses from almost every Amazon that had interacted with me since I got put back in diapers. Janet pulled up the first page. “Let’s read this together.” She cleared her throat. “Speech and Language. Based on observations in the classroom and therapy settings Clark is having difficulty marking the distinction between speaking to adults and speaking with children. He has difficulty maintaining impulse control and taking turns talking with teachers and classmates, often interrupting before a speaker is finished.” I cringed. Skinner was using my tendency to backsass as justification. “While he is capable of advocating for himself by expressing displeasure for non-preferred activities,” Janet continued reading, “he remains unable to vocalize or express needs or desires for preferred activities.” That was because I didn’t have preferred activities. The less babyish of two options was still babyish. “Clark has demonstrated the ability to communicate effectively at times when given heavy prompting and structure, especially with a preferred peer or a stuffed animal, but shows gaps in vocabulary such as labeling animals and animal sounds.” “WHAT?!” I shrieked. That bitch! That vindictive bitch! I overturned one measly lesson on animal sounds, and she was playing it off like I did so out of ignorance instead of disgust! How dare she? “WHAT?!” “That’s what it says here,” Janet tapped the paper before putting it aside. She gave me a kiss on the top of my head. “It’s okay. It’s not saying you’re bad, just that you need work on some things. You didn’t tell me about the animal sounds. Do you want to practice that some this weekend?” “Janet! No!” “Okay…” That hesitance was how I knew I’d be spending tomorrow proving that I could imitate barnyard noises. She picked up the second piece from the group and examined it. Sosa’s analysis was so brief that even with it held at an odd angle above my head, I’d read the whole thing before Janet started talking. “Occupational Therapy. Clark is currently progressing on using scissors to cut lines with a quarter inch accuracy. He is easily frustrated and is working on building up endurance, using both hands for tasks which require them, and asking for adult assistance when needed.” Janet nodded. “That’s not so bad! Good job!” It wasn’t so bad, and in a way that made it worse. I wasn’t surprised that Sosa mentioned my difficulty with the rigged scissors. With how brief it was, I just knew that she was holding back. Ever the ‘professional’, she couldn’t find a way that would address how much I’d pissed her off and still directly address the bullshit propaganda that was my I.E.P. goals. It was Sosa’s way to let other people talk themselves into a trap, anyways. “Physical Therapy,” Janet read. “Oooooh!” “What?” I said. “What?” Janet lowered the paper down to my eye level. “Read it yourself.” I did and the blood froze in my veins. “Clark is such a sweet boy and a pleasure to have in physical therapy,” I read aloud. “He is very talkative and eager to please, but it does not detract from his sessions where he is an active participant.” Oh no. “He has shown great comfort and natural skill in lowering to all fours…” I paused and gulped. “And using reciprocal crawling to reach desired locations and modifying it to carry preferred items with him as he continues to crawl around the room.” Janet bounced me in her lap and clapped. “Yaaaay! You’re doing super good for Miss Winters. Need to ask her what she’s doing right.” This was the downside to trying to manipulate an Amazon by buttering them up. Any positive interaction could be viewed through the lens of acceptance. I wanted to slide off her lap and onto the floor so I could properly die right then and there. Janet’s python-like embrace kept me in place. “You missed the last part, though.” “He also enjoys sitting on the level swing and jumping on the trampoline as a reward for completed tasks? I! Do! Not!” Another squeeze at my chest. Another peck on the top of my head. Another batch of cooing nonsense. “It’s okay baby boy. No need to be embarrassed.” Embarrassed didn’t even cover it. Frustrated was more like it. Outraged! It didn’t stop my cheeks from flushing crimson. “Independent Functioning,” Janet said. “Oh. Mrs. Beouf must have written this one.” I shut my eyes and sighed. “Probably.” “Clark has shown a tendency to self-soothe,” Janet read, “often sucking a pacifier or his fingers as well as cuddling with a stuffed animal as a means of calming himself when he is feeling anxious. He shows a high level of engagement during these periods.” My face fell a little more. “He can successfully use a visual schedule and check it independently to move to his next center in class.” Of course I could. I was thirty-two, not two! “He benefits greatly from routine and even slight changes to it can cause him to become distressed when forced to adapt to new situations.” I started trying to rub my temples. This was bad. This was really bad. “He has difficulty working independently during centers and often requires extensive redirection and prompting to remain on task; but has learned to work with peers to successfully complete tasks.” I wanted to vomit. My stomach must have already digested the slop we’d had for lunch. Otherwise I would have puked everything out. “Regarding toileting, Clark will often sit in a wet or messy diaper unless checked and changed by a caregiver. He shows no interest in the toilet or the state of his diaper except as an escape behavior to avoid a non-preferred activity or if he is feeling anxious about his Maturosis; sometimes claiming that he is potty trained when he is wet or that he is messy when he is clean.” My spirits sank even deeper as Janet moved onto the last bit of the report. “Socio/Emotional. Clark demonstrates a resistance to accepting assistance, but is forming friendships with classmates closer to his current developmental level. He has disrupted some classes by distracting classmates or behaving inappropriately. He often exhibits infantile attention seeking behavior, especially when given the freedom to do so.” “No,” I said. Janet kept reading. “Communication is a notable area of concern, with all teachers, aides, and therapists in agreement that Clark sees it as a tool to pull attention to himself at the expense of others, rather than socializing. He understands his own strength and does not engage in physical confrontation with classmates, which is a positive.” “No, no.” I wanted to scream, but my protests were barely coming out above a whisper. “Clark shows a great deal of anxiety regarding his Maturosis diagnosis, yet still demonstrates developmentally appropriate behaviors such as pretend play, self-soothing with a pacifier or sucking on his thumb, wearing and using diapers, and playing children’s games with peers. However when this is pointed out to him he shows embarrassment, causing him to withdraw or lash out.” I was wiggling in her lap trying to rip the paper from her grip. She kept my arms pinned. “No, no, no!” “If overwhelmed, Clark is most likely to verbally lash out and attempt to hurt others feelings. When he does this, he is removed from whatever activity he is engaged in and given time and space to reflect upon his words and actions as well as allow his emotions to calm down.” “Please…” I begged. “ Depending on the intensity, Clark will begin crying and withdraw into himself for prolonged periods of time, wherein it becomes necessary to remove him further and allow him to rest away from the class in the nap room.” “Please stop…” “Almost done, honey,” Janet told me. She continued reading, “It should be noted and emphasized that he is not a danger to himself or others during this time. Given his background and the events directly surrounding his diagnosis, his behavior is not entirely unexpected. Based on the above observations, given enough time and accommodations it is likely that Clark will become a happy, well-adjusted, model member of the class. We are lucky to have him as part of our classroom family.” Janet’s sigh sounded relief. “Sounds like they know you, kiddo.” If I lashed out and acted a terror, it got written off as a childish lack of impulse control or not knowing social norms. If I called them on their bullshit, it didn’t get mentioned at all. If I manipulated them and sweet talked, I was a happy baby. And literally every single thing that I’d done in Beouf’s classroom had been twisted around in some way or another to fit their preconceived narrative. Compliance was acceptance; non-compliance was just being fussy; malicious compliance was misunderstanding. My ex-coworkers had been harassed, hassled, and in some cases outright overwhelmed and outwitted by me for a month. They’d seen any number of examples that I was fundamentally still their equal, but they only chose to remember and interpret the events that fit into their narrative. Typical. I shouldn’t have been surprised. I wasn’t, really. Calling it typical didn’t dull what I was feeling, however. Wet drops started dotting my cheeks. When? When did I start crying again? I was supposed to be out of tears. Quietly, I heard myself say, “It’s not fair. It’s just not...fair.” Janet pivoted me around and put me over her shoulder. “You don’t have to be upset, Clark.” She started rubbing my back. “You’re not in trouble. I expected this for your first progress report. I think you did a pretty good job! And it’s obvious that they know you and adore you. I know I do!” “I...I…I...” “Yes?” “I...hate…” Janet kept gently massaging me. “I know. That’s okay. You can be in your feelings.” Just when I thought I was at my lowest, I found a new depth. “I’d like to go to bed now.” “Okay,” Janet said. The hallway started passing by on the way to my nursery. “You do look tired. Are you having trouble getting to sleep at night?” “No…” “Mmmhmmm.” The mattress rushed up to greet my back. Janet’s fingers probed to see that I was still dry. “I’ll check up on you in an hour or two and see about dinner.” She left me there, laying in the crib and closed the door. I looked up at a mobile and scolded myself for my own foolishness. I always talked a big game but constantly lacked the follow through. On some level, I kept treating my ex-coworkers like they were associates, when they didn’t give me the same courtesy. For one reason or another, I was using past relationships instead of abusing them; as though they were giving me the same consideration. That was my problem. Too scared. Too concerned about other people’s feelings. Too...nice. Something about that would have to change. I’m not proud of the times that followed... (End of Part 6)

Chapter 31 Paradigm Shifts Tommy stood there, arms over his chest. ‘Stood’ was perhaps a poor choice of words, considering that the boy was hovering several feet off the ground. Yet it was his emotions and mental state that stood firm. He wasn’t a hummingbird, furiously flapping his wings to keep airborne. He was Peter Pan goading Captain Hook into a fight before Wendy Darling had walked the plank. No. Not serious enough. Peter Pan was always whimsical and having fun. Despite his childish clothes, and even more childish underwear drooping slightly between his thighs, Tommy didn’t feel particularly whimsical in the moment. He was Superman staring down Lex Luther right before Lois Lane was thrown off a skyscraper. Tommy was an Archangel bringing down the wrath of God. “I’ll ask you again, Nox: What do you think you’re doing with my big sister?” Each word came out neatly spaced out from the last so that every syllable was crisp and laced with menace. “Friend Tommy!” The smile on the centaur’s face was big and toothy, yet did little to mask the surprise and panic in his eyes. He was caught red handed. Nox was somebody’s dad in a Santa Suit caught placing gifts under the Christmas Tree. Or rather he was the Grinch caught in the middle of his first heist. Unlike the Grinch, the centaur wasn’t nearly as good or quick a liar. “How much of that did you hear?” Tommy let loose an angry snort through his nose. Maybe it was his imagination, but he swore puffs of smoke exited his nostrils. Then again, he’d just solved the great Quest of the Dragon; magical flight had been promised and delivered. Fire might’ve been part of the package too. “I heard enough.” He’d seen enough too. As soon as he’d been able to giggle himself skyward, Tommy had started flying over the landscape. It had been glorious! Delightful! He’d been able to leap great distances before, but this was even grander! Even as Tom the Titan, young master Dean had still felt gravity’s great pull on his person. The moment he’d solved the riddle, that pull became a nudge. The tiger pinning him down became a kitten napping on his ap. He could allow himself to be pinned and confined to a single plane of movement; much in the way that someone with a cat was loathe to move lest they disturb the bundle of purring fur. But with just a thought and the slightest bit of effort, he could stand up and carry it with him. Flight made gravity like walking around with a kitten. He’d been so thrilled that he’d started scouring Malacus’s landscape; retracing his steps from the clouds. He’d HAVE to show off! Nanny, or Leadshoulder, or Nox; they’d be so proud of him! It was the centaur that he’d found. Nox, and a drugged and diapered version of Katlynn. Tommy’s eyes gave a quick glance over to Katlynn. No pointy elf ears, or squat stretched out dwarf face. It was her alright. The real her. Ew… For lack of better verbiage, Tommy realized, he’d just ‘walked’ in on his sister masturbating in a diaper, sucking on her thumb, and all but begging for more. Being his sister, that was gross. The fact that she was in a baby jumper and sucking on her thumb, cumming into a wet diaper...ridiculous looking to say the least. That’s likely what Tommy looked like from the outside though… Even though he himself was padded and wet, that realization caused enough cognitive dissonance for Tommy to grow up right then and there. In that moment, he’d ceased to be a little boy in play clothes, and started feeling grown-up in a silly costume. And silly costume or not, he had to do the right thing and protect his sister. She was in no state to protect herself just then. The fact that a fantasy creature bearing a striking resemblance to his old math teacher only fueled his rage. Major creeper vibes. “M’friend,” Nox stuttered. “If you’ll just listen, there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for...for...thi-” “I don’t think there is,” Tommy said. “I don’t think there is at all.” “TOMMY?!” Katlynn shrieked out. Her face flushed, and she covered it with her hands as if that might actually do something. Such an infantile, babyish response. “I didn’t mean to. I mean, I did. Just my friends were here, only they weren’t really, and then I drank some milk and peed my diapeee...diapers...and apples...and I like it except I don’t and...and…” she burst into tears. “I’M SO FUCKING CONFUSED!” This wasn’t the Katlynn he’d grown up with. His big sister, his twin, only two minutes older wasn’t some helpless moaning baby. Some dumb thumbsucker begging for pony rides. She was the responsible one. The one who kept her cool, the one who razzed him while still trying her best to look out for him. However, Tommy knew this wasn’t an illusion either. This wasn’t one of Malacus’s tricks; some strange copy and paste of the real world onto grandiose fantasies. Tommy had traveled enough between the two worlds already to realize the difference. The way Katlynn, moved her head when she talked, the way she grimaced while still trying to hide her embarrassment and discomfort. The look of disbelieving recognition in her eyes when they’d made contact with his. Malacus couldn’t fake that. Nothing could. That could only mean that this was Katlynn, his Katlynn, and that she was in trouble. Before wandering into the clock, Tommy remembered not having many friends or connections, but he’d always had his sister. Since highschool bullying had evolved from scraps on the playground to subtle social mind games, exclusion, and mockery, there was little Katlynn had been able to do for Tommy beyond being a shoulder to cry on. She’d been powerless to help him any other way, but she was the only person in his life that would’ve helped had she been able. Here, Tommy wasn’t powerless. And his sister clearly needed help. Only one thing to do then. Sniffling, Katlynn peeled her hands away from her face. “This isn’t a dream, is it?” Tommy softened a bit. “No, sis. It’s not.” “And you haven’t always been in Pull-Ups, have you?” Tommy fought off a blush. “No.” He wasn’t in Pull-Ups just then either, but she didn’t need to know that. Had adrenaline not been starting to course through his veins, Tommy might have thought the choice of Pull-Ups to be an odd one. He wore thick cloth trainers in the day and disposable goodnites for bed. Pull-Ups;though a step up in maturity to the bulky crinkling mass between his legs; had never been a thing. “Friend Tommy!” Nox called out. “Clearly this is all some sort of misundersta-!” Tommy didn’t wait for the centaur to finish blathering. Faster than a bird, or a plane, or even a certain red caped man of steel, Tommy swooped down and lifted Katlynn out of the jumper. Their size difference meant that he could only hold her by her wrists as she dangled like a trapeze artist. “TOMMY!” “Believe me boy, when I say this. “You’re making a mistake!” Tommy clenched his teeth and measured his breath as best he could. His own body might be able to defy gravity, but Katlynn’s was still very much under its pull. She wasn’t heavy for her age; underfed if anything; but she was still another human being. “I don’t...think so…” Tommy said. Inwardly, he was a little sad that he couldn’t sound tougher; more badass. Still, he was resolute. “I don’t...think...we’ll be coming back, Nox.” Katlynn seemed to be coming back to herself as well. “Screw you, horse teacher freak!” As if to accentuate the point, her very full and abused diaper chose that moment to slip off her hips, slide down to her ankles and dangle precariously from her big toe by the leg guard. It only took a single flick of her ankle to send it plummeting down onto the centaur’s head. Good enough. Tommy chose that moment to take his sister away from all this crazy. Up, up, up, and away into the sky, faster than any natural creature could fly. “WHERE ARE WE GOING?!” Katlynn shrieked over the wind. “BACK...TO THE TURTLE!” Tommy grunted out, being careful to adjust and readjust his grip so as not to send his twin plummeting to her doom. “IT’S THE ONLY...WAY OUT!” “TOMMY?” “YEAH…?” “WHAT JUST HAPPENED?” “WE’LL TALK ABOUT IT WHEN WE GET HOME!” They didn’t, though, though not for lack of one of them trying. One of them just simply didn’t have the inclination (some might say ability) for such a conversation. *************************************************************************************************** Katy woke up in her bedroom the next morning; as bright pink as the day her mother had moved her into it. There came a time when boys and girls should have their own room and space she’d been told; even when they’d been so used to sharing everything, including a womb. Katy was starting to grow up, her mother had told her, even if Tommy wasn’t. Despite being twins, Tommy was something of a late bloomer, it seemed. (Neither Katy nor her mother had realized just how much of an understatement that had been at the time). That meant that she should get her own room. Her own room meant she could have the walls painted whatever color she wanted, Mom told her. So of course she’d chosen pink. She’d never quite grown out of the color, and had no compunctions about starting now. Roses were pink. Who wouldn’t want to be a rose? With a yawn chasing away the last bits of sleep, Katy peeled back her comforter and rolled out of bed. As soon as her feet hit the floor, she felt the weight of the soggy nighttime Pull-Up dangling off her hips. She was wet. She knew she was wet. Of course she was wet. She’d wet her Pull-Up before she masturbated and drifted off to sleep. It was just a shame that she couldn’t make herself wet the bed like a real babies, her aching bladder reminded her as much. Experimentally she looked down past her waist and poked her crotch. The stars had faded, and now Buzz Lightyear stood alone. Even though the pulp had absorbed everything it could, Katy still felt like there was liquid sloshing around in her panties. Gingerly, she ran her hand over her bedspread, feeling for wetness. Thankfully, the leakguards had succeeded where the absorbent core had failed. Still sucked, though. If she let loose again, the Pull-Up would definitely leak. Unlike most everything else in her room, the Pull-Up was blue. It made sense that it was blue, considering she’d stolen it from Tommy’s room. Tommy was allowed to wear Pull-Ups. He “needed” them. Katy felt like she needed them too, but in a much different way. Ever since Tommy was diagnosed with his “special condition”, Katy had been rushed to grow up. Mom didn’t need too overgrown babies in the house. All of that pressure took its toll on her. Sometimes it was hard to be the “big twin”. It was hard growing up next to someone, but still feeling alone and having to be older than she really was all the time to compensate for Tommy’s lack of development. It wasn’t his fault, she knew. Still, when things got too much for her, she’d often sneak into his room, slip out a Pull-Up, and squeeze into it just before bed. For reasons she’d never been able to explain, it felt “right”. She supposed she could buy her own Pull-Ups. Something cute and girly and pink. Maybe just maybe even order a sample or two of those adult baby diapers she’d read about online. But having her own diapers meant she’d have more to hide. More likely to get caught. Fewer excuses. Fewer people to blame. Naw. Blue could be a cute girly color, even if Buzz Lightyear wasn’t the most feminine decoration on the planet. Good enough for government work. Also, taking the odd diaper here and there felt right; almost like her little twin was paying her back, helping her out. And why would he mind? He didn’t have to pay for them and it’s not like he was getting out of them any time soon. The Pull-Ups were really just a formality because he was still just a little too big for proper diapers. Tommy was lucky to make it to the potty a few times a week, and that was only when Katy or Mom miraculously predicted when his bladder or bowels would let loose. He had nothing to do with it. Slipping on her pink pajama bottoms, Katy grabbed a bath towel and started walking to the bathroom, making sure to hum in case even a bit of the crinkle could still be heard. Closing the door behind her, she looked to the shower tub. Hypothetically, she thought, she could strip down to just her soggy not-diaper, pee again, and if anything leaked, it’d all be washed down the drain anyways. She thought about it, but decided against it. A leak would just depress her right now; remind her that she didn’t really fit into these things but could just barely squeeze into them. Not like Tommy. Ugh. She was jealous of her dumb brother who actually needed these things. How fucked up was that? With a final sigh she slipped the sarated night Pull-Up off and ditch it in the wastebasket. There it would with so many of its fallen brethren. Tommy almost always had a wet Pull-Up come bathtime what was one more? True, pee-soaked Buzz Lightyear needed to be balled up and ditched underneath a piss drowned Chase or Rubble from Paw Patrol, but Mom never noticed or questioned why one of Tommy’s night time Pull-Ups (extra absorbent) occasionally made it into the wastebasket alongside his daytime Pull-Ups. All the ones that Tommy woke up in just ended up in his very well used diaper genie. After relieving herself in the toilet, (an act that Katy offset by sucking on her thumb), she turned the water on and took the longest hottest shower she could, only hopping out after the water threatened to go from tepid to ice cold nearly an hour later. Something in the back of her brain told her that this was going to be a looooooooong day so she should enjoy this moment of private contemplation. Something else told her that most everything she was thinking and feeling since she’d woken up that morning was wrong; unnatural...not her true thoughts but something warped through a kaleidoscope of her true self. Katy breathed in the hot mist from the shower when she got those thoughts. The mist made everything better. Cleansed her. Renewed her. Made her feel clean even more so than the (initially) boiling water droplets that pounded her skin. Katy had learned not to listen to those shameful thoughts a long time ago. *************************************************************************************************** Tommy’s eyes opened with a pop. He was home! Of course he was home! He always ended up home after one of his visits to Malacus. Just like every time before he’d gone back the way he came, crawled into bed, and passed out. Something was different this time, though. What was it? Katlynn! Yes, of course it was Katlynn! Somehow, she’d ended up in Malacus too, but instead of getting the power fantasy and adventure that Tommy had always craved, Katlynn had been subjected to something much different. Different...yet not so dissimilar from places Tommy’s mind had been journeying too outside of Malacus. He’d gotten her out. Gotten her home. Promised to explain everything in the morning as he shuffled her off to her bed, and then passed out in his own. Now that the light of day was streaming into his window, Tommy sat up and looked around his room. Sitting up was easier thanks to the newly manifested bed railing. Not quite a crib, but definitely not a big boy bed. That was only the first change he noticed as he sat up. It wasn’t his room anymore. Not really. Stuffed animals littered a corner of the room that hadn’t been there before. Above his bed, a “Go! Diego! Go!” poster hung. Diego swung from a vine. Bye-bye Spider-Man. The floor to one side was littered with plastic and wooden toys, all looking like something a preschooler might play with. Wooden train tracks and plastic Paw Patrol Action figures dotted the carpet. Yesterday, the room might have belonged to at least a late elementary schooler. Today? Calling this a Kindergartners room would be generous. A very messy Kindergartener at that. “Messy” was a poor choice of words. Buzz Lightyear stared up at him from his crotch, saluting him for a job well done. The stars were gone, the not-quite diaper was completely soaked. Soaked, and if his bottom was telling him true, more than just that. “Pull-Ups” Tommy gasped. Just like Katlynn had said. How had she known before him? The door flung open and his mother came in. “Good morning, Tommy!” she all-but sang. “Did you sleep well?” She turned her back to him and opened up his dresser. The whitish-rectangular thing came from the drawer that contained his cloth trainers, but Tommy could hear the crinkle as soon as she grabbed it. Those weren’t training pants. “Mom?” Tommy asked, starting to get up. “What’s that?” A hand on his chest stopped him from getting up. “First thing’s first,” Mom said. “Lay down. It’s easier to clean you up if you’re laying down.” The force pushing against him made Tommy go horizontal again.. When did Mom get this strong?! Tommy’s eyes darted down to his chest. When did her hand get so big? The dots finally connected when his mother ripped open the sides of the Pull-Up. Tommy had shrunk again. His legs were pushed back into the air. “Looks like you poopied,” Mom stated the obvious. “Lots and lots of poopy.” Tommy could only stutter as his Mommy wiped his ass for him. Almost instinctively, he popped his thumb into his mouth and began to suck. Best not to talk while she worked. She rolled up the Pull-Up and pivoted to a diaper genie. “Let’s hope that’s all you have in you today.” Then as an afterthought, she added. “At least that doesn’t make it in the potty.” A tiny tinge of disappointment wormed its way through Tommy when the white thing brought over from his dresser ended up in his hands instead of slid directly under his bottom. “Here you go, bubby,” she said. “You can put on yourself, right?” Still naked from the waist down, Tommy sat up and looked at it. It was a Pull-Up, alright. Staring right back at him was a bulldog puppy in a yellow hardhat “Paw Patrol!” Mom let out a giggle at that. “Of course Paw Patrol. They’re your favorite, aren’t they?” “Uh-huh!” Tommy couldn’t believe that he was actually saying it, but those were the words that were leaving his mouth. He’d wanted these ever since he saw them in the grocery store that day! “Come on then!” Mom said. “Put them on! We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.” Looking at the Pull-Up in his hand, Tommy had another impulse he couldn’t quite control. He looked back up to his mother, so much bigger than he remembered. “Help?” Mom laughed a little, as if her eighteen year old son asking for help dressing was cute. “Fine,” she said. She took the disposable underwear from him, bent down and popped it open. “Step in.” Placing his hands on his Mommy’s shoulders for balance, Tommy stepped into the legholes of the waiting Pull-Up. First the right. Then the left. Mommy waited until both feet were planted firmly on the floor, then shimmy-shimmy-shimmied the crinkling padded underwear all the way up Tommy’s hips before letting them go with a snap. A giggle sneaked out of Tommy’s throat, and was rewarded with a smile and Mommy tussling his hair. It wasn’t quite as good as the feeling of having a fresh diaper taped on, but it was pretty close. “Come on,” Mom said, taking his hand. “Let’s get some breakfast.” Tommy looked down at his Rubble decorated Pull-Up. “What about pants?” “Pants later”, Mommy said. “Breakfast first.” No pants at the breakfast table, huh? That sounded just about right to Tommy.

It’s impossible for someone to know what they’ll do in a crisis. Some people train for months to years just so that muscle memory and practice will kick into place; let the body take over when all the mind wants to do is fight, flee, or freeze. No amount of practice can ever truly prepare a body for reacting to trauma. When blood enters the air, bones crack, or shots ring out; when death looms large and reminds you of its eternal presence: That’s when people find out which instincts in them are strongest, and no amount of training is going to be able to stop that instinct. It was a kind of bizarre, if infinitely small mercy that Kelly had no such training to fall back on. There was no lie that she could tell herself about what she should have done or already knew how to do; therefore she’d be able to lie to herself about what she could have done if only she had had the proper training. It’s funny in a sad way how the mind finds ways to compensate for disaster. When Roxy got hit by that car in the middle of the cross walk. She hadn’t braced for impact. The college sophomore had been looking at her phone, checking her Twitter feed and looking at Instagram photos of the latest goth-punk trends. No one expects to die, bored, hungry for lunch, and on their way to the bus stop after a lecture on the lifecycle of the cicada. Ironically enough, the frat boy who’d been too busy to notice the red light was probably doing something similar. The sickening thud as Kelly’s best friend was hit dead on, going heels over head over the roof and then landing with a splat on the concrete was accompanied by Kelly’s own panicked shrieks and the squealing of brakes. Outside of the natural kinetic slapping of flesh to steel to asphalt and of bones breaking and limbs being bent in ways that nature had never intended them to go, Roxy didn’t make a sound. The frat boy douche with the baby blue striped polo and the gelled up hair cut was out of his car and still clutching his phone, looking aghast like he literally couldn’t believe what he’d just done. Kelly couldn’t believe it either. If she hadn’t developed the habit of power walking through crosswalks and keeping her head on a swivel, even in their sleepy college town, she might have been laying there beside Roxy. What a pair of corpses that would have made. Kelly in her light blue t-shirt, jeans and sneakers, streaks of rainbow in her blonde hair. Roxy, her best friend with enough makeup to make the already pale girl seem like a silent movie corpse in black shorts, fishnets, and knee high boots. They’d met each other freshman year and had been oddly drawn into their differences in aesthetic rather than repelled. “Little Mary Sunshine” tinged with anger and her “Debbie Downer Goth” friend who still slept with a teddy bear. Yin and Yang. Roxy looked like even more of a corpse now. The blood pooling out from the back of her head added an ironic splash of color. Already, Kelly was imagining herself having to find something black for a funeral. It’s funny what the mind thinks about when it’s panicked; the bizarre and surreal thoughts that chemicals induce to try and manage heart rate and adrenaline and ward off oncoming grief. Overcome, Kelly cast aside an inevitable future and rushed to her friend’s side. “Roxy?!” Kelly shouted. “Roxy?! ROXY!” Her friend was unresponsive. Barely knowing CPR. Kelly shook Kelly’s shoulders, hoping for a response. Her best friend was stiff as the old CPR dummies from high school. Warmer though...for now. “Roxy! Say something!” she begged. Roxy didn’t move. Her eyes remained closed and Kelly’s mind flashed back to that morning back in fifth grade when she’d found her hamster was doing more than sleeping at the bottom of its cage. She couldn’t tell if Roxy was breathing. It’s very likely that she wasn’t... “HELP!” Kelly called out. “HEEEELP!” Why was no saying anything?! Why was no one else screaming or rushing over or getting on their phones to call 9-1-1? The hospital was just a few blocks away! There was still time to save Roxy! Still time to revive her! Still time... Still… Time… It’s altogether impossible to describe exactly what sensation Kelly felt in that moment. Humanity as long and often fantasized about sixth senses; often comparing them to the five most common to our fragile and temporary condition. ‘Hearing’ thoughts, ‘seeing’ the future, ‘smelling’ death on the wind. In actuality, such descriptions do a disservice to the experience of awakening. Comparing an uncommon sixth sense with the common five inherently limits the experience. It is not like a blind man gaining sight or a deaf one being able to hear. Those are experiences that are in the minority gaining something and joining the majority. The blind and deaf are constantly told what they are missing out on and so the narrative -as problematic as it may be- becomes one of completion. What Kelly experienced while her broken friend bled out on the street was more akin to an earthworm gaining sight. It was something that was never expected or reasonably predicted within the human experience. It wasn’t a feeling of completion but a feeling of addition. Growing. Cancerous almost. To compare it to the other five senses, if a comparison had to be made, was most like the feeling of a sleeping limb finally getting blood flow to it; something painful and slow as the brain connects itself to something that had been previously caught off; something that despite the hurt one can’t help but push through over cutting off the blood flow. A more apt emotional description might be comparing the sensation to passing gas through a newly installed colostomy: Most people aren’t born knowing what it feels like to essentially fart and shit right next to their navel but damn it all if it doesn’t feel like it. Can’t be prevented or controlled either once you wake up in the hospital with that bag sticky taped to your side and inflating as the whole next to your belly button starts farting for you. Kelly felt this part of her come alive, screaming as she was on her knees next to what used to be her friend. The sound of her screams echoed unnaturally into the air, her own grief making the world seem stiller. Threatening tears, her eyes looked up and caught sight of a bird. She stared long and hard at the bird. It was frozen in the air, suspended in the sky without so much as flapping its wings. Not gliding. Not hovering. Just hanging in the air like a bad background prop. “W-h-a-t t-h-e-?” Her own words started to burble out disconnectedly, almost like she was underwater. The light from the morning sun refracted unnaturally, almost like it had slowed down. “h-e-l-l?” And everyone and everything around her- from the squirrels running up trees, to panicked onlookers getting out their phones to the douche who had just murdered Roxy with his car- was frozen in place. There are no words that can fully describe what Kelly did next; least of all how she did it and how she thought to try. It felt as undeniably alien as farting through her belly button, but as relieving and involuntary as wiggling her fingers once the feeling had returned or gasping for air after dunking her head in the ocean. In her grief and panic, Kelly reached out to Roxy’s body with more than just her hands, and took Roxy’s limp hand into her own. Be safe. Please. Like a vinyl record on reverse, a cacophony of panicked sounds- screams, screeches, and sickening thuds of skin on asphalt, then steel- rang out in the air. Kelly’s other five senses went haywire. The scent of exhaust and blood in the air, the feeling of gravel on her knees and the breeze on her skin, the taste of vomit and bile looming in the back of her throat, her weight crashing down on her. The refracted light and sight of her classmate dead on the ground. It didn’t transition as much as it completely ceased to be. A blip. A stroke. Gone. “Asshole!” Someone else’s voice called out from beside them. “Did you see that guy?” A young man wearing school colors flipped a bird. “Douche bag is gonna kill somebody!” From their spot on the other end of the crosswalk, Kelly and Roxy watched as the car slammed on the brakes, narrowly missing a campus jaywalker. “PUT! YOUR PHONE! DOWN!” Kelly felt a light squeeze on her hand. “Good thing, we looked both ways and crossed as fast as we could, huh?” Roxy said. “Yeah,” Kelly replied before shrieking. There beside her on the opposite end of the crosswalk, not at all dead or injured, holding her hand was Roxy! “OH MY GOD!” She pulled Roxy in for an embrace so strong she threatened to kill the girl a second time. “Easy, Kelly!” Roxy giggled. “You’ll smear my makeup if you cling that tight.” Gently, she pushed away, and smiled, clearly flattered by the sudden unexpected affection. “I saved you!” Kelly blurted out. “I saved you! You got hit by that car and were dying or dead on the pavement and I- Roxy smiled, goofily, like she thought this was all a rather amusing joke. “Kel? What are you talking about? There was no way that car was going to hit us. We held hands, looked both ways and crossed the street. Safety buddies!” Kelly wiped away the tears that had already begun flowing previous to...to...whatever this was. “I’m sorry.” she said. “I love you.” Roxy leaned in for a second hug, this one softer, more tender. “I love you too, bud.” “No,” Kelly tried to explain. “You don’t understand. You got hit and maybe died and I rewound time and…” Kelly stopped her sentence in its tracks and it had absolutely nothing to do with how bonkers Kelly knew she must have sounded. Kelly had done more than rewound time. Roxy’s entire outfit had changed. Boots melted away into black velcro sneakers. The fishnets were completely gone, and the only thing on Roxy’s legs below her thighs was a band-aid on a skinned knee. Her Goth friend now sported black denim shortalls that stopped an inch above her knees and a The Crow T-Shirt could barely be seen over the denim bib. She still had the dark eye shadow with black nails, but before she’d slammed her head into the concrete, her hair hadn’t been put up in pom-pom pigtails. She was still unmistakably an adult. Her breasts hadn’t vanished and her voice hadn’t changed. Roxy’s fashion sense could still just as easily be sorted into the ‘Goth’ niche. But now she looked like a Goth...kindergartener? A Goth Kindergartener Tomboy? No one else around them noticed or cared that the girl who’d been hit by the car had been unhit. There was no chance they’d notice what amounted to a wardrobe change. College students just kept strolling right past them on sidewalks on the way to class. Douchebag had kept on driving after his near miss. “Why are you so worried?” Roxy prodded. “There was no chance that thing was going to hit us.” “You were looking at your phone,” Kelly whispered. Black lips twisted and an eyebrow arched. “Phone? I don’t have a phone. I’m too little to have a phone.” “Too...little?” The words tasted like batteries on Kelly’s lips. Kelly immediately questioned why, but she wondered if she’d somehow damaged her friend’s brain. “How old are you, Roxy?” “Nineteen,” Roxy said. “Same as you. Why?” “No reason,” Kelly lied. “Why wouldn’t you have gotten hit?” Roxy smirked. “Is this a test?” she asked. “Like making sure I pay attention?” “Sure,” another lie. “Let’s go with that.” Amnesia if not brain damage was looking like a mighty high probability just then. Roxy flopped her arms by her side and rolled her eyes as if she were an annoyed child having to recite her lessons. “We always cross the street together. I hold your hand and we look both ways and we cross as fast as we can without running. Right?.” The brighter, happier girl went pale. The information was wrong, Roxy couldn’t be hurried for anything when she didn’t want to be, same went with her attention to her phone. The delivery of said information, the eye roll, the unconscious click of her tongue, the ragdoll flopping of her arms and the craning of her neck. That was very Roxy! “And we always cross the street like that?” “When we’re together,” Roxy replied. “If not you, then my Mom or Dad.” For limited three-dimensional beings such as humans there is no such thing as intuition regarding sixth dimensional quasi-temporal reality altering mechanics. It’s a fish trying to figure out how to breathe air.. Nevertheless the thought occurred to her: Kelly had done more than simply rewind time. She’d also fundamentally changed Roxy, too; changed her into the type of person least likely to get struck by a motor vehicle unawares. She’d reached back into her friend’s own personal timeline and altered something so that she had never quite outgrown the kind of basic safety stuff that had so longingly and wholesomely been ingrained in Kelly her entire life. Roxy was still nineteen, it was just as if a small part of her was still back in Kindergarten. “Can we go now?” she whined. “I wanna get home. I’m hungry.” “Sure,” Kelly said. “Sure. Let’s go home.” ************************************************************************* “I’m telling you,” Kelly said for what felt like the millionth time. “I rewound time.” “Uh-huh,” Roxy said, clearly not believing her. “Tell me another one.” She scraped the dark purple plastic bowl and got the last bit of beanie weenies in her mouth. Roxy’s palette had gone back to kindergarten too. Kelly struggled to find the right words: The words that had eluded her over on the bus ride back to Roxy’s house. “Seriously. I...I...rewound time. You got hit by that car!” She motioned to the almost toddler outfit her best friend was wearing. “I rewound you. You were wearing boots and fishnets before. Not...that.” Roxy blushed hard enough for a bit of rosy pink to shine through her makeup. “What’s wrong with what I wear?” “Nothing!” Kelly said. “It’s just...different. Less…” the wrong word slipped out. “...mature.” “No it’s not,” Roxy stomped her sneakered foot a tad. “I’ve always worn this kind of stuff. You’re the one with rainbow highlights and sparkles and stuff!”” “That’s not the point,” Kelly verbally pivoted. “I like the way you look now. You just don’t normally look like this.” Roxy looked down at herself as if in deep contemplation or trying to remember something that just wasn’t there. “I’ve always dressed like this.” “No you haven’t” Kelly insisted. “Yes I have.” “No you…” Kelly stopped herself. As weird as this day had been, there was no way she was going to get into that back and forth argument. “How can I prove it to you?” A big toothy grin framed Roxy’s face, accompanied gleefully clenched fists. “Do it again! Rewind something!” “You don’t remember this time,” Kelly said. “Why would you remember next time?” Roxy slapped her forehead in exasperation. “Not me! Something else. You said you changed my clothes! Change some more! One’s I’m not wearing” Considering that Roxy was the one with a hairstyle no older than second grade, Kelly felt particularly foolish. “Okay…” she said, looking around. What clothing or furniture could she alter that would prove to Roxy that she was telling the truth? Technically, Roxy didn’t look out of place in her current get up. ‘Goth Kindergartener’ was still a viable look for her. One that if she hadn’t witnessed the change herself, she wouldn’t have been all that surprised to see Roxy rocking. What was younger than Kinder-? “I got it!” Kelly whirled around and opened the top dresser and took out a pair of white cotton panties with black skull and crossbones printed on them. Kelly had never seen her friend’s underwear before. If she had taken just a moment to ponder whether Roxy would have worn that kind of underwear before today, what happened next might have been avoided. She didn’t, though. “My panties?” Roxy asked. “Not for long,” Kelly grinned. “W-a-t-c-h a-n-d l-e-a-r-n!” It wasn’t hard for Kelly to reach out and rewind the cotton panties in her hands. To parallel the human experience, it was something like scratching a spot that didn’t itch. The light still refracted and moved in strange unnatural ways and speeds. Her sound still distorted like someone was playing a Youtube clip at half speed. Spatial awareness along with the other five senses blipped out for a moment. Exactly like before. It just wasn’t as satisfying. “One of my diapers?” Roxy asked. “What about them?” Kelly looked at the giant diaper that was now in her hand. Just like the panties, it was now white, but with a black skull and crossbones patterned all over. Goth panties had turned into a Goth diaper. “These were panties just a second go.” “No they weren’t,” Roxy said. “I don’t wear panties. I was never potty trained.” “Never potty trained?” Kelly echoed. She opened the underwear drawer wider. “Then why do you have…?” It wasn’t an underwear drawer anymore. “...diapers?” Roxy unhooked the fasteners on her shortalls. The black denim plopped to the floor. In the few seconds where Kelly’s senses were readjusting to the part of reality she’d just scratched she hadn’t yet noticed the swollen, drooping diaper sagging inside Roxy’s shortalls. She noticed it now. Roxy was also quite well endowed. Kelly wasn’t sure if her friend had been wearing a bra a second go thanks to denim bib. It was easier to see that she wasn’t wearing one anymore. “Yeah,” Roxy said, pointing to the pulpy puffy pampers sagging between her thighs. “You’ve changed them enough times.” She poked at her padding. “Huh. Do I need a change yet? I can never tell.” Kelly felt like her heart was about to stop. “I’ve changed them?” “Duh-doy!” Roxy said. “You’re my best friend and babysitter!” She waddled over to her dresser and opened the drawer next to the diaper filled one. “You’re so weird today.” She opened up the drawer and took out a pack of cigarettes. “Is this a new pretend game or something?” “You still smoke?” Kelly asked her mouth agape. Roxy reached for a lighter. “Don’t tell Mommy.” She got a lighter. The weight and absurdity of everything that had tumbled out of her friend’s mouth finally hit home. “I’m your b-a-b-y-s-i-t-t-e-r?” There’s a peculiar thing about scratching. Sometimes when you scratch a spot that doesn’t itch, you trick your brain and suddenly the itch not only appears, but moves around and drives you crazy until you have to scratch. It’s very likely that Kelly didn’t even know what she was doing as the world slowed down till even the flame from the lighter was static. She very likely didn’t consciously know she was doing it until it was too late to stop it; the metaphysical equivalent of someone with poison ivy unconsciously rubbing the back of their arms a little too rough until it progressed to picking and full on gouging at sores. When time and reality had picked up its normal pace, every trace of her friend’s room had completely warped. The bannisters on Roxy’s bed had spread to become a crib. She was no longer leaning on her dresser drawer; it had become a changing table with the adult sized diapers stacked and within easy reach next to wipes and powder. Roxy now sucked on a pacifier and clipped it to the collar of her Lolita dress instead of trying to light a cigarette. The t-shirt and shortalls had either disappeared, or had been rearranged to become the dress in the same way that everything else had been rearranged. Whether she knew it or not anymore, Roxy certainly didn’t wake up in diapers this morning. “I really do need to try and quit these,” Roxy commented casually. “It just feels so good to suck on ‘em, though. Sometimes it’s better than cummies, y’know?” The color palette hadn’t shifted at all. No pastelles. No pinks and blues to be seen. Everything was still in shades of gray, black, and white, with the brightest color being a midnight purple. Roxy’s room had shifted into an overgrown Goth Nursery, and in a matter of seconds she had been transformed from a giant Goth Kindergartener to a Goth Toddler to a Goth Baby. “Knock knock.” Roxy’s mother came in, as bright and shiny a woman in her early forties as Kelly had ever met. The fact that she looked and acted more like Kelly most times lent into the joke of ‘Adopted Daughter’ during the rare times when all three came out. “Mommy!” the Goth Baby ran up and flung her arms around her mother. Kelly’s blood ran cold. How was she supposed to explain this? There was no way in the world that she could explain this to Roxy’s mom. No way she wasn’t going to notice! Roxy’s mom did notice. Just not in the way Kelly had anticipated. “Hey baby girl! How was class?” She returned the hug, holding it long enough to lift up the back of Roxy’s dress and give the back of her diaper a squeeze. “You need a change! You’re soaked all the way to the back!” She started nudging a giggling Roxy back over to the changing table. Roxy boosted herself up and laid down. “Mrs. Klein!” Kelly blurted. “I’m so sorry! I can explain.” Roxy’s Mom nudged Kelly out of the way. “I’m not mad about the pacifier, Kelly.” She lifted up the front of the skirt and picked out a fresh diaper from the stack beneath her daughter. “Some habits are hard to break, even though some little girls know they’re only supposed to use their pacifiers at bed and naptime!” She playfully waggled her finger at Roxy, sending her into giggle fits. “No,” Kelly stumbled over her own words. “I meant the diapers. And..and..” Mrs. Klein started untaping the wet diaper. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this one. You only have to change the little sprinkler when I’m busy or you’re at class together.” A side effect with not knowing how one has changed reality is that new and counterintuitive revelations tend to turn one into a parrot. “Class?” Mrs. Klein finished wiping, balled up the used diaper and tossed it into the pail that hadn’t existed moments before. She unfolded the fresh diaper and slid it under her daughter’s bottom. Neither flinched nor blushed, although Kelly was making up the difference for both of them. It was like this was routine and normal for both of them. ”You’re her babysitter, yes? That’s what I pay you for. It’s not like she needs a tutor.” “Phraight Aysh!” Roxy slurred behind her enormous pacifier. “That’s right,” Mrs. Klein tweaked the Goth Baby’s nose. “My baby girl is getting straight A’s and gold stars all semester! All her teachers tell me so!” She reached a hand out. “Now if only she’d outgrow this dark and dreary phase!” That?! That’s the part that she wished Roxy would outgrow?! “MOMMEEEEEE!” Roxy whined. “I know, I know,” her mother sighed. “This is who you are and I accept you expressing yourself.” She stuck her hand out towards Kelly. “Pass me the rash cream.” Without thinking Kelly did. While her mother spread white rash cream over Roxy’s butt and then dusted scented cornstarch over her privates, Kelly’s mind raced and put together all the context clues she could pick up. Roxy was still in college. Still friends with her, even though Kelly was something of a babysitter. She was still smart and still took most of the same classes as her. But she was also a giggling baby getting her diaper changed by her mother with no sense of modesty whatsoever. Just like before, her mother insisted that the Goth aesthetic was a phase, but had no problem with little girl dresses that covered the top of skull and crossbones diapers. A nineteen year old baby instead of a regressed or brain damaged woman. A literal Adult Baby. “That’s better.” Mrs. Klein finished taping up the diaper- all four tapes, so it wasn’t like this was a giant Huggies or something- and helped Roxy off the changing table. “All done.” Roxy gave her mother a hug. “Thanks, Mommy.” “You’re welcome, sweetie.” Kelly simply stood there trying to take everything in and feeling extremely uncomfortable. The adult pivoted and addressed Kelly. “I just came in to ask you a favor. Normally I drive Roxy to class in the afternoon, but I have a Zoom meeting.” This was news to Kelly. Earlier that day, they’d been discussing Kelly bumming a ride with Roxy. Even with parking being a bitch, the afternoon bus was almost never on time. “Do you mind taking her in my car?” “Um...no…?” “Great! Thanks!” She turned and grabbed Roxy’s hand. “I’ll help you get her strapped in.” Kelly was about to parrot the phrase, but her mind was able to beat her mouth to the punch. Roxy might have been an adult in intellect but not in societal privileges and responsibilities. It made sense in a way; as much as anything today made sense. “Thanks,” Kelly said. “Car seats can be such a pain.” “It’s just like with the diapers. You get used to them. You build a rhythm.” Silently, Kelly followed mother and daughter out of the bedroom, taking quick note about what else had changed since she’d scratched this new itch of hers. She’d noted and taken for granted the various family and school portraits hanging from the walls; Roxy through the ages. Her own parents had a similar set up back home. Now, every picture of Roxy seemed to be a baby picture, even if the girl in the photos wasn’t at all a baby. “Ugh,” Roxy sighed as the trio made their way into the kitchen. “Do we really have to take that?” She pointed to a light pink diaper bag hanging on a hook. Mrs. Klein handed it over to Kelly and the college sophomore shouldered it like it was second nature. “Kelly just fed you an entire bowl of beanie weenies,” her mother lectured. “And your morning ba-ba of coffee hasn’t kicked in. I’m not going to have you sit in a poopy diaper all through class!” Kelly turned her head and saw the giant high chair. Apparently she had just spoon fed her best friend franks and beans. The thought of soiling herself in front of her peers didn’t seem to bother Roxy. “Yeah, but it’s pink! I hate pink.” Yeah. Same Roxy. “Can we get a new one soon?” The argument didn’t slow their transition or travel speed. The infrequent, often playful arguments between Roxy and either of her parents rarely did. Her mother opened the sleek red car's back door. Given everything else, she wasn’t surprised to see the adult sized baby seat. “But you loved Hello Kitty! Roxy plopped down. “I was twelve!” That must have meant that Roxy had gone through a Hello Kitty phase when she was twelve. In a weird way, Kelly felt like she’d just learned something new about her friend. Mrs. Klein didn’t lose a step. She guided Roxy’s arms through the five point harness. “It’s still a perfectly good diaper bag. I’m not replacing it and I’m not going to have you go without it after you’ve just loaded up.” She finished buckling the nineteen year old baby in; the final buckle between the legs caused the skirt to ride up even more. No one cared. So this is what a mother-daughter relationship might look like if the daughter didn’t quite grow up. It was kind of normal looking. It could be normal… Mrs. Klein closed the back door and handed Kelly the keys. “Don’t worry about the gas. Just come straight home after class. I’ll have this weeks’ payment ready for you when you get back.” “Uh..yeah. Sure.” Kelly said. Getting paid to hang out with her best friend and drive her mother’s car to boot? Maybe this was an itch worth scratching... ******************************************************************* Getting Roxy to their Anthropology 102 class had been one thing. After unbuckling Roxy from the giant car seat, they held hands (and looked both ways before crossing the street) to class, talking as they always did. If it weren’t for the crinkle every step of the way or that she kept staring at Roxy’s black dress and pigtails, it might have been any other Tuesday on campus: Morning lecture, break for lunch, travel back for an afternoon block. The sidewalks, walkways, and hallways were just sparse enough to where Kelly didn’t feel embarrassed for her friend. Also, this was college; a Goth Girl in a diaper (in the Humanities and History Building no less) was hardly the strangest thing seen in the University’s history. It got harder to feel like she wasn’t getting away with something when class started. “Can I have my crayons?” Roxy had asked, pointing to her diaper bag. “I like using the red ones and pretending they're blood.” A side pocket had a pack of crayons and a notebook filled with college level academia entirely in crayon. The other students filed in and all said hello, too, but without further comment. Correction: Almost further comment. Kelly turned almost as pink as Roxy’s diaper bag every time a classmate called the big baby “cutie”, or “sweetie” or “hun” or any other number of sucrose infused nicknames. Roxy giggled, but continued doodling in her notes. The fact that it was so normalized was giving Kelly second hand embarrassment. Closest parallel Kelly could draw was a recurring dream about being naked and no one noticing. It was embarrassing and anxiety inducing because no one saw anything wrong with the state of things. No one made a comment about Roxy’s dress or diaper or bows or anything. Why would they, though? As far as anyone could remember, Roxy was always like this. No one cared if a baby was dressed like a baby; that was expected. Speaking of expected, Kelly should have expected it when Mrs. Klein’s predictions came true. In the middle of the lecture, still taking notes in crayon and sucking on her pacifier, Roxy stood up from her desk. From the side, Kelly thought her friend was just concentrating. To be fair, Roxy was. The girl had been concentrating so hard that she didn’t seem to notice as the back of her diaper ballooned out slightly, quietly grunting behind her binky. “Kelly,” the professor said. “Word to the wise; You might want to see to Roxy before she-”Roxy sat back down in her seat, not even lifting her head at the mention of her name. “Never mind…” Kelly lifted a single eyebrow in confusion. “Hmm?” “You are her sitter, after all.” “What does…?” Kelly sniffed and the absolutely vile smell of human waste invaded her nose. That wasn’t just passing gas. Her best friend had gotten up, pooped her disposable pants, and then sat back down, spreading the mess. No one seemed embarrassed for her, especially not Roxy. The boy behind Roxy waved his hand lightly in front of his face, but the level of discomfort was minimal. “Oh.” Shouldering the pink Hello Kitty bag, Kelly got up from her seat and took Roxy’s hand one more time. “Come on, babe.” This was too weird. “Let’s go change your…” she gulped. “...diaper.” Too weird. Too fucking werid. “I got y’all for notes!” A classmate called out after them. “Uh...thanks?” Way too weird. Mentally, Kelly braced herself for having to wipe her best friend’s ass. The worst part of it was that she wasn’t nearly as weirded out or uncomfortable as she thought she’d be. If anything, Kelly was only uncomfortable in how oddly comfortable she was becoming with the idea too. Scratch an itch long enough and it gets incredibly hard to stop. “You’re not embarrassed by this?” Kelly asked as they walked to the Ladies’ room. She hadn’t even considered how or where she was going to change Roxy. The handicapped stall, maybe? Roxy shrugged. “Why? It’s just a diaper change. Babies like me get them all the time.” “That’s the thing,” Kelly tried to explain. “There aren’t any other babies like-” “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO WE ARE?” A voice rang out. Three preppy co-eds- a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead, all wearing color coordinated skirts like something out of an 80’s movie- glowered over a meeker, slightly heavier girl. The heavier girl was actually shaking while the trio stared her down. “The exams aren’t inherently f-f-final,” she stuttered horsley. “There will be opportunities for extra credit…?” She held up a briefcase like it was shield. “Let us clue you in to who you’re talking to.” the brunette spat. “Morrison, Trembly, Hogart.” She pointed to herself and her clique in turn. “There are buildings in this dump named after our families. We’re legacy.” “Y-y-yeah…” the teaching assistant shivered. “I know. I know.” “This class isn’t even for our major,” the redhead said “Total crib class.” The blonde added. “B-b-b-ut.” The brunette looked at her friends. “I don’t recall giving her permission to speak, do you?” That shut the poor Teaching assistant up. “Let’s make this easy, honey. You give us our A’s and we don’t phone our parents so you don’t end up losing whatever scholarship landed your hand-me-down ass here.” Kelly felt her face getting hot. Bullies were something she just couldn’t stand. Baby Roxy, either. “Bunch spoiled brats. Super immature for grown-ups.” They were, weren’t they. Kelly felt the itch again. “One of them did say they wanted it to be a c-r-i-b c-l-a-s-s.” This third time was even easier than the first two times. Kelly both knew what she was about to do and wanted to do it. When reality blinked back into place, the three girls had changed their tune. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that their sweater vests and matching skirts had all been replaced with color coordinated onesies and matching bows and booties. “That is not the way to get what you want,” the T.A. said. The postures had been reversed and now the babified legacies cowered in the presence of the hardworking graduate student just trying to teach a class. “W-w-w-we’re sorry, Miss Gertrude.” The redhead mumbled. “Sorry isn’t going to save you from timeout, young lady,” the chubbier girl said. With a newly found (or installed) air of authority she pointed back into the classroom. “I’ve got four corners and your noses are going to be occupying three of them for the next twenty minutes.” One minute of time-out for every year. Standard procedure. “Are you going to tell our Daddies on us?” The blonde asked, trudging back in. “I will if you don’t get your tush back in the class.” “I need a chaaaaange!” The ringleader whined. “Oh no, Heather. I’m not falling for that again. You can wait.” “Can we at least get our animal crackers?” “Not till after.” Kelly smiled, feeling satisfied and strangely intoxicated by the whole thing. “Serves them right,” Roxy said. Inwardly, Kelly agreed, even if she knew that deep down Roxy and her were agreeing about two different things. “Some babies never learn.” “Come on, Roxy,” the reality warping girl said. “Let’s get you changed.” She had a funny feeling that there would be an adult sized changing station in the Girls’ room now. And if not, there would be. She gave one last look over to the classroom the three bullies turned brats had just waddled into. Just before the door shut, Kelly couldn’t help but think that the inside looked a little bit more ‘kid friendly’ than the average stuffy college lecture room. She hadn’t stopped at Roxy, so why stop at the bathroom? If certain people could be both babies and college students, why couldn’t a college also be a daycare? From now on, Kelly knew that her life was going to be very strange. But was strange really all that bad?

Chapter 73: Off The Mark By Tuesday afternoon my frustration had begun to reach a boiling point. “Really?” I said to my group behind the big oak tree. “You guys are really buying into this?” All three held their stuffed animals tight. Even Chaz had perfected a kind of tripod crawl so he could keep his close to his chest. “Not really,” Annie said. “We’re just going with it. Using it to our advantage. Like you taught us.” THat last part was like raking nails across a chalkboard and calling it classic rock. “How the fuck is playing with stuffed animals using it to our advantage?” “How else can we fuckin’ swear and get away with it?” Billy replied. I might have taken him seriously except he made his stuffed T-Rex bob up and down and talked in a cartoonish growly voice when he said it. Sonofabitch thought he was being clever. Or... Frustrated, I dragged my palm over my face. “By swearing.” I said. “Like a normal fucking adult.” “Did you say that, or did Lion?” Billy’s question made me look down at my own stuffed animal, hanging by a paw from my right hand. We were being forced to carry them everywhere. We carried them from the bus to the cafeteria, and back to the classroom. They were in our laps during Circle Time and in our arms on the changing table. We had to carry them and sit them in front of us or beside us at the different stations during center rotations. I’d lost count of how many times I’d ‘accidentally’ left Lion behind. Beouf and Zoge were always there to pick him up. My protest went unnoticed because enough of the others accidentally left theirs too. Even Ivy. It got to the point where Beouf and Zoge started walking me from one station, checking my visual schedule, and to the next holding Lion for me. It was impossible to get rid of the furry little bastard. I let him drop to the dust and grass. “The Amazons aren’t around right now, guys. Why are you still pretending?” I took two steps around the base of the tree to get a decent view of the rest of the playground. “Tommy and Jesse are making theirs fly around like superheroes. The girls are having some kind of tea party with theirs, and you assholes are still-” “Hey,” Annie interrupted, “I’m a girl!” I huffed and rolled my eyes. “I know, Annie. I meant the other girls. The ones who want to get more mindfucked instead of just regular fucked. That’s all well and good for them. Most of them are at least fifty-one percent of the way there.” I leveled a finger at her. “Why are you still playing with dolls? Why are you doing what you want them to do?” Billy pouted his lip out. “But we tried that. There’s no wrong way to play with them.” To their credit, all three had made a game of stalling by ‘forgetting’ their stuffies at first, and crawling and waddling back to the last station or center to get them. The Amazons had developed infinite fucking patience on the matter; probably because they had all the time in the world. Real teachers had curriculum maps and big benchmark assessments to worry about. Even a Kindergarten teacher was pressured to make sure their students were sufficiently caught up so they were ready for first grade. Every minute counted in a way. There was no catching up for us. Ever. So what did five minutes here and five minutes there matter as long as we were behaving within certain parameters? “Then we shouldn’t be playing with them any more than they make us play with them! Malicious compliance!” It was taking a supreme degree of self control for me not to raise my voice and shout the obvious truth at them. “You’re the one who said we couldn’t win,” Chaz said. “We can’t escape. Why not make things easier on ourselves?” I felt myself tugging at my hair. “Because it’s not about making things easier on ourselves. It’s about making things harder on them!” Why couldn’t they see it? “That’s not what you told me last year.” “We’re being patient about it,” Annie said. “We’re doing what we’ve talked about. We’re playing along. Looking for openings.” Her argument would have held more weight with me if she weren’t playing with her rag doll’s hair the entire time. “What if there are no openings with this? What if this is just a trap meant to string you along into accepting your role? Like with Sosa and the boxes?” Chaz huffed. “So what? This is the first time where I’m able to say something and the Amazons listen, or at least let me talk. I got second helpings at lunch today because I said Chomper was hungry too.” “Ella got me changed an extra time this morning,” Annie said. “Mrs. Zoge even let me pick the decoration on the next diaper. She normally only does that for Ivy.” “And you want to be treated more like Ivy because…?” They had no answer for me. There was a collective shrug. I just turned and walked away, straight for the bench where Zoge and Beouf were. They were potentially better company than what I’d been dealt. “Everything okay, Clark?” Beouf asked as I approached. “Yeah.” I lied. I sat down on the ground next to their bench. “You don’t want to play with your friends?” Beouf asked. “This is your time.” “I’m well aware,” I snipped. “I just need some quiet. Assuming that’s okay with you.” Beouf arched an eyebrow; suspicious. “It’s your time, buddy. Just wondering if you had a sad feeling or something.” “No ma’am. I’m fine.” I made no eye contact. Just glared into the middle distance, trying to get lost in my own thoughts. Billy came trotting up with Lion. “Hey Clark,” he said to me. “You forgot this.” He didn’t wait to hand my stuffed animal to me. My face fell. Not only because I was not-so-secretly hoping to be invited back and apologized to, but also because it had been the longest time since Billy had called me anything but ‘Gibson’. I liked hearing my old last name. “Awww,” Zoge remarked from her spot on the bench. “That’s so nice of you, Billy. What do you say, Clark?” I breathed deep. “Thank you.” Fuck you, Billy. “No problem!” You too, buddy. You too. He went waddling back off to his trio. The A.L.L. was more than fraying; we were falling apart, and if I didn’t do something soon, we’d be joining the rest of the class in a toddlerized haze “Mrs. B.?” I looked up to catch her face. “Does the name ‘Amy Madra’ mean anything to you?” I was hoping for a flash of surprise or shock from Beouf. I wanted to send her into a flashback like a survivor of a brutal war. I was so keyed into her facial tics that any kind of micro expression would have lit up like a solar flare for me. Eyes widening; nostrils flaring; a sudden exhale; or a clenched jaw. I got none of that. Nothing. Her face was a mask of pleasant matronly professionalism. She was ready. “Yes, honey. She was a student of mine a few years ago. I think you met her, too. She went to your room for a timeout once.” “That doesn’t narrow it down.” Zoge chimed in. “Are you friends with her now?” Beouf asked. “No,” I said. “Just wondering.” It was unnerving how at ease she was. “Okie dokie. Tell her I said hi next time you see her.” Damn. ************************************************************************************* Wednesday morning was no better for my mood. “You look...chipper.” I said to Sosa. “Thank you, Mr. Grange.” Sosa chirped back at me. “I’m feeling really good today.” I kept my eyes down, trying to cut out an overly complex shape using completely fucked up scissors. Unlike normal scissors, the blades stayed closed while the handles were forced open. Pressing down on one end would open the other, kind of like the business end of jumper cables. Just like said alligator clips, the blades would snap closed automatically, and because it was Amazonian it took a relatively large amount of pressure for Little hands to bring the two handles together. One had to squeeze the handles together with a gorilla grip to open the blades, move the scissors to the next point that needed to be cut and then gently release just in case the cut over shot its mark. It felt like the finger equivalent of doing bench presses. To add insult to energy, the damn thing was decorated with a green plastic coating over the blades with scales and eyes drawn on so it looked like an alligator. “Is Ivy good at this?” I wondered aloud, trying not to stress. “She’s very good at it.” Sosa told me. “That’s why she doesn't have any therapies.” “Maybe that’s why she’s so strong,” I grumbled. This was a stalling tactic on my part. I’d reached a part of the shape where the margin for error was so small, one miscalculation and I’d chop the bizarre modern art on construction paper in two. I could have done it well enough with a regular pair of scissors, but the croc-scissors added an unnecessary level of difficulty. Typical. Sosa smirked. “Pfft. Ivy’s not that strong.” “Maybe not to you,” I growled. “Then keep on cutting, and maybe you can get as strong as her.” Sosa replied. “Or do you want my help?” Not this again. I pivoted the conversation. “So why are you in such a good mood?” The brightest, most non-malicious, most genuine smile lit up Sosa’s face. “I got a new pet.” She seemed so excited to talk about it that I almost felt like vomiting. There was something I hadn’t thought about: Kids that vomit automatically get sent home for the day. More than diarrhea or even fever, School Board policy was particularly squeamish when it came to one’s food going back up the way it came in. My mouth twisted, and I pretended to concentrate on cutting; impotently opening and closing the blades. “A dog?” “Nope.” Sosa said. “A birdy. A Rocaw.” I twitched and the blades tore the cut out up accidently. She wasn’t supposed to get that bird! Winters was supposed to get her dog! “Oops. It’s okay. I’ve got extra. We can start again. Do you want me to get you started? I can take over for a bit.” “No thanks.” I took the cutting sheet and started over, my fingers long since aching. “How’d you-?” No. I couldn’t lead with that. “Is that why you looked tired last week? The bird keeping you up?” Internally, I was hoping she’d slip up and give me a sneak preview into the fight they must have gone through for her to get her way. Amazons hurting Amazons. Just a hint, just a taste would lift my spirits. “No, he’s an angel. I just got him, too. My friend wanted a dog. But it didn’t work out.” I saw an opening. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. Did your boyfriend not like the dog?” Couldn’t let her know I knew as much as I did. “No...sh-they...she did. It was a good dog. I’m just not much of a dog person.” Darn. She hadn’t mentioned Winters by name, but there had been hesitation there, nonetheless. Probably just didn’t want a ‘baby’ to know about her personal life. “So what happened?” I prodded. “Did you two argue and yell until one of you figured out who was more of an adult? Did you put her in diapers and decide you were the Mommy in the relationship and that you didn’t want a dumb stinky dog?” There was the faintest hint of a blush in her Sosa’s cheeks. “Don’t be silly, Clark. That’s not how Grown-Ups settle things.” Bullshit it wasn’t. That’s exactly how adults settled things if they were tall enough. “We had to get rid of the dog because it turns out I’m allergic. That’s why I looked like I did last week. My allergies were flaring like crazy.” “So your friend let you try the bird…” “Pretty much. We’re going to work on teaching it how to talk this weekend.” Well sewn discord undone by common allergies. Well….fuck. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! ****************************************************************************************** Such a week so far. Such a shitty week. Nothing had gone to plan. Nothing. I’d started out so strong, too. Thursday night I sat moping on the Community Center’s nursery floor, sitting with my knees up to my chest and my arms wrapped around. My stomach was poking out. “Damn I need to find a way to exercise again,” I said to myself. What would be the point, though? Janet would probably like it if I had a pudgier, plumper, rounder baby face. That was reason enough to try a starvation diaper and daily 5k sprint, actually. Feeling stuck in my angry impotence I wanted to hurt something and make it bleed. If Lion had been real I would have sent him on a rampage, and cackle with glee like a mad Roamin’ Emperor. As he was, I left him crammed in the diaper bag with just his head poking out. The Little Voices meeting had been particularly grating that night. In no small part because it was Janet’s turn to watch the Littles during the back half of the meeting. And she was absolutely fucking loving it. “Missus Clark’s Mommy, can you change me? My diaper bag is the one over there.” “Of course, dear!” “Missus Clark’s Mommy, listen to this, I can play the Helga Hogg song on this xylophone almost!” “That’s beautiful! Would you like to play it again?” “Missus Clark’s Mommy, do you know any new games to play?” “I’m afraid I don’t, honey. Do you wanna teach some?” Janet was positively melting everytime a brainwashed Little waddled up to her to interact. I’m surprised she wasn’t a puddle on the floor with the number of times people referred to her as ‘Clarks’ Mommy’. Her melting would have been preferable, in fact. I might have been able to get away with more were she somehow in a liquid state. No such luck was coming my way tonight. For as much as Janet was loving on the Littles who wanted her brand of loving, her eyes kept darting back to me. Things were going to get a lot worse. I knew that much instinctively. The Little Voices meeting provided a sense of strength and community for the Amazons so they could all pat each other on the backs and indoctrinate each other on their preferred methods and attitudes. Nursery duty reinforced those attitudes by giving new Mommies and Daddies a glimpse of what they might achieve if only they stick with the program. It was brilliant in an insidious kind of way. Janet was getting an OD on babified Little dolls and would press me even harder to get her fix. A terrible intrusive thought: What if they let Mark watch the Littles next? I wanted to throw up a little in my mouth at the idea. A ping from Janet’s phone and she stopped playing with Pink-Haired Mary long enough to check it. A robotic message jumped out from her speakers proclaiming, “You’ve. Got. Diapers.” She smiled and put the phone back. She’d taken my advice and gotten more diapers via an app. After she realized she couldn’t find the pack of night time Monkeez I’d tossed out of the shopping cart. Even that petty bit of rebellion had failed. I was a monster hunter who was low on silver bullets and my aim was that of an action movie extra. “Hi Clark!” I heaved a weary sigh that was three inches from becoming a yawn. “Hey Amy…” For somebody who crawled everywhere and tended to use thirteen words when five would do she had a way of sneaking up on me lately. “You okay, bud?” Her calling me ‘bud’ made me bristle almost as much as an Amazon calling me ‘baby’. “No. I’m tired and I wanna hurt something.” “Wanna say something witty and super mean to me?” Not when she just laid it all out there like that. “No.” “Ah, well then would you like me to tell you how often your average Albienese octopus drinks tea, how many sugars they take in it and what tentacles they take it with? Though I must confess I’m not sure what they do in instead of sticking their pinky out emus have the same problem, or they would if they drank tea, but they fought a war to not hafta, and everybody knows that they prefer ginger beer now cassowaries, and don’t get me started on casso-” “Amy…” I interrupted. “could you not? Could you please not.” “Okay.” She hunkered down and rolled over onto her seat. She straightened the bright white floppy bow that matched her crinkling underwear like she was a news anchor straightening papers. “How can I help?” I need help that week. Even if it was from a complete and total loon. Any port in a storm. I pointed to Janet. “How do I hurt her?” “Why would you want to do that? She seems nice.” “How?” I repeated myself She looked thoughtful for a bit and stroked her chin theatrically. “Hmm…First you’ll need some matches and several keg-” the rest came out as muffled nonsense. I slapped my hand over her mouth before she could finish whatever batshit homicidal sentence she was trying. “I said hurt,” I whispered. “Not murder! Like...get inside her head or whatever but not get in trouble.” “MMMMMMMMM!” Amy said. “Mmm- mmm-mm-mmm!” I took my hand off her mouth. “What? “You wanna brat!” she repeated herself. Considering one of the titles in Beouf’s library center was entitled ‘Baby or Brat’ I didn’t exactly like the vocabulary. “Kinda. Yeah. I guess.” “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Much easier. Have you tried swearing? Grown-Ups genuinely don’t like it when you do that. I just think the words are really funny.” “All week long. Believe you fuckin’ me.” It wasn’t even fun any more. “What about singing the same song for a long long time?” “No.” “They think it’s cute at first and then they get super sick of it.” “No.” “It goes ‘Two little men in a flying saucer’-!” “Amy! No!” Her laugh came out through her nose in quiet little squeaks. Something clicked. “You’re bratting now, aren’t you?” “Maybe…” “Fuck off.” I turned my back to her. “Does your mommy take you shopping? You could try the shopping cart trick.” “I already tried it.” I said back over my shoulder. “She just ordered more diapers to replace the ones I tossed.” More squeaking chirping laughter. Then she said, “Wait? You’re serious?” “Yeah.” I said. “She noticed it was missing and just got more.” Amy crawled back around and plopped back down. “Rookie mistake, my duede. You’re not supposed to throw things out of the cart, you’re supposed to throw them in. The more expensive the betterer.” “Yeah, but then she can just not buy the thing she doesn’t want.” “Not if you want it badly enough.” The hell did that mean? My expression must have said enough. “What do babies get to do when they don’t get what they want?” “Cry.” “And?” “And what?” “Then what happens?” “They cry and…” And...and...it hit me. They make a scene and embarrass their parents and the adults have to find a way to stop the baby from crying, possibly even going so far as to bite the bullet and give in, buying something they didn’t intend on putting in the cart. “...oh.” She smiled at me. It was the thin, sophisticated, smug smile of an experienced con-artist. “Yup!” Holy shit. Why hadn’t I thought of that? It was dawning on me that I might be able to learn something beyond random animal facts and nonsense from this woman. “Thank you.” I said, even though it came out as mostly a yawn. “No problem,” Amy replied. “Sleeping troubles?’ I hung my head. “Something like that.” My eyes flitted to Janet. She seemed bright and peachy, living her best life with not one but three Littles cozying up in her lap so she could read them a pop-up book. “Trouble keeping somebody else awake.” “Cry louder?” Amy suggested. “I know some excellent songs that might help you work on singing from your diaphragm and prolonging both pitch and volume it goes like this ‘Two little men in a flying sau-’” “Her room is on the other side of the house and the walls are too thick.” “Ah.” The more experienced brat said. “Soooo...baby monitor?” My stomach gurgled and I felt a certain fullness down below. Great. Now I’d have to take a dump before tonight’s bath if I didn’t want to have to sleep in it. I let out another yawn. “Nope. It’s just for show. She turns it off at night.” Amy turned around like a dog chasing its tail so she could get a better look at my jailer. “Hm? No she doesn’t. She sleeps pretty good and mommies can’t sleep unless they think their babies are safe. Bonus snoozes if baby is happy.” “Then why can’t she hear me talk about how much I hate her?” “I don’t know. Maybe the monitor’s broken or something?” “Maybe…” “Have her check it out,” Amy told me. “That’s what Grown-Ups are for.” She left me to yawn and brood for the last ten minutes. Another downside of Janet working the nursery that night was that we were the last out of the meeting. Once the so-called parents started filing out from their mind-fuckery think tank, they’d come in and check out their Littles and take them home. Meanwhile, I had to wait on Janet’s hip until the last couple of stragglers finished up their conversations and went home with their brainwashed babies. Tons of cute little rituals and special hugs and nicknames. Mentions of treats on the way home, but only if Mrs. Grange said they were a good baby. Of course they were. Even Bradley got Janet’s approval, and he spent the entire night shaking in a corner muttering about how he liked to pee and poop his pants and suck his thumb. The bar was so ridiculously low, that Littles had to actively try not to meet it. “Ready to go?” Janet finally asked me. I was more than ready. But silence had served me best, and I was running out of new tricks to try. “Yes or no? Are you ready? If not, we can stay here longer.” I growled slightly and nodded my head. “Uh oh. Somebody’s being a grumpy guts.” My guts agreed. “Janet?” I said. “Can you take me to the bathroom?” There was no looming emergency or inevitability. This was no first breakfast with Beouf. It was still worth a shot. “Janet?” She replied disapprovingly. “What?” I said. “No one else is in here.” “We’re still in public. Anything outside our house or the car is public. That’s common sense.” I nibbled on the sides of my tongue to keep myself under control. “Fine. Mommy can you take me to the bathroom?” “You want to go potty?” Not in those words but… “Yes.” “I don’t know,” Janet clucked. “I don’t think they have any potties that will fit you here. You’ll fall in.” My eyes did a loop. “I’ve been trained for thirty years. I know how to balance on an Amazon toilet.” “Is your diaper clean?” My cheeks flushed. “Obviously.” “Yes or no?” “Yes.” “Dry too?” A quick knock on the door interrupted any kind of answer I had. In stepped the one Amazon without their very own living doll. Black hair that was almost curly, with thick rimmed glasses, Mark came into the nursery uninvited. “Janet?” “Oh!” Janet brighted. “Hey Mark!” She turned to look at him directly. “What’s up?” The dork awkwardly scratched the back of his head and broke eye contact. “Nothing. I just...uh..wanted to see what the Little playroom looked like from the inside.” Wow, that sounded creepy. “Wow, that sounds creepy! I’m sorry!” At least he was self aware. “No,” Janet said. “I know what you mean.” “Thanks,” Mark blushed. He pretended to look around, but it was obvious he was trying not to look directly at us. The gangly asshole caught me staring at him. “Hi, Clark” Fuck off, creeper. I turned up my nose. “He’s feeling kind of shy tonight,” Janet told him. I blanched. “No I’m not. I just don’t like him.” “Clark!” Janet gasped. “Be nice!” Truth be told, I was. “No, no, no,” Mark laughed. “It’s fine. It’s awesome that Clark feels he can express himself so freely with you around. It means he trusts you and feels safe.” I had a front row seat of Janet’s cheeks turning rosy. “It does.” “No it doesn’t!” “Oh hush,” Janet told me. “You’re just being a fusspot, now.” “No.” Mark flashed a smile Janet’s way. His front teeth were so big and toothy, like a horse’s. I wanted to punch them in but good. “Sounds like a fusspot to me.” I bit my tongue again as my flaring nostrils picked up the last traces of Janet’s perfume. She’d put it on early that morning, and the very last fading notes of honeysuckle and lilac wafted up my nose. Meanwhile, my crinkling ass still reeked of baby powder. “Missed you at the back half of the meeting today,” Mark went on. “Frank told this funny story about him and Cecily when she first got adopted that I thought you’d really like and would relate to.” “Yeah?” Janet said. “I’ll have to ask him to tell it to me before the next meeting.” Yes! A horse tooth chomped at a swollen toad-like lip. “Yeah,” Mark said. “Yeah...” He hesitated, but only just. “So if it’s not too personal, can I ask you a question?” “Mommeeeee!” I whined. “Can we go home now? I’m getting sleepy.” I yawned to add to the lie. Didn’t even have to fake that one. “Just as second, baby.” She lightly jostled me as an almost reflex. After a second thought she asked Mark, “Would you mind reaching into his diaper bag and getting his Lion?” “Oh yeah. Sure.” I focused with laser eyes as the creep snatched Lion up by his main. “Here you go buddy.” I grabbed Lion from Mark like I was saving him from a hostage situation. “Thanks.” I didn’t say it like I meant it because I didn’t. “You’re welcome,” Mark said evenly, like a true Beouffist. Beouffist? Beouffite? Beouffian? Point being he’d clearly read all the same books that Melony had. Little Voices was more popular in his old town. Janet was adopted by this cult. He’d grown up in it. “So...question?” Janet smiled politely. “Go for it.” “No offense, but you’re the um...newest Mom in the group, right? Not counting Lois and Bradley, I mean. You’ve only had Clark for a month?” My ex-coworker shifted her weight uneasily. I gave her a hug. Good. Go with that feeling. “Yeeeeeah….” she said. “Why?” “How’d you know when you were ready to adopt? How’d you know you were meant to be Clark’s Mommy?” He scratched the back of his head again. Probably because. “It’s just...I want to start my own family and help a Little who needs me and everybody else seems so old hat at this by comparison. I was hoping to talk to somebody who was maybe going through the same stuff I’m going through but more recently.” I was so surprised by the question that Lion ended up on the ground. Oh hell no! No way was I going to have to live through another retelling of the second worst day of my life. “Yeah. Janet said. “Sure. So Clark, actually, went to my school..” “Oh,” Mark interrupted. “Hold on!” He bent over and handed Lion back to me. “Here you go, Clark.” I took Lion, a little softer that time. “Thank you.” “Welcome. Go ahead.” “Thank you,” Janet continued. “And it all started when I got called in to substitute for his class. Just for an hour.” “Beouf, right? Maturosis and Developmental Plateau Unit?” “No. His class. Before his Maturosis started expressing himself he was a teacher. Preschoolers.” “Ooooh! Okay.” As if the very concept that I might have enough brains to teach was a novel concept. I wondered if Mark’s parents had faces as punchable as his. I dropped Lion again. He picked it up. “Here you go, bud.” Fuck it. Janet didn’t have the finger mittens with her. “Ooops.” “He’s playing games with you,” Janet told him. “I know,” Mark said. “I like games.” “Mommy, can we please go home? I’m tired.” I wanted so many things. To not have to hear this again. To go back to Janet’s house and go to sleep. To get rid of this supremely punchable douche. Lion went on the floor again. “Put it in the bag,” Janet instructed. She nuzzled me while the fuck boy did as she bid. “If you can’t hold onto your stuffie, he’ll just rest in the bag till we get home.” “Can we go home?” I pleaded. “Pleeeeeease?” “In a minute, honey. Mommy’s talking with her friend.” Mark brightened a bit. My mood turned a shade darker. “So, before I was his Mommy, we were friends. Then his-” “J…” I stopped. Somehow her hand had already gotten to the pacifier. “Mommy! Dooon’t!” “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Janet replied. She let the pacifier dangle at my onesie’s collar. “Then his Matur-” “Mommy, you said you were gonna take me to the potty!” How did Amy do this? “Maturosis started to express itself,” Janet finished her sentence.” Mark adjusted his glasses. “He’s potty training?” “Oh no. He’s just going through a phase.” Her free arm hooked and squeezed the front of my Monkeez. “Definitely a phase. He’s trying to push boundaries and see what he can get away with. Insisting he’s bigger than he really is.” Mark was gaining confidence. “Oh yeah! ‘Terrible twos’ stuff.” “Terrible thirty-twos,” Janet chuckled. “I’ve got a brother who's ten years younger than me. I remember when he was two or three and just starting to figure out the potty he’d hold it in for as long as he could, and then decide he had to go to the bathroom right as we were getting ready to go somewhere.” “Yeah,” Janet said. She was starting to sway slightly. “Kinda like that, but in reverse.” The kisses and nuzzles she peppered me with were failing to put me at any sort of ease. “Sorry,” Mark blushed. “You were saying?” For all his Amazon strength, Mark’s eyes were as soft and jelly-like as my own. If I could just figure out a way to get him to take off his glasses and reach them... Janet’s blush started to match his. “So then I think the early signs of his Maturosis started creeping out. He started getting more temperamental, not quite tantrum-y. We think he started to lose his potty training and was sneaking diapers from Mrs. Beouf’s room to try and hide it.” “No,” I interrupted. “You were cosseting me! You said so!” Her body flashed hot like an oven. Douche came in for the rebound. “That’s cute. Maybe that meant you were sensing it or noticing it on a subconscious level?” Janet didn’t shut him up so he kept digging. “Not that I believe any of that instinctual mambo jumbo stuff or whatever or just because if people cosset on Littles it means their Maturosis is expressing. It’s just nice to think that you saw someone you knew who was in trouble, and your first reaction was to want to take care of them. I think it says a lot about you.” “Thank you. That’s very sweet.” I saw Janet’s smile and my stomach sank. “He’s really lucky.” “Mommy…” “Just a second, Clark. We’re still talking.” Not if I had anything to say about it. I couldn’t gouge out Mark’s smug douchey eyes but I could get him to leave. I didn’t have the fuel or energy to do anything more than a half-assed tantrum, but I had one semi-metaphorical bullet in the chamber. “When did his Maturosis fully express itself? I hope that isn’t too personal.” I leaned forward, and grabbed Janet’s shoulder, just enough so I could lift my butt up off of Janet’s cupped hands. “At school. We think it started happening late last school year, like I said. But it became more obvious the first week of this one.” I closed my eyes and tried to pretend that I was alone, like in my crib, or in the corner of the room. This was fine. This was doable. No one was really looking at me. Billy did this kind of thing all the time. I just… “At least he had a diaper on for...you know.” ...had to… “He wasn’t wearing one at the time. He couldn’t figure out the tapes.” Push! My whines turned into quiet groans while my seat filled up. There’s a kind of predictability in the lifespan of a diaper when it comes to wetting. Poop is a major wild card. Some are wet and rocket out of you. Others are like tiny rocks that have to be forced out. This particular one was a day and half’s worth of solid mess, the kind that comes out on its own after the initial push and you swear you’re a couple pounds lighter afterwards. I kept my eyes clenched as it slithered out of me. If Janet had taken me to the toilet it would have likely resembled a giant brown snake. As is, it was going to be a huge stinking lump. Now three red faces were in the nursery. Mine wasn’t just from straining. It felt more than weird doing that on purpose. “Good thing he’s got one on now.” Mark chuckled nervously. He knew. He definitely knew. They all knew. Good. Fuck ‘em. Janet hoisted me up on her shoulder. She patted me, smushing my personal humiliation against me even more. “Yeah.” “Like the ‘Terrible Twos’,” he started She finished. “Only in reverse.” “I’ll give you two the room.” Janet started carrying me over to the nursery’s changing table and digging through the diaper bag. It really wasn’t so bad with no other Littles to watch. It’d be even better when Mark left. “Thank you,” she said, not looking back. I did my best to hide my dirty smile. I immediately failed. Yes! Horseface Doucherson could see the writing on the wall, too. “Yeah. See you next week?” Janet handed me Lion and I gave the dumb thing the biggest most rib crushing hug. “That’d be great.” She unpopped the snaps between my legs. “Maybe we can keep talking after? Or leave the meeting early? Maybe get some coffee or something?” “What?!” I shouted. Janet started unfolding the new diaper. “Okay.” Mark replied. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot. See you then!.” He left us while Janet pulled the bottom of my onesie up past my navel. “Janet!” I called up. She handed me the pacifier. “You know the rules of the game, Mister.” I put the binky in my mouth. “Huff ong iff oo?” Rules of our agreement said I had to put it in, not be quiet. “What’s wrong with me?” The tapes coming off the plastic backing sounded extra loud there. Practically a crack of thunder. Janet’s voice, by contrast, was unnervingly kind and quiet. “I know when you’re trying to get under people’s skin, Clark. I know when you’re pushing people away.” She crossed my ankles, lifted my legs up and started wiping my backside for me. “My big...smart...secure...mature...Little boy...who begs to go potty even in a wet diaper…and then poops his pants so that Mommy will stop talking to her friend and give him all of her attention.” The wipes she dragged across my penis felt extra cold. She put on a little too much powder too. Still, she made sure the diaper was snug and secure before she tossed the old one and buttoned me back up. “It’s okay, baby.” She picked me up and gave me one last kiss on the cheek. “You don’t have to be jealous.” Jealous? Jealous?! Fucking jealous?! Seeing a creeper hitting on a recent divorcee and ‘new mother’ and wanting to take a taser to his balls was not jealousy! In my fury I sucked the pacifier harder and mumbled indecipherable obscenities that would have made even Lion blush all the way to the tub.

Chapter 72: Things Get Better For Worse As usual, the sun wasn’t up when I got into Mrs.Beouf’s room first thing in the morning. Neither was Beouf. “Sorry Ms. Grange,” Zoge said to Janet. “Mrs. Beouf is already up front.” “No problem.” Janet said. “Should I give her Lion there or just leave him with Clark?” she patted the diaper bag. Lion’s head was poking out of it. “Mrs. Beouf would be best, I think.” She looked down at me and then at Ivy. “Even if we have favorites, we shouldn’t play favorites.” “Yeah…” Janet blushed. “We are kind of biased, aren’t we?” I rubbed the corner of my eyes, and yawned. Give me the damned stuffie or don’t. Just quit talking about it. “Maybe we should do a playdate some day.” Janet suggested. “I think Ivy would like that.” I was too tired to argue. I would’ve thought I’d be used to being up this early without coffee. Not so, evidently. It didn’t help that after the store, I’d redoubled my efforts in trying to keep Janet awake via baby monitor. “Eight minutes” I said, after checking.the wall clock. My captor was kind enough to take the hint. “Bye Clark,”she said. “Be good. Mommy loves you.” As was tradition I did not reply, just stood there while she kissed me on the temple and trotted off, diaper bag in tow. Zoge closed the door and looked directly at me. “We’re going to have lots of fun today, Clark.” No we weren’t. I might have lots of fun, or they might have lots of fun, but we weren’t going to have any fun. Our respective sources of amusement were at completely cross purposes. “Okay.” I yawned. “Whatever.” Ivy crinkled up and pulled on her Mommy’s skirt. “Mommy! Mommy!” she said. “Can I be green? I want to be green!” They were making green diapers now? I yanked up the toddler shorts over the plain white waistband of my Monkeez. It would slip back out with just a few steps, I knew, but it was all I could do to keep myself cognizant of my surroundings. Janet had had the kindness to keep me out of Hippobottomuses or Koddles the rest of the weekend. They hadn’t been uncomfortable as far as diapers went, but hang-ups don’t go away that easily. Watching the hippo stencils disappear when I’d wet was kind of disturbing; like it was rubbing my forced accident in my face. Just then, I had the realization that I was learning to differentiate between different brands of diapers. Fuck my life. “Pleeeease, Mommy. Can I be Green?” Ivy pressed. She added in what I could only assume was the same plea but in Yamatoan.” Zoge brushed her pet’s hair out of her face with her hand. “Very well, my love. You can be green when we get to the buses.” She added, “As long as you clean up the dollhouse before we go.” The crack that followed was either Ivy’s underwear being extra crinkly or her breaking the sound barrier to tidy up Beouf’s play area. That woke me up. No way were they talking about diaper changes during pick up. That begged the question: What were they talking about? What kind of ‘fun’ was Beouf planning for us? One way or another I was doomed to find out. Ivy finished cleaning up the mess she’d made before my arrival and then waited by the door like it was the entrance for a roller coaster ride. Typical teacher’s pet. “Come along, children,” Zoge said three minutes before the bell. My body on autopilot, I took Ivy’s hand, she took Zoge’s, and we walked out “Ivy,” I asked. “What’s going on?” “It’s a surprise!” she said. “You’ll see.” “Come on,” I whispered. “How about a hint?” “Nope, nope, nope.” My anxiety and my competitiveness were mixing together to make a cocktail. If we were going to find out as soon as we got to the bus, I wanted to know at least thirty seconds before those cheese wagon doors flung open.. I needed to. “Okay,” I coaxed. “I get it. You don’t really know.” “Clark…” Zoge let out a warning. “You’ll find out in just a minute, baby.” Even whispering, it’s hard to go undetected when the guard is holding the hand of your chief informant’s other hand. “You’ll find out when we get there.” Ivy echoed. To punctuate it, she stuck her tongue out at me. “Ivy!” “Sorry, Mommy.” I was beginning to see why Amy bit her. I didn’t need to coax a hint from Ivy afterall. As soon as we rounded the corner. I started to piece things together. The surprise wasn’t something that could be hidden. Standing there in the dawn light as the buses were rolling in, Beouf had a white mesh bag slung over her right shoulder. Seeing Lion tucked under her left arm, it didn’t take a second to figure out what was in the bag. Beouf was going all in on the stuffies today. The plush faux animals, save mine, had been emptied from her closet and decorative areas and then shoved in the bag. I could see rounded paws and heads pressing out from the inside like balled up diapers on the inside of a pail. Something wasn’t adding up. What did this have to do with Ivy being ‘green’? “Morning, Mrs. Zoge!” Beouf said as we closed.the distance. “Morning kids! Ready to try something new?” I was not. “Uh-huh!” Ivy bounced. Beouf put Lion and the bag down at her feet and opened it. That’s when the final piece presented itself. A long, flat, blue nylon rope came out of the bag first “Hook ‘em up.” Beouf said. She tossed a rolled up length to Zoge. “I want to be green! I want to be green!” Ivy let go of her Mommy’s hand, but kept me bolted to her. “Of course, my love,” she said. “You can be green.” She unrolled the rope, so new and stiff it was just barely out of the packaging. It wasn’t just one rope. The main length of nylon ran straight through with a loop at either side, big enough to fit comfortably in an Amazons’ hands. Threaded in and intersected throughout the main rope were shorter sections of rope, made from the same sturdy material, but colored differently: red, orange, yellow, green, and purple. The ends of these ropes were loops too, only the loops could be fastened and adjusted with buckles. Beouf already had access to communal high-chairs. Now she’d gotten whole-group toddler leashes. Zoge knelt down and buckled and end the emerald green tether around Ivy’s waist. “There you go. I’ve got a green girl.” Ivy let go of my hand. “I don’t have to be line leader if I don’t want to any more!” Ivy beamed. Green was second to last, closer to Beouf’s end than Zoge’s. I met her with a scowl. “Good for you.” Zoge stepped over the mass of nylon, and held up the other end of the green tether. “Hold still, Clark.” Even if I didn’t have to hold her hand, I’d be chained to the biggest mind fucked Little in a mile radius. “Can I have purple instead?” Still kneeling, Zoge dropped the rope and moved me back one row. “How’s this?” She didn’t wait to start buckling me into my restraint. I took a moment and examined what I was being bound into. It was tight, but it fastened on like a belt; no shoulder or leg harnesses. “Good.” The buses had started filing in. The Little transport, even if it came in last, got there plenty fast. The rest of the class came out of the bus in twos with reactions ranging from curious to awestruck while they were moved from sitting restraints on the bus to standing ones on the sidewalk. “Cool!”. “Neat!” “Yellow! Can I be yellow Mrs. B?” Soon, like the lost Little Animals in the story of Moses’s Ark, we were lined up two by two, tethered by rainbow rope. There was enough slack in it so that even Chaz in his stroller could be tethered. A real daisy chain gang. “Gibson!” Billy yelled to me. “Look! No hands!” LIke an idiot he wiggled his wrists and grinned like he was doing a beginner’s dance class. I didn’t so much as try to hide my contempt. “What’s your problem?” Billy was at the front. Everyone could hear him. Screw it. “They’re treating us like idiots!” I shouted back. “Too dumb to even hold hands!” Beouf caught my reply. “That’s not true at all,” Beouf said. “We did this for you guys.” “Yeah right…” I huffed. “Just listen and wait.” Beouf said. “Mrs. Zoge?” The two opened up the bag and started passing out the stuffed animals. Lion was last. “Everyone got their stuffed friends?” Beouf asked. Everyone nodded. Some cuddled and nuzzled the inanimate objects in their hands like they were actual pets. “We’re trying something new this week.” Beouf said. The buses had hauled off, and her voice rang out in the morning air. “If you like it, we can keep doing it. If you don’t, we’ll go back to holding hands.” “What are we doing?” Tommy asked. He didn’t even raise his hand, the mass of cotton he was hugging preoccupied him. “We’re going to breakfast,” Beouf said. “Just like every other day. We’re trying this because when your stuffies talked to us they said there were some problems. Mrs. Zoge and I are fixing some of those problems.” “Isn’t this gonna take longer?” Jesse called out, his voice a hungry whine. “Not if we get good at it and everyone cooperates.” I waited for Beouf to shoot me a warning look. None came. “The cafeteria will wait for us. So will the buses.” “Why do we have the stuffies now?” Mandy yelled out. “In case your stuffies want to tell us more,” Beouf said simply, smiling like she was enjoying herself. “Can we still hold hands if we want to?” Annie asked. “If the person you’re holding hands with is okay with it, sure.” Billy and Annie immediately shifted their animals and interweaved their fingers together. “We’ll find out more as we go. Let’s go.” Beouf took her position pushing Chaz’s umbrella stroller and held the back end of the group’s walking rope. I walked along, faintly listening to the adulations of my so-called peers. They saw increased freedom. I saw the truth: We’d been demoted ever further. Now we were babies incapable of self regulation and needing to cuddle stuffed animals just to get from one place to another. That’s how the rest of the school, the rest of the world would see us. We were no longer trusted with holding each other prisoner, and now the only luxury we were receiving in turn was the ability to hold both hands in front of us. “What are we gonna do?” I looked down at Lion and realized that I wasn’t exactly talking to myself. “You dropped Lion,” Beouf said behind me. She didn’t even have to break her stride to pick him up off the pavement. “That’s okay. I’ll hold onto him.” Still walking, I yanked my shorts up again. Elastic waistbands and smooth plastic over bulky padding were not a great combination. Everyone else still lacked the freedom to make such micro adjustments. You couldn’t pull up your shorts or pull down the hem of your dress, or futilely tug out at the bottom sides of a onesie if you were holding a stuffed animal all the time. Couldn’t do it when holding hands either, but hand holding stopped once we got to our location. “Did Brollish get you the money for these?” I asked Beouf. “Nope.” Beouf said. “Bought this myself. Do you like it?” We both knew the answer to that. “Are the stuffies coming with us to lunch?” I was careful not to say ‘our stuffies’. “If you’re good.” “What happens if we’re eating messy food?” “We’ll put them somewhere safe where they won’t get messy.” So she was giving us a voice and adding emotional value to the stuffed animals, and also controlling when we could use that voice. I peered up front. Annie and Billy were making their toys make out with each other. Chaz was headbutting his. Was I losing them? Had the stuffies been tampered with? Given some kind of addictive pheromone spray? Was that even a thing? The surprises didn’t stop when we got to the cafeteria. The food carts had already been brought out. Dry cereal on top. Bottles of milk in the middle. And on the very bottom of the cart. “Diapers?!” Shauna screeched loud enough for everyone who hadn’t straggled off to class yet. The Amazons kept fielding questions as they switched us from rope to highchair. “Only for emergencies,” Zoge said. “Like if we think you’re about to leak or something.” “Or if you poop as soon as you sit down…” Annie glared at Billy. Billy shrugged like it was nothing. “Emergencies only,” Zoge reiterated. “Only if we think you need it. If you poop and we’re almost done with breakfast, you’ll just have to wait for Circle Time just like everybody else.” “No complaining if you don’t like color or decoration either,” Beouf said. “It’s just like the changing table in our room. You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit.” I shook and turned beet red from my seat. In addition to the highchairs and bottles of milk, everyone in the cafeteria would be associating us with stuffed animals, and stacks of diapers. “Why didn’t you do this before?” Sandra Lynn asked, surprising me. Beouf kept peeling back cereal lids. “Honestly? I didn’t think of it. Listening to your stuffies gave me and Mrs. Zoge ideas on how to better teach and help everyone.” “We couldn’t have done some of this before this year,” Zoge chimed in. “We couldn’t take kids away to change them before. Not in here. Not with those rickety old high chairs.” She sat down at her spot in the center, seeming content. “Yeah,” Beouf agreed. “A real ‘all hands on deck’ thing.” She passed out the cereal, and most of us immediately started picking at it with their hands. No spoons offered or asked for. “I’m glad we had that teachable moment with Miss Skinner last week.” “Me too.” “Me too.” “Me too.” “Me too.” “Me too.” “Me too.” Only one of those replies was from Zoge. Only one of the echoes was from Ivy. Bread and circuses: They were tricking us into giving up our adulthood by making our infancy slightly more comfortable. I pushed the cereal away, having lost my appetite. “At least drink your milk,” Beouf shoved a bottle of milk in my face. “I’m not going to make you eat the whole thing, but you gotta have something for breakfast, bubba.” I saw that glint in her eyes. She was compromising, but would only compromise so far. Either I’d take the bottle or she’d hold it in my mouth for me. I took it and started sipping on the cold cow juice, literally drowning my sorrows. I wasn’t the only one capable of malicious compliance, it seemed. “Thank you, Clip Clop!” Sandra Lynn hugged her stupid horse. “This is so much better!” A chain reaction immediately followed. “Thank you, Chomper.” “Thanks, Rex! “Thank you, Pam!” The Amazons shared pearly white smiles with each other, clearly pleased as punch. I tilted the bottle back, lest spontaneous stupidity become expected. I couldn’t be told to say ‘thank you’ to Lion if my mouth was busy working a rubber teat. The pacifier took its place when I wasn’t thirsty. “Clark? Do you want Lion?” Vehemently, I shook my head. “Aw,” Beouf cooed. “So sad. But that’s okay.” It was okay for Beouf. Everyone else was having side conversations with one another. Not about things that they missed, or terrible trespasses that had been done to them over the weekend, not the kind of things that I liked to talk about. “Mookie is from outer space, he knows a form of martial arts that is impossible to do with bones. That’s why he doesn’t have any.” “Hansen has a beautiful singing voice, but they’re very shy.” “They?” “Yes. They.” “Cool. What kind of songs do they like to sing?” They were building fucking elaborate backstories to their fictional friends. I could have sworn it was Thursday night. Meanwhile I could only sit back, fume, and pee my pants. It got empty and quiet enough in the cafeteria to where everyone could hear everyone else. The Littles talked amongst each other and their new toys, while Zoge and Beouf took turns wiping down tables, faces, and hands. The preschoolers ate with disciplined silence, with Tracy giving them quiet nudges of encouragement. Ambrose stood at the head, glowering the entire time. We were being tricked into acting far more childish than we should have, and three year olds more closely resembled inmates in a supermax. It was enough to make me want to rip my own eyes and ears out. “I love you, Jessennia!” Ivy hugged the octopus in between bites. “I thought his name was Akka,” Beouf said. “It was. But Clark told me his name was Jessennia.” “Clark isn’t right about everything,” Beouf said. “That’s your stuffie now. You can call him what you want.” ‘Clark isn’t right about everything’? More like ‘Clark doesn’t control the narrative like we do’. I felt like screaming. I dropped the paci and searched for the plastic bowl of dried cereal to fling into the air. No such luck, unfortunately. Beouf had been careful to move it out of my reach. Damn. Ivy looked at the purple octopus with the top hat and wire rim monocle. “No. I think he’s right this time. Clark?” she called over to me. “Do you wanna teach me how to do an Albienese accent so I can copy what Jessennia is saying better?” I started to say ‘yes’, then corrected myself. “Nope.” “Oh...okay.” “Don’t worry, dear.” Zoge said. “Clark’s just a little grouchy this morning. He gets like that sometimes.” “He always has,” Beouf agreed. “But he’ll come around. He always does.” “They always do,” Zoge nodded. She gave Sandra Lynn a quick pinch on the cheek.

Wait. What's wrong with her body? She looks really fit. Not even "fit for her age", just really well put together.

Chapter 30: The Greatest Truth You’ll Never Remember “Mr. Jordan?” Even saying it a second time had a funny taste in Katlynn’s mouth. “What are you doing here? And why are you a horse?” Mr. Jordan was a decent math teacher, but the gossip down the halls was that if you didn’t want him to teach, all you had to do was ignore him and talk just slightly lower than his voice. Or if you really wanted fun, just raise your hand and ask a purposefully stupid question. The guy was one of those poor souls that understood numbers better than people and couldn’t wrap his brain around the difference between a sincere misunderstanding and a distraction in question form. He’d always get this look when someone asked “How are we gonna use this in real life?”. He didn’t quite glare as much as stare in disbelief. “How will we use abstract math in real life?” was right up there with “Why is the sky blue?” or “Why is water wet?”; a simple question with such an obvious answer that to go deeper than “because”, would have merited a much more complicated lecture to the person asking the question. Yet “because” was never good enough for Mr. Jordan. It distracted him every time. Clockwork. Dude got numbers; not people. Right now, the centaur barbarian was making the same kind of twisted up and contorted face whenever one of the popular kids raised their hands and asked how they were going to use this in real life or why couldn’t they just use a calculator. Centaur Jordan- for that’s what Katlynn was mentally labelling him as- seemed just as confused as the time two-legged Jordan was interrupted explaining polynomials. “Mr. Jordan?” the centaur repeated as if tasting a particularly bitter fruit. “Yes...I have been called that before. But why are you…?” His eyes narrowed. She was being stared at. It didn’t happen often, not to Katlynn...but she knew what it felt like to be ogled. But it wasn’t her chest that was being stared at. Instead, the girl felt her ears flush. “What are you doing here, Katlynn?” “Am I dreaming?” Such a stupid question- of course she was dreaming. If she didn’t accept this as a dream, her mind might collapse in on itself. If she wasn’t dreaming this was a complete and total hallucination. Centaur Jordan snorted derisively. “Not as such, no. You are in Malacus. But for humans, I’m told the experience is quite dreamlike. But why are you here? You weren’t supposed to be here, yet, we haven’t had time to-” “Why are you a centaur?” It might’ve been her own dazed and confused state as the last of the adrenaline started to drain away from her; or it might’ve been that Mr. Jordan’s face was so easy to interrupt. The centaur frowned and scratched his head. “I’ve always been a centaur, no matter the visitor. Only the face ever changes.” His eyes darted down when he said ‘changes’. “Why is your diaper on backwards?” Katlynn’s eyes all but bugged out of her head. She’d been so stricken with confusion and disbelief that she’d completely forgotten about the near fatal carriage crash and being afraid for her life, and having nothing to cover her bottom but a fairly large Huggies. The fact that in her panic, she’d somehow managed to tape it on backwards didn’t help. She still had the crinkle like a diaper with every micromovement of her waist, but it fit funny. It was loose in all the wrong places. “I was in a rush. I wasn’t wearing it before, but something happened to my underwear.” Her fists were clenched and nervous. The centaur pouted out his lips like he was sucking on a bad lemon. “You said your panties changed into a diaper?” A hot flash spread into Katlynn’s cheeks. “I said my underwear, but yeah.” She pointed to the crinkly papery not-quite cloth monstrosity strapped to her hips. “This is all I have left.” Her dress (if it could even be called that) would be useless at protecting her modesty below the waist. By this point it was less a dress and more a shirt with some frills at the hem. “Maiden’s milk?” The centaur asked. The word scratched at the back of Katlynn’s brain. “Yeah…?” That’s what the elf that looked a heck of a lot like Cameron had called it. It’s what had been put in that god awful hot tea...and things had tickled all the way down until tickles turned to tinkles. “A girl with pointy ears gave me some.” The Mr. Jordan with a horse body closed his eyes and started rubbing his temples with one hand, effectively soothing himself and facepalming at the same time. “Theodosia,” he growled. “Always too ambitious for her own good.” He let his hand drop away from his face. “I suppose Adora and Ambrosia were with her?” Those names clicked in Katlynn’s brain. “Yeah. Except they looked like my classmates. Why does everyone look like people I know?” The centaur clopped up a few steps. “Lay down.” Alarm bells rang in Katlynn’s mind. “What?” “Lay down,” Mr. Jordan said. “You need to get that diaper on right or it will leak the moment your bladder spasms. I can help.” He gestured around. “The grass is soft here and there are no bugs that will crawl on you.” Barefoot and feeling increasingly powerless, Katlynn took a step back. She pivoted sideways. It was a good way to look behind her without fully turning her back on the monster standing in front of her. “I'm not going to pee myself,” she said. “You drank Maiden’s Milk,” the centaur said. “Your body is starting to remember things it has long forgotten.” Katlynn opened her mouth to answer. Oof...there was a lot to unpack there. So much that she didn’t know where to begin. “Remember? Remember what?” “Like how to completely let go.” He pointed down to her crotch. Katlynn looked down at herself in horror. Was she peeing? She was peeing, wasn’t she?! She didn’t know! She didn’t know and that was the scariest part. Some strange feeling of propriety, made her lift the hem of her so-called dress up to her belly button in a futile attempt to protect the fabric. Katlynn looked down at her legs, and waited for the inevitable dampness between her legs; the trickle of urine down her thighs as she helplessly wet herself like a toddler that wasn’t even close to potty training. And nothing came. “Why are you doing that?” The centaur furrowed his brow. Katlynn let the hem of her dress drop down. It didn’t protect her modesty at all, but it did free her hands up. “I just thought that...when you said let go...I thought...I mean…” The centaur snorted and smirked; a very un-Mr. Jordan expression. “Had I the ability to make you void yourself or predict when you would void yourself, diapers wouldn’t be needed, would they?” “Um...no?” “Nay, they would not.” Katlynn had to suppress a nervous giggle at a horse person saying “Nay”. “I guess not.” “But the fact that you yourself are uncertain tells me you should have one on.” “But…” “You drank Theodosia’s potion. You’ll need one for a bit at least.” His voice was authoritative and resolute. Also not much like Scrumpton’s pushover math teacher. “Now lay down before you leak.” Katlynn wrinkled her nose. “Um...no offense, but you’re a guy and I’m not going to-” “Is this a dream and do you ogle horses?” The centaur interrupted. “I beg your pardon?” Again, the centaur face palmed and rubbed at his temples with one hand. “Is this a dream and do you ogle horses?” he repeated. The older of the Dean twins blinked. “Um...I don’t know about the dream thing aaaand...I’m not into horses.” The centaur put his hands on his torso -hips felt like a misnomer- and said, “Then there’s no harm in this. If this is a dream, then it’s a very strange dream that you’ll most likely forget upon waking or not tell anyone about.” “And if it’s not a dream?” Katlynn asked. (She’d never had a dream feel this real before). “We are two very different species. I have no lust for you anymore than you have for me. Or have you not noticed that I’m naked?” Katlynn’s eyes widened. She hadn’t. She really hadn’t. “Aren’t you embarrassed?” The centaur gave a shrug. “Do humans get embarrassed being naked around other animals?” “I guess not…?” “Then lay down. Let me help.” Reluctantly- very reluctantly- Katlynn laid down in the soft grass, biting into the sides of her tongue to keep the screaming at bay. She turned her head to the side, trying to focus on something in the middle distance. Like a show pony, the centaur gently and slowly lowered itself to the ground. Front legs first; then hind ones. “On your belly, please. That’s where the tapes are.” “This better be a dream,” she mumbled to herself as she rolled over to her belly. The sound of velcro tabs scritch scratching off didn’t feel like a dream. Nor did the feeling of her being flipped back over by meaty hands. “Whoah!” “Just a moment.” He sounded patient now. Focused. And focus is exactly what Katlynn lossed as her bare feet went to the sky. She wasn’t used to this! Nor was she used to the feeling of her bum coming down on soft padding. Doubly so for when Not-Mr.-Jordan hiked the diaper over her hips and taped it on properly. At least when Tommy got changed, Mom would let him step into the new Pull-Up. So his underwear got ripped off but he could at least pretend that he was an adult as he stepped in and pulled the fresh one up his legs. This? This was just a diaper change. Just like that it was over. The nappy was properly on; it’s Huggies logo, Mickey Mouse decorations and velcro tapes all facing the correct direction. “There,” the centaur said. “It’s done.” That was all Katlynn needed to climb back up to her feet. Smoothing out the hem of her dress over her diaper didn’t really accomplish anything, but it made her feel a little better. Same with the Huggies being taped on directly. It certainly fit her better; but it was still a diaper; something most girls her age didn’t wear. Slowly, the centaur rose to his feet. “Where’s the pram?” “Pram?” Katlynn repeated dumbly. “The carriage,” the centaur said. “It’s Theodosia’s preferred method of transport and if she got you to drink the Maiden’s Milk, she would’ve had one nearby.” “Oh, yeah.” Katlynn remembered. “Over there.” She pointed in the direction she’d come from. The centaur didn’t wait to pick her up with his oddly monkey-like tail. Nor did he listen to her screech as he deposited her on his back. It was a quick jaunt to the crash site. The wrecked pram hadn’t moved any. “What are we looking for?” Katlynn asked as the monster with Mr. Jordan’s mug pawed through the twisted iron and cloth. “Your diaper bag,” he said matter of factly. “Just in case.” “Just in case what?” “In case you need a change.” He shook his head in disgust. “Sloppy elves. Can never trust them to do the job right these days. Never learned to adjust. Just take credit for other people’s work.” Something about that didn’t quite sit right with Katlynn. “What job?” Katlynn’s question was roundly ignored; with the strange fantasy creatures eyes thoroughly scanning the ground. “Maybe it fell out…” “There!” Katlynn said. “Two O’clock.” She instantly regretted pointing it out, but she almost couldn’t help herself. The centaur’s head swiveled forty-five degrees and he broke out into a trot, scooping it up with his tail and slinging the bag over his shoulder. “Well done, little Katlynn!” he called over the sound of his own hoofbeats. “Well done, indeed!” A shiver broke out over Katlynn’s back. Again, she was being called “little”. Again she didn’t like the sound of it. Not one bit. His back to her- (human back anyways...fantasy creature anatomy was hard!)- the centaur didn’t notice how Katlynn tensed up. He probably didn’t feel how tightly Katlynn was clinging to his shoulders as he started galloping through the fields and brushes. “Where are we going?” Katlynn asked. “Where’s Tommy?” Not breaking his stride, the centaur leaned his head back to glance at her. “Don’t worry, I’m taking you to him.” She didn’t know if her brother could handle such a dangerous place. Plummeting off the back of a giant flying turtle? Tommy could barely handle a playground some days. “Is he safe?” “There is no place safer for your kind than Malacus?” The centaur replied. “Danger is merely an illusion here.” The young Miss Dean gritted her teeth. Poison that fucked up your bladder control seemed pretty dangerous if you asked her. “Why?” she asked. “All will be revealed.” he promised. “Is somebody named Charles here?” She tried to remember the other name scribbled in algae. “Charles Watson?” The centaur’s gallop slowed to a stop. A monkey tail wrapped around Katlynn’s waist and put her back on the ground in front of her horse-teacher. “Did you say Charlie Watson?” Perhaps it was fear. Perhaps it was more of the milk affecting her. But Katlynn felt a blossoming wet patch in her Huggies just then. It wasn’t much...just a spot...what her Mom would call a ‘tiny tinkle’ had it been Tommy in his Pull-Ups. “Y-y-yeah...?” she said The centaur glowered down at her. “How do you know that name?” Katlynn lost the ability to reply. “Tommy, I understand. Even if Theodosia didn’t run her mouth you’d be concerned for him. You can’t remember a time when he wasn’t as he is now…” “As he is now…?” Katlynn echoed the words confusedly. “What do you mean? He’s always been a…” Katlynn stopped. ‘Baby’ wasn’t quite the right word for it; Tommy was the same age as her, even if he never had developed, physically or mentally past thirty months. But ‘baby’ sounded a lot better than any other word she could come up with. Then her mind connected the centaur’s and elf’s words. “You can’t remember a time when he wasn’t as he is now..” The centaur just said. “At the very least, we were going to save you for last;” the elf with Cameron’s face had confessed, “ease you into it like your brother.” Had Tommy NOT always been her baby twin brother?! “How do you know about Charlie Watson?” The centaur repeated. “I..I...I don’t know…” Then a rogue thought came into the girl’s head. A very clever thought. “Tell me what’s happening to my brother.” Nostrils flared up. Front hooves stomped angrily as teeth gnashed. And then it all vanished behind a facade of reserved calm. “Very well,” he said. ”But not here.” Again, the strangely long and not at all horse like tail wrapped around Katy’s hips and deposited her on the back half of the centaur, before breaking off into another gallop. Katlynn decided not to scream questions and accusations on the back of the man-horse, and just clung onto his shoulders as tightly as possible. If this was a dream, it was one of the weirdest ones she’d ever had. Beyond a few broken down ponies tied to a wheel at the county fair, Katlynn had never ridden a horse. Yet as the centaur that looked an awful like Mr. Jordan galloped on, vague sensory memories of bouncing on Mommy’s knee when she was a little girl came to her mind: The bobbing up and down as the horse galloped half galloped. The way his strong hands enveloped and tried to comfort her white knuckled grip. Even the cushioned crinkle as she bobbed up and down wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. Katlynn almost couldn’t feel the slight wet spot she’d left in her diaper. Almost. Something else was happening as she bobbed up and down, too. Something a lot less pleasant inside her stomach. The ride would be over soon she told herself. Very soon. Open field gave way to a nearly impossible, setting. Reaching into the clouds above her were enormous trees; big leafy giants that gave a cooling and concealing shade. Beneath her were tangles of thorny vines and brambles so thick that the centaur had to slow down and high step in the thickets, clomping down hard on the prickly vegetation. It was something like Brer Rabbit meets the great redwood forest. No way could something like this happen. Either the vines would choke out the tree roots and rob them of water, or the giant trees would rob the vines of too much sunlight to thrive. Yet here they were. The centaur plodded along over the vines, leaping here and there to finally reach the smallest of clearings. Without preamble he set Katlynn down as her stomach gave yet another rumble. Her legs felt wobbly and bowed out a bit before buckling. It didn’t hurt very much; the fall wasn’t very fall, but she still let out an “Oof,” as the dust spread out. “Careful,” the centaur said. Though it sounded like less of a concern and more of a command word. When a group of wooden poles shot out of the ground, caging her in an even small segment of the clearing, Katlynn suspected she was right. “HEY!” she cried out. “What gives.” “It’s for your own safety,” the centaur replied. “The milk is affecting you more deeply than you know.” “You’re going to keep me safe by putting me in a cage?” “No. I’m going to keep you safe by putting you in a playpen.” Katlynn had had about enough of this. “What’s with all this baby shit?” Katlynn demanded. “What’s with all the diapers and carriages and baby clothes and playpens?!” As tall as the trees were, there were still stray branches that were well within reach; another implausibility. The centaur reached up and grabbed a shiny red apple from the branch. “Here.” He handed the fruit to Katlynn. “Eat this. It will make you feel better.” Katlynn slapped the apple out of his hand. “Screw that. Answer my question.” “Eat the apple.” “No way! That’ll just make me more into a baby!” The centaur rolled his eyes. “Why would I want you to be a baby before you’ve answered my questions? You can’t tell me about Charlie Watson if you’re a baby, can you?” He reached for another apple and took a bite out of it, chewing it slowly and swallowing before handing it over the bars. “See?” The milk turned those others into pants peeing toddlers just as easily as it had Katlynn. The lead elf even mentioned about taking one for the team. Her present host/captor wouldn’t poison himself. Slowly, Katlynn took the apple and took a bite out of the other side of the apple. A burst of cold juice exploded in her mouth and flooded down her throat. Her teeth tingled with delight as she crunched and munched on that first decadent bite. “Mmmmmm!” “I told you it would make you feel better,” the centaur said, humorlessly. “I’m not an elf.” Katlynn swallowed and tossed the apple aside. “Now tell me what’s going on,” she said. “Tell me everything.” “Of course,” the centaur nodded. “A deal’s a deal.” From out of the trees, hanging on vines little wooden marionettes dangled down, both vaguely humanoid in appearance. The centaur gestured to the puppets. “Mankind has always had a complicated relationship with power. Your people crave power and independence.” Like an old Punch and Judy show, the two wooden figurines began pantomiming beating on each other. Swinging and kicking and grappling. It was really a wonder the vines serving as strings didn’t get impossibly tangled with each other. Katlynn leaned forward. “Whoah,” she whispered. Her legs felt a little weak, and she bent them a bit as she clutched the wooden bars of her makeshift playpen. “You stock up on power and freedom and autonomy and liberty.” The centaur went on. “Call it what you want; it’s the same thing with so many different words and disguises. You fight for it. You crave it. You resent others for having more than you. You take it from others who have less. And when you get it you just want more. One drop is too much and too much is never enough.” She bent her legs a bit more, and bit her lip. She didn’t even notice that she was pushing a warm mushy load into the back of her Huggies. She was too enthralled by the puppet shows. “That sounds like alcohol,” Katlynn said. “Exactly!” The centaur smiled. “Yet you also don’t want it. Not really. “In almost every power structure there has to be something above you.” A larger puppet dropped between the two fighters, grabbing them by the scruffs of their necks and separating them and wagging its finger at them as if scolding them. “Even at the highest levels, you say there’s a god above you. That or you are part of an uncaring universe within which you are completely insignificant. As a people, humans can’t stand the idea of being the most powerful or the greatest or having any real control.” The two puppets prostrated themselves before the larger third. “You crave it and fear it. You want someone to give it to you and to keep it from you.” The smaller marionettes found themselves over the larger one’s knee being spanked. “You’re nothing but toddlers constantly exploring and then going and tugging on Mommy’s apron for reassurance lest you break out into a tantrum.” Putting a cloth diaper and pinning it on two string held marionettes should have been an impossible trick for the third, and yet it happened right in front of Katlynn. As her diaper drooped and her bladder released another burst to be soaked in by the thirsty padding Katlynn became only vaguely aware of her situation. “So you think humans are all babies? That’s why I’m in a friggin’ we-....why I’m in a diaper?” Katlynn’s cheeks flashed hot when the literal weight of what she’d just done reached her brain and the smell of her own poop and pee invaded her nostrils. “Goodness no!” the centaur laughed as the puppets (two of them now diapered) took a bow and ascended back up into the branches. “Malacus is not a land of punishment, but of wish fulfillment.” Malacus? That was the name on the clock, Katlynn realized. That revelation was almost enough to distract her from what she’d done to herself. Almost. Like a hungry shark, the centaur started circling the playpen. “We simply attract people here who want more power than they have or have more power than they want and reset them to their most natural state. They crave adventure? We give it to them? Whimsy? That too. No one leaves Malacus unhappy.” “Tommy isn’t unhappy!” Katlynn blurted out. She whirled around to face the centaur, in part to hide how her backside had filled up. She had to make her stance bowlegged just so her own personal muck wouldn’t smush up against her as much. “He’s practically an eighteen year old baby! He doesn’t know any better!” “Exactly!” A flash of insight. “You don’t mean… Tommy used to be normal?” “Thomas Dean found us when he was at a low point,” the centaur said. “He wanted adventure, respect, and power. So we gave it to him. He wanted to fight and kill and explore. So we let him pretend.” Katlynn had to keep pivoting to meet the centaur’s eye. “But just like all games,” he said, “this one is temporary. We’re returning him to his natural state. He can have all the power that he needs; just enough to have fun and live his life in comfort. But there will always be someone more powerful above him to take care of him; a Mommy or a Nanny. A babysitter, perhaps.” Katlynn heard what he hadn’t said, too. He hadn’t mentioned ‘big sister’ as one of his caretakers. “What do you get out of it?” she asked. “What’s in it for you?” The centaur nodded. “Even a bullied highschooler has some power. The ability to dress himself, feed himself, cook, travel, be seen as an intellectual equal or emotional equal. To be understood when speaking.” The centaur’s nose twitched. “The ability to determine his own bedtime...or control his innards…” He knew! He knew what she had done! “And magic doesn’t require a great deal of power to make someone have super strength or fly for a time. So we just do an exchange. A power fantasy in return for actual power.” “You stole his...his adulthood?” The centaur seemed offended. “Elves steal power. The rest of us...exchange it. That’s more than fair, don’t you think?” “Why hasn’t Tommy told me about this place?” Katlynn didn’t notice that there were tree vines drooping down into the playpen. “Babies don’t like to share their favorite toys?” The centaur shrugged. “Either that or he doesn’t consciously remember his visits here until he’s called.” Katlynn remembered how loud the clock sounded. “Most of them are like that,” the centaur said. “Most of them don’t know any better, either. All except Charlie Watson. Never could figure him out.” His eyes narrowed. “I wonder…” The vines snaked around Katlynn in a flash, threading themselves between her legs. “EEEEK!” Not only was she lifted off her feet, but the mass in her diaper squished messily against her. “AAAH! Gross!” A fly caught in a spider’s web, Katlynn struggled as more and more vines snaked around her, supporting her, confining her. “THIS IS SO GROSS!” “You won’t think so in a minute after that apple kicks in.” “You said it wouldn’t turn me into a baby!” “And I did not lie,” the centaur smirked. “The apples here have...other effects.” Katlynn didn’t ask what other effects. She saw them as she caught a peak at the underside of the horse. “Pardon me,” the centaur blushed. It was necessary that I take one for the team. I’m thinking of a sweet young philly that I’m seeing after work today; not you, if it makes you feel any better.” He turned away from her. Katlyn kicked. Katlynn struggled and thrashed. She couldn’t move. Once more, she had to lean forward for her toes to even graze the floor. And when she pushed off, she’d go a little bit into the air, the vines pressing her mess up against her. The vines had constructed a giant baby jumper for her. She was trapped and filthy and disgusting. And she hated to admit it...but she kind of liked it. “Hnnn…” she moaned. “What’d you do to me?” She felt as if her naughty bits were on fire in the most sensual way. She was both disgusted and aroused by herself and wasn’t sure which way to lean emotionally speaking. The horse-man looked back over his shoulder. “Shame and self-control are two other forms of power,” Mr. Jordan’s look alike said. “I only brought out what was already inside you, Katlynn. The clock wouldn’t have called you otherwise.” Then he added. “It was the clock, right? That’s the entryway in your part of the world, last I checked.” Katlynn’s breathing sped up. Each futile kick or pathetic thrash created a pleasant little bobbing and bounce. And as long as she didn’t think about WHY the inside of her Huggies was so gooey and wet and warm and mushy...the sensation wasn’t that bad. Oh god, what was she thinking?! “How?!” She gasped. “How do I make it stop?” “There is no stopping it,” the centaur chuckled bitterly. “Just speeding up the inevitable.” He wiggled his fingers. “I recommend you use your hands since you can reach. You wouldn’t like how centaurs have to do it.” Mortified and overwhelmed, Katlynn reached down between her legs and began to rub herself through her sopping wet and messy diaper. Up and down, up and down. Pressing her fingers through the soft puly padding. It felt so good; almost primally so. “Think of something,” Katlynn said to herself. “Think about Brad Pitt.” The rustle as she rubbed herself invaded her senses. The way the diaper flopped back down whenever she released tension. “Think about cute boys at school. Think about a hot bath! Anything...just don’t think about where you are or what you’re doing!” She also tried to not think about how good it felt. She tried not to think about how helpless and humiliated she was and how hot that made her feel inside. She failed. Katlynn Dean didn’t scream just then when she brought herself to climax. She never did. Living in a house with a perpetual baby brother and an overprotective mother meant she had to pretend she’d never known what masturbation was or how to do it. It was a silly lie, but manners and politics was the art of taking something that everyone knew to be untrue and saying it anyways. Instead she let out a low breathy moan as her hands slowly stopped rubbing herself, the crinkle between her legs slowing gradually as she released fully into the waiting diaper; becoming a light pitter patter and then nothing as she collapsed in her harness. “Please…” she panted. “Give me something to suck on.” She’d always wanted to kiss after cumming, but with nothing and no one worth smooching, she’d often resort to sucking on her own lips instead. The intense rush draining out of her made her realize that her own lips just wouldn’t cut it. “Just use your thumb,” the centaur said, huffing; clearly trying to contain his own lust. “All the others do.” Without hesitation, Katlynn shoved her thumb into her mouth and started sucking. It felt oddly good. Oddly right. Even as her own brain screamed at her that she looked and was acting ridiculous. In that moment, she didn’t care. “Now,” the centaur said, trotting around the playpen, slowly. “Tell me what you know about Charlie Watson.” At the sound of the strange name she’d read, a bit of Katlynn’s rational brain kicked in. “Nnnn-nnn…” she shook her head. The girl knew that if she told him what he wanted to know, he’d have no reason not to turn her into some kind of freak-baby; just like Tommy. She sucked her thumb for comfort. Part of her still didn’t want that. “If you tell me, I’ll change your diaper,” her captor offered. “Or if you’d like...I’ll give you another apple.” Katlynn moaned around her thumb. That. That was temptation. Either sounded wonderful just then. Either the clean decadence and security of a fresh diaper; or the rowdy, filthy decadence of another go in the jumper. Why not? Why not to either? Why should Tommy be the one to get all the attention? All the love? All the irresponsibility? “It’s okay,” the horse man tempted. “Enjoy it. The moment you leave here you won’t remember a thing. And if you let us do our magic, no one outside will remember you as anything different than how you are right now. You’ll get to be who you’ve always wanted to be and this will be no more yielding but a dream.” Katlynn opened her eyes, not even realizing she’d closed them, and saw the centaur opening her diaper bag and spreading it out onto the floor in a spot bereft of brambles. “After you change me,” she asked, “can I ride on your back again?” Riding horseback really was more fun than being carried around on some broken down old pony. “Just say the word, baby girl.” He told her. “Say the word and we’ll make an excha-” “NOX!” A familiar voice boomed out. The centaur shook and looked behind him. Katlynn looked out of the playpen. He was dressed in shortalls and a t-shirt. The bulge in his midsection showed that he was wearing a diaper just like her. Yet his shoulders were squared and his feet hovered effortlessly above the spiked vines that riddled the forest floor. No vinces from the trees held him aloft. He looked even more like a baby than usual, but had the confidence and poise of a superhero. “Tommy?” Katlynn called out. “Is that you? Tommy's face was stern and angry. He regarded her with a nod but kept his focus on Katlyn’s captor. “Nox?!” He repeated. “What do you think you’re doing with my big sister?!”

Yeah. Sorry. Patreon is how I make money. I don't have a "day job". I'm a father, a househusband, and a smut writer and not always in that order. I release a chapter of any given project when I update it over on patreon (or I release an old one-shot after a new one-shot) I know that not everybody can spare 5 bucks a month so that I can chase my dreams, so in that case the only price I charge is patience. Believe me when I say that Unfair is definitely not going anywhere.

Chapter 29: Cruel Temptations Toucha toucha toucha touch me, I wanna be dirty Thrill me chill me fulfill me Creature of the night Tommy wandered down the tunnel beneath the River Bank. “If you step on the dead ones, all of them crinkle, step on the live ones they won’t even tinkle.” What did it mean? He supposed if he knew that right off the bat it wouldn’t be much of a riddle. And if it wasn’t much of a riddle it wouldn’t be much of a quest. Speaking of crinkle, Tommy could still hear the faint papery crinkle of his new diaper beneath his shortalls. Still fresh. Still crisp. Still dry. Speaking of tinkle, Tommy knew that the milk he’d drunk was still working its way through his system. And oddly enough...he was okay with that. There was something nice about a wet diaper compared to wet pants. Something nice about a thick and comfy diaper made only thicker and comfier with just a tiny tinkle as opposed to thin, barely noticeable underwear. Something nice about getting to focus completely on the task at hand instead of being distracted by a rumbling tummy or aching bladder. And something completely, almost decadently wonderful about one’s clothes being somebody else’s problem. Too much thinking about the potty, Tommy chided himself. Too much thinking about diapers, too. Tom the Titan didn’t think about his glorious armor protecting him; he’d just run straight into battle. Malacus had provided him with the tools he’d needed to thrive. Likewise, Tommy the riddle master shouldn’t think about the clothing Malacus had placed on him this time and just trust that it would do the job while he did the real work. “Step on the dead ones and all of them crinkle,” he repeated. “Step on the live ones, they don’t even tinkle.” What could it be talking about. “Hello, Tommy,” the sweet, teasing, very familiar voice, called from down the tunnel. “I see your shadow coming down the hall.” Tommy smiled, and his diaper started becoming a little smaller as his manhood started to engorge itself. He couldn’t help it. That voice just had that effect on him. Amanda’s voice. Or rather, Ghilanna of the Gilded Leaf, Sorceress Queen of the elves’s voice. It was complicated. The tunnel ended in a clearing, and dim magical torchlight and bioluminescent fungus and algae made way towards actual sunlight. Tommy blinked as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight. He was still technically, underground- or at least beneath the surface. The tunnel ended in a kind of pit; a wide and deep hole piled and piled with junk that nowhere managed to reach the top, but at the very least there was direct sunlight shining down on him. “Hello, Tommy,” the elf with Amanda Monroe’s face greeted. She leaned against a near wall of the pit, with her arms crossed. No longer dressed in any kind of silken robes fit for a queen, she was clothed in commoner’s rags. Even in rags she looked stunning. Her hair was a mess. Tommy curled his fingers as the idea of him running his fingers through that messy hair. In many ways, Ghilanna was a cat: Even at her lowest she seemed to have a kind of mysterious dignity and beauty. Same as when he’d caught her in her bed and defeated her spells. Just like now that she was in beggars clothes. Tommy smirked. “No ‘m’lord Tommy’?” he asked. “Not even ‘friend’?” Ghilanna stopped leaning against the dirt wall. “I think we’re a little more than friends, don’t you?” The boy who might yet fly, shuddered a bit. The shaking wasn’t from revulsion or fear, but of suddenly reliving the intense memory. Assuming she was real (and why shouldn’t she be?) Ghilanna was his first. You never forget your first. “You look...um...different.” Tommy said. Ghilanna eyed his shortalls. “So do you.” “I decided to wear something more comfortable.” “Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,” Ghilanna clucked with her tongue. “You’re still a terrible liar.” Boldly, she grabbed his chin in her hand. “Somebody or something put you in those clothes.” The elf leaned in and whispered, “And you love it.” Lacking his super strength, it was all Tommy could do to slap away the intrusive hand and step away from the seductress. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,” he stuttered out. “What’s your excuse? Slumming it?” Pointy eared Amanda’s mouth twisted and her shoulders drooped. “If you must know, I’ve had a run of bad luck.” “Do tell.” “As it turns out, when there’s no war and universal peace, there’s no borders. And when there’s no borders and everyone is getting along and things are hunky dory, people don’t feel they need queens.” She picked up the hem of her ragged skirt and did a crude curtsey. “Hence, this.” “Why not use your magic to stay queen?” Tommy asked. Ghilanna rolled her eyes; she really was Amanda Monroe in every way save the ears. “You don’t have your strength either, do you? War magic goes away when the war is done and settled.” Tommy averted his eyes and stared at the ground, but he couldn’t help but feel foolish. The way Amanda/Ghilanna said it made the whole thing seem perfectly sensible and obvious; but Tommy felt like he was grasping at straws. Sometimes Malacus made perfect sense; other times it felt like the fantasy world was rewriting its own natural laws and making things up as it went along. “Um…” Tommy said, “So what brings a girl like you to a pit like this?” Again, the elf rolled her eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m trying to solve the riddle to get to the next part of the quest.” Tommy nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense.” “What doesn’t is the blasted riddle,” Ghilanna complained. “Step on the dead ones, all of them crinkle, step on the live ones, they don’t even tinkle.” “What does it even mean?” With wide sweeping gesture, the elf woman indicated the junk lying around the room. “Whatever it is, it has something to do with all of this nonsense.” Tommy focused his eyes past the adversary with his crush’s reflection. Junk. Junk everywhere. Rusty Nails. Shiny Bells. Leaves. Stuffed Animals. Rice. Wooden blocks. Bug carcasses. Moss. Coloring books. Pinatas. Bubble Wrap. Broken Glass. Pitchers of water. Music Boxes. All of that and more formed piles around the pit. It was a junk collection worthy of Mommy Dean herself. Junk was everywhere, Tommy saw, and it was disorganized for sure (hence junk), but it wasn’t quite random. The piles were all homogenous. Like with like. There was a pile of loose bubble wrap that went up close to seven feet high, and an eight foot tall mound of cellophane wrapped candies, but there was no mountain of bubble wrap and candy to be found. “What are we supposed to do with this?” “I THINK we’re supposed to choose the right pile,” Ghilanna said. “The question is which one?” Tommy licked his lips. “Good question. Which should we try first?” Another sweeping gesture from Amanda’s doppelganger. “Be my guest. You guess is as good as mine.” A single half-waddling step is all Tommy took before freezing in place and pivoting back to look at Ghilanna. “This is an Indiana Jones and Last Crusade thing, isn’t it?” The elf’s nose wrinkled and her brow furrowed. “You know, Tommy, I’d have an easier time answering your questions if I knew what you were talking about, sweetheart.” Tommy had to bite his tongue to focus after being called ‘sweetheart’. “Every pile but the correct one is a death trap, isn’t it?” Ghilanna deflated a little. “Death trap? No. Disqualifier? Yes.” “What happens?” “You get ejected back to the beginning of the game in that stupid dwarven library,” she pouted. “And to get back here you have to solve another riddle.” She huffed and crossed her arms. “This is my fifth time getting back here.” “So it’s not always a passage from the River Bank?” Tommy asked. Ghilanna scowled. “River Bank? Ooooh, that’s an easy one. You got lucky with that riddle.” “Hey,” Tommy complained, “Nox and Leadshoulder couldn’t figure it out.” The elf turned her back on Tommy. “You could write a whole book on the things those two dummies can’t figure out.” The boy who was Titan, turned his back as well. Tommy never did like his friends being picked on...even the fantasy ones. “Whatever,” he said. “It’s not like fighting is going to help us solve the riddle.” The elf who was Queen, pivoted and wrapped her arms around Tommy. “You’re right,” she whispered. “So why don’t we do the opposite of fighting?” Tommy’s breath caught for a second. She enveloped him. It wasn’t until he was in her embrace that he realized just how much bigger than him she’d become. “You mean…?” “Let’s get the creative...juices flowing.” Tommy could have melted into a puddle and been soaked up by his own Pampers just then. “We’re alone. And the last time we did this, good things happened.” She nibbled on his ear. “For both of us.” Tommy leaned back into the elf, now bigger than he, as she nibbled on his ear, moaning softly and slowly. Throwing back his head, he leaned into her breasts. Even in rags, she smelled like fine oils. Almost like baby oils. The thought of her lathering baby oil on him only made him harder. “Lay down,” she commanded. Yes. Lay down. Good things had been happening to Tommy when he laid down for pretty ladies. The elf was on top of him before his back hit the dirt. Her lips on his; tongue probing in his mouth. Even through the dirty rags her breasts felt amazing. She started riding him, grinding on his waist while he bucked his hips. “Ooooh,” he moaned, as his heart started racing. His hands snaked down and grabbed her by the hips; trying to pull her down on him through his clothes. “Ooooooooh!” He moaned for another reason, too. She felt...heavier. Sex was like fractions. When the bigger sum on top, it was improper. “Ooooooooh!” she echoed back, oblivious to Tommy’s discomfort. “Ooooooh! YES! Writhe around in the dirty with me my strong Titan.” Something was wrong. Tommy knew it by the third thrust and the second sentence out of the elf’s mouth. Just then, being called strong and brave and bold didn’t make him feel so good. “Tell me I’m cute,” he grunted. “Call me cute.” They didn’t stop bucking, but Tommy felt he was losing steam. “Oooooh! Writhe in the dirt with me, by cute Titan!” Damnit. Not what he meant. And he was dry, too. There was none of the pulpy warm squish. A wet diaper was thiiiis close to a pocket pussy. A dry one? For all intents and purposes, he was trying to dry hump one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen through a pillow. “Hrrrnn,” she growled. “Disrobe. Take your clothes off!” Fingers fumbled clumsily for the buckles on his shortalls, but the brass wiring wouldn’t budge off of the breast buttons. “I can’t…” Slender yet strong fingers jiggled with the buttons. “Here. Let me.” She had no more success; her lips snarling, and her hushed breath speaking in a language Tommy could not hope to understand? Was this what swearing in elvish sounded like. Tommy could already feel himself beginning to lose it. With the blood starting to flow back into his brain, Tommy got another idea. “The snaps!” he said. “Get the snaps!” He might just salvage this thing yet! Ghilanna stopped grinding against him. “Snaps?” “Buttons!” Tommy yelped. “Between my legs!” Goodness gracious don’t lose momentum! The elf dismounted and bent over Tommy’s crotch. Thin and nimble hands started undoing the snaps. “Oh my!” she giggled. “It’s a dress masquerading as pantaloons!” “It’s not a dress!” Tommy cried. “It’s a-” “What...is...this?” Ghilanna had peeled back the leggings turned flaps. Elven eyes saw, but could not seem to comprehend the stylized Sesame Street characters parading around Tommy’s crotch. “What happened to your underclothes?” Even through the diaper’s padding, Tommy could feel the slender hand experimentally poke and grope at his penis. Tommy felt his tongue become sandpaper. “It’s a diaper.” “A what?” Tommy didn’t know if Ghilanna didn’t know what a diaper was, or whether she just wanted to hear him say it again. “A diaper. I’m wearing a diaper in case…” Tommy paused. Corrected himself. “I’m wearing a diaper for when I need to...you know.” Ghilanna wasn’t Amanda Monroe anymore than Nox was Mr. Jordan. But her facial expressions were just as wild, and just as cruel and just as hurtful as any of the times Amanda had been witness to Tommy being bullied in school. Her eyes were just as excited, her grin just as wicked, and her laughter just as gleeful. “LO AND BEHOLD!” she crowed. “THE MIGHTY TOM THE TITAN, SLAYER OF HYDRAGONS IS REALLY JUST…” she stared Tommy down, and lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “A pathetic. Weak. Pants wetting. Piss soaked. Little. Baby!” Instinctively, Tommy started scurrying away, pedaling backwards as Ghilanna towered over him. Leadshoulder had a good few inches, but the elf was MUCH bigger “You have gotten smaller!” she grinned. “I thought it was me, but you’re really just a baby. A tiny, sexless thing. And that’s not even a dress draped around you.” “It’s NOT!” Tommy insisted, climbing to his feet with the dirt wall to support him. The legs for his shortalls had yet to be all the way snapped together. It sure felt like a dress. “It’s a gown!” she teased. “A baby gown! You’re far too little to be wearing anything as manly as pants!” “It’s not a-!” Tommy froze. His cheeks started to flush as the front of his diaper warmed. He’d erupted into his pants, and not in the way he’d hoped to. The elven Amanda must have seen it. “Awwww,” she mocked. “Wussa matta? Did widdle Tommy wommy make a tinkle in his-...” She stopped. Her jaw dropped. If not the look of excitement and the manic grin on her face, Tommy might’ve suspected that she’d wet her pants, too. “What?” Tommy huffed. “What is it?” “Diapers.” She grabbed Tommy’s hand. “That’s the answer!” Tommy’s feet followed behind him while the bully dragged him to a pile of (thankfully unused) diapers among all the random brick-a-brack. “What’s the answer?” “Step on the dead ones, all of the crinkle. Step on the live ones, they don’t even tinkle!” She gestured to the pile. “Just like a diaper!” “But-” “They crinkle, even when they’re wet. And you tinkle in them, except it doesn’t make the sound because there’s no water!” “But-” “It makes perfect sense!” She gave him a condescending pat on the head. “Bye-bye, little one!” She jumped backwards into the pile, her arms spread wide. And then… And then… Nothing. Laying in the pile of Pampers, the not-quite Amanda seemed confused. “What?” The rumbling from beneath the ground gave her all the reason to despair. “Oh…” As the ground shook, and the mound of diapers started to sink into the ground, dragging her with them, Ghilanna surely wished she’d been wearing one. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” As the last diaper fell into the earth’s surface, and more dirt rushed into fill the whole making the ground perfectly level, Tommy calmly buttoned up his shortalls. He could still do that at least. “Heh,” he said. “Diapers aren’t alive, silly.” Left alone in the pit, he started to look around as he absent mindedly brushed the dirt off of his play clothes. Nanny would be terribly cross with him if his play clothes got too dirty. (Even if she would be happy to change him.) Hmm...play. This entire riddle quest was supposed to be a form of magical play, was it not? Not a trap, or something dangerous. Just amusement. But nothing here seemed worth playing in. Nothing except… His swollen diaper causing him to waddle a bit, Tommy toddled over to the pile of leaves. It had dead, dried out leaves that snapped under his feet. “Step on the dead ones, all of them crinkle.” And live ones that were full of water and mute, not even making the slightest sound. “Step on the live ones, they don’t even tinkle.” Leaves! The answer was leaves! Like a certain richest duck in the world and his money bin, Tommy jumped into the pile and began swimming about, tossing the foliage into the air as if it were water. He hadn’t done this in years! He felt like a little kid in the best way, just rolling around and having a nonsensical time. He felt happy! He felt like...like...like he was FLYING! Floating up into the air, Tommy giggled as he ascended with the pile of leaves. Unlike the leaves, however, Tommy didn’t waft gently back down. He had started swimming through the leaves, but in less than a minute, the boy was swimming through the air. Just like Peter Pan! And even though his diaper was starting to sag between his thighs and press up against the snaps in his overalls; it didn’t weigh him down at all.

Here's a look at the slides I put together for my Capcon presentation this weekend. It was a crazy adrenaline rush and I had to rush through spots, but please take a look at. ESPECIALLY the other writers I got to mention! All ABDL artwork is included with permission from the artists and everything else should be covered under Fair Use. All contributors, both writer and artists are credited at the end and links are provided to various websites where you can support them. Capcon.pdf

Chapter 71: Self-Soothing Super Market Sweep Late Saturday morning. Just before lunch. Plans were for me to stoically allow myself to be stuffed with ravioli and then fall asleep in a semi-bloated haze. But first; grocery shopping. The cart glided down the dairy aisle. “Huh,” Janet said, picking up the tremendous jug of milk. “Goat’s milk. Let’s give it a try.” She put it in the cart and moved on. “Eggs? Sure. We need eggs.” It went into the cart behind me. I sat in the cart’s built-in baby seat, a wire mesh basket with two holes for my legs to dangle through and a hard plastic flap that went up when an infant or a Little wasn’t occupying the space. It wasn’t made for comfort, the only cushioning I got was currently taped around me and more than slightly damp. Diapers go through a kind of life cycle. The first wetting is often absorbed so quickly that it’s easy to forget you peed within seconds; not unlike flushing a toilet and walking away. By the time you’re washing your hands, your brain is onto other things. Around wetting two or three, you start to feel it. You’re obviously wet, and feel the soft pulpy squish with every movement and it’s swollen to the point where it’s pressing up against you as much as you’ve pressed up against it. The ratio of pillow to sponge is roughly fifty fifty. After that, the feeling gets physically disgusting; gruesome even. The thing starts sagging so much that the tapes aren’t holding it up as much as willpower and whatever you’ve got on over it. The ratio of pee to padding has shifted in the pee’s favor and your privates start to feel like they’re being dipped into microwaved swamp water. Even if you wet up front, the moisture travels all the way to the back before it settles in, and the feeling of dryness becomes almost like a foreign thought, a word like ‘schadenfreude’ that describes a complex feeling that doesn’t exist in your own language. But, you keep going, because after a few weeks of being forced to wear diapers, you adapt to having a laissez faire attitude. A little damp stops being so bad and if it gets too damp, you ask for a change. Even if you don’t or the Amazon won’t listen, sometimes it feels easier to just release into an already soaked diaper. Languishing in an uncomfortably wet diaper, and then holding your bladder becomes a mental exercise that rapidly fatigues you. Why bother? If you hold it, the dry one that replaces it won’t stay dry for long. Might as well deal with it and hope whoever is in charge of your pants takes the hint. I sat in that shopping cart, as happy as I could manage, which is to say not particularly so, but nothing had stirred my anger or resentment just yet. I’d had two bottles since breakfast, both in the confines of Janet’s lap, and she hadn’t checked or changed me since just after getting me out of the crib. As a result my pants were in that state where they could go either way. Not good, but good enough considering the context I’d been forced to live in. The last bits of Summer had faded and the temperature had just started to shift so that it was chilly first thing in the morning but by ten if not earlier, the heat had returned in force. This was enough of an excuse for Janet to dress me in overalls, which was nice. Yeah, they still had snaps along the inseam, and anyone who stared at my waist could likely tell what I was wearing, but at least I didn’t have a light plastic waistband constantly peaking out over the top of my shorts. This might have been the first time in nearly a month that I’d had anything other than socks or footie jammies covering my ankles. Too bad they weren’t denim. If the overalls had been a plain blue denim, I might have been able to fantasize about being back in Misty Brook, where Bert and his friends- Littles far handier than I- tinkered and built while tromping around homemade construction sites in dust and grime coated coverings. The white and blue pinstripes I’d been dressed in made me look more like a train engineer out of a children’s book than any sort of construction worker. With Lion wedged in the basket by my side, I also had something to crush and squeeze in the event that Janet inevitably said something to get my teeth gnashing. Speaking of teeth gnashing, a binky had been clipped to the bib of the overalls, but the bulb remained dry and dangling. I wasn’t going to give her that satisfaction. As the cart moved, I pivoted and turned around in the seat to see where we were going. I didn’t know the layout of this particular grocery store. Other than the Modest Proposal, which was a kind of treat I indulged in a few times a year, grocery shopping had not been a big part of my life. Everything had to be delivered and left at the front door of my house. The delivery fee, in a way, was a tax I’d paid to prevent giant people from trying to diaper me. That battle having been lost, I had to twist my head and pivot in my seat every which way to see where we were going. The baby seat wanted me to just stare at Janet as the center of my world; or more likely, make it easier for Janet to look at me and make sure I wasn’t stealing anything from passing shelves. To be fair, that had been an idea the moment she told me where we were going. I’d never been to a Wall-Roxie, but the idea of taking anything and everything and subtly dumping it in the cart, pressuring Janet to pay for it was...appealing. Too bad she started at the dairy aisle. With products behind heavy glass refrigeration doors, the cart was nowhere near the goods and I had no hope of reaching far enough to snag something. Not that it would have mattered in that instance, the smallest size container was a gallon. I wasn’t going to be able to lift much. Maybe the cookie aisle or something would bring me better luck. “Someone’s excited to be going to the grocery store with his Mommy.” Janet chirped. I squeezed Lion’s paw. “No, I’m not. Janet. I’m just not used to looking backwards.” Janet’s expression soured like I’d just cussed at her. “Clark, I thought we agreed that you’d call me ‘Mommy’ in public.” “And I thought you agreed to let me see my wife. That hasn’t happened yet.” Janet looked like she’d just been slapped. I felt like I’d just slapped her. The gasp leapt out of me and I just stared at my hands like I’d struck her. That was only supposed to have been something I thought, not something I said. Other shoppers, Tweeners and Amazons milled around. Some had Littles in carts like mine. Others had their, children actual or adopted, tag along them holding hands or walking beside them. The social invisibility factor had kicked in. If any passerby noticed our growing tiff, they didn’t say anything.. I was just a fussy baby with a doting Mommy trying to manage me. The pain on Janet’s face shifted and contorted into an almost Beouf-like mask of neutrality. “I know you’re dealing with a lot of big feelings, but that’s not fair to me. I did my best and acted in good faith.” I shrunk down and shriveled up in my seat. “Yeah…” I did not and would not apologize, however. Like a chameleon her tone shifted immediately, the pain gone with my admission. “We should play a game.” “Like what?” Her eyes drifted down to my bib. “How about the quiet game? I bet you don’t have the willpower to keep quiet and keep your pacifier in your mouth the whole trip while I do our shopping.” I crossed my arms, bringing Lion up to my chest. “What if I win?” “I’ll take you to the potty before we leave.” My pacifier was in my mouth before she’d finished speaking. “As long as you’re not already wet or poopy.” The pacifier went back to dangling immediately. “That’s not fair!” Janet broke out into a full out witch’s titter. “Gotcha!” She leaned in and nuzzled my forehead. “I knew it, you little stinker, you! Gotcha, gotcha, gotcha!” It’s a good thing Lion didn’t have bones and his insides were made entirely out of cotton. If not I might have committed animal-slaughter. “That’s not fair, Janet, and you know it,” I whined loudly. For a moment, Janet’s embarrassment mirrored my own. Her face was just as red and her mannerisms just as skittish as my own. For her, having other ‘Grown-Ups’ hear me call her by her first name was akin to her signaling to any given passerby that I was sitting in wet pants. Weird, right? We both inhaled through our mouths and then exhaled through our noses before either of us continued. “Okay,” she said. “You don’t like using your pacifier because it embarrasses you.” She said softly. “True.” “Even though it helps you self-soothe and everybody else in your class does it.” “Extremely debatable.” She kept going. “It also embarrasses me when you call me by my first name, especially in public.” “Uh-huh.” “But I’m not going to purposefully silence you by getting one of those inflatable pacifiers.” I was actually quite thankful for that. “Good.” Produce started going by on the periphery. We were walking and talking. “I’m not going to spank you, either.” “Good.” “So I’m not sure what I'm supposed to do to get you to do what you promised.” There was no inkling of threat. I shrugged. “Sucks to be you, I guess.” “If I can’t trust you to keep your word, how can I trust you with anything?” She countered. “Grading papers? Telling me about your day? Whether your teachers are being nice to you? Whether or not you know you need to go to the bathroom? I have to trust you, baby.” I bristled at being called that. She shouldn’t trust me. Yet thinking back on Little Voices and the game with the feathers, I needed her to trust me. “What do you suggest?” “How about, from now on, you don’t have to suck your pacifier…” I wasn’t falling into this trap a second time. “Unless?” “Unless you call me Ja-” she stopped herself, “Unless you call me something other than ‘Mommy’.” Damn, I was hoping to get her on that technicality. She was learning. “If you call me something other than ‘Mommy’ in public you have to keep your pacifier in your mouth until I think I can trust you to talk.” Then she tacked on, “Unless you don’t think you can do it....” “You’re trying to use my competitiveness against me.” Actually I was kind of impressed. The right side of her mouth creeped up into a smirk. “It’s working, isn’t it?” My lip curled and I gave Lion one last squeeze. I put him back to my side. “Kind of. Deal.” She offered her hand out to me, almost like we were equals. I took it and shook it, even though her palm literally dwarfed mine. “Deal.” The shopping trip continued, as one might expect: Janet took stuff off of shelves and pretended to examine them when she knew full well what she was going to buy anyways, and then placed it in the cart. Once or twice I had the opportunity to grab some random item and toss it in among the growing pile, but that line about ‘trust’ had caused me to hesitate. I instead took the opportunity of knowing she wasn’t looking directly at me to empty out more of that morning’s apple juice, wincing as I sat back and felt the dampness go past my taint. Janet really was playing me. There was no rhyme or reason to how she shopped, as far as I could tell. Where other people might make a list and slowly walk through the store, aisle by aisle, scanning the shelves for whatever they might have on a list, Janet did the exact opposite. She’d look on the list she’d made and try to find the corresponding section of the store. Then she’d zero in on it and move on, even if there was another item we needed somewhere down the list. Lots of “Oops, we need this”, or “Almost forgot that.” I almost wanted to help. When we got to the cereal aisle, she deigned to ask my opinion. “So what do you want for breakfast tomorrow?” “Breakfast shakes.” Janet seemed to hem and haw over something. She didn’t want to tell me now, but she wanted to pivot. “Mrs. Beouf says you’re a very good eater at school.” “Did she tell you that if I’m not I’m not allowed to leave? Even if I’ve pooped and am sitting in my mess? Even if I”m keeping all the others waiting?” I let out a huff and stared back at Lion as if he were sharing in my commiseration. “She did, actually,” Janet replied. “She said she’s going to be fixing that..” A creeping feeling worked its way into my head. “When did she…?” “The first day that you got to bring Lion to school.” That hadn’t come up around me when Beouf was giving her daily report. More confirmation that my ex-friends were talking about me behind my back. Janet didn’t give me time to sulk. “How about this?” She went and grabbed two cereals off a shelf. The boxes were nearly identical, with the same dopey looking bird hovering a bowl of cereal that two cartoon children were wolfing down. The only difference was that in one box, the bird and cereal were pink and in the other they were both brown. “Chocolate or Strawberry?” “Do I have to eat it with goat’s milk?” I asked. “That or have it dry.” “Chocolate,” I said. The winding zig-zag trip went on and on. Janet included me in a few more choices. What type of peanut butter, what flavor jelly, what flavor ice cream to get for dessert did I want raisins or dried bananas as a healthy snack; that sort of thing. Then came the part I’d been dreading. I knew it had been coming. Janet had saved it for last, on purpose no doubt. Cleaners, paper towels and garbage bags zoomed by, and the cart U-Turned into the next aisle. Packages and packages containing pictures of babies and adult Littles smiled out at me with unblinking eyes and silly rictus grins. I looked past Janet’s head and read the hanging sign above the row. Disposable Diapers, Training Pants, Formula, Baby Food, Baby Wipes, Baby Needs. I quickly took in the displays and started trying not to lose my temper. The jars of mush had pictures of actual infants on them. The buckets of formula were specially marketed for either “Littles” or “Infants”, kind of like how different brands of dog chow specialized in large or small breeds. The packages and boxes of diapers had a nearly fifty-fifty split on whether a Little was depicted on them or not, often within the same brand and size. Yet another example of typical Amazon propaganda: It was supposed to be the Baby Needs section, but ‘Little’ and ‘Baby’ were practically interchangeable here. Meanwhile, any incontinence product that could fit on one of the giants was discretely stashed away with the tampons, maxi-pads and other hygiene products closest to the store’s pharmacy. ‘Incontinence’ hadn’t even been on any of the signs. A body would have to know where those diapers were and find them in their discreet packaging at the very end of the row near the back. The most embarrassing thing on them were the pictures of the plain white and gray pull-up diapers themselves. My diapers were out in the open with half a dozen other Littles faces attached to them, forced to pretend that they were super happy waddling and crawling around in garments they’d long since outgrown. How much of the pain in those Littles’ eyes was just my own reflected back at me? “Mommy,” I said, “Can we please leave here?” I wasn’t sure whether playing up the M-Word and giving her what she wanted would make her more pliable or not. “We’re almost done, baby, just a few more things.” The cart sped up for a few strides until we were right in the thick of it. She wasn’t oblivious to my discomfort. “Mommy had a lot stocked up before she brought you home, but we’re almost out of diapers.” I sulked. “I can live with that.” “But your clothes and bedsheets can’t.” She tossed a small package of Monkeez Nighttime onto the cart pile, and moved a whole heaping box of the daytime ones under the cart. “Barely,” she huffed to herself. I got a good look at the box, both Littles and Amazon infants were featured on opposite yet otherwise identical sides. Turn the baby around one-hundred eighty degrees and you saw the Little in the exact same pose. “Why can’t we just order them online through an app?” I whined. “Diaper Dash or BabHub or something?” “We’re already here, hon,” she said. “And those apps get expensive over time. Let’s just get what you need, and get out of here.” I quietly caved Lion’s skull in. “Fine.” No sense in arguing that I didn’t need them. She was in no mood to hear that song. She grabbed two smaller packs of diapers. “While we’re here, why don’t we get something different besides Monkeez?” Something different?! Alarm bells started going off in my brain. “What?” I yelped “Why?” “Some of these look cute,” she said. “And some might work better than what you’re wearing.” There was just enough space in the cart for her to poke the front of my pants and feel the sodden sopping squish. For reasons I couldn’t immediately articulate, the thought of being changed into a different style of diaper sent off all kinds of alarm bells. My pulse started racing, and even though we were the only ones in the baby aisle at the time, I felt like the entire store was looking and listening into that conversation right there. I thought I was getting over it. Suffice it to say, becoming numb and desensitized doesn’t happen all at once, nor does it happen at a steady pace or in a straight line. “A diaper is a diaper,” I said through gritted teeth. “What does it matter how they look? Nobody but you and Beouf or Zoge or Jessica is gonna see them.” “Not necessarily.” My face was on fire. “Mommy!” She took a second to suppress a guffaw. “I’m just saying, Clark. Your diaper isn’t anything to be embarrassed about, and sometimes just a t-shirt and diaper is enough for you. You spend most weekends laying around the house in just your Monkeez. It’s cute!” Too loud! Way too loud! There were people on the other sides of the shelves. There had to be! And they were hearing every word. About me. In my diapers. I lowered my voice, hoping she would follow my lead. “That’s because that’s all you put me in some days.” She didn’t follow my lead. “Well if I have to look at your wet and messy diapers when I’m changing you, I think I should have a say in what they look like.” If anything she was getting louder. “J...Mommy...stop. You’re embarrassing me!” She quieted herself. “And I keep telling you, baby boy, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re safe with me. Maturosis is perfectly natural. Just go with it and let it happen.” I was not convinced. “Easy for you to say. She pivoted, reached up, and presented two packs, relatively small ones, twenty-four count. Wouldn’t last more than a week, tops. One was blue with hippos on it, and the other was white with smiling cartoon bees on it. “Which one do you want to try? Bee Gees or Hippobottomuses?” “Why do the bees not have stingers?” Janet looked at the front of the package, allowing me to see the back: “Leak Free Guarantee” it said, and “For babies of all ages: Little, Tweener, or Amazon.” “If they had stingers, they’d probably cause leaks,” Janet mused. “That or maybe they’re baby bees. Bay-bees.” She laughed lightly at her own lame pun. “Is that the one you want me to get for you?” I remembered something from Amy. “Aren’t bees grown, too? Shouldn’t they be Larva-Gees or something if those are supposed to be babies?” “Clark. You’re stalling.” My ‘Mommy’ wanted me to stall? Fine. Let’s stall. Lion in hand, threw my arms up into the air. “What do you mean ‘stalling’? I’m just asking quest-IONS?!” Just as planned, my stuffie slipped loose from grasp and went behind me. Far far behind me, skidding almost to the end of the aisle before he stopped. It had been a really good and lucky toss. I did my best to look confused and bewildered. “Lion?! Mommy?” Janet growled a bit and huffed. “I really shouldn’t…” This was true. “It was an accident,” I lied. Had it been the beginning of our outing, Janet might have pushed the cart the twenty or so odd feet over to Lion and picked him up. The cart was full now, and inertia was still a thing. She did what was easier and walked over to my stuffie, bent over, and brought him back. Given how fast and wide her stride was, it wasn’t very long. It was still enough time for me to reach back, grab the pack of night time diapers off the pile in the cart and toss them on the nearest shelf. She wouldn’t miss those until it was too late. My ex-friend gave me back my stuffie. “If it happens again, he’s staying with me.” “Yes ma’am.” I cuddled Lion to hide my guilty grin. “Now,” she said, re-grabbing the two packs. “Which one do you want?” “Neither.” She was getting irritated enough that I could see her chewing on her tongue and puffing up her cheeks. “Okay. Let’s try this another way. Do you want the Bee Gees? Yes or no?” “No.” “Okay then.” She put the Bee Gees back and put the package of hippo diapers in the cart. “Hippobottomuses it is.” Those were the type that Amy had been changed into at the zoo. Not my favorite parallel. “Hey! That’s not-!” “I made it very clear that you were getting one or the other, hon. Those were your choices and you made it.” My cage on wheels was already moving away, down to the other end where the training pants were. None of the kids on the training pants packages were Littles... “NOOOOOOO! NOOOO! MOMMY! NOOOOOOOOOO!” My impending tirade, likely starting with the word ‘Janet’ was cut off by a child screaming bloody murder. Rounding the corner, dragging along an absolutely distraught child, was a very pregnant Tweener woman. “NOOO! I’M NOT A BABY! I’M NOT A BABY! I’M NOT A LITTLE!” Oh no. I didn’t have to turn around. I didn’t need to look to see who it was. I shouldn’t have looked. I didn’t want to look. I did, though. I recognized them both. His features were chubbier, hers more bird like, but they had the same flaxen hair. “I already told you,” Elmer’s mom said. “We’re not getting the diapers for you, honey. We’re getting them for your sister for when she gets out of my tummy in a few weeks.” Elmer wasn’t having any of it. “NOOOOOOOO!” “Janet!” I tried to whisper. “Stop! Turn around! Pl-!” The pacifier went into my lips so fast it might have been a reflex on Janet’s part. “Ah-ah-ah.” Janet waved her finger at me. Taking her hand off the push bar slowed our roll. “Deal’s a deal.” My hands impotently jerked at the air and fidgeted as I resisted the urge to take the pacifier out and beg Janet to turn around and take us out and around the back of the store. Doing that might upset Janet. She might say my name and Elmer or his mom would hear. Doing a U-Turn and exiting out the back would give them a better look at my face. The social invisibility of being ‘just another baby’ wouldn’t work. Not with Elmer and a parent whom I’d actually met. Another no-win situation. I really thought I’d be used to it by this point. Pleasedon’tseemepleasedon’tseemepleasedon’tseeme. We slowed down. Too slow. Janet was looking at pouches of applesauce and baby food. I started sucking on the pacifier to quiet myself, and burying my face in Lion. Pleasedon’tseemepleasedon’tseemepleasedon’tseeme. “I know you’re having a rough time at school,” Elmer’s Mom said. “But I promise those training pants we bought are just so that Miss Ambrose doesn’t bother you anymore. No one is gonna turn you into a baby.” “Or a Little?” Elmer sniffed. I tensed up. I wish I’d been mistaken. It was Elmer. Should I turn my head more and deliberately look away or would that only draw more attention? “Or a…” Elmer’s mom gasped. “Mr. Gibs-?!” Three things happened in that moment: I sheepishly peered out from behind Lion, Janet whipped her head around and looked down at the pregnant woman who only came up to her breast and Elmer ducked behind his mother’s legs like it might save him. “Oh. Hello.” She readjusted her gaze to meet Janet. “I’m sorry. I thought your um...baby was someone else. From behind he looked familiar.” Janet smiled lightly and nodded, oblivious to the Tweener’s discomfort. “Do you know Clark?” The woman looked at me sucking on my pacifier and then back to Janet. She was doing the same kind of social calculus in her head that one did when interacting with a stranger Janet’s size. “I think maybe...that is to say I thought...um...I’m really sorry if my child’s screaming bothered you or your baby, ma’am. He’s going through a phase. He’s normally such a good boy.” From behind his mother, Elmer eeked out a pathetic, “I’m not a baby,” but did his best to stay obscured. Poor kid. He couldn’t articulate it, but he was absolutely terrified to end up like me. Poor me. I hid behind my pacifier and Lion. “Oh he’s fine. Kids will be kids.” As tall as she was, Janet could see Elmer just fine, much to his dismay. “Say...does your son go to Oakshire Elementary?” Elmer’s mother placed her hand behind her back and held her son’s hand. “Yes…?” Janet immediately brightened. “That’s why he looked so familiar! He was part of Clark’s class!” She finally read the look of pure worry on the Tweener’s face. “Oh my goodness,” she said. “I’m so sorry! Janet Grange. I’m a teacher, too. Third grade. Before Clark’s Maturosis expressed I watched his class while he was in meetings once or twice.” She pointed around the mother. “Elroy?” “Elmer,” his mother corrected. She seemed a bit relieved as it all sunk in. She wasn’t in any real danger to begin with, being pregnant and Janet having me, but a stranger doesn’t seem so strange when they say they’re a teacher at your child’s school. There was a beat, and then Janet threw a curveball at all three of us. “I’m sorry that this all happened so suddenly,” she told them. “I adopted Clark because I wanted to make sure he got the best care possible. He deserves that much.” “Yeah…” the Tweener agreed in that way that people do when they’re not sure what else to say. “Mr. Gi...Clark deserved,” she stopped and looked at me, “deserves the best he can get.” “That doesn’t make it easier,” Janet said. “On anybody. Especially his students. Year’s already started and they’ve got a new teacher all of a sudden. That’s a lot to get used to for a bunch of three and four year olds.” “There’s definitely been some adjustments.” Elmer’s mom left it at that. “Anyway, I’m just getting some-” “Can I ask you for some advice, mother to mother? I’m still learning some things.” The Tweener hesitated. “Uh, I don’t know if I can help, but sure.” “I’ve got Clark in Monkeez right now,” Janet said, and my heartbeat thudded in my ears so loudly I couldn’t hear the end of the question. Doesn’t mean I didn’t know what it was. Elmer’s mother pointed near the top shelf. “If you’re looking for other diapers, these new Koddles have a wetness indicator,” she said. “Right down the middle, changes colors when the baby’s wet.” Janet reached up, just by the training pants and pulled a package down. “Hmmm...Are these for potty training?” “No, but they could help. Makes it so you can catch it and change him right away.” The Amazon frowned lightly. Wrong answer. It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Janet had no interest in letting me pee outside my pants. “The Hippobottomuses fade when wet, too.” “Uh...uh...also makes it so it’s easier to check him,” the Tweener woman said. “You can just pull down his pants or pop open a few snaps and see how wet he is by looking at how long the blue line is. A lot easier to see than fade away. Plus they have lots of different decorations on them, Fairy tale creatures and such! Different diapers have different characters on them!” She kept looking at me and I wasn’t sure whether she was silently apologizing for digging me in deeper or whether she thought she might be doing me some kind of favor. “Hmmm,” Janet considered the small package. “Yeah. That’s worth a shot.” In it went with the blue hippo diapers. By the end of the day I’d have a variety stack under my changing table. “Thank you.” She started to go. “Ma’am,” Elmer’s mom said to Janet. “Can I say something to your baby for a moment?” “Of course.” The Tweener reached up and placed her hand on top of mine. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I’m really glad that you were Elmer’s first teacher. You’ve helped him a lot.” Beouf had said something similar to me after I’d woken up from the bug zapper she’d crammed me into. Beouf was a fucking traitor who chose her worldview over ten years of friendship. This lady who I’d known for a lot less time than Beouf meant it from the bottom of her heart. She was trying to do right by me. It’s a good thing I had Lion in my other arm and the pacifier in my mouth. If I hadn’t had something to pour the stress I was feeling into just then, I’d have completely burst into tears and started sobbing. I didn’t want Elmer to see me like that. I didn’t want anyone to see me like that. This is why Littles in my class sucked on pacifiers and hugged stuffies. It was either that or completely break down and lose control. The world got blurry and it started getting harder to breathe. I buried my face and looked away. “Thank you,” Janet said for me. “That means a lot to him.” “I know.” Part of me wants to say that’s where the story of my first outing to the grocery store as a ‘baby’ went. It got so much worse though… I kept suckling on my pacifier and squeezing Lion with every tense muscle in my body. I slammed my eyes shut to keep them from leaking. Based on the feeling in my pants, my eyes weren’t the only thing in danger of leaking; my diaper had passed into that swampy stage. “That was a lot,” Janet whispered to me. “It’s okay to cry if you want.” No. It wasn’t. “Mmmm-mmm!” I shook my head. “That’s fine,” she said, her voice taking on an almost musical, soothing quality, not unlike Zoge but without the accent. “I understand why you broke the rule there. You weren’t being naughty, you were just nervous. You can spit the pacifier out if you want. We can reset. Start over again.” “Mmm-mmm!” “Okay,” Janet petted me and I flinched. “That’s fine. Do whatever you want. You’re fine. This is fine.” I squeezed Lion harder, somehow. I sucked so hard on the rubber nipple in my mouth I briefly thought I might be loosening my front teeth. Front teeth?! AMY! FUCK! I wasn’t enjoying this at all. It didn’t feel like an accomplishment or malicious compliance or any of the other darkly uplifting victories I’d accrued over the last several weeks. Upon reflection, I don’t even think it was pure contrarianism. It was just some stupid, immature, adolescent part of me now wanted- no, needed- to keep the pacifier in. I needed to feel pain and anguish and hurt. I needed to keep all the pressure up and weighing down on me. I needed to keep that negative feedback loop going and that pressure on, because if I didn’t I’d break down and it wouldn’t feel like a choice. The cart slowed to a stop and moved forward slowly in jolts. We were in the checkout line. The electronic beeps and boops of the price scanner mixed in with the ambient noise of shoppers entering. “Daddy! Daddy!” A passing voice called. “I want a that lion! I want a lion like that!” I didn’t open my eyes. The voice came from far away enough that I couldn’t tell if it was a mind fucked Little or an actual kid. Did it matter? I finally untensed myself and slowly opened my eyes. The beeping was loudest here, meaning it was our turn. My breathing had slowed. My muscles ached and unclenched, not to mention my mouth. I kept the pacifier in, just in case. I was right to. “Wow! Lotta stuff here,” a heavy set woman with a nametag that read ‘Maude’ remarked. Her face was double chinned and her hair was snowy white. She was sixty, if she was a day. “All of this for just you two?” “‘Fraid so,” Janet said. “Had a lot stockpiled up but we’re almost out, so...you know.” Idle and meaningless chit chat at the check out, the great retail tradition. “Everything goes faster with an extra mouth.” I tried to just gaze off into the middle distance and tune the drivel out, but only succeeded at staring at Janet’s v-neck top. Had her breasts always been that big? I did a double take. They were almost as big as the overweight cashier’s. Was she putting on weight? Stress eating? Because of me? That gave me some good grim feelings. The cashier’s voice went up almost an octave. “Hi buddy!” she waved. “Are all these just for you?” She indicated the Monkeez and other diapers Janet had gotten while a teenage Tweener was busily bagging it all up. Half a dozen snarky comebacks would beam themselves into my head on the ride back to Janet’s. In the meantime, I retreated into the back of Lion’s mane. “Seriously,” she said over to Janet, talking in a ‘Grown-Up’ voice again. “Are they all for him? I see a couple different packs. We offer discounts to daycare people. Got some good bargains if you’re buying in bulk.” Janet smiled, politely, “Oh no. They’re just for him. A box of his old reliables and something different just to try it.” “He’ll go through them fast enough.” “Definitely.” “But that’s okay,” Janet tousled my hair, now even curlier than it had been when she’d first taken me. “When we’re all out, we’ll just get more. Isn’t that right, Clark?” I was bristeling again, tensing up. People talking over you about you soiling yourself is not something that’s easy to get over. “I remember when my grandson was his size,” Maude said. “Almost didn’t get him potty trained in time for school. You’ve got the right idea. Just skip it.” Janet stiffened. “Excuse me?” “Frankly, I don’t know why we bother potty training them to begin with.” To make her point she waved her hand toward me. “If we didn’t make ‘em, they’d just sit in their diapers all day, perfectly happy.” Her face scrunched up and her voice went squeaky. “Wouldn’t ya, buddy? Wouldn’t ya.” Her fat fingers ringed forward to pinch my cheeks. I leaned away. All good nature and compassion left Janet’s face. Her countenance transmogrified into stone and her pupils went ablaze with a quiet fury. Then she said the words that every retail worker not-so-secretly dreads “I’m going to need to talk to your manager….” “Hmm?” Maude said. “I was just saying-” “Littles are perfectly valid with thoughts and feelings!” She half-shouted. The people behind us in line were starting to back away. Others from out of line were drawing closer to the scene. “Would you say something like that to a chronological chi-?” “Whoah whoah whoah!” Maude took a step back and held her hands up. “I wasn’t talking about Littles, ma’am. I meant boys! Boys! Men!” A beat. “They’re all like that!” Complete silence. No one breathed. I took a few pulls from my pacifier. “Heh.” “Heh-heh.” “Haha” “Hahahahahaha!” “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” “HAW-HAW-HAW-HAW!” “Oh my god, you’re so right,” Janet finally said, all tension gone from her. The rest of the checkout line resumed their positions, and Maude kept scanning the items. The awful small talk continued in earnest. “I swear, if he could get away with it, my husband would wear diapers, too. He’d watch football, drink all the beer, and then make me change him at halftime.” “Right?!” Janet agreed. “It’s much cuter though when I change Clark during his shows. Right there on the floor so he doesn’t miss anything!” My pacifier popped out. “Mommy!” “Sorry, baby.” She wasn’t. Clearly. “Nothin’ to be embarrassed about, munchkin.” The cashier chuckled. “Your Mommy and me are just havin’ some gal talk.” “About me!” The cashier shrugged. “Point taken.” She finished ringing Janet up, and let her swipe her card. “Have a nice day, you two.” “Thanks!” Janet called back. I chose not to reply. From the checkout line, the shopping cart should have turned left. We turned right. “Where are we going?” Janet’s eyes honed in on the restrooms. “Diaper change.” I looked down at myself. The bulge from my oversaturated Monkeez made it look like I had a water balloon where my underwear should be. Okay. Fair call. I’d done a number on this one. My dark haired ex-friend ruffled through the grocery bags and took out a fresh packet of baby wipes she’d tossed in with the diapers. She rummaged around the bag. “Just. Gotta. Get. It. Open.” Open? “J…Mommy?” I stuttered. “Where’s the diaper bag?” She stood up with a single, bright blue diaper, dotted with cartoonish hippo stencils. “In the car,” she said. “I accidentally left it there when I dug Lion out.” My everything jumped up into my throat.. My forehead started to become as clammy as my Monkeez. “Can we just go change me, “ I gulped, “in the car?” Fresh diaper in hand, Janet picked me up. “Nope.” “Can it at least be a Monkeez?” “I am not breaking open that big box here and now. Do you want me to put you in a night-night diaper?” The corners of my mouth plummeted. I couldn’t let her go looking for what I’d stashed away. “But...but...but…” She took me inside the “family restroom”, a smaller room with a single toilet, sink and changing station. It was only slightly bigger than Beouf’s bathroom, and that was because it thought to accommodate space for Amazon sized wheelchairs and such. Janet pulled down the changing station and laid me down. I sat back up. “Clark? What’s wrong? I’ve changed you in public before.” I broke out into a sweat and stared past the locked door, imagining Elmer, or his mother, or any number of people who knew me were outside. Waiting. Watching. I’d misdiagnosed my neuroses back in the OT/PT room. I’d been okay with being so exposed, but it had less so to do with the people who saw me like that and more to do with where it was happening. Oakshire Elementary, for all the anxiety it caused me, was still a place of familiarity and therefore a place of emotional strength. This was a friggin’ grocery store bathroom. Janet petted my hair. “Clark? Talk to me.” “No.” That bit of automatic defiance whistled right out. She picked me back up and I thought I’d won. She was only doing so so she could poke her head out the door and get Lion. “Here.” She sat me so my legs were dangling off the table. “Hold Lion. Maybe he can tell me.” I shook. I shuddered. “No.” “Clark. I’m going to change you, one way or another. But I want to know why you’re acting like this. You’re hurting and I want to understand.” I put Lion in a chokehold. “Because everybody will know, Janet! Everybody will know!” “Know what? That you just got changed?” Mutely I nodded, fighting to stay in control. “I don’t know how to tell you this, honey,” Janet said. “But most people have known for a while now. It’s not a secret. It’s not supposed to be.” “It was to me!” Janet cocked her head as if I’d spoken in tongues. I loosened my grip on Lion but held onto him tight. “All Monkeez look the same. Plain white diaper. Size indicator. Cartoon monkeys on the front.” “Uh-huh…” She wasn’t getting it. To be fair, I hadn’t gotten it until I’d started saying it just then. “So when I get changed, I get to pretend, even if it’s just to myself, even for just a second, that I’m wearing the same…” I blushed. “You know…” “And if I put you in a blue hippo diaper,” Janet said, “you can’t pretend that anymore.” I hung my head. It was so stupid. “And one of my kids is out there. And he’s scared of being a Little and being a baby because Ambrose put him in a diaper and...and…” I closed off Lion’s windpipe just as my own airflow started getting more and more difficult. Janet- my jailer, my tormentor, my confidant- said nothing. I hadn’t realized that I’d shut my eyes again until I felt her lean in and hug me. I didn’t hug her back, but I didn’t shove her off either. “It’s okay,” she cooed softly to me. “He’s gone. He left with his mother.” It was a lie. She had no way of knowing. But those words were the ones that I needed to hear just then. “He won’t see you. He won’t know. You’ve got your overalls on. Nobody will know. And if anybody out there asks, I’ll lie and tell them that you went potty like a big boy.” I pulled back from her bosom just so I could see the look in her face. It was crazy. But it was also kind; compassionate even. “You’d do that?” “Of course.” Slowly she guided me back into a lying position. “Let’s get you comfy.” Keeping Lion close to my chest, I closed my eyes and pretended this was any other day. I’d never admit it out loud, and I’d trade so much to be rid of the forced necessity, but sometimes a good diaper change felt like a mini-spa day. I felt, more than heard, the poppers up my legs come undone, followed by the bathroom air traveling up past my knees and tickling the backs of my sweaty thighs. What I did hear was a very uncomfortable “Oooof…” I lifted my head and looked down at my body. “What?” Janet sucked on her teeth and put a hand on my chest. That wasn’t sweat on the back of my thighs. “You leaked.” My body started thrashing, twisting and kicking itself against Janet’s gigantic strength. “No! No! No! No! Stop! Stop! Don’t!” “Clark, I’m sorry. I need to take your overalls off.” “No!” I screamed “No! Change me! Just change me and put them back on!” My hands gripped at her wrist, as if that would do anything Her free hand unbuckled the shoulders. “I’m sorry kiddo. I can’t let you sit in leaked in pee-pee clothes. Not in good conscience.” “Fuck your conscience!” I yelled up. My fighting was nothing to her. My struggling only made it so she had to switch hands once or twice, stripping me down to just a t-shirt and destroyed Monkeez. She switched a second time pulling the changing station’s strap over my chest, and pulling it taught. She flapped out the overalls like a towel and held them up to the light. “Look,” she said. “You see these spots?” Two massive crescent moon shaped patches discolored the blue and white pinstripes just below where my ass would have been. “If anyone saw these, they’d know that you leaked.” “No one would see them with me in the cart.” I spat “They might in the parking light or just as we come out of the bathroom.” She was already folding them up and placing them on the sink. “They won’t see much of your new diaper either. This isn’t up for discussion.” “I hate you.” She picked up Lion from the floor where my struggling had sent him. “You know I’m right. You can suck on your pacifier if you want to scream.” Lion went back to me. She carefully inserted the pacifier back into my mouth. “Be brave. For Lion.” “Uh hayph yuh.” “I know.” I tried not to look while she ripped the tapes off and started wiping my groin. I covered Lion’s eyes when my ankles were crossed and Janet started caressing the back of my legs all the way down to the crack of my ass. I suckled a little harder and flinched when the wipe made it’s way between my cheeks, just in case. “Almost done.” The new, blue diaper was slid underneath me before my ankles were released. She’d gotten good at unfolding them one handed. I watched in silent horror as Janet carefully pulled it up between my legs. “This one’s cut a little differently.” She had to lift my legs back up and adjust. I could only lay in quiet agony. It was the first day all over again. They would know. They would all know. Everyone. I watched as the Hippobottomuses took shape around me and Janet pulled the tapes taught, going so far as to smooth them out. “All done.” Clean and dry, I felt grosser than I did when I’d been wallowing in my piss. I was wearing a beacon now. A crinkly happy blue marker that broadcast my infantile state even more. “Cheer up,” Janet told me. “My underwear looks different from day to day, too.” My expression said enough. “Sorry…” We didn’t leave the bathroom right away. No one was knocking, or jiggling the handle, trying to get in, and frankly I didn’t care if someone stole from our shopping cart. Maybe they’d make off with the new diapers. Janet unbuckled me and just held me for about half a minute. I’d run out of words. So had Lion. “You’re being really brave.” Janet told me. “How about when we get home, you can help me grade some papers?” I liked that idea. Needed it after this ordeal. Something quiet. Something that I could control. Something that I was good at besides stealth peeing and annoying Amazons. Silently, I nodded, gently nuzzling Janet’s shoulder. “Let’s get you home.”

Chapter 5 The first question on Wendy’s test was. “True or false: Common law has an exception to the battle of forms which allows for acceptance.” She didn’t know. Skip it. Come back to it later. The second question was. “Why did Pope Innocent III abolish Trial by Ordeal?” No clue. Couldn’t remember. Come back to it later. Find the easy questions. Her eyes skimmed down the test. “Which Supreme Court case supported validation requirements for performance appraisals?” Crap! The questions at the top were the easy ones! She flipped through the exam to the long form essay part. She could bullshit an essay easily enough. “I am writing a brief. “The case of Erie R. Co. v Tompkins 304 U.S. 64. (1938). I understand the facts of the case, but I am not sure about the holding and reasoning. Please provide me a summary of the holding and reasoning as it pertains to this case.” She read it three times and still didn’t know how to answer it. The first two times she read it it was in one eyeball and out the other. The third time it stuck, but she couldn’t even remember the case. But part of being a lawyer was knowing how to bullshit, or so Wendy reasoned. If she could stretch it out while saying very little, her professor might accidentally construct meaning and knowledge where none had been intended. Who knows. It was very possible that if she started writing something in her brian might turn on. “Okay…” she whispered to herself. “You can do this. You can do this.” And she took her pencil and started to write. And write. And write. And write. And write. It was actually getting pretty easy, even though Wendy was certain she was putting nothing of substance on paper. Soon her gears got to turning and her confidence built up. Oh yeah! She remembered that! And that!. She flipped back to the short answer part of the test and started filling things in. It was all coming back to her now! Her Daddy had been right! She really had just been overthinking things and worried. In no time at all, she was done! Proudly she stood up, head and shoulders above Lindsay and Morgan and Tonya and Peter. Those scrubs were still toiling over their tests, sweating bullets! Waddling over to the proctor’s desk, she proudly. “I’m dooooone!” she sang so loudly she almost shouted. Gifted Kid was back! The professor arched an eyebrow. “You’re done?” “Yup-yup!” Wendy nodded. “All done! I go home now?” “Young lady,” the bald withered old professor said, looking over the test. “This is incredible!” Wendy beamed. “I did good?” The professor pursed his lips together, searching for the right words. “I feel you did a very good job choosing lots of different colors.” The law student blanched. “Colors?” “And you almost stayed in the lines on some of these bubble in answers.” All of the circles for the multiple choice segments were filled or otherwise scribbled in. All of them. But the professor was right. The colors were pretty. He flipped a page over. “And I really appreciate the detail you went into for the short answers. Is this a yellow bunny on a blue hill? “It’s a brown bunny on a gween hill.” What was she saying?! The words were just coming out of her. “Ah,” the professor said. “I see. I see.” He flipped over to the essay portion that Wendy had started out bullshitting on before her brain kicked into high gear. “Very good use of space and blending.” The entire back portion of the test was a mess of overlapping scribbles; calling them drawings or doodles would be an insult to drawings and doodles. “I believe this belongs on the refrigerator at home in a spot of prominence!” He looked over the rim of his glasses. “But not in my classroom.” Wendy took a step back in surprise and found her shock doubled. Her gait was wider than it should have been. There was not-quite paper crinkle too. “No cwasswoom?” she gasped. “I think you, my dear, are a little too, well…little to be in this class. A daycare or perhaps a babysitter seems more your speed for extra-curricular parental attention.” He pointed off to a far corner. “Why don’t you wait over there for your Mommy or Daddy to come and get you?” Wendy had to pivot and wobble all the way around to see where her professor was pointing. In the corner of the exam hall was a pile of stuffed animals, rainbow colored bears and a giant tan stuffed bunny with an orange carrot dangling from its mouth, as well as the odd rattle and cardboard book. “How did…? Me no baby!” She barely registered what she was saying. “Why don’t you go find a nice soft block to teethe on,” the old man said condescendingly. Then he called out to the rest of the college students, “Does anyone have any erm…baby care supplies? I don’t have any children, but it doesn’t take an expert to realize when one is in need of, shall we say, freshening up.” Wendy looked down between her legs. She had no skirt or pants; nothing to cover her bare legs. No shoes or socks either. The only article of clothing below her belly button was the massive Pampers taped around her waist and sagging between her legs. And based on the color changing line running down the middle, she was indeed very, very wet. But she couldn’t otherwise tell that she was wet. Outside of a bathtub or playing in the sprinkler, she realized she couldn’t tell what wet was. Nor could she remember the name of the color between her thighs telling all the big people that she needed changing. Boo? Was it boo? Or maybe rad? No! No no no! She wasn’t a baby! She was a grown woman! She was going to be a lawyer! Her legs wobbled and from up atop her perch of adulthood, little Wendy Merts plummeted to the ground, crashing down on her- Wendy woke up with a jump. “Wah!” She gasped, her body jerking on the nap mat of the daycare floor. A dream. It was only a dream. Just a dream. She wasn’t back in the real world, yet. Just this one. In a weird way, that was good. Being a little baby in this universe where she was supposed to be a little baby was infinitely preferable to being a grown woman in hers who had somehow been busted back to preschool. She wasn’t back on the other side of the closet, and knowing that made it a little more tolerable when her brain finally caught up to reality. The dimmed lights flickered on in the Ladybug Room. “Okay boys and girls,” Miss Donna sang. “It’s time to get up. Your Mommies and Daddies and Aunties and Uncles and Grammas and Grampas will all be here to pick you up in an hour or so.” “And they’ll be very unhappy with us if you’re awake in your cribs all night because we let you nap too long,” Miss Jay added, cheerfully. Miss Donna and Miss Jay. A black woman in her mid forties to early fifties at most; and an older though by no means frail white woman respectively. Her teachers. Her caregivers when Mommy and Daddy were away. They didn’t cuddle as good as Mommy and Daddy but they still fed her and changed her and played with her and made her feel safe. In this reality… In real life, Wendy had never met these two, and as far as she could remember neither of her parents had ever talked about this daycare or these women; and she had never seen a baby picture hinting at this place’s existence. Some of the other babies had names that coincided with her real life adult classmates, but correlating a young twenty-something college student’s behavior with a crawling, babbling, pants pooping infant, was hard work. She had no way of knowing for sure if these rugrats were in fact the baby versions of her college classmates, or if the women who worked here had any connection to her past or present. Considering the only reason she’d tried to go forward with this reality hopping scheme was because she’d noticed a direct and pleasant correlation between what happened in the closet universe having positive and much more adult appropriate echoes in her own- a baby puzzle in one resulting in a fantastic study guide, for example- the current dearth of parallels were most disturbing. Some annoying itch at the back of her brain made her want to see if this place existed back on the other side and if these ladies worked here or not. Regrettably they did not make a pamphlet for how to deal with this sort of thing or explain to a stranger that you were curious if they remembered wiping your bum when you were less than a year old in a pocket reality just the other day. Some of the other babies sat up from their nap mats and started crawling around. Others contented themselves with staying seated or remaining on their backs and gazing up at the ceiling. One or two still snoozed, practically comatose in spite of the increasing noise and light. Wendy stayed seated on the comfy mat and took the time to look herself over. Chubby fingers at the end of chubby hands and arms. Legs and feet that matched. No breasts and the only curves on her body was from her tummy and the padding around her butt. She patted at her head and felt only fine wispy patches of hair, so short that even looking up at the very top of her periphery she couldn’t see any strands. Her hair wasn’t that short due to scissors, she’d just reached a point where it hadn’t grown enough. She felt a clump of it on the very top of her noggin in a Pebbles Flintstone type ponytail, but that was it. Outside of that and the purple onesie with the crinoline tutu flare around her waist, it would have been very difficult for someone to know that she was a baby girl. A strange experience, feeling like a stranger in one’s own body. She looked down between her legs, but snaps kept even the diaper beneath her onesie out of sight. She was dry and comfortable, at least. That was a relief. Unconsciously, her tongue started to work it’s way around in her mouth. On an academic level, she wasn’t surprised to feel her tongue sliding past mostly gums. That didn’t make it any more shocking. Only a few measly bumps at the very front. They weren’t even full fledged teeth! Not really! A slight itching sensation and her tongue moving closer to the gums as one of those tiny emerging teeth re-submerged back inside. Yikes! Tiny nostrils flared and tiny lungs paced themselves and strained to stop from turning into full on wracking sobbing. Wendy rubbed her eyes to stop the tears from coming out and spilling all over her chubby cheeks. This was not time for a breakdown or a crisis. Not now. Not when she was so close! Mommy would be here any time now to pick her up, and take her home. She just had to keep enough of her marbles in one basket until the chickens hatched. Then she could cross that bridge in her nursery back to big girl world and get on with the rest of her very big, very mature, very adult life. A pair of hands hoisted baby Wendy off the ground. “Good afternoon Wendy,” Miss Jay asked. “Did you have a nice nap, pretty girl? Lots of sweet dreams?” Wendy made no effort to reply. One of the first facts about this universe was that no one could understand her, no matter how articulate she was. “Let’s get you changed into something dry and playing.” A nearly toothless smirk framed Wendy’s rounded face. The joke was on Miss Jay. She’d be amazed at just how grown-up and advanced Wendy was for her so-called age. Wendy folded her arms confidently and laid there on the changing table while the granny unbuttoned her snaps and peeled back the onesie. Nothing was said, though… Miss Jay just went for the little velcro tabs on her diaper and ripped them loose. “Wait. What’s going on? What are you doing? I’m dry!” That’s what she’d meant to say, anyway. The words that tumbled out of her mouth couldn’t even be properly classified as words. Just pure baby babble. What Wendy had actually said, if put into prose would require the writer to smash a keyboard with their fist and then delete letters at random. “Are you singing for me, Wendy?” Miss Jay asked, crossing Wendy’s baby ankles and lifting her legs towards the ceiling. “Is that what you’re doing, baby girl?” No! It wasn’t what she was doing. Not at all! Trying to tell the grown-up that was only resulting in more of the same total gibberish. She couldn’t talk! At all! She could still think; she still thought in words as she understood the concept, but she had none of them available to use with her mouth! She had jammed her fingers into her mouth to stop herself from babbling. Maybe all of her words weren’t gone. Maybe just the big ones or the very long sentences. Maybe she could still say the words if they were very very simple. Babies could do that, right? Right. What was a simple word, though? Cat? Dog? No, too obvious. Wouldn’t something obvious be good, though? Simple? Oh! How about ‘boat!’ she could say ‘boat’! Wendy took her fingers out and concentrated on making her mouth work as hard as she could. “Ga!” No that wasn’t it. “Meh!” Still no! ‘Meh’ didn’t sound anything like ‘boat’. “Bobobobo!” No! That wasn’t even the same length. What about ‘cat’? “Uk!” That was wrong too! ‘Dog’? “Akka!” No! “Urgle!” She couldn’t even say ‘no’. Everything just came out as random syllables. Complete gibberish. “Caaaaaa!” That one was supposed to be ‘ga!’ Eeeeeem!” That had been another attempt at ‘boat’. She couldn’t even babble in a one-to-one ratio. No matter what word her brain tried to think of, her mouth was going to say whatever it wanted to. “Cab-b-b-b-b-b-b-umpf-Gah!!” All the while, Miss Jay just kept doing unnecessary cleaning to her back and nethers. “You are a soggy little thing,” the old woman clucked. “Nothing that can’t be fixed though with a little powder to dry you out and a fresh pamper.” Her mouth hung agape and even more babbling cries of shock and disbelief poured out. She was wet? Impossible, yet the caregiver had no reason to lie. It was just like earlier, except she’d done it in her sleep and upon waking couldn’t tell the difference! Her dream had been right! She’d completely lost her potty training. The only thing adult about her was her mind, now. Yet if she couldn’t even talk or tell the difference between having wet pants and dry ones, was she really that much of an adult? All of this existential pondering, surprise and terror came out as more unintelligible baby talk that sounded foreign to even Wendy’s tiny ears. None of it stopped or dissuaded Miss Jay from finishing the job she’d started. She finished powdering and sealing the fresh diaper, oblivious to Wendy’s very adult existential crisis. “You’re so talkative today!” Wendy wasn’t! She really wasn’t! “Maybe soon you’ll start saying real words that I can understand!” A faint flash of hope flickered in Wendy’s mind. Miss Jay thought she’d be talking soon! That obviously wasn’t going to happen, today, that’s just not how this reality worked. Everything was backwards for her, not forwards. However, maybe it meant that she’d be remembered as saying or doing something impressive back in the real world. Maybe singing? Maybe that was a hint? It was comforting enough to quiet Wendy down and ease her panic over the state of her body, mind, and words. Miss Jay sat her down on the carpet and went to get another baby to clean up before their parents arrived. Wendy crawled away, babbling happily to herself, congratulating herself. More time in this place likely meant greater accolades when she returned to adulthood. With those accolades in mind, Wendy crawled over to an unoccupied toy. A white plastic pole that was thinner at the top than it was at the bottom, but the difference wasn’t so vast as to call the shape a cone. Scattered around it- likely during her change by one of her friends- were several plastic rings of different colors and sizes. The mission? Get all the rings stacked on top at once. Super easy. Even a baby could do it. Wendy reached out and grabbed the first ring, and by ‘first’ that is to say that it was the ring closest to her. She was having trouble describing the color; it was somewhere between grass or platypus; closer to unripe banana or grapes. All of those things went on the ground, so it only made sense that this would be the bottom rung. She scooted closer to the pole, scooting on her butt and dragging herself forward with the heels of her feet until she was practically straddling the toy. Using both hands and still fumbling, she placed the ring on top of the stacking pole and pushed it as far down. Unfortunately, the farthest down it would slide was firmly in the middle. No problem. Not a problem at all. Wendy just flopped over to her side, grabbed the second ring the color of grapes…the other kind…and pushed herself up to the side. It landed on top of the first ring, the ring that looked like the other kind of grapes, and clocked against it. It was bigger than the first ring, too. Bigger was genuinely better. Heavier. It was a solid strategy. Wendy concentrated, running her tongue in her mouth and feeling the tiny bumps that were the start of her baby teeth; waiting for the heaviness of the second ring to push the first ring stuck in the middle all the way down. She waited, and waited…and waited… Why wasn’t it going down? Obviously it needed more heavy. Nothing left to do but to grab a third ring and get ready to slam it down with all the might her tiny body could muster. She couldn’t remember the name of the color, but it was the same color as Daddy’s orange juice. Oooooh! Maybe the ring tasted like orange juice! That would be yummy! Hesitation long since lost, Wendy opened her mouth and bit down on the orange juice colored ring. Her eyebrows knitted together in consternation and disappointment. It tasted nothing like orange juice. It was closer in flavor to the plastic keys that Daddy had let her play with this morning, albeit much softer. Her face suddenly un-scrunched itself. She kept chewing. The flavor wasn’t anything to talk about, but the feelings it gave her mouth were very very good! It was like scratching an itch she didn’t know she had and now that she’d found it she didn’t want to stop. It felt good, but putting it on the ring meant she’d have to stop. It’d be like getting out of a hot spring in the snow. From comfort to discomfort in a flash! No thank you! She opted instead to scoot away and over to get another ring, an apple one that was very tiny compared to either of the grapes. Gnawing on her orange juice ring, she took a moment to inspect it, and noticed that not only was it apple colored, but it had tiny tiny balls inside it that she could see by looking through the clear side. She did a double take. In fact, all the rings also had a clear side! Neat! Wendy had very little confidence in her ability to get the balls out, but it might be fun to see if there was a noticeable difference between this ring and the one she was gnawing on. Tentatively, she shook the smallest ring and sent the tiny balls whirring inside, buzzing by skidding against the top and bottom of the hollow shell! How would that feel in her mouth? She shook. She just shook and squealed around the orange juice ring, flapping her arms excitedly. She didn’t even care that more baby babble was burbling up out of her and around the plastic thing she had in her mouth. Too exciting! Now, the real question was: Which ring should go back on top of the pole to try to make the grape rings go down, and which one should stay in her mouth? Decisions, decisions. Miss Donna came by with her clipboard and jotted something down. “Good job, Wendy,” Miss Donna said. “You keep trying, honey bunch.” She was doing it! She was doing it! This wasn’t going to be like in her dream at all! More happy baby noises came out of her! Scritch-Scriiiiiitch. Wendy’s ears wiggled at a sound that was becoming increasingly familiar to them. One she’d heard just a few minutes ago, and much louder because of how close it had been. Orange juice ring still in her mouth, she dropped the apple ring with all the delightful jangly bits on the ground so that she could pivot and scoot around with her feet and free hand. “Whoof!” Miss Jay waid, fanning her nose. “Petey, what is your Mommy feeding you at home to make that?” Oh. Petey was just just getting his diaper changed. Miss Jay was wiping him and tossing in the dirty wipes on top of the mess he’d made and quickly balling it all up and tossing it into the trash. Standard procedure. Petey was giggling and babbling something to himself between finger chomps. The sounds she’d heard were just the velcro tapes on his diaper being torn off, just like when she got her diaper changed just a few minutes ago. The orange juice colored ring fell from Wendy’s mouth and rolled away from her. She didn’t go after it. “Bubu?” Yes. Yes, her. She’d been on that very same elevated surface, getting one diaper swapped out for another, naked from the waist down in front of an old woman and everyone else who happened to look. She hadn’t been embarrassed at all. The thought of any sort of modesty hadn’t even occurred to her. She’d wanted to die just a few hours ago, but her mind and emotions had already readily acclimated to the act that robbed her of so much autonomy, independence, and self-respect. Even though she was busy trying to control her mouth, that was no excuse! For all she knew all the other babies were going through something similar, experimenting with words and language with their tops while someone else worried about their bottoms. Other babies… Oh crud! Only when she couldn’t really talk was she actually listening to herself! She needed to get out of here! Now! This time babble didn’t come. In its place was worried and fretful fussing cries. Balled up fists and scrunched up eyes followed. Through her own screams she was aware of Miss Jay’s far off voice. “Awww, what’s wrong Wendy? Did you bite your tongue or something?” Two very strong hands grabbed Wendy by the armpits and picked her up. Somewhere in the back of her brain, she knew it was Miss Donna. She knew her sitters by sight, sound, smell, and touch, now. At least two of those things would take more than a day to register so strongly. Her body immediately clung to the grown-up’s shoulder, with one massive hand supporting Wendy beneath and the other one steadying her behind her back. “No,” Miss Donna said. “I don’t think so. Doesn’t sound like an owie cry. More like a scared cry or…” she paused and Wendy felt the grown-up carefully pat her backside and then stick her fingers through the leg cuffs of her diaper. Wendy kept crying, anyway. “I don’t think it’s that,” Miss Jay called over Wendy’s crying. “I just changed her.” “Yeah,” Miss Donna confirmed. “It’s not that.” She started whispering and cooing to Wendy. “What’s the matter, honeybunch?” She started gently shushing Wendy and patting the girl’s back. More confounding, Wendy’s little body liked it, and little by little, even though she didn’t want to, she calmed down. Her emotions were quieted, if not under control; or more accurately, they were under control, just not Wendy’s. “It’s okay,” Miss Donna promised. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it'll be alright.” Deep in her heart, she knew it wouldn’t be. Not until she could get home. Not until she saw her- “Hello, hello!” Wendy lifted her head up off of Miss Donna’s shoulder. She knew that voice! “Awwwwk!” “Look who’s here, Wendy!” Miss Donna beamed. “It’s Mommy!” Standing on the other side of the baby gated doorway, with a big toothy smile, and arms outstretched, back from a day of teaching and grading papers, was Mommy! Granted, Wendy already knew that, and had said as much…kind of. “Hi Wendy!” Mommy squeaked. “Did you miss me?” Miss Donna wasted no time in striding across the Ladybug Room and handing the baby girl over to her mother. “You bet she did, Mom!” A quick handoff, and Wendy’s position and mood considerably improved. Mommy bobbed and rocked Wendy a little bit while repositioning her so as to hold her and they both be comfortable. “How was she today?” Mommy asked Miss Donna. “Oh she was great,” Miss Donna said. “She played. She did some cruising. Ate all her food at lunch. Went right down for her nap.” She was ticking them off like a list on her fingers. “She was a little cranky just a second before you came in, but I’m thinking she just was getting a little homesick, y’know?” Mommy gave Wendy a kiss. “Awww, I missed you too, Wendy.” Then she gave a couple more. “I’m so glad to have you back.” Wendy giggled furiously. She was happy to have her Mommy back too. Everything would be better now. Mommy redirected her attention to Miss Donna. “And…the test?” “Test?” Miss Donna said. “Oh you mean the developmental screenings?” “Yes, that one.” Mommy said. “How did she do? “Caa!” Wendy burbled. She wanted to know too. “Whelp. We’re not done yet,” Miss Donna admitted. “Our screenings are less like a pen and paper lab test and more just setting up circumstances and seeing how they react.” “That makes sense,” Mommy nodded. Wendy was less agreeable. She squirmed uncomfortably in Mommy’s arms. Would this mean she’d have to come back tomorrow? Was her exam in the real world suddenly multiple parts or something? “And we don’t do it all at once. We don’t want to stress the kids out.” “Of course not.” Wendy was starting to stress. If she left and didn’t come back, would her law school examination be mysteriously incomplete? “So we just sit back and record. We encourage a little bit here and there, but nothing too intense. It’s all about what they can do and what they can show us. Not what they can’t do.” “Well?” Mommy asked, biting her lip. “What can she do?” Miss Donna waved off both mother and daughter’s anxiety. “Personally? I don’t think you have anything to worry about. We’re not seeing any signs of developmental delay. I think Wendy’s right where she needs to be right now.” Mommy visibly relaxed. “Phew. Sorry. That’s good to hear.” Wendy did not. “Caaagaa?” That had been baby for, “What do you mean right where I need to be? Like average? I’m not average! I’m advanced! Gifted! I should be acing this test!” Did that mean that she was getting a C on her law exam? If so, what did that mean for her? This reality was supposed to affect the real one, not the other way around! There was a slim chance she could have bullshitted her way to a C and she wouldn’t have lost her boobs, butt, teeth, and toilet training for it! Mommy bounced Wendy a little bit. “I’ve got a squirmy wormy on my hands,” Mommy said. “Better get her home.” “Okie dokie,” Miss Donna chirped. “Bye Wendy! Bye Mom! See you tomorrow!” With what remained of Wendy’s adult brain, a defiant resolve started to brew. Despite being in her Mommy’s arms, she was metaphorically standing beside herself with indignation. She wasn’t ever going to see Miss Donna or this dumb daycare ever again! Incomplete or not, she’d definitely finished her test in the real world. Miss Donna didn’t know what she was talking about. … The car road home was agonizing for Wendy. Mommy had the same rear facing car seat with a mirror set up in the back that Daddy did, but now Wendy barely recognized her own body. She was almost a blob now: Hardly any hair. Arms that barely worked. Legs that were even worse. A mouth that was only good for slurping, sucking, drooling, and making noise, and no control of her insides. She was cute. Precious. Adorable. Loved. And just knowing that she was thinking that about herself alarmed her to no end. She was only now beginning to realize the full breadth and depth of basic skills that were evaporating out of her grasp. She had to get home. She had to go back to her real home; where she was an adult. If she spent much longer like this, it occurred to her, she might very well have to grow up and learn everything all over again. How awful! Curse whatever fate or force had robbed her of vocabulary like the color of different grapes but left her with enough imagination to picture such things! The car stopped, but the motor was still running. Where were they? Why were they stopping? Did Mommy have more places to go than straight home? Why weren’t they moving?! Without realizing it, Wendy let out a screech. “It’s just a red light, honey. Mommy has to stop.” Wendy balled up her fists and re-scrunched her face. No she didn’t! Which one was red?! So what if it was? She was scared and confused and just wanted to go home and anything that kept her from getting exactly what she wanted was terrible, and tragic, and scary, and needed to stop or go away whichever came first! The car started moving again, and Wendy quieted down. Good. It worked. Until it didn’t. “Red light!” Wendy let her displeasure be known until Mommy or the red light (whatever that was) listened and kept going. At the third stop, Wendy saw Mommy rooting around in the passenger seat for something. She then leaned back and gave Wendy a bottle. “Here, honey. Are you thirsty?” Automatically, Wendy’s tiny hands gripped the bottle and shoved the nipple into her mouth, downing the creamy milk. It was cold. It had probably been refrigerated all day while Mommy was working. “I know it’s not as good as just before bed, but Mommy made it just for you during her lunch break.” Made? Made how? Did Mommy own a cow at school? Impossible! Also, there might have been something wrong with Wendy’s tongue. Something was different about this bottle. It was still very obviously milk, but it didn’t taste quite like the milk she drank since time immemorial. Not bad. Just different. Perhaps, she speculated, that infant tongues were more sensitive than grown-up tongues, and no one could tell. Every other part of her body looked and worked differently than as an adult. Clearly the tongue wasn’t an exception. Different though it may taste, the milk was still very good. Comforting. Nostalgic and familiar, like opening up a tub of one’s favorite icecream after a long day at work. The lights and stopping were far far easier to cope with. “You’re right where you should be,” Mommy repeated. She adjusted her shirt. “I guess that means Mommy should start weaning you more.” She smiled, more to herself than to Wendy. “But I think I’ll wait till you’re one. I like our special mommy daughter bond.” Bodily, Wendy kept slurping down the milk. Internally, Wendy realized, too late, that it didn’t taste like cow’s milk because it wasn’t cow’s milk. She tried to stop herself, but her mouth and tongue weren’t under her control, and some ingrained habit or instinct kept her draining the bottle until it was dry. All. The way. Home. Wendy did not cry when she saw the reflection of her house. Rather, she was finally able to rip the rubber nipple from her mouth and let out a healthy belch. At least she could still do that on her own! Mommy turned the car off, came around to the back, and got Wendy out of her carseat. “Come on baby. Let’s go play for a little bit.” Both halves of Wendy’s psyche smiled at that. Playtime meant an opportunity! For play! For attention! For freedom! She didn’t even mind when Mommy opened a snap on her onesie and stared at her diaper. “You’re okay for now.” Wendy would take it! One less change meant one less babyish thing to go through. It was a bit concerning that she was declared ‘okay’ instead of ‘dry’, but she’d take the win where she could find it, no matter how narrow the margin of success. The inside of the house looked familiar, and alien all at once to Wendy’s infant eyes. Everything was huge again! Not just the baby stuff that needed to stretch and inflate to accommodate her. The television was practically a movie screen. The bookcase in the living room was a tower. The couch was a bouncy castle! And the family picture on the way to her bedroom no longer looked so out of place. In it, there was a Mommy, a Daddy, and a baby girl not even a year old sitting in a pretty pink dress and white tights, the big floppy bow was more wrapped around her head than weaved and tied into her wisps of hair . And she was smiling a big, goofy, innocent smile; likely because the man behind the camera had a squeaky toy or something. A perfect family moment captured in a studio setting. That more than anything else that had happened so far today made Wendy worry about how much time she had left. Yesterday in the tub, her frazzled brain had almost completely forgotten that she didn’t belong here. The possibility of return had barely occurred to her until Daddy had seen her standing there naked. Now that she looked the part she’d been cast in and adult thoughts were becoming rarer and rarer, she might not even think to crawl back into her closet. It wasn’t a problem, Wendy realized. Even in this state with her reduced vocabulary and gross motor skills, she knew enough about herself to still keep who she was on the inside. All she had to do was stay focused and be patient. Mommy would leave her alone in her room soon enough. All it would take was one minute leaving to talk to Daddy or fetch something from the kitchen or search for a toy that had been left in the living room and Wendy could crawl back to the safety and sanity of her big girl room and big girl life . “Back in your room, safe and sound!” Mommy sang. She put Wendy down on the carpet and closed the door. Not a problem since the bedroom door wasn’t Wendy’s way out of this place. Mommy kicked off her shoes and started browsing the room. “Now what to play with what to play with?” Wendy took a moment and sat on her bottom, her Pampers pushing her legs apart, and just took in the sight of it all. Everything was so big, now. So humongous. Knowing that nothing would change just made it all the more real. The changing table and the diapers wouldn’t warp because they already fit her. The crib railing wouldn’t need to rise to keep her contained. It wouldn’t be a mystical force keeping her from turning a knob and opening a door but her own physical limitations. Mommy wouldn’t look ridiculous dressing or changing her, or holding her. Nor would she be particularly awkward looking. Nothing would be out of proportion. Wendy had been through this experience already at the daycare, but something about it being in her room made it all hit differently. She knew these four walls and this roof, even if the furniture was foreign to her. And it was all so big. Except it wasn’t. She was just little. A baby… “Waaaaaa!” No! Those thoughts didn’t belong in her head! She didn’t belong in this place! This place, this time, this universe! She looked to the closet door, her gateway back home. There wasn’t a shining flare of extra dimension light there anymore. Just a teen tiny mote, no bigger than the beam of a flashlight, shimmering like a mirage in the desert. The gears in Wendy’s mind began rotating fast enough to make sparks. Looking back in her memories, she realized that the light from the other side had been getting dimmer and smaller all along. She’d thought she was just getting used to it; that her eyes were adjusting; but really the cut in both realities had been slowly closing itself like a wound scabbing over. She’d drastically underestimated and misunderstood something. This reality wasn’t just trying to get her to conform to it. This wasn’t some magical baby universe. She was a foreigner, an invader, and instead of trying to kick her out or destroy her, it was ‘fixing’ her. She was supposed to be a baby here, and that tear in her closet shouldn't exist. She was running out of time and had more than just her own dwindling focus to worry about keeping her here. Screw patience! No time to wait! Even if it meant making a break for it with Closet Mommy in the room! With surprising alacrity, Wendy leaned forward and straddled past her splayed out legs, crawling her hands out towards the carpet and snaking over her own legs to plop over on her ber. Wow…she was…very bendable like this. No way was she going to take her eyes off that little winking beam. From her stomach it was minimal effort to gather her legs up underneath her and she shuffled and crawled to the open closet. An arm scooped Wendy up under her belly. “Where do you think you’re goin’?” Mommy cooed playfully. She spared a look towards Wendy’s destination. “The closet? It’s not time to get dressed yet, silly goose!” “Gaaaaaaah!” Wendy fussed. Ironically, that was the exact sound to express the potent mixture of fear and frustration that she was feeling. “It’s not time to play hide and seek either,” Mommy replied with saccharine sweetness in her voice. Wendy had genuinely thought that her Closet Mommy was preoccupied with finding the right toy. It seemed that the now-giant woman had eyes everywhere and ears that could hear the slightest crinkle in a crawl. With one impossibly long arm, Mommy put Wendy back down on the floor, facing away from the closet. With the other, she held a bright sunshine ball with a smiley face on it. “Let’s play with the ball. Can you say ball?” “Caa!” What Wendy had meant to say was likely far cruder than what came out of her mouth. “Baaalll!” Mommy said, enunciating each individual phoneme to the point of exaggeration. “Let’s play with the ball. She put the little rubber ball-just slightly bigger than a softball-on the carpet and gently rolled it to Wendy. Wendy sat there, practically forced to catch it because the ball trapped itself between her legs, scuffing and slowing on the carpet, gaining even more friction on her tutu, and lightly bouncing off her padded crotch and coming to a rest just before her knees. With an exasperated, practically defeated sigh, Wendy bent over and used both hands to pick up the orb. The younger version of her mother clapped excitedly “Yaaaay! Wendy did it!” A spring of excitement bubbled up and Wendy couldn’t help it. She twittered and tweeted at the praise, not caring if it was relevant or deserved. A growing, near cancerous part of her loved it. “Okay, Wendy,” Mommy said. “Now throw it back! Throw it back to Mommy!” The very beginnings of an idea sprang to life in Wendy’s still big girl brain. Gripping the ball in both hands, she wound her arms up, hiked them over and behind her head, and catapulted the orb to the other side of the nursery! Then Mommy would have to go get it, and that would buy her the time she needed. Oooh, the crib would be better! Something to make Mommy have to crawl on the floor. “Ooopsie!” Mommy said. “You dropped it!” Sluggishly Wendy turned around and looked behind her. In her excitement she’d dropped the ball and saw it rolling towards her closet. “Mommy’s got it!” The grown up stood up and on long striding legs, stepped over to the closet. Just like her father on the other side, she paid no mind whatsoever to the faint rip in reality whilst she retrieved the ball. LIGHT! BLINDING LIGHT! Like a curtain peeled back or a wound being reopened, that same spot light supernova dazzling light poured into the nursery when Closet Mommy’s head so much as brushed past the closet’s threshold. Better still, she didn’t seem to notice it. Everyone but Wendy was still totally oblivious to the rip. And being oblivious to it once again went on par with being unable to use it, her Mommy’s body passing through like it was just smoke. Meanwhile, Wendy could see it waver brightly, shining through the room even as it rapidly dimmed back. That meant there was still a chance! Mommy came back and sat down across from her little girl, holding the ball. “Let’s do it again!” Yes! Let’s! “One…two…threeeeeee!” Through no effort of her own, Wendy obtained the ball, this time it lightly ricocheting off her thighs. “Yaaaaaay Wendy!” Wendy focused through the chubby cheeked smile that was uncomfortably contorting her face. Yay, Wendy indeed. She grabbed the ball, wound back and- “Ooops!” Mommy said. Wendy giggled loud and hard when Mommy had to get up and walk over to the closet again. There was no stifling or muting the joyful noise. “If I didn’t know any better,” Mommy said, “I’d say you were doing that on purpose.” She playfully shook her finger at Wendy. “If you do that one more time, you’re gonna have to get it yourself, young lady.” So when the opportunity arose…she did. “Uh oh!” Mommy cooed. “You did it again! Now you have to go get it!” Wendy flapped her hands and shoved her fingers into her mouth, she was so happy, and for multiple reasons. Not only had her plan worked, but Mommy liked how far she’d thrown the ball behind her! Mommy’s pseudo-stern voice turned into playful whispers, and urging for Wendy to “go get it.” The law student trapped in a baby’s body was happy to oblige. Hissing and panting, she rolled over to her hands and knees and started crawling for her closet, her way home. There was still the tiniest sliver of light left. Still a chance that she could pull this off and leave all of this behind. Head down looking at the floor, she crawled towards the nearly invisible portal, the rip in reality, and on her way home. The next moment, her little nose was nearly touching the void as she looked up with a gap toothed smile. Ever since discovering the damn thing, she had never been so happy to cross it. Nor had she done so in front of someone else. “Wendy?” Mommy said. Wendy’s body slowed. Stupidly, the girl looked back. “What’s that light coming from your closet?” Mommy frowned and started to get up. “Has that always been there?” Mommy saw the rip! Wendy bolted! She wasn’t going to get another opportunity! Eyes closed she barreled through the threshold of the door, screaming and squealing, praying that the adrenaline would carry her that extra inch or two farther before it was too late. With time seemingly going on slow motion, Mommy’s voice called out after her, “WENDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” The last thing Wendy saw before the light of a million suns flash banged in her eyes was the looming shadow of her mother’s arm as she dove after her. Wendy didn’t stop crawling, didn’t so much as open her eyes, until she’d pumped her head on something heavy and wooden. Pain! Owies! Wendy sat back and drew in breath to scream. Scream for Mommy and Daddy to come and make it all better. She opened her eyes, though, and stopped. She’d done it. She was in her room. Not the nursery, but her room. Her big girl room! Her adult room! The heavy wooden thing she’d banged up against was her work desk! Over in the corner was her bed, not a crib! Goodbye changing table, hello dresser! Her joy was almost cut short when she looked down at herself. She was still in the same chubby baby body with the same diaper on and the same purple onesie pulled over her shoulders and snapped up between her legs. That was okay, though. She remembered the last time it took a bit for things to snap back to normal. Her body and clothes had to reacclimate as it were. Soon she’d be out of baby mode and back into a more ladylike style of dress and body. Hey! She’d remembered the color purple! That was proof that it was working! The only thing that could go wrong now, is if her real mom and dad barged in. It wouldn’t do for them to see her in this state. Even that wouldn’t be so bad. They’d just zone out for a second and ignore it this time again, treating her like the adult she was supposed to be over on this side. It’d be embarrassing, but nothing she wouldn’t be able to get over. “WENDY!” Her mother’s voice! Her real mother! Wendy gathered her feet up underneath her, already trying to stand. Any second now, Mom would open the bedroom door and congratulate Wendy on her doing so well on her History of Law exam. Something was off, though. The voice was much louder, much more panicked than it should have been. “WENDY?!” It wasn’t coming from behind her bedroom door, either. Wendy turned around and saw her Mommy, not her mother, barreling through the closet door and into Wendy’s reality. An elk caught on the train tracks of life, Wendy gaped up at Closet Mommy’s looming figure. Closet Mommy…was on this side…of the closet. She’d been followed! Her feet already underneath her, Wendy tried to stand and run for her very adulthood. The only thing she succeeded in was pushing off with enough force to send her rolling back to the carpet, bonking the back of her head on the floor. PAIN! BLINDING PAIN! A babyish yelp mutated into full on wailing. Her emotions were still wildly out of check and the minor bump she’d taken might as well have been a snapped limb. The panic and confusion of being followed through the portal only intensified her feelings of helplessness and anguish. She was up and in Mommy’s arms in an instant. Wendy could only keep crying out, unable to form anything resembling words just yet. Even if her mouth would cooperate, she wasn’t sure she could form a coherent sentence to describe everything that was going on; yet alone affect the situation. This was so frustrating, no longer be in a reality blurring her words and still being unable to spell one! “What the heck is this place?” Mommy wondered over the baby’s howls. She slowly rotated in the middle of the room like she was taking in an art exhibit or if she’d just landed in a strange new world. In a way, she had. “This place,” she said. “I know this place.” Her calm tone belied equal parts wonder and anxiety. “ It kind of looks like your room, but…different.” Wendy pounded on the woman’s shoulder, trying to get her to let go. “Muh! Gaaaaah!” Mommy just ignored it. “These are definitely your walls. Same carpet. But the desk instead of your toy box? That bed is where your crib would be.” Ironically enough, it was more physical pain that stopped Wendy from crying. Her gums stung and itched. Without thinking about it she started to gnaw on her lower lip. Teeth! Her teeth were starting to come back in! She was growing up! Slowly, weeks by weeks, her body was fitting back to the reality she was in. Just a little longer, and she would reach her first birthday. “That’s where I was going to put your dresser after you didn’t need your changing table anymore…” She shifted her focus down to the baby in her arms. “Is this…? Is this your room when you’re older? Are we in the future?” Kind of? Not really? Close enough. “Yyyyyy…” Her mouth! It was starting to obey her! She could explain this! Ten more seconds and she could literally talk her way out of this situation! And on this side of the rip, Closet Mommy could likely understand her! A look of wonder twisted itself into surprise, then horror. “Your teeth?” A bit of hair drooped over the top of Wendy’s forehead, and Closet Mommy touched it, clearly trying to process what she was seeing as real. “Your hair! It’s growing!” Not long now! Wendy smiled and felt another tooth click into place. “Mmmmmaaaaammmmma! Mama!” A word! A baby word, but still a word! A real sound that she’d wanted to make! “No…” Mommy whispered, eyes growing wide. She about faced towards the closet. “No. No. Nononononono!” One person’s miracle was another’s horror. The fear and protective maternal instinct kicked into overdrive. “This place, it’s changing you. We need to get out of here!” Mommy said. She was dashing for the opening. There was still the faintest sliver to be seen. “Please make it work!” Wendy prayed it wouldn’t. It did. The last thing Wendy said; the last thing that she might likely speak in a fairly long time, just when Mommy started charging back through the rip, was a booming, mournful “NOOOOOOOOOOO!” A blink of an eye and they were back in the nursery. And over Mommy’s shoulder, Wendy Merts, now aged ten months, had to watch as the very last bits of this universe knitted itself back together. It was like a wound closing in time lapse photos. The last beams of near mystical light shrank and shrank into nothingness until the final mote twinkled out with an inaudible poof. No more light. No more tunnel. “GAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” No more words. Only tears and screams were left to her. Mommy bolted out of the room, clutching Wendy tight to her. Wendy started screaming her throat raw; equal parts panic attack and tantrum. “I know baby, I know,” she shushed. “That was scary!” She bounced Wendy up and down in her arms, cradling her, trying to distract and soothe the terrified infant to no avail. “I don’t know what that was, either!” Yet Wendy did, and that made it worse. Over her own bawling, Wendy heard a door close and Mommy started running towards it. “Howard!” Mommy called. “There’s something in Wendy’s room!” Wendy didn’t bother to stop crying. Daddy talked over her. Both of her parents were used to talking over a distressed and mewling infant. “What is it?” The worry in his voice was genuine. “I..I…I don’t know. I can’t explain it! It was bright and…so..so…and Wendy crawled into…and…it’s in her closet. Go look in the closet.” Wendy only screamed more when Daddy’s footsteps tromped away and faded into. Her Mommy stopped using words too, and just made quiet gentle, shushing noises in an attempt to calm the tsunami of emotions. Wendy was cradled with both arms, but lacked the wherewithal to act or thrash or otherwise try to escape. Her one and only chance at real escape failed. Now she was stuck like this. She had a…a…she didn’t even know how long she had to wait to get back to her old age but it was probably a really long time like an hour! Her brain was still filled with memories from the other side, but her emotions were all wildly into overdrive and her vocabulary was shrinking by the second. Daddy came back. “I don’t see anything in there,” he said. “I swear there was something.” Mommy insisted. “Can you show me?” “No, I’m not taking Wendy back there!” Mommy hissed, barely maintaining her composure. “Okay,” Daddy replied, “Let me hold her and you go look.” There was a pause and then. “Fine.” The sobbing and distressed ten-month-old was handed to her other parent while the first went to investigate. Daddly, sadly, used many of the same soothing and calming tactics as Mommy, and was no more successful than her. Mommy came back a few minutes later. “I just don’t understand it,” Mommy told Daddy. “I could’ve sworn…” Daddy gently said, “Well whatever you think you saw definitely spooked Wendy. She normally doesn’t cry this hard.” “Yeah,” Mommy said, the doubt already creeping into her tone, “yeah. Let’s get Wendy settled first. She’s more important.” “Agreed.” They moved her over to the couch and laid her across so that she was partially in both of their laps. “Wow,” Daddy commented. “She’s getting so big!” Not big enough! Not big enough, at all. Through her bawling, and the snot, and the self pity, and the fear, and sadness, and fact that she very likely needed a new diaper and couldn’t recognize it, Wendy was still observing her parents. Watching them closely and listening through her squalling. They looked at each other. Daddy started with a nearly silent count. “Two, three, four” Mommy joined and they sang together, loudly, sweetly, but a little off key. “We’ve got the whole world, In our hands. We’ve got the whole world, In our hands. We’ve got the whole world, In our hands. We’ve got the whole world in our hands.” Wendy’s crying lessened. What? What was that?” “We’ve got our itty bitty baby, In our hands. We’ve got our itty bitty baby, In our hands. We’ve got our itty bitty baby, In our hands We’ve got the whole world in our hands.” She knew the tune, but the words had been altered. Altered so that it was all but them and her. She quieted and listened, watching while the absolute love and adoration that they had for her poured over her. Likewise, she couldn’t help but reflect it back up at them. “We’ve got our wonderful Wendy, In our hands. We’ve got our wonderful Wendy, In our hands. We’ve got our wonderful Wendy, In our hands, We’ve got the whole world in our hands.” Wendy couldn’t have screamed if she wanted to. She wasn’t in control of her emotions anymore. They were. And that was okay. They were Mommy and Daddy. They weren’t her original mother and father, but they were still essentially the same people. They loved her. Unconditionally. “There, all better now, right?” said Mommy while gently brushing through Wendy’s sparse baby locks. “Seems like it is,” Daddy nodded. “We’ll be good with a switch to toys. Maybe the bucket, I think she could get the hang of it this time.” He looked at Wendy, then lifted his head to Mommy. “Oh, how about we try the learning board? It’s barely been out of the plastic”. Mommy gave an excited nod of approval in return. Daddy, whose ‘closet’ designation seemed a moot point by now, shifted Wendy all the way over into Mommy’s lap and shuffled over to a small mass of toys in the corner. As he dropped to his knees, he rummaged through a box and picked up two toys. One was a plastic bucket that rattled with its contents; its lid filled with very specifically shaped holes. Obviously, inside there were different shapes inside the bucket and the object. Wendy liked shapes and colors, even if she didn’t know their names anymore. Very amusing! The other was a white wooden board filled to the brim with doodads: Plastic gears; latches; puzzle pieces; and chain locks that secured absolutely nothing. Child experts would call it a ‘busy board’. To Wendy it looked kind of fun. “You think she’s old enough for the board?” asked Daddy as he looked over the side, pointing at the little stickier with a cartoony character proudly saying ‘12+ months old’ in a bubble. “Might be a bit too soon”. “Guess we’ll see,” Mommy said. “Remember that little test they were going to do today at the nursery? Miss Donna wouldn’t tell me how far exactly Wendy succeeded. You know how Donna is, she doesn't want to set up expectations for parents. But she did tell me she did well, I bet she can do something more advanced by now!” Knowledge had poured out of Wendy’s brain like an unplugged sink, but even in her current state, with more fingers than teeths, she remembered things. A lot of things. The little baby girl glanced past her Mommy’s lap with a frown of curiosity, ignoring the giant’s claim of how cute she looked when she did that little face. Those toys… They were slightly advanced and marketed towards bigger babies. Mommy sat the girl upright just in time for Daddy to come back. He shuffled back over, still on his knees so that he was closer to Wendy’s eye level; board under one arm and bucket in the other. “What do you want to play with, Wendy?” he asked. “This or this?” He jostled the board, then the bucket. “Which one?” Still with Mommy’s hands steadying her at the waist, Wendy leaned forward and slapped the top of the plastic bucket. “Kap!” Which was supposed to mean. ‘That one!’ “This one?” Daddy asked, jiggling the bucket. “Not this one?” The only reply that he got was her slapping the bucket. This time, Wendy knew what she wanted and needed, and it had nothing to do with what used to be on the other side. “Okie dokie,” he said, before looking up at his wife. “Guess the board was too advanced. But the shapes are still months ahead!” The lid came off temporarily, and shiny plastic shapes tumbled onto the carpet. Wendy was gently lowered so that she could sort them, while her two loving parents watched every single move, offering gentle words of encouragement. “Go on, honey.” Mommy said. “Try it out. Take your time.” Smiling to herself, Wendy proceeded to grab one of the plastic shapes, glancing at the similar hole on the bucket’s lid. She could sense her parent’s fidgeting with expectation as she holied up in the air… “Hmph-pa!” she babbled as she threw it on the ground, earning raising eyebrows of surprise from the two adults. “No Wendy, you’re supposed to place it here. See?” Her Mommy interjected, pointing at the lid of the little bucket. Seizing it, Wendy pushed the lid open, before grabbing the shapes and throwing them one by one into the bucket. With how uncoordinated her little pudgy hands were, she had to try several times to get ahold of them all, but one of the good side of being a baby is that nobody is going to force a toy out of your hands when you’re playing with it, even if in the “wrong” way. “Gaaaaaah!” As her parents tried once more to explain to her how to use the toy, Wendy had shot them the most defiant look a ten months old baby could muster, and proceeded to shake the bucket. The rattling of the pieces made such a unique sound. It was the sound of planes, sky colored planes, or maybe sky colored dogs. Either way, it was as delightful as she had hoped. Doing it again, Wendy felt a bubbling sensation in her mind as her lips twirled into a large smile. On the third rattle, a giggle punctuated it, soon followed by many others until both sounds filled the room. Smiling down at the baby girl having the time of her life over a rattling bucket, Wendy’s parents exchanged a look, before bursting out laughing. “Guess *both* are still a bit too advanced, eh?” “Yes, Wendy decided it’s too soon for boring learning games, it seems.” Mommy said with a chuckle, as her giggling baby girl slipped from her steadying hands. “Could you fetch the rest of the toy box, dear? Looks like it’s going to be casual playtime, finally.” As her mountain of a Daddy went back and forth to her room in a split second, coming back with a box three times her size, claiming there was still plenty of time to play before bathtime, Wendy beamed up at her parents. She was overjoyed, not only at having tricked them out of their budding high expectation, but of what it may mean for her future. Yes. She would take her time this go round. Now there was nothing but time to start over again. But this time, it would be on her terms. Maybe she wouldn’t be a law student again the second time around. Maybe she’d try to be a teacher like Mommy or a…she didn’t remember what Daddy did. Maybe she’d be an astronaut. She’d have to relearn everything again, she knew, walking, talking, toileting, reading, math, and more. But she had time now. Plenty of it. Time to learn from her past mistakes. Time to do things right. Time to enjoy the temporary things. The little things. No more big picture planning and panicking. No more overestimating herself or her limits. Or her interests. She didn’t even like Law. Just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean you like it. This was the second chance she never knew she needed. Either way, she was happy now. Looking back on it, she certainly wasn’t happy then. Happy people don’t jump dimensions or justify why it was okay to be put back in diapers and treated like a baby. Not unless that’s what they really wanted deep down. “There,” Daddy said. “All better.” Wendy agreed. She even gave them a little giggle. “I think she thinks so, too.” And thus, a new life ahead of her, Wendy decided to get down to the serious, serious, business of playing. (The End)

Chapter 4 The remainder of that evening was excruciating for Wendy on both an existential level and one of survival. It hadn’t taken long at all for her to confirm her theory that whatever babyish things happened on one side of the rip correlated to something perfectly normal, adult, and satisfactory on the other side. “Mom?” she’d asked. Her graying middle aged mother looked up from a book she’d been reading on the couch. “Yes dear?” “We went for a jog this morning, right? Mom looked just a tad confused. “Yes…?” she said, as if expecting a trick. “And we had lunch?” Mom put her book down in her lap. “Uh-huh.” “But before that I took a shower?” “I assume so. It’s not like I followed you into the bathroom.” Flashes of memory: A younger version of her mommy playing and singing songs with a very naked Wendy giggling and engrossed like it was high theater. Her standing up, stark naked in front of her father like it was the most natural thing in the world. Wendy’s face flushed. “Yeah…I did. Trust me. I did. And then I said I was going to take a nap? Or study?” “Where is this going?” her real mother asked. Wendy inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth to calm herself. “Nothing,” she lied. Then she decided her mother deserved at least a half-truth. “You ever have a dream that’s so realistic that it takes you a sec to sort out what’s real and what’s not?” Mother stood up from the couch and felt Wendy’s cheeks and lymph nodes. “No fever,” she said. “Nothing swollen. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Reflexively, the law student stepped back from her mother and was relieved to have the capability to withdraw and refuse the touch. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m fine. Just studying too hard, I guess.” Mom cocked her head to the side. “I don’t see why. You sounded like a real legal historian when we were jogging.” Another confirmation that infantile play on one side resulted in academic success in the other. “Yeah,” Wendy said. “I guess I’m just overthinking it. I’m going to go back to my room.” Wendy should have been happy, or so part of her thought. Her little discovery and the subsequent experiment had proven immensely successful. She’d even discovered more about the other reality thanks to her prolonged exposure to it. At first, her clothes would change, but prolonged exposure would affect her mind as well. Internally, she didn’t want to call it, ‘regressing’. Her mother being a teacher, Wendy knew ‘regression’ beyond the pop-culture hypno mumbo jumbo. Regression was when a kid learned their multiplication tables and then completely forgot them after a two week break. That wasn’t what Wendy had experienced. “Though I did pee my pants,” she whispered to herself. It was less ‘regression’ and more ‘self-infantilization’. Overall, the experience was closer to being drunk or high. She’d been more whimsical; more open to pretend; and her emotions had been heightened to extremes. Likewise, things like a wet diaper or a naked body weren’t deal breakers when it came to fun, and it took some shocking realizations for her to sober up. Safe on the other side of the closet in her own reality, Wendy was feeling hungover, metaphorically speaking. She was looking at the past few hours and completely mortified by everything she’d done and been seen doing. The fact that no one in this reality remembered it correctly only helped a little. Her remembering it was enough. “I’m not doing that again,” she told herself. “No way.” At the rate things had been going a few more hours in that place and she would have been happily munching on her toes and pooping herself with abandon. That had to be the interdimensional equivalent of waking up in Vegas next to a strange guy with a new wedding ring and not knowing your last name. The only problem with that declaration was that now that Wendy was back in the real world, she was well and fully herself in dress and mind. Which meant that she was back to being terrible at studying. “Come on,” she said, staring at the study guide she’d magically conjured into existence. “Come on!” She closed her eyes shut and willed herself to know the facts written on the paper. Nothing. Yet when she read them over again, her brain went ‘oh of course’, promised to file it away for later, and then never did. If babies suffered from object impermancy, Wendy was suffering from information impermancy: As soon as the information on the paper was out of sight, her mind couldn’t recall it for beans. Was this some terrible cosmic twist? She could create the perfect research aids in the world on the other side of the closet but couldn’t access the information she’d conjured in any meaningful way? Sadly, Wendy knew it wasn’t the case. This was exactly how she’d felt trying to study before she’d stumbled upon a discovery that should be rocking the scientific community. At least the interdimensional light leaking in through her closet wasn’t quite as bright this time; either that or her eyes had adjusted. She tried different positions and locations: At her desk; standing up and pacing; sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, in the middle of the carpet with her legs crossed; dangling upside down from the edge of her bed. She just couldn’t get comfortable enough to focus. Or too comfortable. A knock at her door caused Wendy to startle and sit up from her bed. Shit! She’d fallen asleep and hadn’t even realized it. Evidently, she’d gotten too comfortable trying to read in bed. Her body, anyways. Wendy’s dreams had been the restless half-awake variety; either that or they’d also been about her trying and failing to study. “Wendy? I’m making pancakes this morning. Do you want them before you go to class?” The girl leaned over in her bed and her fingers groped at the carpet, grasping for the accidentally discarded guide. It had fallen to the floor in her fitful non-rest. “Uh…okay..?” Jesus, even her voice sounded tired. “Are you decent, honey?” Dad called. Wendy looked down at her clothes and sniffed. She’d fallen asleep in yesterday’s outfit, on top of the comforter. “Yeah..” Dad came in. “I just figured you were up early to see your mom off and..” he stopped and sighed. “Oh Wendy. Not again.” “Sorry, Daddy…” She felt inexplicably embarrassed and ashamed for doing her best and failing. “It’s not me you have to apologize to, kiddo,” Dad said. “You’re the one who’s hurting yourself doing these crazy all nighters.” Hearing her father call her ‘kiddo’ gave Wendy strangely happy bubbly feelings. Wendy was an alcoholic who’d just been given a sip of beer. “Get changed and come get some breakfast before your mom leaves.” A few minutes later, Wendy was in an ankle length denim skirt and a pink button up blouse. She still felt kind of sticky; if her top sheet was any indication she’d broken out into a cold sweat, (at least she hoped it was just sweat). It was nothing a trip to the bathroom for deodorant and some light perfume couldn’t fix. She’d still need to take a shower after the test to get all the gross feeling off of her skin. Just thinking about the test and what would follow it made Wendy’s stomach turn and she was thankful that she hadn’t had anything in it. “It’s just an exam,” she said to herself. “Who cares if I’m gonna fail it? Everybody fails sometimes.” Wendy hadn’t yet….but it was coming. As if to torture herself, she untangled the knots out of her hair and pulled it back into a tight bun, wincing with every hurried and painful brush stroke. Wendy took her spot at the dining room table, where a fresh stack of pancakes was waiting for her; the butter just starting to melt. Mom’s plate was half cleaned, meaning she was likely three fourths of the way done eating; she never finished breakfast. Dad was just sitting down with his own massive stack. He’d probably shovel Mom’s leftovers onto his plate as soon as she was out the door. “Figured this would help you both fuel up for the day,” Dad said. “Don’t want you snapping at some kid or bubbling in the wrong answer on the test because your stomach was growling and your blood sugar was low.” He nodded to his wife and daughter respectively. “I’m not complaining,” Mom said. “I got a hot meal first thing in the morning that I didn’t have to cook.” To be fair, Dad did most of the cooking in the house, but the compliment was well intentioned and received. Wendy couldn’t quite find her appetite. She ate the flapjacks, but no amount of butter or syrup was doing the trick. It all tasted like ash and failure to her palette. Her mother seemed to pick up on Wendy’s feelings. “Everything alright?” Dad answered for her before she could swallow. “She was up all night studying. Again.” “For the exam?” “Yup.” “That she’s going to ace?” “Yup.” For a fraction of a moment, Wendy had forgotten that her parents could understand her if she spoke up, so she just remained quiet and stared at the dripping pools of butter and syrup forming on her plate. “Baby,” Mom said from across the table, “you’re going to be fine. You know this inside and out. You’re going to pass it.” Wendy wanted to scream and break down and throw a tantrum. She wanted to cry and sob about how she couldn’t study and how she was going to bomb and that the test probably wasn’t going to even be multiple choice. She wanted her Mom to hug her and hold her and pat her back and tell her it was going to be okay. Unless her mother had developed telepathy, she wouldn’t be able to see past Wendy’s mask of calm. “I know,” Wendy lied. “Just..” she shuddered. “You love me, right? Even if I do somehow bomb this test and fail this course?” Well meaning, but unaware of her daughter’s distress, Mom dabbed her lips with a paper napkin. “Oh, Wendy. Of course I love you. We’ve always loved you and always will. We just want you to do your best.” To Wendy’s brain, ‘do your best’ was the same as ‘be the best’. “But will you be mad if I fail?” she repeated herself. Her mother got up, grabbed her keys and leaned over to give Wendy a hug. “You’re not going to fail,” she said. “You’ll be fine.” Neither knew it, certainly not Wendy, not consciously, but the way she answered that question sealed Wendy's fate. Wendy managed a few more mouthfuls of pancakes and shoveled the rest onto Dad’s plate. “Where are you going?” Dad asked. “Gonna go read for a few more minutes,” Wendy said. “Test is at nine.” Dad swallowed more of the breakfast. Since his wife and daughter tended to eat like hummingbirds at the best of times, there was the very real possibility that he’d made pancakes for himself just as much as his family. “Want me to give you a ride to class?” Wendy stiffened and looked over her shoulder. “Why?” “I’m not working today,” he said. “You’re tired. Figured you’d enjoy the company.” “How would I get home?” “I’ll pick you up after the exam.” The law student nodded. A ride from a parent to school. Pick up after. That was a sign; had to be. “Okay,” she said. “Cool. Deal. Maybe sooner than later? I wanna get a good seat in the lecture hall.” Dad laughed, good naturedly. “Want to make sure none of the other kids…I mean students… can’t look off your test?” Wendy started back to her room. “Something like that,” she called back. If Wendy was being honest with herself, she’d admit that she was forcing herself to have less time to think about the objectively dumb thing she was about to do. If she had even two hours to wait and think this through, she might lie to herself and try studying some more. Or she might talk herself out of this crazy plan. “Okay. Just let me finish up and put the dishes in the sink,” Dad said. Daddy ate fast. That meant Closet Daddy did too. She didn’t have much time. She shuddered. What would happen if she changed her mind and asked her father to leave? Would she come out into an abandoned house on the other side? Or would she magically transport to a carseat? Wendy didn’t want to find out. “Just one more time,” she told herself, staring at the faintly glowing light coming out of thin air. “I’ll go through. I’ll go to daycare instead of college. I’ll take some dumb baby test and then Daddy will pick me up and bring me home. And everyone on this side will remember me acing my course exam.” Good thing it wasn’t Mommy. She figured she had a better chance of getting back through with Daddy on guard duty. Little girls always had a way of wrapping their fathers around their pinky fingers. She closed her eyes and huffed. “It doesn’t matter that I’ll probably pee my pants. No one will care or remember. Same with bottles. Same with strollers and carseats and highchairs and junk. Same with…” she gulped. “Just one more time. That’s all that I need to do.” Wendy Merts was already walking towards the shimmering rip in her closet before she’d had a chance to re-open her eyes and rethink this gamble. The first thing that hit her, even before her vision cleared, was the smell. The light citrus accents of her perfume and deodorant had faded out and been replaced by the strong lavender tones of baby powder. That made sense. Babies didn’t wear perfume, strictly speaking. Her nose wrinkled a bit. “That’s a bit quick…” Then again, a change of smell was faster and more subtle than the entire wardrobe transformation. Wendy looked down at herself to see if there were any other changes happening. She was not disappointed. Her denim skirt was already busy shrinking, raising itself up over her knees and not stopping until it was just barely covering her underwear. She lifted up the skirt to peek at her panties just as they started to thicken and bulge out, becoming panties no more. Panties didn’t have velcro tapes holding them up. The diaper didn’t stay visible long, however. The front and back of her blouse stretched down between her legs, fastening themselves to each other with an audible ‘Pop! Pop! Pop!” making her skirt flare out a little like a tutu. The fabric on her blouse became more cottony soft, and the buttons blended and melted away while the sleeves shriveled up to just before her elbows. A smart blouse and conservative skirt had turned into an adorable onesie over her fresh diaper and a bit of decorative flare that didn’t preserve modesty or limit access to between her legs in any way but left no doubt that she was a baby girl in this universe. She saw herself in the mirror. “Damn,” she whispered. “I really do look cute like this.” As if in reply, her hair started to shift and untangle itself from its bun, manifesting and rearranging itself into pigtails held aloft by tiny elastic bands. She squinted at herself. “Is my hair shorter?” No. The hangover/alcohol metaphor wasn’t completely accurate. An accustomed drunk took longer to get a second or third buzz, needing more time and drinks to get to that same level. In this scenario, Wendy was some kind of miracle lightweight; with her clothes transforming to their babyish equivalent even faster than the last time. Still transfixed in the nursery’s mirror, Wendy carefully lowered to all fours. Peeking out of the leg bands, her former underwear seemed to add five pounds to her backside, and what used to be her skirt barely grazed the carpet. “I’m kind of a crawler…” Wendy said. She sounded almost relieved despite herself. A diagnostic for a not-even-toddler would be loads easier than an exam for a law student. Right as she was starting to get the balls of her feet out from under her, the door squeaked open and Closet Daddy came in. Wendy dropped immediately back to the floor, afraid that she might somehow break the imposed illusion. “Okay baby gi-!” his eyes widened in shock for just an instant and Wendy was afraid that something had gone wrong. Was this somehow her real father seeing her in a onesie and a diaper? Impossible, considering how much younger he looked. The panic passed when Closet Daddy’s eyes darted downward to the carpet. “Oh pumpkin. How did you get down there?” he asked. He bent over and picked her up like she was all but weightless and rested him on her hip. The law student let out a relieved giggle. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Daddy,” she said, certain that he’d only get the gist of it. Right on the money the younger version of her father called out the open door. “Honey, you about gave me a heart attack! I thought you said you put Wendy in her crib after getting her dressed!” Mommy’s voice came back. “Oh! Sorry! I was but then I changed my mind. Wanted to give her practice crawling around!” “That’s fine!” Daddy shouted back. “My eyes just saw an empty crib for half a sec and I panicked!” His voice had lowered by the end of the second as a younger version of Mommy power walked in. “Sorry about that, dear.” “No harm done.” The now young couple gave each other a quick peck on the lips, and then leaned into each other, sandwiching Wendy between their embrace. Little spots of happiness danced in Wendy’s brain at the feeling of warmth gently enveloping her. She caught the sight of them in the bedroom mirror. An odd sight because of positioning and proportions, but oddly comforting nonetheless. The girl did a double take when she saw her hair. Had it always been that lightly colored? Did her parents dye her hair when she was a baby? No. That was ridiculous. Baby hair just tended to be lighter and finer. But she wasn’t a baby… Not really. Not in body. The hug ended and Wendy blinked away her surprise. Still in Closet Daddy’s arms she did one last look in the mirror and frowned away her doubt. It was nothing. A trick of the light, or just looking at herself from the wrong angle. That sort of thing. “Have a good day at school!” Mommy sang out. School. Right. That was the point of this stunt: So she could have a good day at school. “You too, Mommy.” “You too, Mommy!” Daddy said, echoing his daughter’s sentiment. He grabbed Wendy’s wrist and made it wave bye-bye, even though Wendy had started doing it on her own. “And have a good day at work, Daddy!” Mommy waved back. “I will.” Mommy disappeared down the hall, leaving Wendy and a less-gray, more youthful version of the man she’d grown up with. “Bye…Mommy…” she said again. In that moment, Wendy felt a surprisingly deep sense of loss and longing. On one hand, Wendy knew her not-quite-mother was only leaving for the day. On another more emotional level it felt like her mother was getting on a plane and moving to the other side of the planet. How silly was that? Her Mommy was just going to work for the day and would be back by the afternoon. But Wendy was planning on jumping back across to the real world before lunch. And never use this other world again, past this exception for the test. She might legitimately not see this version of her mother ever again. Needless to say that did not help to stave off the sudden melancholy. A light squeeze and a gentle pat on the back brought Wendy back to the present instead of a future that wasn’t here yet. “Don’t worry,” Daddy said. “She’ll be back after school. You’ll have so much fun playing with your little friends that you won’t even notice.” Just the promise of that made Wendy cheer up a little bit. He was right. She had a mission to accomplish. “But first…” Daddy said. “To the daycare!” Wendy pumped her fist. Daddy spoke over her. “To the living room!” “Living room?” Her carrier and caregiver took a wrong turn into the living room when he should have been making a beeline for the garage. “Daddy? Wrong way! It’s not a weekend anymore!” Closet Daddy ignored her, not so much as giving a “Mmhmm” or a “Yeah.” Out of the corner, by the couch, he pulled a massive purple and green walker into the middle of the floor and positioned it so it was facing the television. Wendy let out an undignified yelp being lowered down into it, her legs threaded the harness’s holes. “Won’t be long. Ten minutes. Daddy’s gotta clean up in the kitchen before everything gets icky and sticky.” He disappeared behind her and went to the couch. Half-instinctively, she tried to spin around and follow him in the walker but instead of carpet her feet came down on hard sturdy plastic that had no give or traction. Calling the contraption as a walker was a misnomer. Baby walkers had wheels and let their occupants' feet touch the floor so they could scoot around upright in a kind of silly highchair and office chair hybrid. This particular device had no such wheels and a floor of its own. It wasn’t a ‘walker’ as much as it was a ‘stander’. Wendy grabbed the sides and pushed herself up to her feet. Miraculously (or frustratingly as the case may have been) the inside seat cupped her so that it barely moved when she stood. Functionally, it was closer to the feeling of getting up from a bar stool so that her feet were no longer dangling more than the motion of coming to a full standing position up from a chair. How had Daddy managed to get her in this? It must have been a subtler form of in-the-moment alterations, much like how bathroom changing stations and otherwise normal sized Pampers inflated themselves to meet Wendy’s specific bodily dimensions. Just another perk of interdimensional exploration: Physics didn’t always make sense. Standing as best she could, Wendy twisted and looked at her father digging through the couch cushions. “Found it!” “Daddy! Stop! We need to get going!” Remote drawn, Closet Daddy pushed a button and the T.V. flickered on. Wendy’s ears were treated to a catchy tune. She turned around and faced the T.V. and caught sight of a family of orange and blue cartoon dogs dancing with each other. “Mum!” The orange adult dog went off to the side. “Dad!” Her husband kept dancing after the pause in the music then walked off to join the other dog. The music resumed and the two anthropomorphic puppies started dancing again. A game! They were playing a game! “Bingo!” The tiny orange puppy joined what had to be her parents. And finally, “Bluey!” What was this show? Not even thirty seconds in and Wendy had almost forgotten her impatience and hurry to leave. Only the sight of Dad sneaking around to the kitchen and the sound of silverware being rinsed in the sink brought her out of a mild entertainment haze. The girl huffed and crossed her arms over her chest even though no one was around to see it. “Fine,” she called over to the kitchen, determined to be in a bit of a huff. Make it quick, though!” She sat back in the device and let her feet dangle while the hammock-like seat engulfed her. What was going on with this show? Games in the park? A ‘shadowland’ game? It was rather like “the floor is lava” save that it was outside and the only safe spots were in the shade. And funnily enough, if it weren’t for the fact that everyone on screen was a cartoon dog, the dialogue and plot could just be from the slice of life of a fairly well to do middle class Australian family (at least she guessed they were Australian based on the accents). It was so oddly compelling and engrossing that Wendy didn’t consciously notice the passage of time. Neither did she notice that she’d started playing with the various bits and baubles attached to the walker’s activity tray. As the cartoon went on, her hands busied themselves spinning and battling at things that blinked and wobbled and twisted and turned. The whirring and clicking and light grinding noises added themselves seamlessly to the living room’s soundtrack and soft electronic lights coming from this doohickey or that entered her peripheral vision while the cartoon dogs played their funny game. Only a minor twinge in her bladder, the dullest ache, brought her blinking out of her couch potato trance. The feeling was hardly urgent and Wendy could hold it, she supposed, but why bother? It’s not like she was going to be going potty like a big girl before she got back home. Deep breath. One…two…and she was going; the center of her diaper warming as it absorbed the pee then wicking it away from her skin and cooling it almost as soon as she was done. In just a few short trips across the dimensional divide, Wendy Merts had become a natural at wetting her pants; almost like she’d never been potty trained at all. To be fair, unless she specifically thought about it she couldn’t tell that she was wet. Her diaper was better than some of the top shelf menstruation products she used in terms of comfort and absorbency. Wet it and forget it was definitely a viable option. “Maybe this is why some kids take so long to potty train,” she said to herself more than anyone else. “Hard to know what wet is when you never feel it.” That and there were so many other interesting, seemingly more important things to hold a baby’s attention. The cartoons were brighter and more vibrant than the boring real world was, and the toys were simple but easy distractions. Not counting the suction cup mounting and the bright coloration, Wendy was certain she’d seen some of these in the hands of classmates and peers. The only difference was they were called “fidgets” when they were for older people and “baby toys” when they weren’t. Did that say more about babies or her classmates, she wondered. A quick kiss to the back of her head made her jump in her seat a bit. As it turned out, Wendy’s bladder had a tiny bit more to give, too. “Daddy!” she squealed, half in annoyance and half in delight. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” “Almost ready to go,” Daddy said. “Daddy’s just gotta get dressed so he can go to work as soon as he drops you off.” “You don’t need to tell me,” Wendy said. “Just do it.” She watched her Daddy walk into her parents’ bedroom and gently close the door behind him so he could get dressed. Just like with her Mommy she felt a bit of sadness start to creep up on her, like some primal part of herself was afraid that she was never going to see the man in any incarnation ever again. Without thinking she tried to push ahead and follow him into his room. She didn’t want him to get lonely! Sadly, there was no escaping the activity chair she’d been plopped into. She couldn’t slink out the bottom of it and it was too high up for her to be able to disentangle herself and high step out of it. In the real world, she could have rocked side to side until she tipped over and crawled out without much problem, but just like the stroller and the highchair before it, there was absolutely no give. Throwing all her weight into it just made her feel tired and barely caused it to wobble. She inhaled, feeling a mighty need to call out for him, just to make sure he was okay. “No,” she stopped and scolded herself. “Nope. Not gonna do it. Daddy will be right back. Just gonna watch some T.V.” “Mum! Dad! Oh neat! The show wasn’t very long but each short got the catchy theme song again! Her ears and eyes were occupied by the charming animation and voice acting. Her right hand busied itself with more of the fidget toys. Her feet bobbed and lightly kicked, brushing themselves against the floor. All the while, her left hand busied her mouth while she sucked on her thumb and fingers. She wasn’t likely to scream out, but it felt good to have it there as a precaution, plus it felt like she was properly multi-tasking. Her almost panic attack was pretty much forgotten two minutes later. Daddy came out dressed in a button up shirt and jeans, his hair neatly combed and parted. “Alright pumpkin,” he said. “Let’s get you patched.” “Actually, Daddy,” she said, popping her hand out of her mouth and wiping the saliva on her sleeve. “Can we wait a minute? I want to see how this episode ends?” Her Daddy’s doppelganger paid her no mind, lifting her up out of the walker. “Okay, almost ready to…” he stopped and patted Wendy’s bottom. “Never fails,” he chuckled. “But first…!” “Hey!” Wendy yelped. “Where are we going?” A rather obvious question, considering she knew the path back to her room by heart. A better question might have been “Why?”, though that would have been silly to ask too considering how quickly the answer came. “Never fails,” Daddy repeated himself. He laid Wendy back down on her nursery’s changing table. In one practiced fluid motion he secured her with a strap and started popping open the onesie between her legs. “Get them changed before breakfast and they’re wet again before you can even get them out the door.” He stared down at her diaper and nodded to himself in confirmation. “What are you looking at?” Wendy asked. She got her answer when Daddy grabbed a fresh diaper off the stack. “The pee line!” These diapers had a color changing wetness indicator running right down the middle. No doubt Daddy had felt how much her diaper squished in his grasp when he’d lifted her up and cupped her bottom under his arm, and now that he had her onesie unsnapped he’d confirmed his suspicion by seeing the stripe between her thighs transform from a soft yellow to a bright blue. Wendy looked up at the ceiling and placed her hands behind her head. “Okay. Fine. You got me. Just hurry up! We gotta get going! I don’t want to be late for dayca…er..I mean…school!” She kicked her feet in the air impatiently as if that might hurry her along to her adventure. Daddy wasn’t quite ready to get started. Wendy lost sight of him, ducking down beneath the top shelf. “Hey!” she called. “Where are you-?” “Boo!” Daddy popped up, his lips puckered out and his cheeks puffing like an orangutan. It was essentially the same thing as the peekaboo game he’d tried the other day…. Only this time, it worked. “Heee-hee-hee-heee!” Wendy kicked her legs and wriggled on the changing table, squirming in delight rather than impatience. Daddy’s silly trick made her cackle like she was seeing top tier stand-up comedy. “There’s my happy girl!” Daddy cooed. “I don’t want to get the day started with you being a grumpy guts!” For good measure he dangled something just above. Wendy could tell that the little doo-dads were brightly colored- yellow, red, green, and blue- but Daddy was shaking it so fiercely that her eyes were having trouble focusing on what it was. “OOOO!” The words shot out of Wendy’s mouth. “What is that? Give it! Give it here!” Her legs stilled themselves and her arms shot upwards towards the roof. “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!” “You want it?” Daddy teased. “Yes!” “You want it?!” In the back of her mind, Wendy was beginning to wonder how much this version of her father actually understood her. “Yes, I said!” Daddy’s meaty hand stopped jingling the toy and lowered them down just enough so that Wendy could just reach them. The candy colored treats were in Wendy’s grasp almost to her mouth when her brain finally made sense of what the dangly bits were. “Keys?” More specifically, toy keys. Plastic keys with blunted ridges on a plain white plastic ring. No sharp edges to cut tongue and gums on, and big enough so that it would be exceptionally hard for an infant- adult sized or otherwise- to choke on. Just in case, she licked them, and was slightly disappointed to find that they had no flavor besides. “Okay,” she said. “You got me! Just hurry up and change-...” Her ankles were already crossed and her legs were already up over her head. In her near singular focus on acquiring and exploring the plastic keys, she hadn’t noticed Daddy using his free hand to untape her and open her diaper. Now without the toy keys, he was free to clean her up, wiping her bottom and between her legs with the greatest of ease. One handed he balled the old diaper up and tossed it into the waiting pail. A flick of the wrist and its replacement was flapped open and slid beneath her. If diapers were spare tires, her Daddy could have worked as a racecar pit crew. She’d never changed a diaper herself, but with how easily and efficiently her parents did it, she could have sworn they’d been doing it for much much longer than however many months they thought she was. He sniffed dryly through his nose. “No rash. Just a little wet. No stinkies. I don’t think you need any cream or powder.” That made Wendy a little sad. She really liked the powder! It made her smell pretty. Daddy glanced down at his watch. “Oh gotta get going!” Just like that, he finished pulling up the new diaper, securing it and then refastening Wendy’s onesie back together, and unfastened her from the table. It was a little more than half a dozen simple movements but it was all done with such speed and automaticity that Wendy couldn’t help but let out an astonished ‘Whoah!” as her Daddy lifted her back up and speed walked out to the garage. “On our way!” Daddy chirped to her. “We are on- our-way!” Re-focused on her goal, Wendy smiled at her Daddy while he busied himself locking up the house and carrying her to his car. She was going to ace this non-test! And in the big scheme of things, this was just a quick bathroom break and waiting for her dad to get ready; something that would have had to happen regardless. No big deal! Everything was still going according to plan! If it had been her first visit to this strange land beyond the rip, Wendy might have been distrubed at the giant car seat. How did it fit? How was there room for her? Did the car get bigger in the backseat? Would that affect how it steered and maneuvered? Having seen playground equipment modify itself to accommodate her fixed that. In near childlike faith, she stopped worrying about the physics of it all. She fit because she fit and that was enough. Likewise, yesterday she might have futilely tried to slap her Daddy’s hands away while he slipped her arms through seat belt straps that connected in the middle of her five-point harness. She certainly would have said something about him reaching down and connecting them to the buckle between her thighs. Getting her diaper changed not two minutes prior had fixed that hesitation. What was weird, she noted as Daddy closed the backseat passenger side door and walked around to the front was that she was facing the wrong way. Her car seat was facing backwards. Not even toddlers sat facing the wrong direction! Also, calling it a car seat, specifically, was something of an oddity because Wendy wasn’t strictly sitting. Much of her weight was still distributed on her rear, true enough, but she was being cradled. It was more of a ‘car recliner’ than a ‘car seat’. Positioned as she was, Wendy could see out the car’s back window, but because of the angle she was at she could only see the cloudless morning sky. If she leaned forward she could look out the passenger side window, but because of the restraints, she couldn’t sit up enough except to see more of the same. The mirror that hung along the actual back seat headrest directly in front of her made it so she could see Daddy’s rear view mirror; specifically his reflection checking up on her, but the rest of her world was confined to car upholstery. “Comfy, Wendy?” Daddy didn’t wait for her to respond. He probably didn’t expect a coherent response. Wendy said “Yeah” anyways. The engine hummed to life, and Daddy leaned back and looked over his shoulder so he could back out of the driveway. Right as the car stopped to shift gears, he paused, spared a look down at her, and booped her on the nose. An electric jolt, part adrenaline, part temptation traveled from Wendy’s nose to the base of her spine. If only she could bottle this feeling and take it home with her. “How about some music?” he asked once the car started rolling forward. “Sure,” Wendy said, looking into her back seat mirror like it was a television. “Do you have the Bluey Theme Song? Or maybe just turn on the radio? What about some-?” She hadn’t finished speaking when Daddy turned the music on. He wasn’t even waiting for her to finish. A hard rock cover of The Itsy Bitsy Spider blared out; one of those albums of little kids’ songs done in non-nursery rhyme format so that the adults buying them wouldn’t be bored to tears. Wendy’s eyes bulged from her skull and she let out a cry with the first chord. A few minutes prior, she would have just winced and covered her ears, but plunged deep into baby brain the sudden volume shocked and discomforted her in almost unbearable ways. The music had blared for ‘Itsy Bitsy’ and had been cranked back down by ‘Spider’ but tears still threatened and lingered in Wendy’s eyes. “Sorry, baby!” Daddy said. “Daddy must’ve been jamming out to his music last time and forgot.” And just like that it was better, and Wendy was able to enjoy the music, the skyline, and the motion of the car’s stops, starts, and turns. Closet Daddy’s warbling of ‘Bah Bah Black Sheep’? Not so much, but it wasn’t enough to make her cry in pain or panic. Her emotions were waves upon the beach: In, out, in again. Cresting and falling. Stunning and disturbing. Refreshing yet draining. At any given moment, Wendy was realizing, her feelings were either out and full force belting out of her or so tiny as to be inconsequential. On or off. No volume control. It’s why the playground trip had been so exciting. Weird. Thankfully time in this reality wasn’t decreasing her mental faculties. She knew how to walk and talk and feed herself and go pee pee in the potty and that sheep was spelled s-h-i-p, even if she wouldn’t get an opportunity to demonstrate those skills. She contented herself during the ride by singing “The Elephant Song”, even if Daddy only heard silly babbling in its stead. It was a mixed bag of songs as far as recognizability went. For every ‘Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed’ and ‘There’s a Hole in the Bucket’, there was a ‘Sorry, Excuse Me’ or a ‘What Do You See?’. These songs were completely unfamiliar to her, yet it was easy enough for Wendy to figure out the pattern by the second verse and finish the song. This gave her an extra boost of confidence. If she could adapt to unfamiliar baby songs, she could handle whatever this side of the rip threw at her in place of her law exam. She didn’t have to remember things from her childhood as much as be able to adapt and do what came naturally. Speaking of the memory, the unfamiliarity of some of the songs did beg the question: Were these older songs that never caught on or were these newer songs that were being popularized today? Was this side of the rip a true time warp or a complicated alternate reality where everyone in her life was born over twenty years later? Given the cartoons she’d seen, she was inclined to think the latter. She was all but headbanging to ‘Baby Shark’ by the time Daddy turned the car off and announced “We’re here!” He came around and unbuckled Wendy from the monstrously proportioned car seat, picking her up while Wendy instinctively looked around. The more and more information she took in, the more she was convinced that this was an alternate version of the here and now instead of a place out of memory. The parking lot was relatively compact with a little over a dozen spaces total, ideal for a place where the majority of vehicles would be there just long enough to drop off and then pick up their little ones. The only other cars in the lot were parked farthest away from the entrance, likely employees; well maintained but lower priced vehicles that were likely past their warranties by now: a classic hallmark of people who worked hard but weren’t paid well enough. The building itself was only one story tall, but from the outside looked impressively big. Gray bricked with large reflective windows and an archway leading inside, the building might have at one point been an insurance agency or an accounting firm. The bright red shutters on the outside windows gave the exterior a more homey, school house look. The various colorful letters and numbers that had been screwed and drilled into the wall continued to drive the point home. Where once Romanesque columns likely held up the walkway, a pair of giant crayons framed the entrance. Just in case there was any sort of confusion as to what this place was, the sign above read: “Bouncing Babies Academy” in bright white bubble letters. For extra emphasis, a cartoon baby, smiling and sitting in only a plain white diaper bounced across the sign from left to right; with playful bouncing arcs showing it’s trajectory. “This is definitely new,” Wendy said to herself. “I would remember something like this.” “That’s right,” Closet Daddy cooed. “We’re here at school!” “You can’t understand anything I’m saying, can you Daddy?” The only reply was Daddy’s quick and thunderous footsteps towards the front door. Across the threshold was a well air conditioned check in area with a heavy countertop. To the left and right of the countertop were closed doors, and the space immediately behind the countertops was occupied by bookshelves filled with files. Definite dentist office or doctor’s office vibes. A heavyset woman with thick curly blonde hair looked out from behind a computer monitor. “Good morning!” she practically sang. “Morning, Diane!” Daddy said. “Checking in.” “Of course,” she clicked on her keyboard. “Morning, Wendy!” A sudden blush rose to Wendy’s cheeks at being addressed so directly by a stranger. A nice looking, but unfamiliar person was giving her attention, and she didn’t quite know how to deal with it. Yet another grown-up that seemed to know her name but she wouldn’t be able to pick them out of a line up! How awkward! “Someone’s a little shy this morning.” “Give her time,” Daddy replied. “I just think she’s still sleeping. Mama’s morning milk is finally kicking in.” “We can put her down for a nap if she needs it,” the woman replied. “I don’t think so. I think once she gets crawling along she’ll be fine till lunch.” Daddy bobbed her up and down as parents did when trying to keep a young child calm. A few more mouse clicks, and the woman said. “Okay. She’s checked in. Do you want one of her teachers to come and get her or…?” Closet Daddy shook his head. “No. I know Miss Donna and Miss Jay have their hands full. I don’t mind going back.” “Okie dokie. You know the way.” “Sure do.” Daddy went to the left door and opened it. He took an immediate left turn down a hallway past a water fountain and a small room with a vending machine. It was quiet, but not silent. Wendy could hear faint laughter and coos mingled in with children’s songs and the sound of women talking. The sounds grew louder and intensified when the hallway opened up to a large pod area, with different doorways arranged in a semicircle. The pod itself had tiny tables with tiny chairs arranged all around them, practically a hobbit’s banquet hall. The area was empty of any such whimsical fairy people, sadly. From the second door on the left, a middle aged black woman with her hair in braids walked out, carefully stepping over a baby gate. “Hiiii Wendy!” “Hi Miss Donna,” Daddy said. He handed Wendy over without hesitation. “She’s already had breakfast and I changed her just before we got in the car. So she should be good to go for a while.” Wendy felt herself tense up when the woman gently patted her bottom. It was exactly the same way that Daddy had checked her less than an hour ago, but the same type of intimate contact coming from a complete stranger had thrown her off her guard. Her teeth grinded against each other unconsciously. “She seems good now.” A toddler girl in jeans and light up sneakers ran out of a nearby classroom. “Miss Donna! Miss Donna! Jayden pooped his pants!” Walking and talking? Wendy felt like her face started to match her onesie. From a physical standpoint she might be the biggest baby here, but she was far from the oldest. “Oh? Did you tell Miss Cee?” the woman holding Wendy said, nonchalantly. The girl nodded so enthusiastically her headband flew off. “Uh huh! He’s gettin’ his hiney wiped right now!” Another adult stumbled out. “Emily!” she said, her voice growling but playful. “Get back in here!” The toddler gleeful ran back, her feet stomping and her pants starting to sag to reveal her pink Pull-Up. “Sorry Donna!” The new teacher said. “Don’t worry about it, Kate!” The door closed behind them, leaving only the milieu of paper caterpillars decorated with children’s names in sight. Miss Donna regarded Daddy. “Some of the caterpillar kids are starting potty training. A couple keep tattling on each other whenever somebody has an accident.” “Fun,” Daddy said, rolling his eyes. “Yeah. Kinda at that awkward stage. Some are still in diapers, others are in Pull-Ups and a precious few are in big kid undies.” She grinned, ruefully. “Changing mats, training pants, and regular toilets all in one room. Such is the life of a caterpillar” Daddy spared a look at the closed door. “All while having to teach shapes and colors and counting?” Miss Donna nodded. “Mmmhm. It’s why I like the Ladybugs. Things are messier but simpler.” “Amen.” Daddy agreed. He leaned in and gave Wendy one last kiss on the cheek. “Bye bye, pumpkin! Mommy will pick you up after work!” Another surge of terror and melancholy loomed up in Wendy’s heart. Daddy was leaving. Going away. Maybe forever. The world became a big black raincloud and she felt as if she were at his funeral. Daddy’s retreating back might as well have been a closed casket. She would never see him. Ever again! Despite herself, her lips twisted and her face contorted as if to give a banshee’s mournful wail. “Don’t worry,” the newest familiar stranger- Miss Donna apparently- told her. She gave a peppy little bounce. “You’ll see Daddy later today, after your Mommy pics you up.” Wendy sniffed and wiped away tears she hadn’t consciously realized were starting to form. That was right. She’d see him again. Right after Mommy- Mommy! With that single sentence, Wendy’s brain went on high alert: Mommy? In the real world it was her father who was supposed to pick her up from the exam site, way before lunch . After work? Mommy was still a teacher in this world. She wouldn’t be off work until at least three in the afternoon! Longer if she decided to buckle down and grade a bunch of papers. Wendy had only been planning on spending an hour, two at most at this place, now she would be in for a full day. “Daddy!” she called out. “Wait! Stop! Come back! Waaaait!” But Daddy didn’t turn around. He didn’t so much as look back. The gap only widened as Miss Donna carried her further away into the daycare’s nursery. “WAAAAAAAAIT!” “Don’t worry,” the stranger promised. “He’ll be back. He’ll be back.” She patted Wendy on the back to comfort her. It didn’t. Already a cosmic monkey wrench had been thrown into her plan. In and out had been the order of the day, but it might just be stretched out into a marathon. Wendy was put on the floor bottom first, but wasted no time in shifting over to all fours, skittering toward the baby gate like a cat that had just been tossed in a bathtub. She could make it over and out, no problem. The baby gate was short. Shorter than even the fences at the park’s playground. Just as with everything else in this reality, logic and proportion fell sloppy dead when she interacted with it. The wooden gate wedged feebly in a doorway sprung towards the ceiling as soon as she was within arm’s reach. In the real world, Wendy would have easily high stepped over it or even knocked it over with a well placed kick. At present, there wasn’t enough of a gap between the top of the gate and the door frame to slip her arm through and it had the strength of a wrought iron prison cell instead of a wooden gate. And of course, no one native to this timeline seemed any the wiser at the change or discrepancy. “Daddy!” Wendy called out, even though her father’s doppelganger was long out of sight. “Come back! Get me out of here!” Tears dripped onto her face. She hadn’t mentally prepared herself to spend more than two hours like this and her emotions were still in full infant mode so that even minor setbacks felt like a death sentence. Grunting, Wendy pulled herself up to her feet and shook the barrier with all of her might to no effect. “Let! Me! Out!” Her voice cracked and her throat swelled. She couldn’t spend all day like this! She didn’t belong here! She wasn’t really a baby! Just a law school student looking for a short cut! A new hand wrapped itself around her waist and gently pried her from the baby gate. “There there,” a silvery haired woman with big glasses and well worn laugh lines on her face said. “It’s okay, baby girl. Just get all your feelings out.” “I’m! Not! A! Ba-!” Wendy stopped herself, realizing that the outburst was having the opposite effect on her, making her feel more babyish, not less. Maturity was much like power, and having to declare it had the opposite perceived effect. Only babies insisted that they weren’t… Leaning into the other woman, whom Wendy assumed was Miss Jay, Wendy started to slow her breathing and try to wrangle her emotions. The gentle back pats and rubbing motions that the grandmotherly woman was doing helped to. “That’s right,” she whispered. “You’re fine. You’re safe here. Everything’s fine. Little girl’s going to have a good day today. Isn’t she?” Mutely, Wendy nodded. That was right. She was going to have a good day. Just like yesterday. Even better because by the end of it she’d accomplish more than the other had. Even now, in the real world some professor or proctor’s memory was being altered to remember giving a test and an encouraging word to a nervous but otherwise prepared young woman. The young lady inhaled and held her breath before releasing it again. Then once more. Ragged breaths turned into peaceful sighs and the pounding of her pulse left her ears so that coos and babbles mixed with light nursery rhyme music could take its place. “There, we go.” One small crisis averted, Wendy was placed back down on the floor, bottom first. Just as quickly, more crying rang out, this one coming from an actual baby. “Miss Jay,” Miss Donna called out. “Lindsay’s leaked!” Wendy saw a chubby little girl, only identifiable as such, because of how lavender and frilly all of her clothes were- dress, diaper cover, tights, socks- everything screamed ‘little girl’. Wendy normally only saw kids in clothes like that during the Holidays or Weddings, and someone had dressed this childlike on a Monday morning. To ruin the effect a dark wet patch had shown up inside the kid’s dangling thighs and was spreading. “I got the last one,” the older of the two caregivers said. The black woman was busying herself laying the baby down on the nursery’s changing table and stripping the shoes and tights off the kid. “I know,” Miss Donna said. “I’m already on it. But we’re out of plastic baggies to put dirty clothes in.” “Got it,” Miss Jay said. “I’ll pop over next door to get some. Does she need clean clothes?” Miss Donna multitasked, grabbing gloves and a clean diaper out of a bin next to the table. “I don’t think so. I caught it in time to save the dress. Tights and panties just got wet.” “So many layers probably made her leak,” the older of the two said. “Too much constriction down there.” Miss Donna had already started changing the baby. “Preaching to the choir, there.” “You’ll be okay here?” “I think things’ll be fine for the two minutes it takes.” Wendy joined the grandmotherly woman in scanning the room. The place was a dictionary level example of controlled chaos. Toy shelves laid barren, their colorful and soft contents strewn throughout the floor in a minefield. Babies, all of whom were decidedly less than a year old, played contentedly; some crawling, some stuck on their backs batting at shiny mobiles, others chewing on things that both were and weren’t meant to be chewed on. One particular kid sat and clapped his hands, yelling “YAH YAH YAH YAH!” at the top of his little lungs. The Ladybug Room might not have been for Newborns, but it was definitely not for toddlers, either. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Miss Jay said. “Need anything else while I’m out?” “Coffee!” Both women let out a quick laugh. Then Miss Donna crooked her head over towards the cubby. “Seriously though, see if Morgan’s got any extra Luvs? We’re down to just one in her cubby.” “That’s not gonna last the day with Morgan.” “Nope. Gotta remember to tell her Mom to bring more.” A little girl in a duck yellow onesie looked up curiously from their play mat. “Awww! Somebody heard their name! Don’t worry baby, we’ll take care of you.” Then to Miss Donna she said. “Be right back.” The older woman stepped up and over the retracted baby gate, on to look for plastic bags and spare diapers. Meanwhile, Wendy found herself searching around the playroom saying names to herself. “Morgan…” she said to herself. “And Lindsay?” She was crawling over towards the changing table before even realizing it. Pretending to be only able to crawl had become like a second nature for her by now, she noticed, feeling a hint of pride at how skillful she was at deceiving the grown ups. Reaching the table, she looked towards the little boy. The same kid who’d shared the swingset with her. “Petey…?” Carefully maneuvering in and out of stuffed blocks, board books, jack in the box style toys, and other kids, Wendy veered right of the changing table and crawled over to the cubbies. Mounted on the wall high enough so that the actual children had no hope of reaching, the square shaped holes were stacked with pacifiers, fresh diapers and extra clothes. “Can’t. Quite. See.” Wendy whispered. Like a super spy in the movies, she waited just until the daycare worker finished re-diapering the actual child, picked her up and went to place her back in the middle of the room. Then she grabbed a table leg and climbed to her feet, staring at the names of the children. Wendy squinted at the cubbies. Whichever woman wrote the kids’ names must have done it with their non-dominant hand or something. It was practically chicken scratch. Wendy leaned forward to get a better look, but thought better of stepping closer or release her grip on the table. The way things had gone so far, the very walls might stretch to keep the cubbies out of reach. To the right of each name was a tiny photograph of the baby in question; some smiling, some not. Baby pictures could be tricky that way. She’d never met any of these children, but for some reason looking at the pictures next to the writing helped her decipher what was written. Much like the way that children can recognize the logos for McDonald’s and Disney long before they can actually read, Wendy decoded the names on the bottom row. “Morgan. Lindsay. Peter. Tonya.” Just like the names of the children in her Law class! That sealed it! This couldn’t be a coincidence! Instead of fear, Wendy felt excited enough to burst! Now she was certain that at the end of the day people would remember her acing her History of Law exam! This was a good omen! Her eyes skimmed up to the top row and froze. “Wendy…?” Wendy saw her picture. A giggling, eyes closed baby picture with a bonnet; a fairly standard shot for any baby picture. That wasn’t the problem. Just like at home, this was no chubby cheeked baby version of herself. That wasn’t the problem, either. It was Wendy in that photo, but a younger version of her. Not much younger, the subtle difference between one’s early twenties and late teens, but Wendy was still sure that picture was dated. “How long have I been enrolled here?” She wondered. By her own reckoning she was only supposed to be nine or ten months old in this reality. Like a drop of oil being smeared across it, the photo warped, bubbled and blurred. Just as quickly, the distortion cleared. “Huh?” Wendy dared to lean in further and stared, trying to sus out what, if anything had changed in the photo. Acne. Big, red rimmed, white headed, pus filled acne, dotted the girl in the photo’s cheeks. The same affliction of krakatoan sized craters had befallen Wendy back in highschool the year before Mom and Dad sprung for a dermatologist. It had been bad enough that Wendy had rushed to the DMV afterwards to re-take her driver’s license picture. “Why does it…?” Without realizing it, Wendy released her grip on the changing table and brushed her cheek. Her eyes widened and her breath stuck in her chest. Bumps! Sore bumps! Oily, irritated disgusting pustules ready to burst open and pour directly onto her skin like a geyer if she so much as pinched one with her thumb and pinky! Pimples! A surprised shriek leapt out of her. So surprised was she that she stepped back and felt her heel knock against something and caused her to lose her balance. The trip down to the floor was a short and soft one, cushioned by the extra padding on her rump, but it was no less startling. “Pimples!” Wendy cried out, flapping her arms. “Why do I have pimples?!” Her heart back to thundering she patted along her face and felt…nothing. No soreness or irritation. No bumps. Her skin was smooth, baby smooth even. Had she been hallucinating? She tilted her neck to the ceiling, trying to get a better look at her so-called baby picture, but couldn’t see herself from where she was sitting. “Wendy?” Miss Donna gasped and ran right in front of her, blocking her view. “How did you manage to stand up? Are you okay, hon?” “Y-Yeah,” Wendy stuttered, even though she knew that the adult probably couldn’t understand her. Hopefully the tone still translated. “Yeah. I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.” Miss Donna’s lip pouted out, and she picked Wendy up again, cradling her and turning her over this way and that, inspecting the girl for bruises. “I swear child, some of you are gonna be the death of me.” She didn’t put Wendy back down, quite the opposite, actually. The changing table and cubbies with her and her friends’ pictures on them got further and further away in a matter of steps. “If you want to practice standing up, let’s be safe about it.” That is how for the second time that day, Wendy Merts ended up with her legs threaded through a giant sling, her body weight not quite supported and her unable to get out on her own. It wasn’t exactly the baby walker: For starters she was more or less dangling from the ceiling. In her walker at home, the part that she sat in wasn’t the primary feature. Here, it clearly was, with only a bar with some spinning widgets on it above her head to whack at. It also had more give, allowing her to bend her knees and jump, but still supported her weight enough that she could dangle if she wanted or just didn’t have the coordination to land on her own two feet. Part bungee cord, part baby walker, part hammock. “Aw poop…”, she realized. “I’m stuck in a friggin’ bouncer.” And so she was. About a minute later the older of the two women, Miss Jay, stepped back in, a gallon ziplock baggie in one hand and a stack of three or four diapers in the other. The baggie went to her coworker and the diapers got shoved in a cubby. “I swear,” Miss Jay said. “I don’t know why they dress that little girl up like that..” They spoke with the kind of certainty and candor that people did when they knew no one would overhear them, (or rather that no one who did would be able to report).. “It’s not like the kid cares.” “Yeah,” Miss Donna agreed. She slipped the leaked on tights and diaper cover in and then sealed the baggie closed. “You’d think her parents would at least spring for diapers that didn’t leak as often. Keep all those nice clothes clean.” “She’s a fashionista!” Wendy hollered over the low babbling and ruckus. “Always has been.” Both women turned to regard Wendy, but showed no recognition that she’d done anymore than squawk. “Right,” Wendy sighed. “Forgot. You can’t understand me.” She bounced a little bit, fidgeting nervously. “It’s true though…” The twenty-two year old in the bouncer kept scanning the room, mired in her own thoughts. She had already determined that what went on in this daycare today would somehow parallel to what was going on in her real Law School class. The trouble is with so many variables, present she didn’t know how things were playing out on the other side of her closet. She didn’t know or recognize half of these rugrats; which made sense in a way because she’d be hard pressed to remember half of her adult classmates. What was the real Lindsay doing, Wendy wondered. Lindsay, the real Lindsay, anyways, was always fashionable. On days when everyone else would be taking notes in t-shirts and jeans, she’d be dressed in something flashy and stylish. Lindsay dressed the way people in the movies thought women dressed, as if normal people their age had the time to get up before dawn every morning and perfectly style their hair, do their makeup and have perfectly pressed and dresses, skirts, blouses, and the like ready to go. Wendy couldn’t remember seeing Lindsay walking around without a pair of heels. This Lindsay couldn’t even walk yet, but that was probably the only reason she didn’t have shoes on stilts with pointy toes. Wendy giggled to herself; first about the idea of a not-quite toddler learning to walk in heels, and then the idea of her college aged classmate getting the baby treatment. The image of Lindsay getting laid down first thing in the morning, and then diapered and then layered into ever more ridiculously feminine clothing was hilarious to Wendy; hilarious enough that she forgot to consider how she herself looked. Looking at baby Lindsay busily smacking a stuffed rabbit, Wendy thought the grown ups had a point regarding clothing and functionality: Underneath her fancy baby dress was just an average disposable diaper; one that leaked when pressed too tightly against her by double layers of tights and covers. Honestly, if Lindsay had been dressed like that as a baby, Wendy wouldn’t have been surprised. For a true one-to-one ratio, Wendy would have guessed Lindsay’s baby equivalent would have been in some top-of-the-line leak proof guarantee diaper; or a fancy cloth one with golden safety pins. How funny would it be to find out that beneath her stylish silks and cashmere sweaters that Lindsay wore plain cotton granny panties from Walmart? The big girl pretending to be a baby giggled at the imagined irony. She resolved to ask Lindsay if she dyed her hair when she got back. A ‘yes’ to one might hint at the other. Laughing as she was, Wendy thought she felt her bladder spasm, and sucked in her breath. She jumped and bounced a little bit in her harness, but felt no additional wetness or squish beneath her. “False alarm.” She didn’t know why she was afraid of wetting her pants; she’d done it several times already, but some ever shrinking part of her reminded that it was something she should be concerned about. Unlike the rest of this daycare’s residents, Wendy wasn’t actually an infant. She didn’t actually need any of this stuff, she was just here to benefit from a glitch in a cosmic system. From her spot dangling just above the floor, Wendy looked at the babies; the real babies, that is. They crawled and rolled and laid on the floor. What were her classmates doing? Did Lindsay’s repeated abuse of a stuffed animal mean that she was stuck on a question? Did Petey’s babbling of “YAH YAH YAH YAH!” mean that Peter was celebrating a job well done? Wendy watched a bald little thing, Morgan, crawl around and explore the room in just a t-shirt and Luvs. Was this the adult equivalent of flipping through exam papers to answer the easiest questions first or skimming to get a sense of scope? Wendy didn’t know. She’d planned to be out of here by ten, but might be stuck for longer if what Closet Daddy said held true. The caretakers had mentioned something about Morgan needing additional diapers. Did adult Morgan constantly take bathroom breaks or something? If so, Wendy had never noticed. There were no hall passes or bathroom breaks at the collegiate and graduate level. Adults just slipped in and out of the lecture hall as needed and professors being offended and stopping class because someone was quietly standing up from their seat was nothing more than a product of cinema. It was a silly correlation to begin with, Wendy knew. Babies just went through several diapers a day and the kid was down to one. Tonya, the baby one anyways, started crawling to the empty toy shelves. Right next to Wendy’s bouncer, they were mounted into the wall and as far as she had seen, barren; their contents already spilled out and spread around the floor. Curious, Wendy looked on as the child crawled over, grabbed a sturdy shelf and pulled herself up to a standing position. Miss Donna, who was busy playing on the floor with one of the other kids, caught sight of it. “Jay! Look!” “On it!” Miss Jay shuffled over and grabbed a clipboard and started jotting notes down on it like she were watching the story of the century. “Somebody! Is! Cruising!” “Cruising?” Wendy echoed. “Cruising? What’s cruising?” Based on the context, ‘cruising’ must have meant shuffling from side to side using a bigger structure for support. Baby Tonya let go. “Oh!” The women said good naturedly. She took a step back and her legs started to wobble. “Oh! Oh!” Tonya buckled and plopped butt first on the floor. “Ohhhhh!” Miss Jay reached down and gave her co-worker on the floor a celebratory high-five, then walked over and patted the little one on top of her head. “Good job, Tonya! You’ll be walking in no time!” “Hey!” Wendy scowled. “What about me! I did something like that too! You just weren’t looking when I did it!” She couldn’t believe it: Not only was Tonya starting to surpass her, again, but all of those feelings of inadequacy and jealousy were being directed towards a literal baby! “Let me try! I can do it!” The old woman pivoted and stepped to the bouncer. “Well hello, Wendy,” she said sweetly. “We haven’t had much time to talk today! I hope you’re doing well!” Every sentence ended on an upward note, the same way people did when talking to a puppy or a small child. “Are you?” Wendy bent her knees and bounced slightly. “Get me out of here! I can cruise too or whatever you call it! I was doing it just a second ago!” Miss Jay’s face lit up. “Uh-oh! Somebody’s a bouncy girl? Are you a bouncy girl?” A flip switched on in Wendy’s brain. “Heh. Yeah, I guess.” she said. She felt the corners of her mouth tugging upward, and didn’t resist. “I kind of am a bouncy girl, aren’t I? Heh-heh.” The woman’s face went silly and googly eyed. “Are you my widdle kangaroo?” Wendy tried to giggle out a “yeah”, but the “Ha-ha’s” overpowered it. “Hoppin’ around like a bunny rabbit?” The snowy haired lady snuck two fingers behind her head and bounced quickly on the balls of her feet. The extra bit of physical comedy sent the hilarity over the top. “Yeah!” Wendy’s voice cracked from laughter. She wasn’t being tickled physically but the sight of the kindly old lady playing pretend lit up the pleasure centers of her brain. “Yeah! I kind of am a bunny rabbit!” The Pampers and her onesie weren’t a true cotton-tail, yet her butt was certainly fluffier than usual. She did her best to settle her weight back down to the floor so she could plant her feet and wiggle her hips. “Such a cute baby bun-bun!” Spastically, Wendy started clapping her hands, absolutely shaking with joy. She really was a bunny rabbit! She used her whole arms to clap, and from the outside she knew she looked like a monkey banging cymbals together, but she didn’t much care. Neither did she care that her fingers were splayed wide open, accidentally missing and interclasping with each other with each clap. There were two year olds with more coordination that she was displaying at the moment. Good thing she wasn’t supposed to be two. All of a sudden, Miss Jay was facing away from Wendy. She hadn’t moved otherwise; hadn’t walked away to tend to another baby or started up another discussion with her work partner. She wasn’t doing anything. “Miss Jay?” Wendy asked. “You okay?” The woman wasn’t moving. She was a statue or an animatronic that had been shut off. “Miss Jay?” Miss Jay pivoted back around and stared at Wendy. Just stared. No talking or movement. Her face was set in stone and neutral like the fancy guards at Buckingham Palace. Her eyes were unfocused. Trance-like. Looking past and through Wendy instead of at her. “Miss Jay?” Wendy said. “Miss Jay?” Was the old lady having a stroke or something? Wendy reached out to try and tap her on the shoulder but couldn’t reach. “Are you okay, ma’am?” The woman remained stockstill, slack and frozen in place. Wendy looked back over her shoulder and had only plain brick wall behind her. She craned her neck and looked at the spinning fidget toys above. “What are you looking at?” She waved her hand in front of the woman’s face. “Hellooo?” The caretaker came back to life. “Did you get that Donna?” Miss Donna was jotting something down on another clipboard. “Yuh-huh. Definitely noticed the change in behavior. The diagnostic says it would be better if she tried to make you laugh back, but she definitely noticed.” “We can try again later, just in case.” Wendy’s jaw dropped. She was being tested?! She couldn’t believe it! “Social developmental level: Average.” “Average?!” Wendy screamed. “What do you mean average?! When I was a baby the first time I was ahead of everything!” She was so mad she was literally bouncing. She was so surprised her voice had gone up nearly an octave. “You want me to make you laugh? I can make you laugh!” She made her eyes go jiggly and puffed out her cheeks like her face was a balloon, but neither of the grown ups were looking at her. “Okay, okay.” Miss Jay put the clipboard on the empty toy shelf and scooped the girl up by the armpits. By this point, it was practically second nature for Wendy to wrap her legs around the lady’s thigh. “Don’t want you to get too used to staying in one spot. Don’t want to turn you into a little couch potato.” “Not a problem,” Wendy replied. “Not a-” She felt a hand pat her butt. “Hey!” “Hmmm,” the daycare worker said. “A little bit, but not yet.” The comment seemed more to herself than anyone in particular. It certainly wasn’t loud enough for Miss Donna or anyone not right up against her to hear. “Not what yet?” Wendy tried to ask. Instead of a reply she got ripped away from the woman’s hips. They were about the same size, but the difference in universe might as well have made Wendy a kitten. She could claw and squirm but there was nothing much she could do to stop herself from being pried lose. Her feet hit the floor first. Miss Jay seemed to slow down, like she was once again half remembering something. That didn’t stop Wendy. “Let me down already!” she whined. “Up or down! Make up your mind!” Her legs curled up next to her on the carpet. “Don’t feel like walking yet, baby girl?” Miss Jay said. She bent over and fluffed out the faux skirt on her onesie so that it more resembled a ballerina’s tutu. “Okay. You don’t have to do it right now.” She stepped around Wendy to grab the clipboard. “Walk?!” Wendy said. “I can walk! Look!” It should have been easy for Wendy to stand up. From where she was sitting it should have been a simple matter of gathering her legs up underneath her, leaning forward so that her weight was on and then pushing with her legs to a standing position. The key phrasing here was: ‘Should have been’. She placed her feet flat in front of her and bunched her knees up to her chest but when she leaned forward, the girl just couldn’t do it. Her center of balance wouldn’t shift from her backside to her feet. “Must be the diaper,” she muttered to herself at about the same volume that the older woman had used. “Throwing off my balance or something.” It felt like there was truth to that. She was having trouble making her knees touch and her back end felt slightly heavier, though not enough to weigh her down this much. Grumbling and growling to herself, Wendy turned over onto all fours. “I got this. I can past this test. I can walk.” Deliberately, one at a time, she put her feet flat on the floor and straightened her knees. “Awwww!” Miss Donna called behind her. “Look at her tryin’! You go girl!” Wendy’s face was now closer to the carpet than her rear end, which was sticking up and out behind her. “I got this,” she said to herself. “I got this.” With a mighty heave, Wendy pushed herself upwards “Oh-oh-oh-oooooooooh!” The adults cried out in unison. As quickly as she’d risen, Wendy fell, her knees locking for less than a second and then crumbling beneath her. It was less a matter of strength and more one of coordination and balance. For the half-second she’d been upright she’d felt wobbly and uncoordinated; a novice learning a new complicated dance after only watching the tik-tok once. “What the heck?!” She slammed her fists on the carpet in frustration. She tried again, but with similar results. “Nice try, baby girl! You’ll get it!” “At least she didn’t bang the back of her head.” Now the corners of her lips were pulling downward and her heartbeats was racing and her face flushing with exasperation. “Why can’t I walk? I was doing it just a little while ago!” She hit the carpet again, on the verge of a temper tantrum. “Yah! Yah! Yah! Yah!” “Shut up Peter!” The little boy flinched. He might not have known the words that Wendy was screaming at him, but he definitely recognized the volume and tone. His lip quivered for approximately two seconds before tears and bawling screams shot in. The Law Student jerked back on her hands and knees, starting to shut her eyes and lower herself into a submissive crouch at the sound of approaching footsteps. “Awww Petey,” she heard Miss Jay say. “Wussamatta baby boy? Are you wet? Thirsty maybe? Cranky? Just need a snuggle? Let’s figure it out.” The sound of the baby’s crying and the old lady trying to soothe him got farther and farther away. Wendy opened her eyes and looked around. Neither of the daycare workers loomed over her, hands their hips shaking their heads in disappointment. Miss Donna was busy having Morgan stack blocks and Petey was on the changing table sucking down apple juice while Miss Jay unfastened his onesie. They hadn’t made the connection, she realized. There was no infantile equivalent of “shut up” or any other insult. Babies her age…her perceived age…didn’t normally yell at each other. Not on purpose, at least. The kid had been crying his lungs out, but babies did that for anything. He’d been sitting upright and was neither bleeding nor bruised, so Wendy hadn’t been suspected. There’d be no point in reprimanding her either, she realized. It’s not like she was suspected of knowing what she was doing. Being a baby meant literally never having to say that you’re sorry. To top it all off, the bottle of juice on top of the clean diaper seemed to be doing the trick. No harm, no foul, no guilt. That settled, Wendy started crawling over to the empty toy shelves. If this reality’s equivalent of her teachers wanted to see some ‘cruising’ they’d see some cruising. If Tonya could do it, so could she. A slight shudder of trepidation made its way through Wendy’s body. “Please don’t get bigger, please don’t get bigger, please don’t get bigger,” she prayed. With her luck today, Wendy knew, she could very well start to climb the toy shelf and steady herself only to have the top shelf rocket past her head and knock her off balance again. It’d be like writing an entire essay on the wrong prompt and having to start over. With her right hand she stretched out and grabbed the top of the shelf. Nothing happened. Good. She scooted a little closer on her knees and leaned back on her heels so she could grab on with her other hand. The shelf did not warp or shift. Her fingers remained on top with her thumbs clasping underneath.. Also good. “One….two…three…!” Pushing with one end and pulling with the other, Wendy surged upwards until she was standing up right. Her body almost betrayed her, but she managed to steady herself. Her gait was too wide and her knees wobbly and her knuckles were turning white from how hard she was holding onto the toy shelf, but she was technically standing. Wendy froze; nearly breathless and totally giddy. “I did it!” She screamed. “I did it!” Pure excitement coursed through her veins. It didn’t matter that this was something that Wendy had done and been able to do for as long as she’d remembered, the girl was full over the moon. “I’m a big girl!” she beamed. “I did it!” She wanted to jump to the heavens, but settled for bobbing her knees. “Pulling herself up,” Miss Donna noted. “Very nice!” For her next trick, Wendy started edging along the sides of the shelf an inch at a time, scooting and awkward like a circus acrobat on a tightrope. All told, it took her approximately half a minute to move a foot, but the grown ups were suitably impressed. “Oh-ho!” Miss Jay said. “Looks like Wendy is cruising too!” The grown ups noticed her! They really did! “Oh yeah!” Miss Donna remarked. She slapped her forehead and jotted something down on the clipboard. “I forgot to make a note of that. She was trying some of that earlier, I just didn’t get to jot it down.” “Two times already?” Miss Jay mused. “Looks like Tonya’s got competition!” Wendy was feeling brave enough to let go with one hand so she could point to the baby girl in with a bow wrapped around her noggin and a yellow dress that didn’t come close to covering up her sagging Huggies. “Ha!” she crowed. “Beat that, Tonya!” Tonya didn’t so much as turn her head, but Wendy felt good putting one of her rivals on blast. The excitement didn’t last long. More accurately it was replaced with a very different type of excitement, one of shock and brief panic. With one hand off the shelf, Wendy felt herself starting to lose balance and strength. Pivoting wildly on one foot, Wendy swung around and grabbed the siding for dear life, accidentally bumping the small of her back. A jumper out on a ledge, Wendy did the one thing she shouldn’t have done: She looked down. It wasn’t a far drop, even to Wendy’s nearly babied brain. There was no sense of vertigo or further loss of balance overcame her as she looked down past her chest to her feet. Wendy was in no danger of falling back down just then. In looking past her chest, however, Wendy was in danger of losing something more precious than her mere balance. Her clothes felt baggier. Her clothes weren’t falling off, just ill fitting. For just a moment, Wendy had wondered if her onesie was made out of particularly flimsy material. Maybe she’d somehow stretched it out or something. Similarly, her diaper sagged on one side, a tiny bit loose in the hips. Had in all of her movement she accidentally loosened the tabs on her diaper? And then her clothes contracted back around her body like a vacuum seal. She didn’t want to admit what she was seeing but the girl could not deny the evidence of her eyes. “My boobs?” Wendy asked, incredulously. “What’s happening to my boobs?” The girl wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it happening herself, but she looked down at just the right (or wrong) time to watch her breasts start to shrink and recede like a zit right after it had been popped. The bagginess she felt in her clothes was caused by her losing body mass moments before readjusting to fit her new frame. Not that she’d been afforded one in this reality, but she no longer needed any more support than a training bra. Her breasts were still there, and she still had the barest hint of hips, but they were severely underdeveloped. The first time she’d looked like this, she was in fifth or sixth grade and had been incredibly thrilled, proud even, that she was turning into a young woman. “Oh no…” Wendy’s voice cracked. ‘Underdeveloped’ was the perfect word for it. “I’m getting littler,” she squeaked. “I mean younger!” Her voice was getting higher from more than just screeching in excitement. If not for the timing of her transformation, she might not have noticed. As quickly as her breasts had shrunken, her onesie had likewise reduced itself. The same force that made it so that ordinary baby clothes and furniture were adapting to fit her were continuing to do their job. This alternate universe had done its level best to treat her like a baby: First others saw her as one. Then her clothes changed to fit the roll. Then her emotions. Then the environment around her. The only thing left was her very body. Those pimples on her face had been there. They’d just vanished after her form rewound itself to before that awful awkward year in her life. And judging by the sound of her voice and the receding curves of her body she was just barely on the other side of puberty: Fifth grade. Maybe Sixth. Seventh tops. The first time Wendy had gotten really, truly, terribly drunk, It had been Wendy’s twenty-second birthday. Mom and Dad had given her run of the house and her friends had brought over enough liquor to tranquilize an elephant. The first few shots made her feel bubbly. A few more and she was exceptionally silly and happy.. Mixing in the ninety-nine proof banana liqueur with their chocolate shakes had been a stroke of genius. She didn’t know who she’d made out with, but literally thought she was invisible if she closed her eyes. As her blood alcohol content rose, the night got worse. Fun happy dizziness became disorienting. Lowered inhibitions became violent mood swings. Less than four hours in, what was supposed to be a fun night became a nightmare. She’d vomited and been genuinely proud that she’d made it to the toilet. She’d been unable to walk. She’d literally cried for her mommy. The parallels were undeniable. This was worse and much more sobering than the sun that morning had been. She was literally getting younger, her body being warped and twisted to fit this new reality. It was utterly horrific to her and yet so logical. How had she not seen it coming? Ever since her first step into the rip, the closet reality had been busy fixing Wendy like a spider weaving to fill a hole in its web. All the cuteness and innocence had led her to underestimate the extent of the changes, leaving her feeling like a frog suddenly noticing how warm the water felt. If she didn’t get out of here immediately, she’d be reduced to practically nothing. No boobs. No butt. No bush. Barely any hair. Next to no teeth. No voice. Nothing more than a fleshy blob with arms and legs and a sack of piss wrapped around the middle. Barely able to get around. Squalling and crying and completely at the world’s mercy. A ten month old baby girl. The very notion sent shivers up her shrinking spine. “No!” She screamed, fighting for words so that she didn’t just break down and bawl. “ Oh my god, I need to get out of here. Help!” Without waiting, Wendy pushed herself up to her feet. She’d run! She’d run and leap over the gate and get home…somehow! She could see it all in her mind’s eye. She could do it! She could escape! The spirit may have been willing yet her altered flesh was weak and adrenaline could only take it so far. The poor girl made it one and half steps before her body lost its balance and her nose smacked right into the carpet. “No….” she whispered. Tears started to well up. Existential dread was nothing compared to the tears and pain magnified by a child’s out of control emotions. “Nnnn…” If she opened her mouth again, she knew that nothing resembling words would exit it. Too late, help came, just not the kind she’d wanted. Miss Donna walked up to her and picked her up. “D’aww…somebody had a tumble!” She rubbed and patted the panicking girl’s back. Shushing and mumbling sweet nothings to her. Wendy started feeling better and hated herself for it. After her breathing slowed, Wendy was put back down and the grown up held out both hands palms up. “Come on, baby. Take my hands.” Wendy did so, thrusting her palms out face down into “Ma’am,” she blubbered, “you gotta help me! I’m a big girl!” This was said despite the fact that she was now shorter than the other woman. Oh fuck she was shorter! She was being guided deeper into the room, away from the exit. Impotently, she pulled against the woman’s grasp. She might as well have been trying to fight gravity. The black woman took a step back, her face all smile and her voice incredibly calm, contrasting against the mounting panic in Wendy’s brain. “That’s right, sugar. Follow me.” She stepped back, her footsteps slow, gliding and deliberate. The regressing girl did her best to copy her but her legs wouldn’t cooperate. When she tried to move her feet low and to the floor, her feet barely scraped a centimeter. When she tried to take bigger steps, her legs went into wild bicycle pedal motions: Right leg up above the waist, kick out, stomp down. Left leg up above the waist; kick out; stomp down. She was trudging through a pit of invisible pudding. It was more than the scaled up Pampers doing this; her gross motor skills were completely shot. “Such a big girl!” Miss Donna cooed at her. “You’re getting so big! You’ll be walking and talking in no time!” The praise made Wendy quiver with joy. “That’s right! I am a big girl! I’m the biggest girl in the whole world!” Despite the slight hiccup, everything was still going to plan, she reminded herself. She’d ace these silly baby tests. Then Mommy or Daddy would come and pick her up and the teachers would tell them what a big girl she was and they’d take her home and give her ice cream and cuddles and let her stay up late watching cartoons. “What am I thinking?” The next step did not land true. Wendy lost her balance and plunged face first towards the floor. Only the caregiver’s fantastic reflexes saved her from bloodying her nose on the floor. “Whoops!” Miss Donna said, leaning in to catch her by the armpits. “I think that’s enough walking practice for now. Got it logged, Miss Jay?” “Got it! Moving on to Jayden and Connor!” Gently, Wendy was set down and both grown ups moved on to other babies. She was disturbed by how natural it felt to be this low to the ground. More unsettling, she realized that she was thinking of these literal infants as peers and friends. “I’m not a baby,” she said. “I’m a big g-g-grown up. Only babies worry about whether they’re big or not.” She maneuvered around to a sitting position and looked at herself. Soon enough she might be little in the most literal definition of the world. How old was her body now? Thirteen? Twelve? Younger? She had barely felt her chest pushing back against her body when laying flat against the ground the moment before. Patting her face, Wendy could tell her cheeks weren’t feeling the same, her face having grown rounder since crossing the rip earlier that morning. Her arms and legs looked impossibly skinny, and she suddenly got a flashback of her tween self modeling in front of her mirror, worrying if she would ever fill out like her friends. Those ages were awkward enough the first time around. Wendy didn’t want a second time. Her breath started picking up speed. She was close to hyperventilating. She needed a bag or something to breathe into. Failing that, she settled for sucking on her thumb. The relief wasn’t instant, but as her lips worked over her digit, her breathing slowed and it became easier and easier to think calmly. “Otay,” she soothed herself. “It’s gonna be otay.” Her body was changing, but that was no big deal. Her clothes had changed too but they’d changed back once she’d crossed over back in her closet. No lasting harm had been done. It might take a little bit for everything to kick in back to normal, but she’d be okay. She’d just rush through the closet and once on the other side, she would lock the door until her body was grown up again. If she kept getting younger, that would probably be okay too. Everyone in this universe saw her as a baby no matter what. There was nothing in her experiments to suggest that back in the real world the opposite wouldn’t happen and people would see her as an adult despite a diminished frame. She was a little overstimulated and high on baby brain, but she’d been like that in the bathtub the other day and she’d made it out okay. All she had to do was wait out the clock and go back home, and she’d be thinking more like her big girl self the second she crossed that threshold. In the meantime all she had to do was pass some silly baby test so that…so that…why was she taking a baby test again? “Schoo!” Wendy shouted so loud that she literally shaked. A couple of the other babies around her startled a bit and then went back to pounding wooden blocks and stimming.. That was right! School! Big fancy grown up school! If she proved she was a big girl here in daycare, the grown ups would think that she did super good at big girl stuff. And she’d pass the baby test super easy too! She knew so much big girl stuff that it would be impossible for her to mess up a silly baby test. She knew how to walk. Except her body wouldn’t let her. She knew how to talk. Except nobody could understand her. She knew how to go potty. Except nobody would ask if she needed to use it. She’d just be forced to go pee-pee in her diaper. Wendy frowned. Come to think of it, it was weird that she hadn’t pee-peed in her diaper yet. She hadn’t felt the need to. What did it feel like again? She searched back to earliest memories…something about a dance and hopping in place? Maybe it tickled? That would explain why people got potty trained if going potty tickled. Who didn’t like tickling? Why couldn’t she remember? At least she knew shapes. Shapes like…like… Okay. She sucked her thumb harder and thought so more. She knew all the colors! Like red…and red…and…and…red…and…and…? Was her onesie red? Panic didn’t rear its ugly head again. Confusion did. There was a puzzle to be solved here, but Wendy couldn’t quite figure out what the end result was supposed to look like. Even if she couldn’t remember all of her big girl stuff she knew she would do well on all the baby tests that Miss Donna and Miss Jay gave her. She’d always been smart, even when she was a baby. She only needed to do what came naturally until Mommy came to pick her- Light harmonica music broke in on Wendy’s thoughts. “Mum!” “Dad!” Had Wendy been a puppy she would have been wagging her tail. She knew that song! Up above the room, bolted high so that none of the babies could reach it, a television played. One of the grown-ups had turned it on and like any kid her age Wendy felt drawn to the happy music and bright colors. “Bingo!” Wendy said in time with the song. “Bluey!” She felt super smart. Only her third time hearing it and she already had it memorized! She took a seat by Petey who had likewise been drawn in like a moth to a flame. “Hi Petey!” Her friend barely acknowledged her presence, hyper focused on the cartoon dogs playing on the T.V. screen. That was so Petey! She wasn’t even mad. “Bottle time,” Miss Jay said after the first episode. She handed Wendy a baby bottle filled with apple juice. The way that it ballooned in her hands distracted her, but made her happy. It meant she was still a big girl…or bigger girl, anyways. It was just a waiting game by now. The theme song repeated itself again. How many episodes were there and why couldn’t Wendy watch them all?! She laid back on the floor, drinking comfortably from her ba-ba, letting the juice flow freely and positioning herself at such an angle where she could see the screen. She reached back and borrowed the stuffed bunny that had been flailed around and used it like a pillow. Modern problems required modern solutions. Still drinking she felt a strange, almost foreign pressure in her tummy. It wasn’t painful, just uncomfortable. Like a minor muscle cramp. Wendy wiggled a bit, trying to get comfortable. She rolled this way and that but it wouldn’t go away. Then she lifted her knees back up to her to her stomach and something happened: Her face scrunched up and funny popping noises could be heard, though she couldn’t quite place it. Quickly, as if the discomfort were rushing out of her, she felt relief and she lowered her legs back down to the floor, smiling at the sudden nice warm feeling in her pants. Bonus! At the bottom of her peripheral vision, just around the bottle of juice, she saw what little remained of the little mounds on her chest vanishing beneath her onesie. That explained the noise and the discomfort well enough. Her body was just experiencing the opposite of growing up. Ungrowing pains? It made sense that it felt a little funny; a little mushy. Speaking of her clothes, they were tightening again. The baggy folds and creases were being flattened as if someone was ironing her onesie while she was still wearing it. If not for the slight movements of the fabric shrinking and restretching itself, she would have barely noticed it. Earlier, it had left her diaper all droopy, but this time she didn’t have a big girl butt like her mommy to lose. Why were all the big girls having so big butts anyways, she wondered, giggling around her thumb. A tiny bit of baby fat rippled to life, causing her tummy to stick out. It hadn’t been this way since her last years of Elementary school, when looming puberty kicked her metabolism into high gear and after school sports melted away the last of her chubby childish physique. “Muft be bak to gwade skool,” she mumbled. Trying to think of what that meant in terms of years, she could only recall what it had meant to her back then : no longer using only one of those little scribble lines when writing her name, but two! Wow that was a big number! The television clicked off as quickly as it had clicked on. “Okay, little ones.” Miss Donna said. “That’s enough T.V. time for today.” A couple of the kids blinked like they’d been in a trance and crawled away looking for new sources of stimulation and diversion. Tonya had nodded off to sleep on the floor. Lindsay had somehow managed to drool all over her pretty dress. “Pffft,” Wendy said. “Babies.” She inhaled through her nose and sat up. “Ew!” she said. “What was that smell?” Her eyes wandered over to Morgan. She leaned forward and sniffed again. The stinky smell intensified. “Miss Jay! Miss Donna!” Wendy sang. “Morgan needs changed! She’s stinky!” Of course she knew that the grown ups couldn’t really understand her, but they could still hear her making noise and recognize that she was pointing at her classmate. Their noses would do the rest. “Peee-yew,” the caregiver said. “Yup. It’s about that time.” Wendy smirked, feeling good about herself. These babies were lucky to have such a big girl among them. She was almost like a third teacher lady, really. In her own way she was doing a good deed, looking out for these little ones who didn’t know how to properly take care of themselves. She went off the ground with a pair of hands scooping her up by the waist. “Up we go!” Miss Jay said. “Time for changies! Wendy first!” A lump settled in the back of her throat. “What? No! I don’t need to be changed! I haven’t needed to go po-!” A sudden sense of sobriety overcame the girl. Speaking of lumps, she finally realized that there was a lump in her diaper and how it got there. “Please, no!” She begged. “My Mommy and Daddy are the only ones who change my diapee! Nobody else!” Her words fell on uncomprehending ears. The clay-like lump smooshed a bit as she was first sat, then forced to lay down on the changing table. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t take much to force her regressed body down. With this universe’s physics still determined to treat her like a ten month old it took even less. The table barely had to enlarge itself for her to fit. It was nothing at all for the older woman to shove her down and pull a strap over her deflated chest. “I know, I know,” Miss Jay said. “You don’t want a diaper change.” She busied herself pulling on gloves and fetching a clean diaper. “You don’t want a diaper change.” No kidding! “You just want to play on the floor with all your little friends. You’ll feel much better and more comfortable when this is done.” One by one the snaps around her crotch came undone. Her exposed, soaked and messy diaper sagged away from her body, tugging at the velcro tapes as if eager to be removed. She hadn’t even realized how many times she’d used the undergarment. Hadn’t associated the wet squishiness or the sticky lump with her going potty in her pants. She hadn’t even recognized a change in dexter. Law student? She couldn’t tell the difference between wet and dry or clean and dirty! Wendy didn’t have the presence of mind or the confidence to be outraged! She was about to get her diaper changed! In public! Okay, maybe not in public public, but in front of all her friends from school and by a stranger that she’d known for less than a day! In place of outrage, she tried pleading. “Please don’t change me!” She pleaded. “I’m a big girl! I don’t need to be changed! I’m super comfortable! I don’t mind waiting for my Mommy and Daddy to pick me up! They can change me! At least change the other babies first!” Her crying and whining did her no good. The older daycare worker heard only the mewlings of a child who didn’t want to lay still long enough to be cleaned up. She opened the diaper and heard Wendy’s howling “NOOOOOOOOOOO!” as just the incoherent cry of a baby who didn’t like the feeling of fresh air chilling against her wet skin. She didn’t flinch away from wiping down Wendy’s privates. For her perceived age, there was no such thing. Wendy still felt every bit violated while the residue of urine was dabbed off of her and solid fecal matter scraped off one wipe at a time. Wendy had had that archetypal dream of doing a class presentation in nothing but her underwear.. This was worse. There on the elevated table, with her legs forcibly crossed and hoisted in the air, her vulnerability and helplessness was on full display. Her classmates, such as they were, didn’t seem to notice or care. They were too busy and preoccupied with their own distractions to truly notice each other, let alone Wendy. Parallel play was just another word for being stuck in a bubble. “Where did all this come from?” Miss Jay remarked, looking down at the mess piled up inside Wendy’s open diaper and the sprinkling of used baby wipes that was slowly- far too slowly- accumulating on top. “Were you constipated or did you just have a big dinner last night?” Anyone who has worked with infants and small children can tell you that not all cries are the same. The stereotypical “wah” most commonly comes when a child is afraid; calling out for help. Sad little tykes who don’t have the words to express sorrow have sobs that come from their belly. Frustrated to the point of tears Wendy let out a bawling, almost feral cry; screaming her throat almost raw and her tonsils rattling. “I’m! A! Big! Girl!” It sounded downright hypocritical coming from her. She hadn’t had this voice since her age was measured in double digits.. “I! Want! To! Go! Hooooooome!” She didn’t know or care if home meant her nursery or her big girl room. The grown up; the real grown up, kept on about her task, not minding the mid-change tantrum. For her, it was just another day. She rolled up the large (but not comically so) Pampers and stuffed it down in the Ladybug Room’s diaper pail. A clean one was slipped beneath her, yet remained open. Wendy’s angst and humiliation didn’t end there. “Getting kind of rashy,” Miss Jay remarked. “Let’s take care of that.” That was the only preface Wendy got, the only warning. Cold, smelly cream was smeared all over and between her cheeks. “Staaaaaahp!” Wendy bellowed. Miss Jay kept right on going, lowering her legs down so that she was resting on the new padding. “Make it staaaaaah-” She cut herself off, feeling something hot and wet drizzle against her legs, and hearing the hiss of liquid sprinkling out and hitting papery pulp. Wendy looked down by her legs. She was peeing! Peeing right into the open air mid change and hadn’t even realized it. “Oooops!” Miss Jay chuckled. She pulled the diaper up but didn’t tape it on. When Wendy had finished, she let the urine christened nappy flop back open and reached for yet another diaper. “Guess I wasn’t fast enough. Good thing I’ve still got good reflexes.” “You mean good thing it wasn’t one of the boys,” Miss Donna called out. She’d grabbed a mat and was changing kids on the floor. “That too.” The second change in as many minutes was just as humiliating as the first. It was practically second nature for Wendy to suck her thumb to keep the screams and tears at bay. “There we go,” Miss Jay said, finally snapping Wendy’s onesie back up over the new fluffy white padding. “I bet that feels a lot better.” “It doesn’t,” the girl lied. She crawled away, hearing the dry rustling of the fresh diaper fill her ears. How had she not noticed that before? Now that she was dry every movement sounded so crisp and precise. Was that going to be how she’d have to tell whether or not she needed changing? “No,” she realized. After today she wouldn’t have these kinds of problems anymore. Based on their screams and yowls, both Morgan and Lindsay had similar opinions about getting their diapers changed. Having that in common only made Wendy feel less like the big girl she knew she was on the inside and more like the baby she was increasingly starting to resemble on the outside. “Mommy…” she whimpered. “Hurry.” She crawled around the room, looking high and low for a clock. She had no idea how long she’d been in the daycare and how much longer she had to go like this. There weren’t any clocks in sight and neither of the caregivers could understand her to tell her what time it was. Babies didn’t need to ask what time it was. A more chilling thought: What if there were clocks in this place and she just didn’t recognize them anymore? What if the squiggles and decorations on the walls weren’t just laminated lady bug drawings but also numbers and shapes that her brain couldn’t access the meaning to anymore? Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw another child that was a little too big to be in this place. It was when she turned her head that she realized that she was looking in a mirror bolted to the wall. “What the…?” She looked like a kindergartener who had somehow managed to play dressup. She was running out of time! As a last gambit, Wendy crawled over to some of her classmates. “Tonya?” She asked. “Do you know what time it is? Do you know what time even is?” The tiny little thing stared blankly at her and then released a stream of monosyllabic gibberish that could barely qualify as babble. Wendy slumped her shoulders and looked down at the carpet. There went the theory of there being some kind of secret baby language. The carpet came a little closer to Wendy’s face. Wendy did a double take and looked at her elbows. Still locked. She looked at the babies and realized they all seemed a little taller. She was still shrinking. “Oh poopie…” Her voice came out even higher. A poor choice of words, too! She experimentally wiggled her hips and crawled around in a circle. Unable to tell wet from dry she relied on the papery crinkling sound behind her to let her know she hadn’t had another accident. How old was she now? Five? The diapers and onesies might not have to stretch all that much to fit. Didn’t they make diapers big enough to fit kindergarteners and late bloomers? A shadow moving over her interrupted Wendy’s train of thought “Hey sugar,” Miss Donna said. The woman seemed absolutely ginormous now, a true titan. The two grown ups seemed like members of a completely different, practically godlike, species! Miss Donna, sat down and pushed some plain wooden blocks in front of her. “Do you wanna play some blocks with me?” Placed subtly next to her was a clipboard. A test! Yes! Wendy was quivering with excitement. She’d seen this one earlier while stuck in the bouncer! “Uh-huh!” This might not help her get out of here any quicker, but surely it would make things easier on her when she did! Her petite hand bolted out and grasped onto the first block and dramatically shot up in the air. With grace and aplomb and stacked it onto a second one…and watched it immediately fall off. “Huh?” “Go on,” Miss Donna said. “Try again.” She did. Much slower this time. Her legs, bladder, and bowels weren’t the only thing she was having difficulty controlling. Her arm was acting like one of those claw machines, getting the gist of where she wanted to go but lacking a great deal of precision. Was it her gross motor that was off? Or her hand-eye coordination? Both? After much care and effort, she was finally able to stack one wooden square thingy on top of another. Hey! She still knew square! “ Dere!” She heard herself say. She had to grit her teeth and focus to correct herself. “There!” Now her tongue wasn’t cooperating. “Very good!” Miss Donna clapped her hands. Wendy found herself following suit, bouncing on her bottom. “Another?” “Okay!” She took the block from the lady’s hand and expertly…knocked the first block over. Cheeks puffing, she tossed the offending collection of splinters. Miss Donna didn’t seem that bothered by it. It’s not like it went very far anyways. “That seems about right,” she said, moving the pen around on the paper. About right? About right?! She was supposed to be acing this! Soaring high! Not…not average! An electronic.beeping buzzed in the air. Miss Donna got up and touched a gray square to stop it. Was that a clock? A timer? “Lunch time everybody!” She scooped up Wendy and a baby whose big kid counterpart Wendy was unfamiliar with. Wendy was carried over the baby gate, out into the collective pod area. Unlike before, it was now abuzz with activity. Toddlers and preschoolers waddled and toddled about, being seated at the tiny tables while the grown-ups maneuvered with machine-like efficiency between tables, microwaves and stacks of paper plates and plastic cutlery. The pod doubled as the daycare’s cafeteria. Lunch boxes were being unpacked and children were being seated and handed sippy cups. The law student was not among them. Miss Donna took her over to a U-shaped wooden table that was higher off the ground than anything the other little kids were sitting in. The seats were built in, too. No chair legs required with buckets built in; a communal centipede highchair. Wendy was threaded into the center seat. It was a tight squeeze, but not too tight. One big breath later and it wasn’t so tight. “Be right back!” Miss Donna promised. Wendy saw her skin ripple and settle with additional baby fat. If her body wasn’t shrunken down to less than a year old, she was close. She reached up and touched her hair, gripping at the fine tufts on top of her head. No bald spots detected, so she had that going for her at least. She still sat taller than the nearest classmate. Maybe she was two? One and a half? Hard to tell. Down on the floor, older kids shuffled about, almost as easily distracted but given so much more freedom. They were still trusted to sit down and eat their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and snack on their cut up grapes and apple slices. Most weren’t potty trained from the looks of it. They had the same bulges along their midsections that Wendy had. The only major difference was when they leaned over or raised their hands over their head, someone got a look at the top of their diaper peeking out over the top of their pants, instead of out the bottom of their dresses or onesies like Wendy and her friends. A few of the taller ones had hints of pink or blue in their disposable underwear; Pull-Ups. But there wasn’t much difference. It was enough to make Wendy feel ashamed and embarrassed. She didn’t even have shoes on. Compared to how she was dressed these one and two year olds were ready to go get their law degrees. How sad that she had reason to be jealous of kids because they got clothing that mostly covered their legs and backsides? While the rest of her class joined her in the communal highchairs, Wendy noticed a couple of grown ups busily mixing formula and taking bottles off of heaters going back and forth into the leftmost room. Quiet, hungry cries just barely made their way out of the door, but it didn’t so much have a baby gate. That must be the room for the babies who couldn’t even move yet. Wendy suddenly didn’t feel quite as sorry for herself. The class now plopped in their bucket seats, and a moment to tie terry bibs around the children’s necks. Miss Jay and Miss Donna started dishing out food into plastic bowls. Tiny, but still steaming bits of pasta.. “Go on!” Miss Jay said. “Eat up. It doesn’t taste as good if you let it get cold!” Wendy felt her mouth start to water just looking at the bowl. Peter’s crawler equivalent dug right in, smearing pasta sauce all over his lips and cheeks. “Careful!” Miss Donna said, her voice full of joy. “Don’t eat too fast!” She pulled the insulated bowl out of reach so that Petey wouldn’t accidentally choke himself. The girl with the body of a two year old and the mental state of a…whatever…was about to follow suit, but she stopped herself. Was plunging in like an animal really the most mature, most big girl grown up thing to do? She was going to get out of here at the end of the day, but she had to make her time here count, just in case. She might be at a daycare, wearing a onesie and a bib and seated in a highchair, but the adage that there are no second chances rang true all the same. She saw Tonya with her mouth open, patiently waiting to be spoon fed. Miss Donna gave the girl a bite and the baby girl ate it up, somehow chewing daintily and smacking her lips at the same time.. “Good girl, Tonya! Eat it all up.” Tonya seemed the height of refinement and Petey the slob. Hedging her bets, Wendy followed suit and opened her mouth wide, ignoring that she could easily reach the bowl in front of her. Miss Jay was quick to notice. “Looks like Wendy needs some help too. Not ready for finger foods.” “Help?” Wendy balked “Not ready?” She would have had a third utterance saved for the grown up’s timely intervention. A plastic spork half speared and scooped up the bit of ravioli and shoveled it into Wendy’s mouth. Her jaw clenched down on it and…and…and… Delicious! Just one bite and Wendy was humming and flapping her arms. Truly, this was the nectar of the gods! She opened her mouth for another bite, not caring that she’d taken a perceived step backwards in her level of care. The only thing that annoyed her was that Miss Donna and Miss Jay dragged the bowl away from her to more easily load the next spoonful from. Right next to her, others got to greedily shovel the tiny cheese-filled bits into their gullets and only got interrupted when Miss Donna or Miss Jay wiped their mouths for them. She lurched forward towards the bowl. “Want! Want! More! Waaaaan!” The grown ups, as was their way, had already made up their mind and so she had to be patient and wait for more spoonfuls of the yummy stuff to be parceled out one at a time. Hers was the last cold bottle of milk to be given out and the biggerer kids were already being herded back for potty time, diaper changes, and naps. A few of the bigger ones had had accidents. That made her feel slightly better. One bawling two year old was led back knowing she was out of panties to wear and would have to wear a diaper for the rest of the day. Wendy could relate. Sucking on the bottle, her teeth started to itch. Wendy ran her tongue along the inside of her mouth. She jumped when she tasted gum where her molars should be. She was losing teeth! Another suck and she felt her canines retract. The inside of her pants crinkled a little less than it should have at that. Her eyes scanned the table and honed in on Morgan and others chattering away, saying nothing. They all had some teeth at the very least, so she needn’t worry about going all gums. That and the pleasant feeling she got from suckling calmed her down. Besides making her tummy and pants fuller, the food was having an additional effect. Wendy droopily put down the ba-ba and let out a yawn bigger than her entire body. One yawn set off a chain reaction that spread through the entire group. Miss Donna and Miss Jay looked at each other knowingly and after clearing the plates and leaving them in a nearby sink off to the side, carried Wendy and her classmates back into the Ladybug Room one at a time. “Here you go, hon.” Miss Donna whispered softly and gently to her. “For nap time.” She reached into Wendy’s cubby and gave the girl a light pink pacifier, it’s bulb now perfectly sized for her mouth, not shrinking or engorging required. Wendy accepted it and started sucking on it as she was laid back down on the changing table, her eyes fighting to stay open while Miss Donna started to change her. Her eyes popped open at the coldness of the wipes, but immediately closed again once the diaper had been replaced and her onesie snapped back up. A cabinet was where all the nap mats were stored and Wendy was more than half-asleep when she was placed on top of the first one and covered in a light blankie. “Night night, baby girl.” The world was hazy in the baby’s vision, her long delicate lashes like fluttering curtains. She caught sight of Miss Donna removing the baby gate. Miss Jay came in with another baby and did the same to them. Then another. Then another. Briefly, Wendy considered escape but just couldn’t find the energy or the willpower to make the attempt. Where would she go? She didn’t know how to get back home from here. She was just a baby… “Nini,” she yawned.

Chapter 3 It was a good four minutes and forty-five seconds before Wendy stopped cackling like a madwoman into her pillow. She’d done it! She’d done it, she’d done it, she’d done it! She looked again at the perfect study guide in her hands, the thing that hadn’t existed until she’d put together that baby puzzle in the universe on the other side of the closet. Wow, that sounded even wilder everytime she so much as thought about it. Wendy was Aladdin with the lamp. She was Frodo with the One Ring. She was Dr. Frankenstein and it was taking everything she had not to crane her neck and shout up to the sky “IT’S ALIVE!” A parallel universe-one where her parents thought she was a baby-right there in her closet. That alone was beyond remarkable. The fact that whatever she did in one seemed to trickle out to the other; that was beyond amazing! “I’ll never have to study again,” she whispered to herself. “I’ll never have to take another test. Tomorrow I can…” She stopped. Never say the best part out loud. Tomorrow was for tomorrow. Today, she could take the whole day for herself: watch television, waste time, literally do whatever she wanted. Laying back on her bed, the law student felt her veins buzzing deep inside her. The rip in between realities wasn’t the only thing that was glowing. To her, this was better than skydiving or white water rafting. For the first time since middle school, Wendy felt like something more than an ex-Gifted kid. She felt on top of the world, and soon would be at the top of her class with no real effort required of her. And all it would cost the girl was her underwear thickening and becoming more than a little crinkly for a couple hours. She looked back into her closet and saw the rip, still glowing, if slightly fainter; more than likely because she was getting used to it. It was kind of like stepping out into the sunlight after spending all day indoors. You squinted, blinked, rubbed your aching eyes, and then got used to it. A knock at the door caught Wendy’s attention. “Come in,” she said. Her mom stepped in. “Hey, Wendy. Busy studying?” Wendy smiled like a cat that had just gorged itself on goldfish and gotten away with it. “Naw. I think I’ve studied as much as I need to. Any more and I’d feel like I was talking to myself. You know?” “Yeah?” Mom said. She took a seat at the foot of Wendy’s bed. “I know how that is. You can only do so much lesson planning before you start working yourself up with butterflies.” Out of politeness, Wendy propped herself up enough to make eye contact with her mother. “Pretty much.” “Absolutely. You should take the day for yourself. Just relax.” “Thanks, Mom.” “Although…” her mother said. Wendy’s mouth got just a tad dryer. “Although…? She had a bad feeling about this. Mom was one of those types for whom enough was never quite enough. “It’s a beautiful day,” Mom said. “Want to go to the park with me? Jog the fitness trail before it gets too hot outside?” Anxiously, Wendy looked down at herself. Her metabolism and diet were at peak performance. She didn’t really need to exercise to maintain her trim physique. She hated sweating, too. Still, going jogging with Mom might be a good way to spend time with her. “Okay...” “Great,” Mom patted Wendy on the ankle. “I’ll go get changed.” Then she lowered the hammer. “While we’re jogging you can explain to me the stuff you’ve been studying.” Alarm bells clattered inside Wendy’s brain. “Hm?” “No better way to learn than by teaching somebody else.” This! This is why Mom wanted to go jogging. It wasn’t Mother/Daughter time as much as it was a pop quiz!. That was so Mom! She left before Wendy had a chance to contradict her or back out of the outing. Wendy was on her feet a moment later, pacing only because she was trying to stop herself from running out shrieking into the hallway. The twenty-two year old felt like she was in her late fifties with her chest tightening from panic and anxiety. As though she were clinging to a life raft, she snatched up the study guide and read over it. It was in her handwriting, but everything she’d written on it was completely foreign to her. She hadn’t remembered writing any of it. Factually, she hadn’t; her parents just remembered her writing it. It had basically popped into existence due to some causal reaction from her tinkering in the closet dimension. The girl nibbled on her bottom lip. “I could just read this while we jog,” she said to herself. No. That wouldn’t work. She could already hear her mother lecturing her: Note reading wasn’t rote memorization and rote memorization wasn’t comprehension. Wendy inhaled. “I don’t even know how much of this is accurate!” The answers could be complete bullshit as far as she knew. In the big scheme of things, her mother embarrassing her and telling her that she needed to spend the rest of the day studying material she clearly hadn’t retained wasn’t the worst thing in the world. In Wendy’s scheme of things, however, it felt like the most damning of castigations. Wendy leaned against her door, and closed her eyes from all the stress she was feeling. “It’s not even gonna matter tomorrow. If I’m right I don’t even have to study.” If she was right… What if the study guide was a fluke? Her eyes opened and she jerked as though she expected a winged viper to fly out and bite her on the face.. Only the faintly glowing rip stared back at her. Perhaps this cause and effect regarding dimensional travel required more study? Ironic since studying (or not) got her into this. No. No. She was putting her foot down. Kind of. Wendy might not be good at memorizing facts, but she could talk circles around her mother when she needed to. “Actually, Mom,” she whispered to herself, “I think I’ll pass on going jogging with you. I had a late night last night, like Daddy...like Dad said and I don’t want to overexert myself.” Almost like a game of chess, she could see the conversation play out from there. Move and Counter Move. “That’s fine. You can tell me about what you’ve learned after your nap,” Wendy said, mimicking her mother as she began walking back and forth in front of her mirror. Then Wendy would feint and go, “It seems like you’re more concerned with checking on my studying than spending time with me.” Mom would reply with something to the effect of “I just want to make sure that you’re ready for tomorrow.” Then Wendy would counter with “Are you going to be in the courtroom for me for my cases?” Her mother would counter with, “You won’t get into any courtrooms if you don’t graduate Law School.” From there it would be less like chess and more like jazz music: Structured improvisation around an ever escalating frame until Wendy pulled out her trump card at the argument’s crescendo. Then she’d say something like, “I’m an adult and I’d appreciate it if you treated me more like one. Or are you going to start quizzing dad about his job, too?” It would de-escalate from there. Mom might resort to pot-shots about who is paying the bills, but that could be disarmed with something along the lines that gratitude is not the same as subservience, and when the offer for her to stay at home was made, no parameters were made where she was required to report directly to her mother. Mother might flimsily counter that no such proviso was added where she couldn’t change the rules, but that could be easily sidestepped by calling her ethics into question: Only Darth Vader and the other great tyrants of pop culture and history changed the terms of an agreement on a whim and told the people under their rule that they should pray that the rules weren’t altered further. From there, the conversation would go back into total predictability, Mom would acquiesce and leave her alone. They’d both walk away with hurt feelings, things would be tense at dinner, and then it’d all blow over in a day or two. Wendy popped over across the hallway and went to the bathroom. Never get into an argument on an empty bladder. She slumped forward on the toilet. She hadn’t even gotten into things with her mom, yet, and already she was feeling exhausted. After wiping, flushing and washing her hands, Wendy heard her father call from the kitchen, “You about ready, honey? Your jogging buddy is almost done!” “Almost!” Both mother and daughter called out in unison, their voices coming from opposite ends of the house and meeting in the middle. “Heh,” Wendy heard Dad chuckle to himself. “Two birds with one stone. I love when that happens.” Wendy braced herself. This. Was going. To be. Unpleasant. She stopped in the hallway and looked back to her room. Should she meet Mom in her parent’s bedroom or her own? Meet halfway and have Dad bear witness? No. That wouldn’t be fair to him. Feeling weary beyond her years, Wendy huffed. She hadn’t even started talking to her mother yet and already she felt exhausted. This would have been so much easier if she were talking to her Mom’s doppelganger; the one on the other side of the closet. That version of Mom had all of the love and affection that this one had, but without the strenuous expectations. Twenty some odd years ago, ‘jogging’ would have just meant jogging. Spending time together. No tests. No nothing. A wonderful idea took root in her brain. “I might not have to go jogging with her either.” Babies didn’t go jogging. Wendy darted back into her bedroom. Quickly, she removed her top long enough to switch out her regular bra for a sports one. “Not sure why I’m doing this,” she muttered. “It’s not like it’s gonna exist on the other side.” If the parallel events on either side of the rip worked like she thought it did, her mother would think she went jogging with her anyway. When she came back afterwards, Wendy might be wearing a sports bra regardless. Best not to make the transition back any more jarring than it had to be. “Just spend long enough over on that side so that Mom remembers me wowing her.” Wendy took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “I get quality time and rest. She gets her wunderkind. Win-win.” Still feeling the glow coming out of the litteral tear in the fabric of reality through her closed eyelids, Wendy found herself hesitating for a moment. Was she really this afraid of confronting her mother she would rather flee to another world and hide back in diapers? For real? No, that wasn’t why she was going back. Avoiding all that arguing was almost a pretext. Deep down, the college girl knew she was looking forward to some more of that undiluted parental love. There was an entire reality to explore, and such moments to experience. Nothing else right now felt as alluring. “Who am I kidding? Bluffing Mom is only half the mission. Testing more of those baby sides of things, that’s the real deal.” Wendy straightened up, feeling her building resolution. “Here...we...go…” Blinding light so intense that she could see it through her eyelids! The sensation lasted no more than two steps before Wendy was sure she was on the other side of the rip. Roller coasters rely on surprise and anticipation. That first heart-pounding drop, or the surprise loop or corkscrew turn; it’s all thrilling, but nothing quite so much as that first trip. Nothing got your pulse racing as much as that first time. Traveling between parallel universes had that in common, Wendy found. She rubbed her eyes and took a survey of her nursery. She’d made it through the portal easily enough. She looked down at herself. “Same nursery.” She looked down past her chest. “Same adult clothes...for now.” She had no doubt in her mind that eventually she’d be back in toddler shorts and frilly shirts. Just like last time it was taking a while to kick in. Good. If she could get through this with as much time out of disposable underwear, so much the better. Wendy had made a kind of calculated peace that her panties wouldn’t be panties over here on this side of the closet. It didn’t mean she was looking forward to that inevitability. She popped open the front of her shorts and stared down at her panties. Feeling silly, she reached down and poked herself. So weird to think that within the hour these would likely be thicker than if she’d balled up and wrapped every article of clothing exclusively around her waist. Mumbled conversation leaked its way through her bedroom door. Mom and Dad- their alternate universe equivalents, rather- were talking in the kitchen. It didn’t sound too charged. Pleasantly excited more than anything. The law student shuddered when she felt her bra melt into the front of her shirt just like last time. It was happening already! She’d been done with her oatmeal and was being carried back to her room last time. Morbidly curious, she walked over to the mirror and watched the little ruffles appear on her shirt as the fabric seemed to dye itself pink. “Huh,” she mused. “Much quicker than before.” The shorts were next. Instead of turning from tan to a light powder view like they had before, they became transparent. Wendy was reminded of that old movie that her parents loved; the one about the time traveling car. Her shorts were fading out of existence just like the main character’s siblings in that photograph. “How? Why-?” This gave Wendy a front row seat for watching her panties thicken and bulge out into a giant disposable diaper. Elmo was on the front, smiling from the landing zone with colorful zig zags going all over her nether regions. The number near the landing zone, just barely covered up by the sides indicated that it was supposed to be a Size 3. In reality it was probably closer to a Size 7 or 8. Did they even make diapers that big? It covered all the right places, modesty wise. Wendy had worn bathing suits that showed more skin. That fact didn’t stop the girl from turning almost as pink as her babyish top. She really did look like an overgrown infant like this; a toddler at best, and that was stretching it. Again, she poked down at the portrait of elmo and felt the thickness of the padding between her finger and skin. She inhaled and caught a whiff of what might have been baby powder. Or maybe it was perfume. Some diapers were perfumed, right? Wendy didn’t know. She’d had exactly one surprise period before she got her mother to teach her how to insert a tampon, and she had absolutely no interest in babies before this. Absorbent padding in all of its forms was downright alien to her. Worlds collided in her mind. Some people’s worst recurring nightmare was being naked in class. After today, Wendy had the sneaking suspicion her embarrassment dream would involve standing in front of a judge wearing nothing but a pink t-shirt and a big fluffy diaper. It felt about the same as it had underneath her shorts. Seeing it there in the mirror, as her first layer of clothing made it different; more real. “What happened to my shorts?” Still, as the shock wore off, she had to admit- if only to herself- she looked kind of cute. She turned to the side and stuck her butt out a little. Blushing, she put a finger in her mouth, trying to look innocent. The girl in the mirror looked absolutely adorable! She turned all the way around and looked over her shoulder and wiggled her hips; watching as well as hearing the enlarged diaper as every movement became exaggerated. She turned back and pressed her pointer fingers into her cheeks, giving herself dimples. Pretending to be shy, she pulled down the hem of her shirt and looked down at her feet, looking like a naughty little girl who’d broken a vase or something. She toyed with the idea of just plopping on the floor, legs spread wide and sucking her thumb. How would she look then? Kind of cute, she bet. More than ‘kind of’ cute. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad once she got used to it. “Okay, baby!” Mom opened the door. Correction: It was ‘Closet Mommy’, this universe’s version of her mother. Reflexively, Wendy’s hands shot down beneath her waist. She wasn’t used to it! Definitely not used to it! Had she been wearing panties, she would have been better able to conceal them with her body. Bend over, squeeze her knees together, and spread her hands out to obfuscate the entirety of her underwear. This universe’s underwear made all of the above much more difficult. The sides and back bulged and bunched out so that bending in any way just left an angle exposed; she couldn’t really close her legs all the way, and had to spread her feet out just to angle her knees so that they barely touched, not to mention her dainty hands were not even close to the task of covering the entirety of the diaper’s front side. Of course, had she been in just her underwear, she might not have reacted that way to her Mom walking in on her. It was just underwear. Did diapers count as underwear? The would-be lawyer in her couldn’t help but wonder alongside her blushy embarrassment and panic. “EEP!” She squeaked. “Mom! Private!” Mommy didn’t seem to hear her, or at least made no effort to fix it. “Ready to go for a jog with Mommy?” In one fell swoop, she scooped Wendy off her feet and onto her hip. Wendy’s feet and arms wrapped around the only-slightly older woman’s waist and shoulder. In hindsight being picked up by her father hadn’t overly startled Wendy. Howard Merts was still bigger and stronger than either his wife or his daughter. It wasn’t all that jarring or unbelievable that he could toss her over his shoulder or carry her on his hip; especially not one that had been de-aged over two decades. Jody Merts, by contrast, was of an almost identical body type to Wendy, and her ‘Closet Mommy’ variation seemed even more like Wendy’s slightly older sister. Yet it seemed just as easy and natural for her to pick Wendy up off the floor. “Oh wow,” Mommy said. “Somebody’s getting heavy!” “You have no idea,” Wendy replied, knowing that it wouldn’t be properly understood. “Whatchoo doin’?” Closet Mommy cooed. “Whose ‘dat baby? Whose ‘dat baby?” She didn’t seem to notice or care that Wendy’s face was pink enough to be mistaken for a sunburn. Unconsciously, Wendy shifted her weight in her other mother’s arms. With equal automaticity, Closet Mommy shifted Wendy and patted her bottom. “Hmm? She looked at Wendy’s diaper and twisted her mouth. “Howard!” she called. “Come in here, I’ve got to tell you something!” Closet Daddy sauntered in, casually. “What’s up?” “You forgot to put her shorts back on again,” Mommy said. Back on? A lightbulb clicked in Wendy’s brain. She’d gone to the bathroom before crossing over. Had that translated to her getting her diaper changed over on this side of the rip? “It’s a nice day out,” Daddy shrugged. “I know I wouldn’t wear pants if I could get away with it.” “No shoes, either.” “She’s gonna be in the stroller most of the time. Let her wiggle her toes.” Daddy smirked. “I know you said she’s a whiz at walking, but you’re not gonna make her jog with you? I don’t think she’s quite ready for that.” He smiled, warmly. “Did you really just call me in here because I didn’t put her clothes back on after changing?” Mommy looked back in the mirror. “Oh yeah. No, I didn’t.” She placed Wendy back on the carpet and stood back up. “Remember when I told you about her walking earlier?” “Yeah?” Daddy seemed dubious. “I just came in,” Mommy gushed, “and you won’t believe who I saw staring at her reflection in the mirror!” Daddy guffawed. “No kidding!” “She was standing up, too! All by herself!” “I believe it,” Daddy said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Ten months isn’t too young to start walking.” “It’s not,” Mommy agreed, “but it’s still incredibly early. Very top percentile. And I swear she was looking at herself in the mirror. That isn’t supposed to happen until at least fifteen months! That’s super advanced!” Even here, her mother was helicopter parenting and getting excited that her daughter was ‘advanced’. “Really?” Wendy rolled her eyes. At least on this side of the rip she could meet those expectations. “Come on,” Mommy cooed. “Show Daddy! Stand up! Stand up!” She made a raising motion with her hands. “You can do it.” Wendy rolled over onto her hands and knees. She could do it. Easily. She made to gather her legs up under her and push herself up And stopped. A terrible thought occurred to her: Putting together that baby puzzle so fast had resulted in her real parents thinking she was a super whiz. It might be easy to meet expectations for a ten month old, but what would that mean for her later that day when she was twenty-two again? Best to play it safe. She jerked her head upward and rocked back on her knees a little bit; doing her best impression of a child who had seen standing up but hadn’t gotten the hang of it. Closet Mommy looked disappointed. “She was doing it just a minute ago. Maybe if I move her to her crib? Give her something to pull-up on.” “She’s not even one and already you’re talking about Pull-Ups.” Daddy joked. “Howard…” For good measure, Wendy took the time to crawl away from her crib straight into the middle of the floor. Let them see her crawling. Let them be comfortable with her crawling. Closet Daddy put his hand on Closet Mommy’s shoulder. “I know you’re excited,” he said. “I am too. But it’s perfectly natural for kids her age to get things on accident, and then go back. Two steps forward, one crawl back, or something like that. Nobody learns in a straight line; especially not babies.” Mommy sighed. “You’re right.” “As usual.” “Don’t push it.” It didn’t stop Mommy from smiling. She stepped over to Wendy and picked the girl back up. “I’m sorry, baby. Mommy didn’t mean to pressure you,” she gave her a kiss on the forehead. “You do you in your own time. No rush. We’ll practice later, but it’ll be at your own pace.” One universe or another, Jody Merts was still Jody Merts. “Now about her pants…” “Let her enjoy being a baby,” Daddy said. “She only gets to do it once.” If only he knew the irony of that statement. Perhaps it was best that he didn’t... Mommy looked back to the not-so-little girl in her arms and back to her husband. “It’s a good thing you’re both so cute and I don’t want to put pants back on a wiggly baby.” She gave him a peck on the lips and then strolled over to Wendy. “Come on, sugar booger,” she said. “Let’s go for a walk.” Finally! “Say bye bye to Daddy, Wendy.” “Bye, Daddy,” Wendy said. Mommy reached across and grabbed Wendy by the wrist. “Bye bye, Daddy,” she said in a cutesy high pitched voice, as if speaking for ‘Baby’ Wendy. “See you after our walk.” Wendy found her hand being waved for her. Daddy gave both of them a kiss. Mommy again on the lips, and Wendy on the cheek. “I slipped the diaper bag in the back of the stroller and parked it in front.” “Thank you, dear.” “Of course.” Daddy replied. Mommy didn’t reply, though Wendy sensed it had more to do with letting him get the last word in than out of anything remotely resembling negative vibes. The garage door was open, and the stroller was already parked out in the driveway facing the street. Daddy had definitely done prep work. The only thing Wendy gained from being taken outside via the garage was a free peek inside Mommy’s car and the absolutely gigantic baby seat in the back of it. The stroller itself was a jogging stroller, shiny black with a hot pink trim on the sides and cushions.There was a canopy overhead, but the reclined ramp for the legs stuck out in the sun. By Wendy’s reckoning, it was only slightly bigger than a regular stroller, and functionally was a modified wheelchair, or an infantilized version of something that a disabled person might sit in. If it were to scale up completely, Wendy reckoned, her Mommy wouldn’t be able to reach the handlebar to push her. Same with the carseat. How’d anybody fit that behemoth in there? This version of her mother wasn’t a middle aged greying school teacher. She was practically in her prime. She looked to be in her late twenties, early thirties at most. Wendy did some mental math. Twenty-nine. If everything was to scale, her mom was twenty-nine. Point being even a twenty-nine year old woman couldn’t fit that giant car seat in there. Even if it were as light to her as Wendy the darn thing looked too bulky to squeeze in. It was a matter of volume. Not weight. “Maybe not everything grows.” Wendy murmured to herself. Then she remembered how the pack of diapers her mom had brought in had started off as Size 3, then ballooned out to fit her. Technically she was still wearing Size 3 if the number on the diaper’s front could be believed. “Maybe the baby stuff grows just enough to fit me when I’m here and..shrinks when I’m gone?” “That’s right,” Mommy cooed. “We’re goin’ on a jog!” Closet Mommy was less adept at sussing out what Wendy said than her male counterpart. This might have been a blessing of sorts, since the next few words out of Wendy’s mouth were the kind of thing that her real Mom would definitely have scolded her for at the very least. A jogger, an attractive one too, had run right across their path, and Wendy instinctively kicked and cussed in a futile attempt not to be seen in just a shirt and diaper. She wasn’t seen, however. Or rather, she wasn’t noticed. The jogger didn’t even turn his head to the side. To everyone, not just her parents, Wendy was just another infant. And as this universe’s equivalent of her father said, who cared if someone saw a baby in just their diaper? “Oh you always get so excited when you see your stroller,” Mommy cooed to her while she buckled Wendy in. Wendy exhaled and leaned back in the stroller and her Mommy’s legs disappeared out of view. The stroller started moving. “Just a baby here,” she told herself. “That’s it. Nothing to worry about. Back in the real world, I’m going jogging with my mother. This is the same thing,” she looked again at the Pampers she was wearing, “Only different.” Experimentally, she poked at the release button on the stroller’s harness. It was big and bright and red; impossible to miss. “Hmm…” she said when it didn’t move. She’d tapped it lightly enough, not wanting to accidentally unbuckle herself, but the button didn’t so much as wiggle. She pushed down harder. The big red circle between her legs didn’t so much as indent. Even harder, she tried again and got nothing. It was almost as if the release didn’t exist and someone had painted a red dot on solid tempered steel to make her think there was a button there. Her hands slid up to the latch buckle over her chest. Silently, she grunted trying to press down on the release, pinching at the tops and bottoms to cause the harness to separate. She got nothing for her trouble behind slightly aching fingers. Interesting. Evidently, the equipment was sturdy enough so that she could only interact with it on the level that an actual ten-month old child could. It made sense, in a way. It wouldn’t do to have a crib that she couldn’t tilt over or a changing table that collapsed under her weight. Curiosity sated for the moment, Wendy leaned back in her stroller and absorbed everything going on around her. With the sidewalk zooming past along her periphery, slowly, Wendy started taking in her surroundings. She knew this route. It led to a park with a decent fitness trail and a playground for little kids. It was only about half a mile from their house. The trip would be even easier now that Wendy didn’t have to walk. The same houses that had been part of the background of her life went by. Same birdbaths. Same yards. Same street corners. Everything was the same, save for her and her parents. “Hi Jody!” A neighbor waved. “Good day for a jog with the little one!” “You bet, Kristen!” Mommy said. “Gotta lose that baby weight somehow!” “Have a good one! I’m out here in the weeds. Maybe I’ll see you on your way back.” “Maybe! Ta-ta!” Remembering breakfast, Wendy started taking mental notes. Both her real and her Closet Mommy had gone grocery shopping first thing in the morning and for a jog soon after. Her father remembered having instant oatmeal for breakfast with her, even if she remembered it as her Daddy playing silly games with her in her high chair. It stood to reason that when she got back, Mom would remember the neighbors, passerby and such on her and Mommy’s stroller trip. “Mommy?” Wendy called out. She got no response. “Mommy?” she called again. Only the light grinding sound of rubber on pavement and the pounding of Closet Mommy’s jogging footsteps came in reply. “Mommy!” Wendy kicked her feet bare, making the stroller jiggle beneath her. Finally, the stroller slowed to a stop, and Mommy peered around the front. “Yes, Wendy?” “Who was that?” Wendy thumbed back. “The neighbor? That you talked to? Working on her garden?” Best to find out now and hope she was a better study in this situation than in Law School. “Hold on, cupcake,” Closet Mommy said. When she came back around, she was already nose down in the diaper bag looking for something. “Your father just changed you,” she said. “And he fed you breakfast. It’s still kind of hot out... So….,” she produced a bottle of apple juice. “Thirsty?” Wendy wasn’t thirsty. Not at all. Yet her throat felt incredibly parched seeing the bottle of amber liquid slosh around in her Mommy’s hand. Or more accurately, her tongue desperately craved the sweet stuff spread upon it and the pleasurable sensation of it sliding down her throat. She reached forward and the younger version of her mother met her more than halfway. “Good girl! Drink up.” Wendy grabbed the bottle and stared at it like it was a Rubik’’s Cube. Even that metaphor fell short for the ex-Gifted kid; she’d know where to start on a Rubik’s Cube. It had been decades since she’d last drank from a baby bottle; so far back that she didn’t actually remember. Not that she needed instructions, it was literally so easy a baby could do it. It just seemed so...foreign to her. Gingerly she slid the rubber nipple between her lips, taking a moment to half-chew the teat just to see what it felt like. She kept adjusting her hands, too, trying to get comfortable. Should she hold her hands parallel to each other or stack them along the edge of the bottle like she was playing a clarinet? Should she just hold it one handed and let the other arm droop to the side? In a way it was less about the mechanics of the thing and more about getting comfortable with it, like slowly wading into a pool. The first genuine pull on the nipple was like cannonballing into the deep end! Just one squirt of sweet sweet juice made her shudder in surprise. In spite of herself, Wendy let out a nervous giggle. What was she so worried about? It was just a baby bottle! She didn’t know whether to feel sillier for her hesitation or at her feeling of accomplishment once she’d taken a sip from it. Soon enough, she’d gotten over herself and was drinking in earnest. A few more sucks, and the law student managed to work up a steady rhythm. Greedily her mouth gulped the delicious juice down without hesitation as though it had suckled all its life. It had an oddly calming effect on her. Meanwhile her eyes scanned the horizon and periphery, looking at neighbors and strangers. Speaking of ‘strange’, Wendy thought it passingly odd that there were no other giant babies. No twenty-something’s in Huggies or teenagers being swaddled up. No people who looked like her Mommy or Daddy in Easy-Ups. The package of diapers she’d seen had a picture of a regular baby on it, not one that looked like her. It might make sense, in that case, if she was the only baby her size here. She was the only person from the real world in this place; she was the intruder. If the reality she’d come from was the real world? What did that make this one? Her dream world? Her fantasy world? Such an admittance left a taste in her mouth that even the apple juice couldn’t cover up. Was this a bizarre form of time travel or something? That still didn’t feel right. ‘Closet Universe’ would have to do. “Hi Jody!” “Hi Nick.” Evidently, the jogger that had made Wendy squirm in the driveway was named Nick. He’d stopped jogging. They’d caught up. “Lookin’ good, you two.” Sweaty and red faced he bent over and looked the babied girl in the eye. “Hey, Wendy!” “Hi Mistuh Nick,” Mommy answered for her in a childish lisp and falsetto. The jogger stood up. “You are in great shape,” he said, indicating the stroller. “Especially pushing that.” “Natural weight training,” the younger version of her mother said. “Sort of. You know.” “Gotta get me one of those,” he panted, hands resting on his knees. “Seems like great conditioning.” “If you ever wanna take a turn,” Mommy joked, “just let me know. I’ll let you borrow her for an hour.” “I might take you up on that offer.” “Okay. But it’s only for a limited time. Wendy here toddled off to her bedroom so fast that I thought she was a tiny sprinter.” Wendy finished draining the bottle of apple juice. “How old are you anyway?” she asked the jogger. This was born out of curiosity of multiple types. “And are you seeing anyone?” If he looked like this in the real world, he might be worth getting to know. “See what I mean?” Closet Mommy said to the jogger. “Babies make great personal trainers. If the stroller stays still too long they let you know. The stroller started picking up speed again. “See you around Nick!” “You too, Jody!” And with that the exchange was done. Pure fluff disguised as human interaction. For something often referred to as ‘small talk’ it was the biggest people who tended to make it the most. Wendy didn’t have to wait much longer to get to where Closet Mommy was taking her. There at the top of a hill, about half a mile away from her house, stood the park. It was a quaint little suburban thing. The perimeter was surrounded by a cool white metal fence arranged to look like the idealistic wooden white picket. It was short enough that anyone older than six or seven could peer over it with ease. Most adults could likely hop the fence in one go if they were even moderately athletic or properly motivated. The fence was mostly for aesthetics, if anything. That and to keep wandering toddlers penned in. The catch lever on the front entrance meant that anyone could hypothetically go inside the playground. To get out, an adult would have to reach over from the inside and pull the lever again to make the gate swing open. “Adult” was something of an overstatement. That playground had been around for a long time, and Wendy had been able to reach the latch from the inside since she was six or seven by standing on her tiptoes. Of course, she’d quickly lost interest in the playground by the time she was six or seven. That playground wasn’t built with elementary schoolers in mind. Amongst the grass and mulch scattered around, most of the play equipment was designed with children too young to be Kindergarteners in mind: Rainbow colored spring ponies, swings with baby bucket seats, crawl tunnels, sand boxes, and balance beams that were no more than an inch off the ground. The large tic-tac-toe board made of bright blue steel pipes and yellow cylinders that rotated based on whether a player wanted an X or an O got more use because little kids liked spinning things than anyone wanting to play an outdoor version of a scratch paper game. The most ‘grown-up’ piece of equipment was a purple jungle gym with a firepole, several ladders, and monkey bars. Even then, it was low enough that Wendy could likely pull herself up to the top of the gym with just a slight running start. Anyone whose age was in the double digits had no business on that playground lest they were babysitting. That’s why the fence was so short. It was designed not to keep adults out but to keep curious wandering toddlers and babies in. Wendy thought of her enlarged not-quite-undies and wondered, “If I walked over to the fence, would it get taller?” She was going to get the chance to find out. “We’re heeeeere,” Mommy sang, interrupting her reverie. “Ready to play?” “Play?” On any other day in any other reality, Wendy and her mother would have made the jog this far, and then her mother, frustratingly competitive, would have them run along the red dirt fitness trail, stopping only to use the exercise equipment. The playground near the beginning of the trail was more of a landmark than any kind facility Wendy was meant to use. Under normal circumstances it served as a marker. Seeing it once meant that the run was about to start in earnest. Seeing it twice meant the park trail was looping back around and the run was almost over. Under normal circumstances it wasn’t the reason Wendy or her mother came to this place. Under normal circumstances, people didn’t think Wendy wasn’t quite a year old. Speaking of one-year-olds, Wendy wasn’t the only baby at the playground, but she was easily the biggest. Toddlers and preschoolers chased each other around a slide, giggling at the thrill of pursuit. “Mommy! Mommy! Look at me! Look at me!” A woman on a metal bench sat with a little blob of a newborn in her lap. “I’m looking! I’m looking!” she called back to her preschooler. “Very good Emily! Looks super fun!” “It is!” A few regarded the bigger than average stroller and its occupant’s approach, but just like with the jogger or the neighbors along the way, it was more of an unconscious reaction to movement on their periphery than seeing anything wrong. “I know how much you love the playground!” Mommy chriped. Wendy inhaled sharply. Logically, Wendy knew, no one would think anything would be weird about her showing up dressed as she was. Logically, Wendy shouldn’t have been in this situation to begin with. “Hm? No. That’s okay, Mommy. You can run on the trail. I’ll just stay here and you can push-” Diaper bag slung confidently over her shoulder, Closet Mommy kept right on unbuckling Wendy out of the stroller. She had no trouble at all working the harness and buckles. The releases seemed downright flimsy and user friendly compared to Wendy’s earlier attempt. “Let’s go, babykins!” Inhumanly powerful hands scooped Wendy up under the armpits and swung her out into the grass. “Let’s play!” Staring down at her feet, she wiggled her toes and took a step forward. She’d barely made it five steps when she heard her other mother exclaim! “Awww! You’re doing it! You’re doing it! That’s my girl!” “Shit!” Wendy cursed. She’d forgotten she was supposed to be a crawler! Remembering herself, she splayed her arms out and started wobbling her knees, like she was pretending she was on a highwire and losing her balance. “Whoah-whoah-whoah!” she feigned. The girl inhaled and closed her eyes. All she’d have to do is buckle her knees and let gravity and the pillow strapped to her hips do the rest. She could even just lower herself to the ground fast, keeping one leg beneath her and use her hands to cushion her fall even more. A pair of impossibly strong hands caught her beneath the armpits instead. Her Closet Mommy’s incredibly fast reaction time and strength stopped her planned pratfall. “Ooops! Your little sprint back home might have tuckered your little leg muscles out.” “Yeah,” Wendy grumbled. “Sure. Let’s go with that.” Wendy huffed. This wasn’t nearly as bad as her regular mother. Still off putting. “Or maybe the ground is a little uneven,” her mother said. “Doesn’t matter! Mommy’s got ya.” Wendy sighed and braced herself, ready to be picked up and carried again. Instead her wrists were gently grabbed and sent skyward. “Come on. You can do this, baby!” The young lady’s nostrils flared. Even on this side of the rip, her mother was trying to control everything. At least this would mean that her mother would remember having a perfectly average conversation on their jog back in the real world. “Okay. Fine.” Like a puppet with its strings cut, Wendy tromped forward, throwing all of her weight into each foot step, practically throwing herself to the ground. She had to sell the idea that she lacked the balance, coordination or muscle tone to keep herself standing. Mommy added to the effect. Not letting her go, and still holding her up, gently by the wrists. Wendy took another step. And another. And another. “Heh.” Wendy laughed. “Heh. Heheh!” The giggles started coming more freely. The excitement and happy feelings were starting to come with it. In a weird way it was kind of fun. She was getting to throw all of her weight around and it was having zero impact. “That's a girl!” Mommy cheered. “There we go! You’re doing it! You’re walking!” “Look!” The woman with the newborn in her lap pointed. “That baby’s learning to walk! That’ll be you someday. Just like your big sister.” Wendy sucked on her lips so hard, she felt her face practically implode. The woman pointing at her hammered home again exactly how she was dressed and what she looked like. It was a young mother, too. Maybe only a year or so older than Wendy herself. Even more so than the attractive jogger, it was a reminder that Wendy should be changing diapers if she was thinking about them at all, not wearing them. “Let me go! Let me go!” Wendy said, trying to drop all of her weight down to the ground. Had to crawl! Had to crawl! She could look smaller if she crawled. Picking up would be better, though. She could use her mother’s arms as a kind of shield. “Pick me up! Pick me up!” The ground came away from her feet, and Wendy was back comfortably on Mommy’s hip. “Better?” Mommy asked. “Better.” Clearly, Mommy didn’t need a response. Wendy just hugged the woman with all her might, as if afraid she might slip and plummet to her doom dozens of inches below. “Okay, baby!” Closet Mommy said. “You’re fine. You’re fine. Poor little thing’s legs must be getting tuckered out.” She clung to Mommy as if the playground were an ocean, the young mother with the preschooler and newborn was a shark, and the de-aged version of her mother was the single liferaft. “Thank you,” Wendy mumbled, grimacing as the rustle of the Pampers filled her ears like the crunching of potato chips. “Okay, baby! Okay! You’re fine!” Mommy soothed. “You did such a good job! Such a good job! Let’s do the slide!” “Yeah,” Wendy nodded. “The slide. Nice, boring slide.” The fact that it was on the other side of the playground figured more into Wendy’s internal calculus than how much she’d enjoy it. In that moment, Wendy needed distance, quiet, and relief, more than she needed enjoyment. Wendy was carried off to a toddler slide, bright yellow and made of thick sturdy plastic. The universe seemed to hold a magnifying glass up to it as they approached. It was more than just perspective, Wendy was sure, that made the baby slide seem to inflate upon approach. Like her stroller, it was bigger than the normal fair, coming up to Mommy’s shoulder, but not so much as to dwarf the adults. This universe’s natural accomodation for her size made exact scaling impossible. If her crib and changing table back in her nursery were as big to her as a regular baby’s, they’d dwarf the parents too. Instead, things got just big enough to where they’d fit and accommodate. Her crib. Her changing table. Her nursery. Wendy shook the thoughts out of her mind. “I guess that answers my question about the fence…” “Okay,” Mommy said, setting Wendy back down on her feet. “Let’s try climbing.” Wendy huffed. “Really?” Mommy placed Wendy’s hands on the slide’s ladder railing. “Go for it sugar, booger. Try it!” Still pushing. Always pushing. “Don’t worry, you won’t fall. Mommy will catch you.” The law student sighed to herself, and lifted her leg. One thing that had scaled decently was the size of the steps. Whomever had designed this slide didn’t want little feet getting caught in the rungs, and Wendy had to compensate by lifting her knee almost past her waist for each rung. Her movements were slow, deliberate, and exaggerated, just like a real baby. The light papery crinkle coming from beneath her with every rung she climbed didn’t make her feel any more grown-up. “I’m glad none of my friends can see this.” “Up-up-up!” Mommy cheered, giving Wendy a tiny nudge on her bottom. “That’s a girl!” Wendy finished climbing the slide and sat down at the top. “Fine. I’m on the stupid slide,” she whined. On the plus side, the railings on the slide were high enough that no one could tell that she wasn’t wearing any pants from the side. Anyone from behind or front could plainly see what she was and wasn’t wearing, however. Best not to think about that, she concluded. Closet Mommy wasn’t done. She went to the extra trouble of reaching up and positioning Wendy’s hands so that they were gripping the railing.. “Now hold on tight while Mommy runs around.” Wendy blew air out her lips like, flapping them like a horse as the younger version of her mother trotted around to the bottom of the slide. The woman’s eyes never left Wendy. “Come on, sweety! Push!” She bent her knees and squatted, almost like a catcher at a baseball game; or someone preparing themselves to catch a cannonball “You can do it! Mommy’s got you. Come to Mommy!” It was just a slide. A plastic ramp with a few wavy dips in it. Super easy, barely an inconvenience. But for the less than two seconds it took for her to skid down the slide, Wendy felt a rush greater than anything she could remember. ‘WOOOOOOOOOOO!” She skidded, with the wind in her hair, plummeting safely into her Mommy’s arms! “What?! The fudge?! Was that?!” Safely down at the bottom of the slide, she looked back over her shoulder at the top of the slide. Even scaled up slightly there was no way, no rational explanation as to why Wendy should feel as stupidly giddy as she did right now. She’d felt calmer, more bored, getting off rides at Disney! She’d never done serious drugs, but Wendy didn’t think she was far off the mark if she drew parallels to cocaine or speed. How in the hell...? Closet Mommy asked the question that Wendy had secretly hoped she’d ask. “Do you wanna do it again?” “Heck yes I do!” Wendy shrieked. For once Mommy understood. “Sounds like a yes to me!” The thrill didn’t diminish the second time. Nor the third. Nor the fourth. It was so addictive that she momentarily forgot she was supposed to be embarrassed. Enough so that she had to tense and restrain herself to climb the ladder ‘like a baby’ and let her mother carry her back around to the beginning after she plummeted safely to the ground. The law of diminishing returns wasn’t applying in his instance. It was the perfect mix of certain death and perfect safety. Not so perfect that Wendy didn’t want to experiment. “WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” Closet Mommy had just placed Wendy at the top of the slide and let go when Wendy had decided to fling herself down once more, this time without Mommy at the bottom Her emotions spiked, her legs kicked in excitement. Her thoughts managed to steady herself. As expected, the worst that happened was that Wendy went careening harmlessly down the slide and landed butt first in the grass, her oversized padding doing more than enough to cushion the fall. She really could have pulled off that pratfall. The sudden rush, the minute free fall and millisecond of airtime really added something to the experience, too. So pleased was she that Wendy let out a self satisfied titter. “Again!” WOOMF! Wendy was bowled over sideways, her ears ringing, her face planted in the sod and starting to tear up. She felt like she’d just been hit with a truck. “Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!” A high pitched little voice squealed apologies at her. “Sorry little baby!” She pushed herself back up, more stunned than anything, and her eyes followed the voice. A chubby faced little boy with curly brown hair- couldn’t have been older than four-kept apologizing profusely to her. “Sorry! Sorry! I’m sorry!” “Wendy!” Closet Mommy shrieked. She was on her knees and wrapping Wendy up in a hug not half a second later. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” She started brushing off bits of dirt out of Wendy’s hair, and checking her for cuts and bruises like an ace paramedic. “I…I…” Wendy stuttered. “I don’t know…?” Another woman, the preschooler’s mother, dashed up. “Brennan! I told you you need to be careful and look where you’re going. You could have hurt this little girl!” She made eye contact with Mommy. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. Is she hurt?” Mommy picked Wendy back up and finished dusting the girl off. The right side of her shirt was more than a bit smudged, but otherwise she was clean. “I think she’s just a little stunned, is all,” the strong woman replied. A little stunned was underselling how Wendy felt. She was more than a little stunned. Physically she felt like she’d been sucker punched by a professional boxer. Intellectually she was completely rattled. How had a child done that to her? He was literally small enough that Wendy was taller than him propped up on her knees. If she put her hand on top of his head, the kid’s arms wouldn’t manage to reach her face. But he’d plowed over her like he was a Great Dane and her head was just starting to stop spinning. “It’s not just my parents who are stronger than me,” Wendy said to herself. “It’s not even just the adults…” The conversation continued without her. “Brennan, did you say you’re sorry?” The child hung his head in practiced shame. “Yes ma’am.” “It’s true,” Closet Mommy said. “I heard him. It was just an accident.” She nuzzled Wendy. “Someone went down the slide without waiting for Mommy to catch her, too!” her voice took on that squeaky cutesy motherese quality. “No harm done, then.” The other mother said. Closet Mommy gave Wendy an extra hug. “No harm done.” She punctuated the moment by giving her daughter a kiss on the forehead. “Hugs and kisses. Hugs and kisses. Make the baby feel all better.” Quite suddenly, Wendy did start to feel better. Her breathing was slowing and her nerves became less frayed. This kind of cuddly, hugging, kissing, unabashed unconditional affection wasn’t something that her mother normally did. Not in a long time. To be fair to her mother, women didn’t normally kiss their twenty-something’s boo-boos. Maybe they should, though. Sometimes kissing boo-boos really did make things better. Wendy waited for the two figures in the distance to retreat. She didn’t want them to feel bad for what she was about to ask. “Mommy,” Wendy started to whine. “I think I wanna go back-” “Do you wanna go on the swings?” Wendy twisted around in her younger mother’s arms and took the swingset in. By her assessment, there was a nearly zero chance that any rowdy kids would accidentally bulldoze her. It looked safe. More to the point, the other babies-the real babies-seemed to be enjoying themselves. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah. Alright.” This might have been a good thing as the younger, fitter version of her mother had already started walking over to the swing set. “I can tell someone is gonna like the swings! Yes she will! Yes she will!” Positioned as she was on her mother’s hip, Wendy got a good look at the retreating slide shrinking as she was carried away from it. The curly haired boy had gotten over the accident as quickly as Wendy and was back to playing. By the time little Brennan started climbing the slide, it was a mountain that even a three year old could scale with ease. Conversely, the nearest empty bucket seat seat on the swingset seemed to engorge itself upon approach, the seat widening while the chains thickened and shortened themselves. In no time at all, Wendy found herself threaded into a bucket seat harness with a chain just short enough that her feet didn’t touch the ground. She couldn’t remember the last time she sat in anything with her feet dangling so. Maybe at a carnival or theme park? The giant suspended swing rides came to mind, but this felt different to her. Those rides seemed big. This just made the young woman feel awfully small. She wondered how her real mother would remember today. Would there be memories of a harmless collision with a fellow jogger on one of the exercise equipment, or just of a normal pass through the fitness trail? After all, babies falling over each other while on the playing ground was nothing out of the ordinary, if not even expected. Evidently, not every event translated perfectly from one world to the other. The lines were blurry, and the finer details easily lost in translation. “Well,” Wendy said, looking down at herself “at least something’s covering my diaper.” It didn’t, not really. Now, it just looked like she was wearing one made of black leather. Even then, the little edges of her Pampers peeked out of all the edges. Wendy’s quips lasted only as long as it took Mommy. “Here. We. Go!” It was gentle, truth be told. She didn’t go more than a few feet away before reaching the apex of her first push, but in the moment Wendy felt like she was having the most fun humanly possible without threatening cardiac arrest! The first of many giggling screams rocketed out of the back of her throat just in time. With every swing, she found herself weightless for a split second, her center of gravity shifting inside the bulky seat and in her shirt. With every swing, the sense of impending fall came back renewed, fresh and intact no matter how many times it had just been fulfilled. With every swing, she was still enough to cast a look down at her surroundings. Save for the very end, the slide had been something of a roller coaster. Being pushed by Mommy was just this side of bungee jumping. Between spurts of excited chortling, Wendy started to greedily catalog the various bits of playground equipment. The simple push merry-go-round might feel like a high speed tilt-a-whirl. The spring ponies might replicate the rush of the Kentucky Derby as far as this universe was concerned. She was probably too little to effectively make use of the teeter totter... She’d been thinking too small, Wendy decided. She could do more than bypass awkward conversations with her mother and make study guides. She could also get the rush of a theme park without having to pay a dime in either gas money or admission. Double the rush, actually. These sensations never seemed to quell down. No wonders playing toddlers always seem to run on stimulants. Throwing her hands up to the sky, Wendy crowed “I’m Queen of the…” The swing backed up and Wendy felt the gentle yet strong palms of her mother’s hands on her back. . “Woooooorld?!” The last word came out as a piercing shriek. Closet Mommy had started off slow and easy, but had built herself into a rhythm. Comparative inhuman strength, and Wendy’s own momentum sent her flying into the atmosphere; or so it felt. More than the scream came out of Wendy on that push. From down below, Wendy felt a little trickle of urine spilled out. Shock and excitement compounded with surprise so that Wendy lost control and started wetting her pants. What began as a spurt became a trickle. Muscles relaxed and released and the trickle became a full steady stream. And all of it was happening below the waist. “Wah! I’m peeing!” Quickly, very quickly, Wendy felt her seat become wet and soaking as her bladder emptied itself and her Pampers filled. “Mommy!” she shrieked. “I peed! I peed!” She’d barely felt it start, and had been too shocked to try and stop it. At three whole pushes on the swing, the whole ordeal had both been relatively quick and excruciatingly long. “Yay! Baby loves the swings! It’s her favorite part! Isn’t it?” Something clicked in Wendy’s brain. She’d peed her pants, pissed herself, wet her diaper...and nobody noticed or cared. Oh yeah. As far as the people at the park were concerned there was nothing to be embarrassed about. Peeing themselves is just what ten-month-olds did. That’s why diapers were invented in the first place. More importantly, despite her accident bringing her mood down, the swing was as thrilling as before. The diaper was doing a fair job of soaking up the moisture, too. A few more pushes and Wendy realized she didn’t notice the wet feeling unless she actively thought about it. Wet pants? No one cares? Thrill ride swing set? Fair trade. “Does baby love the swings?” Mommy repeated. “Uh-huh!” Like a drunk in the bathroom, Wendy had looked down at herself, taken a mental inventory of everything around her and realized that she didn’t care overmuch at how embarrassed she should be. There didn’t seem to be enough brain time available to handle both her accident and the massive surge of dopamine the swing was giving her. Within two minutes of her accident she was completely over her embarrassment. As long as her normal mother didn’t remember her peeing her pants, everything would be fine. Chances are this would just be remembered as a bathroom break. Just as Wendy was feeling like she’d gotten the swing of things-pun intended-another unexpected wrinkle presented itself. “Hi Mrs. Merts,” an unfamiliar woman said. Wendy jolted a little at the voice. She’d been so caught up with the thrill of being flung through the air, the rest of the world had blurred out a bit, leaving only Mommy and her. It didn’t help that the new woman had circled around from behind and that Wendy was in a decidedly fixed location. Luckily, her mother absentmindedly dialed down the force she used, turning her pushes into gentle nudges as she turned toward the newcomer. The newcomer approached with a baby boy, a real one, in her arms. Wendy wouldn't have given either a second thought if she hadn’t called on Closet Mommy by name. The two grown-ups knowing each other made Wendy feel a tinge skittish; like she should know the other woman, too. “Candice,” Closet Mommy laughed, “It’s Sunday. Jody’s fine.” Candice? Who did her parents know named Candice? Wendy quickly realized that as grown as she really was, she still mentally categorized all of her parents’ friends as ‘Mister’ or ‘Miss’. Comfortably, the newcomer took the spot next to Wendy’s Mommy and slid her child into the baby seat. He looked like he was a year, at best. Probably younger. “You got my daughter through third grade. You’re always going to be Mrs. Merts to me.” “Where is Missy, anyways?” Mommy asked. Mommy’s friend started pushing her baby and waited for him to start making the exact kind of happy noises that Wendy had been making moments ago before answering. “She’s having a daddy daughter day with Maurice. So it’s just me and little Petey. Thought we’d get some fresh air.” “Same with me and Wendy.” Wendy’s face stiffened. “Petey? Like Peter? From college? How was that possible? It wasn’t. It just wasn’t.” She turned her head and tried to get a better look at the new child; to see past the baby fat and wispy hair, maybe find an identifying feature. Baby faces were so different from adult faces. All babies looked basically the same, though, with chubby cheeks and big eyes, and soft, short, fine hair. It wasn’t until later that bone structure started to define itself. If not for the overalls and lack of anything pink or frilly, ‘Petey’ could have very well passed for ‘Petunia’. Did Peter- Wendy’s Peter-have any moles or identifying features? Not that she could remember. The constant motion wasn’t helping, either. She’d get a blur here or a blur there, getting barely a glimpse at the apex of each swing. Her pleas of asking her mother to slow down or speed up so that she and the baby in the swing beside her could more sync up fell on uncomprehending, unlistening ears. Baby Petey kept giggling and clapping his hands. The mothers kept talking. “Petey! Petey! Look at me! Look at me! Petey! Pete! Peter! Over here!” The baby in the swing turned his head and looked at her, but there was no further memory or recognition that she could see. He was responding to stimulus and a child’s natural curiosity, nothing more. It took only one more push on the swing for the kid to completely ignore her. “If I didn’t know any better,” Closet Mommy remarked, “I’d say Wendy is trying to get Petey’s attention.” “Yeah,” the other mother agreed with a chuckle. “Sure seems that way. Missy is exactly like that at home, always trying to get him to play tea time. Too bad kids don’t really start to play together until they’re closer to two, though.” “That’s true,” Wendy kept trying to figure this out. Did Peter, Wendy’s Peter that is, have an older sister? She didn’t know! He’d never talked about his family or their names in depth either. What college kid did among peers? It was enough for her to want to yank her hair out! “I think she might just be getting a bit overstimulated,” Mommy said to the other woman. As quickly as the fun had started, the swing started to slow and Mommy picked her up out of the bucket seat. The young woman’s priorities and focus shifted as soon as the swing started to slow back down. “Heeeeeey!” Wendy whined. “I was just getting the hang of this! ” Finally, Closet Mommy seemed to get the gist of what Wendy was trying to say. “It’s okay,” she cooed. “Mommy’s just gonna take a quick walk and then we’ll go back home for some cartoons.” She brushed aside a bit of wind swept hair out of Wendy’s face. “Maybe a bath too.” Once again, she took Wendy’s wrist and gently made her wave goodbye. “Bye Peter!” Mommy said in what Wendy was quickly beginning to identify as her ‘baby voice’ see you tomorrow at school! Wendy sat up and shifted on her almost-mother’s hips. “I KNEW IT!” “Awww! She really did say goodbye!” Mommy gave Wendy a kiss on the cheek. “So smart!” Wendy blushed, feeling loved and praised despite the misinterpretation. She blanched slightly when she felt her mother’s hand patting and cupping her bottom. “And soaked! Come on missy, let’s go get you changed.” Wendy forgot to breathe for a second. Between the thrill of the swing, the minor mystery of ‘Petey’ versus ‘Peter’ and the diaper doing its job, Wendy had allowed herself to forget just how wet she really was. Something that was supposed to be flushed down the toilet had instead been absorbed and pressed up against her. And now Mommy wanted to change her, right then and there. Wendy didn’t have the words to express how this made her feel, but none of them were pleasant. “Mommy,” she tried. “We don’t have to do this. Not here. You can take me home. I don’t mind being in a wet diaper. Really. I don’t need to be...” she gulped. “...changed.” Home is not where they were heading. A large brick bathroom with wide open doorways just outside the playground fence, was their destination. Above each threshold was painted in faded white a slightly different drawing of a stick figure. One wearing a dress, another a tie, and the middle one- the one toward which they were headed- had a stick figure leaning over a smaller counterpart lying prone and in a diaper. “Is that why you were getting so wriggly in your seat?” Closet Mommy asked, her voice taking on that cooing sing-song tone. “Did you know you were wet? Are you gonna be an early potty trainer and an early walker?” “Yes!” Wendy yelped in desperation. “Take me now! Let me use the toilet!” It was no use. She’d already used the toilet taped to her hips. “Noooooo!” Closet Mommy’s voice bounced off the changing room walls before they were all the way in. “And that’s okay. Mommy likes taking care of you! It’s her job! Her favorite job!” Inside there was a changing station that miraculously grew and expanded as Wendy approached. Before it was pulled down, Wendy saw the underside had a picture of a cartoon Koala, holding its smiling, diapered baby. This was happening. This was really happening. Wendy trembled, while her mother laid her on the wall mounted changing table. Just like at home, this was big enough to fit her. Nothing creaked or groaned, save Wendy. “Mommy,” she grumbled, her voice echoing off the linoleum. “Can’t this wait? I’m only a little wet.” The cognitive dissonance she felt, begging to be left in pee soaked underwear, was nearly overwhelming. Closet Mommy was preoccupied with the diaper bag, getting out the wipes, the powder, and of course the new diaper. Wendy couldn’t help but stare as the diaper scaled itself up once it was out of the bag. She’d never get used to seeing that, she knew. “He didn’t even pack a change of clothes,” Mommy said to herself. “That man, your father. It’s called a diaper bag, but it can have more than that.” She clucked. “I suppose if I called it a baby bag, he’d try to stuff you in it.” she chuckled to herself. “He’s right though. It’s getting hot. Oh here’s something.” Right at Wendy’s feet a couple of mismatched scrunchies were placed next to everything else. “If you don’t have any clothes,” Wendy started to plead, “maybe you could change me when we get home? Maybe after I go and find something in my closet?” It was worth a shot. “I know I know,” Mommy tutted. “It’s no fun having to lie down and get your diaper changed.” She switched to her cutesy ‘baby’ voice. “You just wanna play and get cuddles!” “You’re half right,” Wendy remarked. “Or three-quarters right…” The idea of the diaper change might have been more tolerable if Wendy had thought she’d get to go right back to the playground. “So uh...how long have you known Petey’s mom?” Sadly, stalling with words doesn’t work when the other person can’t understand you. The tapes of the wet Pampers came off with a scritch scratch as velcro came undone! “EEEEP!” Wendy accidentally bucked so hard that the old diaper partially opened itself, lazily flopping open, exposing its discolored padding and Wendy’s glistening mound. Mommy pinned the young woman’s legs down with her forearm and took a wipe from the open packet by Wendy’s feet “Wow, you’re squirmy today! No wonder Daddy didn’t want to put your shorts back on!” That’s all Wendy’s shrieks and objections would be to her; a baby being squirmy. “Almost forgot this.” With preternatural quickness, Closet Mommy reached over and pulled a woven strap over Wendy’s chest, pulling taught and pinning the girl helplessly to the changing station. Reflexively, Wendy tried to sit up, but the flat woven rope might as well have been made of rebar for all the good she was doing. Pinned, helpless, and with a sopping wet diaper opened and cupping her bottom, Wendy could only lay there as her mother tended to her most sensitive of areas.. The twenty-two year old flinched when the first wipe touched her nethers and then...and then… Something happened. Her muscles untensed. Her body relaxed. It was cold, sure; it was wet, yes, but it was no more unpleasant than a damp washcloth. That’s what baby wipes were, anyways: single use washcloths. And in the heat of the un-air conditioned public bathroom, feeling the moisture on her skin from both the air and the urine, a nice wet wipe felt very good indeed. “Oh…” “There we go,” Closet Mommy sighed. “That’s not so bad, is it?” She removed her forearm and started gently cleaning between Wendy’s legs. “That’s my good girl! That’s my good baby girl.” Wendy lifted her head and stared as her mother began gently cleaning her up. It was like a cool sponge bath in the heat of the morning. “That…” she whispered. “Feels so much better actually.” The wet diaper didn’t feel that bad to begin with, but the coolness of each wipe felt positively cleansing. The attention felt good, too. Other than to briefly aim or make sure she hadn’t missed a spot, Mommy made eye contact with Wendy the entire time. “You like that, don’t you?” The woman cooed. “Feels good?” It did. What felt better was the attention, the feeling that in those moments she was the center of Mommy’s whole world. Even when Mommy’s face disappeared behind Wendy’s raised legs she felt the love. If anything, it only increased Wendy’s sense of awe as her Mommy lifted both of Wendy’s legs towards the ceiling so that she could wipe her bottom for her. Mommy hummed as she balled up and tossed away the used diaper. It sounded a bit like London Bridge Is Falling Down. Her mother never sang to anyone, but now this version was humming a little diddy to pass the time and keep her calm. It was working. She gave the inside of Wendy’s foot a tiny tickle, and instead of ‘My. Fair. Lady.’ she said, “My. Sweet. Baby.” If Wendy melted any more on the inside, a diaper would have absorbed her. Speaking of which, she was awed yet again as her mother crossed her ankles and hosted her legs all the way up so that even her bottom was off the changing station. It was only an inch or two, but that was more than enough for Mommy to slip the new Pampers underneath her daughter. Wendy found herself actually grateful at the strength of the restraints; it meant that Mommy wouldn’t accidentally dangle her like a fish. As she was eased down into the soft, perfumed padding, the building tension inside her vanished again. The baby powder that followed was dry yet cold on her skin, somehow feeling colder than the discarded wipes. She moaned a bit while her Mommy took a moment to work the powder in, massaging it into every crease in her skin. When the diaper was finally pulled up between her legs, Wendy smiled, managing to look past her breasts and down at Cookie Monster on the landing zone and feeling the diaper become taught while her Mommy secured the velcro tabs over Cookie Monster’s face. Mommy undid the restraint across Wendy’s chest and brought her up to a sitting position. “All done. I bet that feels so much better.” Wendy grinned. It did, even if she hadn’t overly minded being in the wet diaper. She let out a yawn. “Yeah.” “Gettin’ kind of tired after all that sliding and swinging.” It wasn’t a question. Yeah, it was true. She’d felt so relaxed it might be easy to drift off. “No…” “Lookin’ kind of hot and red too.” Mommy said. “Too much sun? Did Mommy push you to exercise too hard?” She finished putting the other changing supplies away and reached unbuckled Wendy from the table. Then she started reaching for the hem of her shirt. “This will help.” “NO!” There was nothing that Wendy could do to stop her mother from undressing her. She might have the body and dimensions of a fully grown young woman, but as far as this universe was concerned she didn’t so much as have the mass and strength of a one-year-old. Her arms flailed helplessly above her head while her Closet Mommy yanked the pink shirt up over her head. The amount of blood rushing to the surface of her skin was only giving more credence in her mother’s notion that she was overheated. Babies didn’t get embarrassed. Semi-instinctively, Wendy covered her breasts with her hands. “NO!” She was too shocked, and it happened too quickly to do anything else. By the time she’d thought to make a grab for it, Mommy had already stuffed the dirty, dusty shirt into the diaper bag. “Much cooler,” Mommy said. “I bet this feels better!” “I’m practically naked!” Save for specialized beaches, this did not cover up like a swimsuit, as it were. “Public indecency! Public indecency!” “Enjoy this while you can, baby girl.” Mommy picked up the scrunchies and started fussing with her hair. The babified woman’s arms were breaking out into goose pimples. “I don’t want to do this now!” The little peck and nuzzle she felt on her scalp from Closet Mommy only made her feel slightly better, but it helped. She carried Wendy over to a bathroom mirror. “So precious.” Wendy looked at herself. Topless, and with her hair up in pigtails. “Yeah…” Slowly, she took her hands off her breasts. “I am…” “Keeping that hair off your face will help you, too.” Wendy let out one more “EEP” when she was taken back outside, but quickly let the feeling go. “No one notices.” She reminded herself. “No one cares. I’m safe. I’m fine.” And cute. And loved. She didn’t say it, but she definitely felt it while her mother buckled her back into the stroller, disappeared behind it and undid the break. “We’ll go home in a little bit,” Mommy promised, ‘but first Mommy’s gonna get her steps in.” So Wendy did what she needed to do. She layed back, exhaled, and let her Mommy push her around in the stroller some more. It was relaxing, in a way, now that she was letting herself enjoy it, kind of like the old timey Model-T car ride at carnivals. The point wasn’t to scream and yell at the speed or the sudden twists, turns and drops. The point was to just enjoy the easy steady pace, appreciate the nostalgic aesthetic, and go where the ride took you. So she did. To her own surprise, the whole topless thing ceased to matter within half a minute of the stroll start. Neither creeps nor prudes were gawking at her, and any who did would get an earful from Closet Mommy. Mommy took care of her. Mommy kept her safe. She examined herself. Her skin really did feel much more comfortable, less grimy, with the dirty shirt taken off. The pigtails and keeping her hair out of her face was helping in that department, too. Too bad she couldn’t do something like that normally. Obviously she could still put her hair up in pigtails but... “I wonder,” she mumbled to herself. “Could I get a tan here?” The idea of coming back in the spring and playing on the playground topless until she had a good and tanned beach bod back in the real world appealed to her. Briefly, she pictured trying to do that in a universe where she was twenty-two, but shook her head so that her pigtails waggled. She ran a hand over her shoulders all the way down to her knees. “Wow. I really am baby soft.” It felt amazing. No wonder soap and shaving commercials made that the standard. “Too bad it takes at least one other person to help maintain it.” She took a closer look at her legs. Funnily enough, it was easy for her to grab her legs and bring them up to her chest to inspect; good thing too, considering that she only had an inch or two worth of movement in her torso thanks to the stroller. “No stubble?” Wendy searched her recent memory. “When was the last time I shaved this? Fairly recent, right? Two days tops?” In truth, she didn’t know. “You havin’ a good time, baby?” Mommy called from behind. “Just chatterin’ to yourself.” A light, happy, slightly guilty expression bloomed on Wendy’s lips. “Yes Mommy!” “That’s good!” Mommy huffed, picking up the pace. Did Mommy understand what Wendy had said, or was that just the answer she was expecting? Did it really matter? “Guess not,” Wendy said. She reclined and just allowed herself to drift a bit. Not quite sleeping, but not even close to being cognizant of her surroundings. Better to get lost in the sensations: The cool breeze. The comfy cushions. The gentle, natural rhythm of the Mommy’s jogging footsteps and the subtle sound of the wheels turning. Her mother added to the pleasantness, singing- actually singing- “Daisy Daisy, give me your answer true. I’m half crazy all for the love of you. It won’t be a stylish marriage. I can’t afford a carriage. But you’ll look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle built for twoooooo.” Wendy breathed deep and exhaled. Other than wanting a bit more time on the playground, life was good. Next time, Wendy promised herself. Next time. “Wendeeeeeee! Do you want ice cream?” Still in her stroller, Wendy stirred and sat up as far as the restraints would let her. “Hmm?” she took her thumb out of her mouth, wiping the string of drool on her breast. Looking around with sticky eyes, she was surprised to see they were a whole block away from the park, despite still being near it a moment ago. Maybe she had done a little more than dozed off. Closet Mommy was holding a push pop out to her. “Someone just missed the ice cream man!” She kept offering the treat. “It’s creamsicle! Orange and ‘nilla!” “Oh.. what the hell?” Wendy shrugged. Any self-consciousness Wendy had earlier had long since evaporated. She felt the need to say something about it out of habit more so than a need to preserve her ego. Life in this universe was something of a two way mirror and she was the one on the fun side of it. Mommy didn’t leave. She stood there, watching, waiting expectantly. “Go on. Enjoy it!” She went so far as to reach in and push up on the bottom so that the popsicle lurched out of its paper tube like a cold orange lightsaber. The diapered girl looked up and saw that her mother had her phone out, camera pointed directly at her. “Baby’s first ice cream,” Wendy connected the dots. “Got it.” No reason to turn down free ice cream. She opened her mouth and started to lightly suck on it. “MMMMMMMMMMMM!” She shook so much that the stroller practically vibrated. “Awwwwww! She likes it! She likes it!” Closet Mommy turned the phone around. “Sorry we didn’t wait for you, Howard, but we’re still about a third of a mile from home and this popsicle wasn’t going to last that long.” Wendy was only half listening. “MMMMMMMM!” What was in this push pop? It tasted sweeter, more flavorful, more outright decadent than anything she could remember tasting. It was foie gras and kobe beef in frozen sugar form! “MMMMMMM!” For the first time in her adult life she didn’t quite have the words to properly express herself. So delighted was she that she didn’t overly mind that the juices mixed with her saliva and started dribbling down her chin and past her breasts, dribbling down into her belly button, not quite reaching down below her waist. “MMMMMMM!” “Let’s get you home, little miss sticky britches!” The stroller moved back towards home and Wendy kept bouncing; the low papery rustling below her mixing pleasantly with the humming and chomping from her mouth. She didn’t squish; nothing lumpy either, so she likely didn’t need a change. That was good. “MMMMMMM! MMMMMMM!” “Mmm-mmm-good, is it sweetheart? Baby loves her ice cream!” Indeed she did. She was willing to bet that when she got back to her own universe/timeline/reality/world/whatever that her mother wouldn’t have gotten any ice cream. She’d been done about five minutes when her house came into sight. The rest of the trip had flown by thanks to sugar haze and an almost unnatural focus on the flavors. Wendy had missed at least a block or two trying to lick residue off her teeth. The only thing left of the frozen treat was sticky film dribbled onto her front and a paper wrapper that had been torn apart licked clean, and Wendy wasn’t nearly flexible enough to lick her own navel. “Why couldn’t the food have gotten bigger?” Wendy asked no one in particular. “That would have been awesome!” She might still be sucking on it if she had. “Looks like someone got more sweetness on her than in her!” Mommy teased, unbuckling her from the stroller. “Surface area, maybe.” Wendy allowed. “Calories and taste? No.” “That’s okay,” Mommy said. “You’re sweet enough as is!” She started blowing raspberry kisses into her displaced daughter’s tummy. “Eat the baby! Nom nom nom nom!” “Noooooo!” Wendy howled with laughter. “No eat the baby!” She cackled and thrashed with all her might, safe and secure in the knowledge that there was no way she could harm her Mommy on this side of the rip. “Come on, let’s go see Daddy!” “Yeah,” Wendy repeated. “Let’s go see him!” Daddy was waiting just inside the garage with a hug and a kiss for each of them. “Whoah!” he said. “Gotta peel this one off of me!” He went so far as to make a sticky peeling sound, pretending to rip himself away from his daughter. “Wow you got more of that popsicle on you than in you!” “Did not!” Wendy giggled. “That’s what I said,” Closet Mommy talked over her. “I think we need to go straight to the tubby tub.” “That’s a ten-four, good buddy,” Closet Daddy agreed. “There’s plenty of Mr. Bubble in the bathroom.” Wendy started bucking and bouncing again. “Bubble bath?!” “I think she understood that one!” Mommy laughed. “Who? Our little genius?” Daddy grinned. “Our filthy, sticky, yucky, messy, little genius?” This time, Wendy beamed at the praise. Overwhelmed in the best way possible, Wendy buried her head into Mommy’s neck, her shoulders shaking with a massive case of the giggles. “Just make sure to restock the diaper bag and take out her dirty shirt. Maybe put a clean one in.” “Yeah. Sure. I can do that.” Then Mommy rubbed Wendy’s back. “Come on, sugar booger. Let’s go for a bath.” Wendy bobbed in the younger version of her mom’s arms through the house. On the way to the bathroom she caught sight of the family portrait in the living room. It was the same picture as before, same family portrait with her in a baby dress, white tights, and the big floppy bow. Something was different again, but Wendy couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Had her hair in that photo been as short or as light colored? She’d been so focused on the clothes the last time, she didn’t know. Upon entering the bathroom, Wendy looked down at herself, wearing nothing but a recently acquired Pampers, with a smudge of dirt on her forearms and an orange trail leading all the way down to just below her belly button. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel the dust and dirt on the bottom of her feet, a twin to the dirt on her cheeks.Sun soaked pigtails wafted just on her periphery Wendy didn’t have to pee, she soon realized. If she did her diaper would have been wet again at what she saw next. The dimensions of the tub folded outward, staying almost as shallow but twice as wide. Her very presence was turning their regular bathtub into a full blown jacuzzi! Unphased and oblivious as ever, Mommy turned on the water, plugged the tub and added some bubble bath to the mixture. She sat Wendy down on the counter. “Who’s dat there?” Mommy cooed. “Who’s dat cute baby in the mirror? It’s you! It’s you!” “Yeah,” Wendy nodded. “It still is.” She didn’t know why she expected anything different. “Five little speckled frogs,” Wendy’s caregiver started to sing, “sat on a speckled log, eating some most delicious bugs. Yum! Yum! One jumped into the pool, where it was nice and cool, then there were four green speckled frogs. Glub! Glub!” She took Wendy’s hands in her own and smiling all the while, kept singing. “Four little speckled frogs, sat on a speckled log, eating some most delicious bugs.” On ‘Yum! Yum!’ she puppeted Wendy’s arms to rub her tummy. “One jumped into the pool, where it was nice and cool, then there were three green speckled frogs.” On ‘Glub! Glub!’ she plucked and flapped her own bottom lip so that the ‘glubs’ sounded like they were coming from underwater. Wendy was absolutely enthralled. By verse three, she was singing along. By verse four, she was doing the hand motions with her Mommy, not needing to be puppeted. The last verse, for whatever reason, had her doubled over with laughter as if she was watching a comedian at the height of their career perform a new routine. Closet Mommy looked back at the tub and keeping one hand on Wendy’s knee, reached back and dipped her pinky in. “Full enough and warm enough,” she said. Let’s get that diapee off.” WIth a scritch and a scratch the tabs were undone and Wendy was lifted out of the extra large Pampers. Her shifting weight alone was enough to send it wafting down to the tile below. Even though her mother had already changed her diaper and removed her shirt, this was the first time anyone had seen her in the buff. “I’m naked!” she almost shrieked. One hand crossed her top; the other darted downward between her legs. Her mother didn’t comment except to say “Now somebody’s all chilly. Let’s get you in the tubby! In we go!” Gently, a still tensed up and trembling Wendy was lowered down into the tub, her body retracting her legs so she did a kind of slow and gentle cannonball into the warm soapy water. Looking at it from the inside, her jaw dropped open even as the rest of her tensed up. The inside was so big! Had the tub been drained she could have laid back and spread her arms and legs as though making snow angels and she still wouldn’t have touched the sides. Her mother towered above her, standing just to be able to see over the sides and reach her. Despite all the space, Wendy stayed crumpled up into a tight ball. Manically, the naked girl gathered the bubbles around her, trying desperately to obscure the most strategic areas. “Ooops,” Mommy said, heedless of her daughter’s discomfort. “Almost forgot to get those scrunchies off.” It took two easy motions for Wendy’s hair to fall back into her face. Wendy stayed still tied up in a ball. Her Mommy took a washcloth and started gently caressing Wendy’s face. Still covering herself, Wendy’s muscles eased. Were she a kitten she’d be purring, she decided. She hummed, almost moaning in happiness. It was the closest she could get. “Baby loves her bubbles!” Mommy chirped. She plopped a bright yellow toy duck into the water. “Does she like her ducky?!” Feeling safer, the now sudzy girl quickly reached up and gave it a squeeze “Aaaah!” She squealed with joy. “It squeaks!” “Oh she does!” “I do!” She couldn’t remember the last time she had a bath toy. She couldn’t remember the last time she took anything other than a quick shower. Bathtime came with a show. Mommy started singing “Rubber Ducky, you’re the one. You make bathtime lots of fun! Rubber Ducky I am awfully foooond of you!” Wendy tiled her head so far to the side she’d got an ear full of soapy water. Had her mother really sang to her this much when she was little? “Rubber Ducky, joy of joys. When I squeeze you, you make noise.” Wendy took the hint and gave the duck two prompt squeaks, giggling at her own cleverness. “Rubber Ducky you’re my very best friend it’s true!” The girl squeezed the simple bath toy even more, providing a high pitched metronome for her mother’s bathtime solo. “Oh, every day when I make my way to the tubby, I find a little fellow who's cute and yellow and chubby! Rubber Ducky!” The twenty-two year old was using both hands to make the duck ‘quack’ louder and louder as Mommy finished the song. The gigantic bathtub filled with waves as she rocked back and forth in time with her mother’s rhythm. “Rubber Ducky, you're so fine,” Mommy belted. “And I'm lucky that you're mine. Rubber Ducky, I'd like a whole pond of...Rubber Ducky, I'm awfully fond of you!” Mommy stopped and lightly clapped her hands. “Yaaaaaay!” Wendy applauded with her duck waving high in the air, being squeaked with both hands. “Yaaaaaaay Mommy!” Mommy took the applause as a cue to pivot and reach under the bathroom counter. From it she pulled an entire basketful of bath toys out. “Ducky’s got friends!” Washcloth in one hand, Closet Mommy dangled a toy shark up above her head, plopping it in with a tiny splash, sending Wendy scurrying to get it. Once Wendy managed to get a hold of it, Mommy started the show back up, singing ‘baby shark’ Even though Mommy couldn’t understand her in this universe, Wendy giggled and sang along. And so it went… Mommy would drop a toy in, Wendy would grab and play with it; dunking and diving it as the mood took her; Mommy would sing a song while gently scrubbing and rubbing her with washcloth and bubbles, and then the old toy would be casually pushed aside to float as newcomer entered the luxurious tub. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Literally. The floating tub boat toy was heralded by Row Row Row Your Boat. The bathtime my little pony got introduced with Pony Girl. Deep Sea Diving Barbie splashed in with Barbie Girl; that last one was a bit of a stretch but Mommy hummed all the lyrics that were inappropriate for little ears. Wendy loved all of it. The attention. The sensation. The singing. Objectively, her mother could sing well enough; good enough for karaoke or church; otherwise not much to write home about. In the moment, however, it was the most beautiful singing voice in the entire world. How could it not be? Perhaps this is why people sang in the shower, the law student mused. When singing during bathing becomes second nature, but no one is around to serenade you, warbling to yourself becomes the only option. Wendy felt all the tension leave muscles she’d forgotten about her mother slowly bathed and cleansed every inch of her body. Under her arms, behind her ears, between her legs. Everything done with the care and precision of a nurse and the theatricality of a Vegas stage magician. Special attention was paid wherever the ice cream leftovers had glazed themselves. Soon, her breasts were shining from all the soapy water. What captured Wendy’s attention, however, was the cleaning of her playground-dusted feet, as her Mom began to wash every single of her “tippy toes” as she called them, sending her into uncontrollable giggles. With all the attention and love she was getting, this was a free trip to an amusement park, followed by a mini-spa day. There was something to be said about simple pleasures, Wendy was realizing. Wendy scooped up a handful of bubbles and rubbed them on her face, fashioning herself a hat and beard. “Yar! Matey!” She growled playfully, reaching back for the boat. “This here be Cap’n Bubble Beard!” “Ho-! Ho! Ho!” Her mother said, thinking she was on the right track. “Merrrrrrry Christmas.” Wendy laughed. “Close enough, Mommy!” She gasped in realization. “Oh that gives me an idea! Wanna hear a story?” Mommy leaned forward. “Mmmhmm.” It was the quiet, patronizing agreement of someone who didn’t actually understand what a child was saying but was encouraging them to keep babbling. Close enough for Wendy’s liking. She reached for the boat. “Once there was the brave, brave Captain Bubble Beard.” She pushed and pulled the tugboat on the water while her free hand groped around in the soapy morass. “And Captain Bubble Beard was on the hunt for...” Her hand clasped around another toy. “A SHARK!” “Oh that’s a shark!” Mommy beamed! “Uh oh! He’s gonna eat the boat!” The girl was bouncing, sloshing the water all around. “That’s right! You’re getting it!” She’d found a way to entertain her Mommy and communicate! How clever was she?! She continued on with her narrative. “The brave Captain Bubble Beard slammed the meanie head shark head on!” “Oh, they’re fighting!” “Uh huh!” Wendy agreed. “And he would have won, too.” She let go of the boat long enough to reach for Deep Sea Diving Barbie. “Except then the shark changed directions and..!” “Look out, the shark is gonna get Barbie!” Mommy pretended to sound scared. Wendy started moving the bath toys in slow motion. “Noooooooooooooo! President Barbieeeeee!” Heroically, the tugboat sped in the way of the oncoming shark, tipping over from the force of the shark’s ramming attack (she hadn’t figured out a way to make the shark ‘bite’ anyone). “Honey, do you see this?” Mommy called as Daddy waltzed into the bathroom. “See what?” “She’s playing pretend! That’s super advanced at her age!” “Cool!” Daddy said. He walked over to the sink to wash his hands. “Gotta freshen up to make lunch.” Only now noticing his entrance, Wendy sprung up to a standing position. “Daddy!” Looking at her in the bathroom mirror, Daddy smiled. “Hi pumpkin! Enjoying your bath with Mommy?” “Uh-huh!” Wendy nodded enthusiastically. “She’s singing me songs and giving me back rubs and arm rubs and leg rubs.” “Uh huh.” “I even figured out a way for her to understand me like you can!” “That’s nice.” Proudly she held up the shark and the Barbie doll. “Wanna see?” “Oh really?” Dad dried his hand and nodded politely. “I’m glad you two are having fun. I’m gonna go prep lunch.” “Daddy?” she called after him. “Daddy? Did you under-?” “Daddy’s makin’ lunch, cupcake,” Mommy said. “Just enjoy your bath.” Wendy fought back a strange feeling of confusion watching her Daddy leave. As she watched him leave, still standing, she was able to look in the mirror over to the sink and- for the first time in a good while- saw herself. Naked. Her face and hair bubbled. Holding bath toys like they were trophies or something. “EEEEEK!” She plunged back down into the water, trying to wipe the bubbles off of her face while moving others onto more ‘strategic’ areas. What had come over her?! She’d been completely naked and playing with bath toys and singing children’s songs? Doing finger plays to Baby Shark and Row Row Row Your Boat. Without a hint of modesty she’d stood up naked in front of her father. She had been acting...no...she had been thinking almost like a...she dared not finish that thought. “Cold when you get up out of the warm water too fast,” Mommy said. “Isn’t it?” Wendy closed her lips. Closet Mommy grabbed the wash cloth and started running it over Wendy’s hair.. “Let’s make sure baby girl doesn’t get any owie soap in her eyes or yucky suds in her mouth. Blech!” “I gotta get out of here,” Wendy whispered. “Something’s wrong.” The bath ended soon after. Her body wasn’t tense, and Wendy didn’t blush anymore. Any damage to do had already been done. It was her mind that was on alert more so than her muscles. It took very little prompting or coaching for her to lean into the big fluffy towel her mother opened up for her and let herself be carried all the way back to her nursery. “A little oil,” Mommy said after laying Wendy down on the changing table. “A little powder. Aaaaand done.” Wendy was snug and secure back in her fresh new diaper. Mommy sat her up on the changing table and toweled her off a little more. That’s when she saw the faintly glowing rip in her closet. “Mommy,” Wendy said. “Can I get something back from my closet?” This was only supposed to be a jog. Her mother’s doppelganger picked her up, oblivious to what her ‘baby’ was staring at. “How about we have some T.V. before lunch?” she asked, rhetorically. Wendy had no choice but to allow herself to be brought out to the living room. Mommy turned on the television and sat down on the couch holding the diapered girl in her lap, one arm easily snaked around her waist. Wendy heard the rustle of her fresh diaper as she shifted in Closet Mommy’s lap, trying to get comfortable. No way was she getting back to her room from here. “How about some Peppa Pig? The T.V. flickered on. “PEEEEEEPA PIG! PEEEEEEEEPA PIG!” Like a dog hearing a whistle, Wendy turned her gaze to the television. “Peppa Pig?” Simple pastel colored cartoons; Flat and jerky like a cardboard cut out. Gentle, British accents. Wendy stopped fidgeting. “Maybe just...one episode, she said to herself.” Her eyes checked a clock on top of the T.V. Over half an hour had gone by since entering the house.. “Wow. Was my bath really that long?” It definitely hadn’t felt like it. “Yes, baby.” Mommy said. “That is Peppa Pig!” The law student did her best to think of an escape route. How could she get out of Mommy’s lap and back to her room? Peppa’s snorting caught her attention, again. “Maybe just...one..episode…” “Oh! Ice cream!” Wendy said out loud as a pastel colored one appeared on screen, bringing back memories of the delicious stop earlier in the day. “I’ll have to get Mommy to buy some more.” Drool began to fill her mouth as she let her thoughts wander while following the rest of the cartoon. “Does ice cream grow at the north pole?” That episode of Peppa Pig had gone away for a while, but Wendy was doing her level best to recreate it with the barnyard animal toys in her lap. She only had the one plastic pig, but the flopsy bunny rabbit made for a good Missus Rabbit. She would make do and pretend the Cow was Daddy Pig. It wasn’t so much of a leap. It was a shame, she thought to herself, that she couldn’t study for her History of Law exam with this much enthusiasm. Exam?! She looked again at the clock. It was half past noon! How had that happened? Where had the time gone? She was only supposed to have watched the one episode! She looked down at her lap. Where had the toys come from? In actuality, she knew that answer: She hadn’t blacked out as much as just gone on autopilot, much like how one can get lost in their thoughts driving home on a familiar route. Mommy had seen her squirming and talking with the cartoons, and gotten up long enough to bring her toys… And for whatever reason, Wendy hadn’t thought to make a mad dash for her bedroom. She’d waited patiently, staring at the screen, and continued recreating Peppa Pig episodes by playing with dolls in her other mother’s lap. Daddy came in to check on her. “Okay ladies. Hope you like grilled cheese sandwiches! Toys tumbled away from Wendy’s lap as Mommy stood up and carried her into the kitchen. “Finally! I’m famished!” Mommy said. “Good grilled cheese takes time”. “Um...Daddy,” Wendy started to say. “I think I need to go to my bedroom and...and…” Daddy wasn’t listening either. “Up you go, kiddo!” he said, transferring her back into her highchair. “Let’s get some more num-nums in that tum tum.” That’s how Wendy ended up having a highchair lunch of cottage cheese and potato salad while her parents munched on grilled cheese sandwiches; all in a wet diaper that she hadn’t quite remembered peeing in. This. This was the trade off. She was getting loads more attention and lowered expectations from her parents, but she was also a prisoner. If an adult wasn’t holding her, a stroller or a swing or a changing table or a highchair was holding her still till they could. Theme parks were fun because at the end of the ride the harnesses and safety bars came up and you could walk around the park freely. “A picnic lunch indoors,” Daddy said. “Not bad, right?” “Delectable” Mommy agreed. “Next time come to the park with us and we can eat it there.” After everyone was finished, Wendy went back into Closet Mommy’s arms. “I think someone needs a proper nap. As if on cue, Wendy bellowed out a yawn. She really was tired. Maybe she’d feel better after a nap. “No!” the girl yelped. “NO! I DON’T NEED A NAP! I DON’T NEED DIAPERS! I DON’T NEED HIGHCHAIRS! I DON’T NEED STUPID BABY SWINGS OR SLIDES! I DON’T NEED ANY OF THIS!” It had been fun while it had lasted, but Wendy was quickly coming to the opinion that this wasn’t meant to last. I’M! NOT! A BABY! I DON’T NEED A NAP! I NEED SOME PERSONAL FUCKING SPACE AND FOR SOMEBODY TO LISTEN TO ME AND CLOTHES THAT DO MORE THAN CATCH PISS AND SHIT! I NEED A PAIR OF PANTIES AND A GODDAM BRA ! I’M TWENTY-FUCKIN-TWO!” “Definitely,” Daddy agreed with Mommy. “She definitely needs a nap.” An adrenaline surge burst through the girl. What the hell had she been thinking? She was naked. Her parents had seen her naked for the first time in forever. Her mother had bathed her. And the only thing that she’d been wearing for hours now was something that was arguably more humiliating than being seen naked! Back in her room, Wendy was placed into the giant crib, and the railing was slid up. “Nini, honey, “Closet Mommy said sweetly. “Pleasant nap. Do you want me to sing you another song?” Fuming Wendy snarled. “No!” “You always get this fussy,” Mommy said. “But you need your rest. That’s how you can grow up to be big and strong.” “I am a big girl.” She went so far as to pound her fist on her other mother’s back. “I am! I am! I am!” Pounding her fist against the crib railing was hardly making her point for her, but it felt cathartic all the same. Mommy turned out the lights and closed the curtain before leaving the door. Leaving Wendy alone with her thoughts, the dim glow of the afternoon sun leaking through the curtains, and the almost as dim glow coming from her closet. The moment the door was closed, Wendy went for the release mechanism on the crib’s railing. Like everything else she’d encountered that day, it was baby proof which in this instance meant ‘Wendy proof’. Grimly, Wendy shook and rattled at it; but the damn thing wouldn’t budge. Overcome with infinite fucking frustration from an entire day imprisoned, Wendy inhaled only once, and from there didn’t stop screaming. The girl screamed so hard that her throat started to gargle. She screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed; rattling the crib bars like the wrongly convicted on death row. “God damn it! Let me out! Let me the fuck out! Let me out! Out out ooooouuuuuuut!” She didn’t let up. As tired, physically, emotionally, and mentally as she was, she was afraid that if she stopped screaming, she’d fall asleep. And more than anything, Wendy didn’t want to risk falling asleep here. At one point, she stopped screaming actual words, and just started seeing how long she could hold the same high pitched discordant note. Scream-thousand-one, Scream-thousand-two, Scream-thousand-three… After what felt like hours, (but was probably only five minutes) the door opened again. Closet Mommy speed walked in and lowered the railing of Wendy’s crib. “Wendy? Baby? Sweetie? What’s wrong?!” She checked her diaper again. “You’re not poopy. Just a little wet. Are you constipated? Does your tum-tum hurt?” “I want out!” Wendy demanded, pointing to the carpet. “I want out! I want out! I want out!” This universe’s version of her mother seemed to understand at least that much. “Honey, it’s your nap time. You need your nap so you can play later.” “N-!” Wendy stopped herself. She did need a nap. Nap time could potentially be one of the few times where she’d be allowed to exist without her parents watching her every move. More specifically, she needed to be left alone long enough to get back through her closet, and without anything constraining or confining her.. “No bars,” she said. She jiggled the back railing of her crib to help illustrate her point. “No! Bars! Do you get that?” The younger Jody Merts squinted in the same way as her male counterpart had. “You don’t want the crib rail up?” “NNNNO!” “I’m sorry, sweetie, but I don’t want you falling out.” A bit of inspiration struck the ex-Gifted child. “I want to sleep on the floor.” She grabbed the blanket and pillow inside her crib and flung them to the carpet. “You want...to sleep...on the floor?” “Uh-huh!” Closet Mommy looked at the pillow and blanket and seemed to consider it. “Hmm...it would be only a nap….” Wendy made her eyes go full puppy dog. “PWEEEEEEEASE MOMMY!” Some things were universal. “Hmph...well..” Mommy said. “Okay.” While Wendy was laid down and ‘tucked in’ on a spot on the carpet of her own bedroom, she allowed herself a soft, satisfied smirk. “Think like a lawyer. Argue like a toddler.” The door closed, and Wendy immediately got up and ran back through the rip in reality. Her legs felt wobbly, shaky almost. She couldn’t let that stop her. Two steps out and she went to all fours, off balance. She kept going for the closet. Freedom came in beautiful brilliant light! Wendy checked herself after emerging through the light on the other side. Her tits were still out and uncovered, and she was wearing a giant diaper, but the style of the furniture in her room gave her all the confirmation she needed to know that she was back where she belonged. “Come on, come on, come on.” She whispered, hoping against hope it would speed the process up. The diaper, however, stayed the same. “Screw it!” Like ripping off a band-aid Wendy ripped the giant tabs off, sending the thing to the floor with a sodden plop. She hurried over to her dresser and opened up her underwear drawer. Her relief was palpable when she found it filled with actual underwear. Her heart rate didn’t slow down until she’d stepped into a pair of panties and pulled them all the way up her legs. For once, relief came when she found a bra and put it on instead of taking it off. Sneering at herself, she looked down at the discarded Pampers. Like water leaking out of a pin-pricked balloon it was deflating, changing color, turning back into something an adult would be caught dead in (but never by her parents). “Taking you long enough,” she muttered as it continued to shrink. It had been wet too. “That’s definitely going in the wash.” No sense in chancing it. Out of the corner of her eye, by the side of her bed, a plain top, sports bra, and shorts faded back into existence. Evidently this version of herself kicked off her jogging clothes to take a nap just after lunch. What did her real mom and dad think had happened? Why was she taking a nap? “I don’t even wanna know,” she whispered to herself. “That was a close one.” Wendy had no idea how close it was. Going through her drawers, the law student got herself a new pair of pants and a shirt she was relieved to see sporting the name of a music band instead of some goofy smiling cartoon character. As hurried as she was to return to normalcy, Wendy didn’t even realize she hadn’t taken a serious look at herself until fully dressed. Reapplying her clothes, she went on combing her long dark brunette hair in the furthest way she could think from pigtails, unaware that it had just finished shifting from the short and light blonde of a baby hair. And behind her, the rip glowed a little less brightly and seemed just a little bit smaller.

The Rip: Chapter 1 (Commissioned by Areat) Chapter 1 Wendy sat at the dinner table with her mom and dad, numbly shoveling meatloaf and spoonfuls of peas into her mouth while her parents talked about their days. Her ears were picking up every little sound that came out of her parents’ mouth but her brain wasn’t translating it. Their conversation was basically white noise mixed in with the scraping of her fork on the plate, gulps of water, and her talking to herself. “-doing-?” Wendy looked up from her half eaten meatloaf. “Hmm?” She looked up and brushed a patch of her own brunette hair out of her face. “What?” Her father, whom she inherited her hair color from (not that one would know it now), repeated himself. “I asked ‘How are you doing with your studying?’.” “Oh,” Wendy stuttered. “I’m doing good with it.” Mom smirked. “You mean ‘You’re doing well’,” she said. “Doing good is Superman. Doing well is progress.” Dad rolled his eyes. “We can’t all be English Teachers. Wendy’s getting her Law degree, not English.” Playfully, Mom pointed her fork across the dinner table. “Precise use of language is one of the cornerstones of determining legal precedent and procedure. How can she hope to get to the Supreme Court if she’s using language like ‘It’s going good’?” “Supreme Court?” Dad guffawed, bits of chewed up peas and mashed potatoes spilling forth from his lips. “Let her get her degree and pass the Bar first!” He wiped his mouth with his napkin and then looked sideways to his daughter. “Not that you can’t be on the Supreme Court, dear.” “So,” Mom repeated, her fading blonde to white locks framing her middle aged face. “How exactly are you doing?” Wendy’s lips rose up in a playful, if mischievous grin. “I’m doing good, Mother.” “BWAHAHAHAHA!” Dad pounded the table with his fists to punctuate his full on belly laughs. “That’s my girl!” “Howard!” Mom scolded, “Don’t encourage her!” She didn’t sound too upset, however. “I swear, you two. She gets this stubborn streak from you.” Dad was too busy laughing to argue. “But I am doing good, Mom,” Wendy doubled down, a wry smile still framing her dainty chin. “If you look at it in the long run, me being able to pass finals will be yet another step to me getting my degree, passing the bar, and yes eventually getting to the Supreme Court where I can do the most good. So I am technically correct. In studying, I am doing good.” “No,” Mom countered, “you’re just preparing to do good.” “And the effectiveness of any legal argument rests on the amount of research and preparation involved before trial.” Mom didn’t laugh. It wasn’t her way. She did, however, seem particularly pleased with her daughter. “Touche, counselor. “ She pointed her fork between her spouse and offspring. “She gets the stubbornness from you. She gets her wit from me.” “Yes, dear.” “Good looks, too.” “Can’t argue with that, Jody” Wendy had already gone back to her plate and back inside her head, trying to figure out her next move. Were Morgan Freeman narrating her life, this would be the point where time froze and in his comforting baritone the audience would hear, “It was not, in fact, going well or good for Wendy.” “Done,” Wendy said. She stood up and took her half eaten plate. “Thank you for dinner,” she said. “I gotta go back to my room.” “Hittin’ the books, darlin’?” Dad asked. Wendy left her dishes in the sink. “You know it.” Mentally she was already back in her room, and that sent shivers along her spine. She could already feel herself breaking into a sweat and it had nothing to do with the dark green sweater dress and black leggings. The weather was just starting to turn chilly outside and her skin and bones frame relished in the extra insulation; though oddly enough her feet were never too cold for sandals. The world had dealt Wendy a pretty good hand. Her family was upper middle class and she was an only child so the bulk of the finances and parental attention went to her upbringing and continued security. She lived in a college town, and although that meant she’d been pressured- more like gently nudged- to stay home to save on living expenses the University had a very good law school and she’d gotten in on scholarship. Wendy’s night life might not be as wild as some of her classmates who came from out of state, but she’d always had someone to pick her up if she had too much to drink and didn’t have to get a job or pay rent. Very fair trade as far as everyone was concerned. Even with the deck stacked in her favor, Wendy was working herself into a more than mild panic. She was experiencing something of a quarter-life crisis. With less than two days before her midterm exam for her History of Law class, she had to cram as much information as she could into her brain or she was going to fail. It wasn’t hard, hypothetically. All she had to do was sit at her desk for a few hours, drink some coffee, and pound as many important court cases, dates, and legal precedents into her head as she could. Within seventy-two hours, she could then forget about it and dump all of the information out of her noodle and then look it up online like a normal person if she never needed the information again. That’s what cramming for a test functionally was. It’s just that Wendy didn’t know how to study. At all. In Elementary School she was what they called “Gifted”. What she thought that meant was that she was super smart, much smarter than the other kids her age. And in a way, that was true. She picked up information much faster than her peers, all the way through high school. Then came college, and she was able to skate by on her own natural talents. Now in Law School, Wendy was struggling for the first time, her own raw and natural talent wasn’t saving her, and she completely lacked the skill sets necessary to pass her current course load. If her brain didn’t immediately latch onto a concept or bit of information in class or if she wasn’t intensely interested in it from the get go, Wendy couldn’t remember it. In a class filled with other studious future lawyers, ones who had long ago mastered the necessary discipline to fail, struggle, and get back on their metaphorical horses until they mastered something, Wendy felt more like a two year old than twenty-two. Friendly rivals like Peter and not-quite study buddies like Morgan, people who she would have left in the duss not four years ago, were now having an easier time than she was. She was surprised as anything when Tonya got into law school with her and Tonya was acing every single assignment. The gap had closed and widened itself again, only now Wendy was on the wrong side of it. As she’d shown at the dinner table, Wendy had talent enough for twisting words, arguing and generally bullshitting her way through a conversation; a skill that was easy enough to utilize for things like essays where she was trying to prove a point, but rote facts had become the bane of her existence. Even if her midterm was an essay, she’d need facts to back it up. She wasn’t failing, but only because there’d been so few grades collected. For the hundredth time in four hours, Wendy whispered to herself, “I’m doomed”. Stalling, she took a sharp left turn in the hallway and went to the bathroom. “I’m just gonna go pee,” she promised herself, “then I’ll get back to studying.” It was a lie, she knew deep down, but it was a lie that gave her comfort. More than likely, she realized hiking down her bottoms and lifting up her top, she’d pee, go to her room, see the empty coffee cup on her desk, decide she needed more coffee, go fill it back up in the kitchen, down it and refill, take the second cup back to her room, sit down, and stare at the same page for a solid fifteen minutes before she remembered to drink the second cup. Then she’d have to go to the bathroom again. Rinse. Procrastinate. Repeat. Dinner had actually managed to break up the anxious monotony of it all as late afternoon bled into late in the evening. Four hours. Four hours and three chapters, and Wendy literally felt like she was banging her head against the wall. Three chapters was kind of impressive, she imagined, until she remembered that she had nine to go. She relaxed her bladder and ignored the sound of liquid on liquid beneath her as so many did. At least something about her was managing to relax. The rest of her, brain included, was anything but. She was going to fail and she knew it. It was like finding out she had a terminal disease or something. There was no avoiding it, it was just a matter of time. The only question was how much pain did she want to put herself through in fighting against the inevitable. Trying to delay the inevitable, Wendy sighed, cleaned up, redressed, and washed her hands. Maybe she could take the rest of the night off and then cram the remaining nine chapters tomorrow night? That made sense, right? She’d be more refreshed and less stressed. Simple. She was burned out. If the brain was a muscle, it made no sense to overstrain it. That defense was countered by massive anxiety. No. Despite all her denial, she was going to go down swinging. Even if it took her another four hours of reading and re-reading the same chapters again and again, she’d manage to get halfway through the reading before bed. She gave her another choice. Another shiver caused Wendy to yank down on the waist of her sweater dress. Was she sick or something? That might explain something. If she was sick, she wouldn’t feel so bad about not being able to study. Couldn’t feel bad about not absorbing information if her brain was fogged up from a disease. Unconsciously seeing the next excuse to kill time, Wendy passed by her solid oak desk, the textbook proppedo pen on the last page of the chapter she’d just read. She shuddered again, just glancing at the “Essential Questions” portion in her book. Something told her that she’d be completely unable to answer the questions, even partially. That was because she was sick though. Best to bundle up with another layer. Wendy kept walking and flung open the slatted doors to her closet...and stared. What was that ripple in the air? There in the middle of her closet, almost like a mirage or a heavy gas leak. The air shimmered, taking on a wispy, smoke-like quality. Wendy sniffed, smelling nothing. Her neck hunched and her eyes narrowed, trying to find more definition or else dispel it through will power. Nothing. Then, as if trying to pet a rattlesnake she gingerly reached forward towards the shimmering air. No change in temperature one way or the other; neither a hot flash or an inexplicable chill. What happened was worse. As the tips of her fingers made contact with the shimmering wisps of air a blinding flash like lightning tore out where her fingers made contact. A sharp, quick scream erupted from Wendy and she drew her hand back as if she’d been electrocuted. Panting and with her heart rate approaching hummingbird levels she inspected her fingertips. Nothing. No singing or blistering or discoloration whatsoever. The mysterious light had blinked out too; as quickly as if she’d just closed the refrigerator. “What in the…?” Wendy didn’t finish the sentence for fear of invoking a higher or lower power. For the second time she stuck her hand in her closet. For the second time, brilliant white light poured forth, as if the air itself had a second heatless sun. Wendy looked just long enough to see that her left hand was well and truly engulfed, but not in pain, and turned her head away. No shadow fell on the floor, even though something as bright as her She managed to gather her fright into a coherent word, “FUCK!”, before taking her hand out. Looking back into her closet, the light was gone but shimmering bits of air remained in its place. Wendy looked at her hand one more time, going so far as to compare left to right side by side. No warts or bits of rotting flesh; nothing lost or present that hadn’t already been there. Curiously, she snaked her arm around the nearly invisible column and grabbed hold of a shirt. No amount of mysterious luminescence leaked from the fabric of reality. The same was true when she slid her elbow into the same space. Nothing. The moment she jabbed her arm straight through however... LIGHT! ALIEN ABDUCTION LEVELS OF LIGHT! “What was in that meatloaf?” Wendy whispered. Now was not the time for whispering, however. “MOM?! DAD?!” Heavy footsteps signalled her father’s approach. Gray headed and balding, Dad opened the door to Wendy’s room wide. “Yes, honey?” Wendy froze. She was up to her elbow now, and a tiny dawn’s worth of light was streaming past her out of her open closet. “Um...do you see anything...unusual?” She asked, rather unnerved by her father’s complete lack of surprise on the matter. Calmly and thoughtful, her father scratched his chin. “Did you buy something? New outfit or something? Borrowed something from that Lindsay girl, maybe?” Lindsay was a classmate and a relative socialite that had come home for dinner one evening. The one thing she’d impressed on Wendy’s parents was how fashionable she was. She supposedly partied every weekend but still maintained a B+ average. That was besides the point... Not believing what she was hearing out of her father’s mouth, the law student did a full on double take, and walked forward out of the closet. The light vanished, closed up on itself the second she stepped out. “How about now? Did you see that?” Wendy asked. .“Um...yeah...very nice?” Dad clearly had no idea what she was talking about. “Cool,” Wendy lied. “Cool, cool, cool. Just checking.” “Do you need anything else?” “No. Thank you. I think I might just be studying too hard.” “Oh,” her father looked concerned. “You don’t wanna do that.” Wendy flexed her fingers and bit her lip. “Oh I’ll be okay. I just need some more coffee or something. I’ll be fine, I’m sure.” That seemed to satisfy Dad. “Fair enough.” Dad walked away without further comment. Wendy trailed behind him to shut the door. “Everything okay?” she heard Mom call. “Yeah,” Dad’s voice, already fading, said. “Just being a twenty-something.” Wendy leaned against her door, trying to stop herself from hyperventilating. “What? The? Fuck?” Forget studying, she wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight; not until she figured out what was going on in her closet. That’s why fifteen minutes later she was tossing the pillow from her bed into her closet to no avail. She’d gone and made a rope out of her bedsheets and everything. The idea had been sound: Send something expendable through the portal, that’s what she was starting to think of it as, that could then be reeled back like a fishing lure. All she managed to do was knock a couple of her shirts and dresses off their hangers. “Oh for…!” Wendy dropped the sheet bundle and threw head back. This whole thing really was very silly. “It’s stress,” she mumbled. “It’s stress. It’s gotta be stress.” In a way, the idea that she might be hallucinating or cracking up was a bit more comfortable than stumbling across some bizarre preternatural phenomenon.. Feeling awfully silly, she pulled back the sheets, only to have the pillow slip out. Add knot tying to the list of skills Wendy needed to work on. “What’s wrong with me?” she asked the ceiling. Her eyes focused on the bit of plaster where her father had paved over a hairline crack. Chuckling to herself, she walked forward, completely dismissing the shimmering rip in the air, bent over to pick up her pillow and... LIGHT! BLINDING LIGHT! Another small, startled scream leapt out of Wendy’s throat, but it was too late. Forward momentum and a force not unlike gravity pulled Wendy deep into her closet, tumbling into parts unknown. Parts unknown, as it so happened, looked a lot like Wendy’s bedroom at first. In certain fantasy and sci-fi stories, a character going through a portal might travel through darkness to a mystical snowy landscape, or else plummet into a fiery inferno or go through a magical door to an island of boiling rains or a labyrinth of strange creatures. To Wendy however, it was more like falling out of her own closet. She felt disoriented, and discombobulated like she’d just gotten spun around in circles until she lost her balance. The fantastical white light hadn’t helped any. Blinking away the spots, she laughed in shock at the familiar texture and hazy color of her own carpet. Maybe it was a gas leak. She dug her fingers into it and pushed herself up to a standing position. She sniffed and the faint scent of perfume and something else, something slightly foul, registered in her nostrils, though she couldn’t quite place it. By the second inhalation the smell was either gone, her nose had gotten used to it, or she’d completely stroked out. Stumbling around her room, the possibility of ocular damage, if not brain damage was becoming increasingly plausible to Wendy’s mind. Too much of her vision was still blurry as if she’d been staring at the sun. Everything was coming out in just the roughest of silhouettes. Colors were off, too. The walls were a pastel pink. A few blinks and eye rubs later, ballerina fairies along the ceiling’s border came into focus. Her room hadn’t been pink in a long time; and she never remembered anything so patently childish in decoration; yet something in Wendy’s subconscious still accepted it and labeled the space as her room. The door was in the right place. A glance backwards over her shoulder confirmed that the closet was too, complete with that same wavering column of not quite air. Her vision was still too hazy to properly inspect any of the clothes contained therein. Still looking at the closet the twenty-two year old woman tried to lean back on her desk, looking for balance. She came up short however, and wound up splayed out on a chest that was just as wide and sturdy as her desk but much much lower to the ground. “Huh?” That was how Wendy realized that there were sparkling star stickers on her ceiling. Distinguishing the sparkling all the fine, glittery details on her ceiling, including the plaster seam where dad had patched up that hairline crack years ago confirmed that Wendy’s vision had cleared up and she was where she thought she was….sort of. The someday-lawyer sat up, rolled off to her knees and her vision had cleared enough for her to make out the rainbow lettered stencils on the chest she’d been laying on. T-O-Y-S What was a toybox doing in her room? Palms flat on the top, Wendy stood up and turned around to finally see what else was different now that her eyes were working properly. Her breath caught in her throat. She very much hoped her eyes were still deceiving her. Forget the toybox, what was a crib doing in her room? A big one too! Far bigger than anything needed to contain an actual child! An adult crib? How was that a thing? If her eyes were as sharp as they felt, surely that meant she was hallucinating. The baby bed against the wall was both ornately carved and there were foam letters on the wall behind and above. W-E-N-D-Y Not only was this supposed to be a giant crib, it had been designated as her giant crib... Her eyes darted to the right of the crib, practically drawn to what she initially thought were stacks of puffy white towels on shelves. Strange. She didn’t have anything like that, normally. Her dresser was supposed to be there. The gears finished turning in Wendy’s head as she exhaled. Those weren’t towels that her eye had been drawn to. They weren’t even cloth; just cloth-like. The white bottle of baby powder on top of the table and the pail next to it explained the scents that registered when she first came out. If the giant crib was in place of her bed. Then that must be a changing table. The giant diapers were on the top shelf, right where her underwear would normally be. But if that meant the crib was supposed to be her crib, then ipso facto that implied that the table as well as the diapers... Wendy dived back into the closet, holding her breath until she tumbled back out again. She steadied her breathing, mentally labeling what she saw (and didn’t see). Beige walls; normal adult bed; study desk; chair; absolutely no changing table or diapers. Wendy mopped the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve. “What was that place?!” She looked at the wavering mass of air in her closet. Added to the unnatural thickness in the space, a bit of sparkling light shone out, no brighter than a nightlight. Bursting through from the other side had left a kind rip. “Honey?” Mom called from down the hall. “Wendy, is everything okay?” “Fine, Mom!” Wendy called back. “It’s fine.” Fine? Maybe not. But a hell of a lot more interesting than studying for a History of Law Midterm. Chapter 2 Wendy woke up achy all over with a crick in her neck causing her considerable discomfort. She’d fallen asleep on the floor of her own bedroom, her back against the wall parallel to her closet and her notebook opened to the very beginning of the fifth chapter she’d been meaning to study. One chapter. She’d spent the rest of the night pouring over one lousy chapter of legal history. Combined with the previous three, she’d read only a third of her required reading material for the upcoming exam. She had just one more day to basically devour the remaining eight chapters she’d procrastinated studying on, and then an exam which could very well make or obliterate her GPA. From an objective point of view, Wendy could hardly shoulder the blame of this procrastination alone. Most twenty-two year olds cramming for exams only had factors like the temptation of wild parties on a saturday night, or paper thin apartment walls where they could hear their neighbors arguing and making love, sometimes both. These were normal distractions. Strange rips in reality that no one else could see, thus indicating some form of magic or severe psychiatric issue (a brain tumor perhaps?); that was a uniquely Wendy problem. She confirmed it not once, but twice, with each of her parents. Neither one could see it, even though since exiting the strange room made up for a giant baby, the invisible shimmering mirage in her closet had given way to being replaced with a beam of light coming out of nowhere. Absent the heavenly choir it still resembled the bright light at the end of the tunnel so common in near death and out of body experiences. . An afterlife with a giant adult sized nursery….yeah right! “You sure you’re not studying too hard, cupcake?” Dad had asked. Mom had gone so far as to feel Wendy’s forehead checking for a fever and check to see if her lymph nodes were swollen or eyes dilated. Mom wasn’t a nurse, but being a public school teacher made her the next best thing. There was a strange interdimensional rip in her bedroom closet that no one but her could see or seemingly interact with. What did one do in this situation, save retreat? It’s why she’d hunkered down on the wall beside her bedroom closet. Out of sight, out of mind. Once, when she was thirteen she’d banged her head really hard playing tetherball at summer camp. Squiggly lines started appearing in her vision, just on the fringes of her line of sight and crossing her vision only whenever she purposefully shifted her eyes from left to right; kind of like little white flurries in a snow globe. The camp doctor had said she hit her head hard enough that some eye jelly had come loose inside her and that’s what the little squiggles that only she could see were. It happened all the time. Eventually the jelly would settle back into place or she’d stop noticing it. As long as she didn’t take a whole bunch of tetherballs to the face, everything would go back to normal and she wouldn’t need glasses. This was the same principle. It had to be. As long as she ignored it and pretended not to see the hole in existence with blinding alien light shooting through it, it would go away. Right? Right. That level of denial hadn’t served her well in her studying. Rather than the looming panic and procrastination in what was now tomorrow’s exam, Wendy was alternately obsessing over a miraculous discovery or her own fragile sanity depending on where her brain decided to go page by page. The whole mess just resulted in her falling asleep with her back to the wall, waking up in brief spurts expecting to see a changing table where her dresser was supposed to be or a toy box where her study desk was. Then she’d go back to re-reading where she’d left off before dropping back into dreamland again. The text had made a better pillow than a book. Achingly, Wendy stood up and raised her arms over her head, letting out a bellowing yawn. Her bladder was screaming at her. It had been the thing, rather than the trace amount of sunlight coming in through her bedroom blinds that had woken her up. “Why didn’t I just crawl into bed?” she moaned to herself. A mental overlay of a crib where her bed laid made her eye twitch. “Oh yeah. That.” Her bladder wouldn’t wait much longer. Still wearing last night’s leggings and sweater dress, Wendy jogged, actually jogged, out of her room to the toilet. Whether this was because of her dire need to relieve herself or because the extra bit of speed made it easier not to look back into her closet even Wendy couldn’t say. Her bladder successfully emptying itself was the only relief she was experiencing just then. Blinking away the last bits of restless sleep, the Law student had to admit to herself that she’d absolutely failed at her endeavor. She could barely remember the three chapters she’d forced her way through before discovering the rip. The fourth chapter was a complete blur with the only knowledge she’d retained being that she had, in fact, read it. She couldn’t remember a darned thing! The toilet tank was still refilling when her dad stopped her. “Wendy? Isn’t that what you were wearing last night?” Wendy rubbed her eyes. Dad was wearing his ‘Sunday best’ a term he jokingly used when he wore khaki shorts and one of the tacky Hawaiian shirts. “Yeah, Dad.” “Late night studying?” “Yeah.” “Go on and get changed, cupcake,” he said. “Your Mom’s out for an early grocery run. I’ll make you some instant oatmeal, and then you can do nothing for an hour.” A smile crept up on Wendy’s face. “Which begs the question, why do I need instant oatmeal?” In unison they said. “We could just make regular oatmeal and feel productive.” That dumb, shared joke of theirs actually made Wendy feel a little better. “I’ll be out in a minute.” Dad pointed to her. “You better,” he joked. “If you’re not ready by the time it’s out of the microwave, I’m coming in after ya.” “Okay, okay,” she said, smiling despite herself. Closing the door behind her, Wendy’s relief was short lived. “Oh yeah,” she mumbled. “That.” Directly across from her was the rip. It hadn’t gotten any bigger, as far as she could tell, but it was decidedly brighter. Either that or her lack of a good night’s sleep had made it seem brighter; the way the sun does after a hangover. Lacking sunglasses, Wendy did a right turn and forced herself not to look by shielding her vision with her left hand. Yeah...that’d make it go away. She went to the dresser that definitely wasn’t a changing table. Despite knowing full well about it, she still sighed in relief seeing her panties in the top drawer where they belonged. She got some out and looked back over to her closet. “Definitely not.” For that reason, her morning’s attire consisted of a bra and panties, and loose fitting tan shorts with a worn grayish t-shirt. These were clothes that she was more likely to wear to the gym than to school, but she didn’t have any classes today; just studying. Her own version of her ‘Sunday best’ would do just fine. She went to her bedroom door, put her hand on the knob, and froze. She turned around and looked at the piercing light emanating from within her closet, so close yet so far away, and beyond it what she could only think of as a strange trip into a parallel universe. Hallucination or not, how long could she ignore it? “Wendy!” Her father bellowed all the way from the “The microwave just dinged. Come and get some brain food, Cupcake!” “Be right there, Dad!” She knew it to be a falsehood the moment she said it. “I’m just having um...lady things!” It was a stupid and shallow lie, but one that bought her, she hoped, at least a couple of minutes. Just how long could she venture into the world beyond her own closet before Dad checked in on her? What would he think if he opened her bedroom door and found her mysteriously missing? Surely he’d worry. Addicted of all stripes find ways to justify getting their fixes. Just what she was addicted to didn’t come to Wendy in the moment, but she did come up with an idea. “Dad!” Wendy called. “Can you come in here for a second?” There was a pause of uncertainty. “Yeah sure. Do you want me to find where your mother keeps the uh...lady stuff?” “No. I’m fine. False alarm.” She paused for a moment and then thought to add, “And no, I’m not pregnant!” “Oh thank god!” Dad laughed. It was the kind of laugh one does when they are both relieved and unsettled that someone guessed what they were thinking. Wendy positioned herself at the threshold of her closet, right next to the rip. Her pulse was pounding, her breath was picking up. A quick rapping on the door preceded its opening. “So what was it you wanted to show me, Wendy?” “This!” Wendy dove head first into the light. This time, she was smart enough to close her eyes and the blinding light, like the heart of a sun, didn’t disorient her nearly as much. It was still disorienting, of course; expecting to hit the back wall of one’s closet and instead running several steps straight through was bound to be. It just wasn’t as disorienting as the first time. What was disorienting was the fleshy thump into her father. “Whoah! Easy there closet monster!” she heard him say. It was definitely her father. She’d known his voice all her life. Warning bells blitzed her brain. She really was crazy. All she’d managed to do is stumble around in her own closet and parade out looking like a loon. “Is that what you wanted to show me? Did you want to show Daddy what a good closet monster you could be?” “Daddy?” She opened her eyes. Sure enough, her father was standing there, beaming slightly down at her with the height difference of a handful of inches. He was exactly the same as he'd been a handful of seconds before. The rest of her room wasn't. To her near right was a toy box. To her far left was the giant crib and changing table. The walls were again pastel pink with fairy ballerinas along the borders. “Dad,” the words poured out of her like a fountain, “what are you doing here? Did you follow me? Does that mean you saw me go through the rip? Why aren’t you behind me, then? Why aren’t you freaked out that my room looks like it did when I was a baby but everything’s...everything’s...bigger?” “Hmmm?” her father squinted. “What was that baby girl?” It was the same kind of look that her father had when they’d gone on family vacations and a local or a tour guide had a particularly thick accent; even if their English was fine. It was like he was trying to translate in his head what they were saying through whatever patois peppered their speech. Wendy cocked her head sideways. How could father be having trouble understanding her? “What are you doing here, Dad?” Dad nodded in not-quite understanding. “Ooooooh! Where’s Daddy?” “Where’s Da-?” Wendy was cut off as her father placed one thick hand over each eye. “Wheeeeeeeeeere’s…?” Daddy said, his words like the wind up of a pitch. He removed his hands from off her eyes and finished. “Daddy?!” He did it again. “Wheeeeeeeeere’s….Daddy?!” Between rounds of peekaboo, the Law student blinked. It certainly looked like her dad, but not. He was dressed the same, and had the same voice she’d heard since she actually needed a crib, but there was a dearth of gray hair in his beard and almost no wrinkles at the corner of his eyes or hints of laugh lines. A reflection of her father, but with the last two decades or so shaved off. “You’re not my father, are you?” “Wheeeeeeeeere’s...Daddy?!” She wasn’t scared. Just mildly confused. Befuddled? This might be what befuddled felt like. “Okay, okay,” she said, slapping his hands away as he came in for a fourth pass. “Stop!” “Alright,” the not-Daddy (mirror Daddy? Closet Daddy? Yeah...let’s go with that) said. “I’m sorry. Daddy didn’t mean to upset you.” “Wait,” she blanched. “You understood that?” “Uh-huh,” he replied. “Time for breakfast! Let’s get some num-nums in that tum-tum!” “Yeah...um...no.” She about faced and made to leap back through the rift of blinding light. “Thanks, bye!” Her retreat was stopped as her Daddy’s hand grasped her by the wrist. “Whoah! Wrong way, Cupcake. You can play ‘closet monster’ later. First, some breakfast!” The shriek Wendy let out as her father’s doppelganger pulled her into his arms and then draped her over his shoulder was one of surprise, but not necessarily fear. She could feel in his movements, and the tender strength of his grip that he wasn’t trying to harm her; nor was he close to straining himself. “What are you doing?” “It’s breakfast time, Wen,” he calmly explained. “Most important meal of the day.” The world whirled around and the rip in this reality got farther and farther away as her Closet Daddy trudged out of her infantilized bedroom, carrying her halfway over his shoulder. “You want to grow-up big and strong, don’t you?” “Big and strong?” Wendy echoed. A thought that should have been obvious finally came to her. “How old do you think I am?” She jolted, helplessly in his arms while he gently patted her butt. It wasn’t flirty or sexual, (thank god). More clinical, like a nurse checking bandages. “Still dry, he said, more to himself. “DAD! How-?” She cut herself off when she felt him shift her further and dig a finger into the waistline of her panties and pull them out. Her father, or someone very much like him, was literally staring at her ass. More accurately, part of her realized, he was staring at the back of her underwear. “THE FUCK?!” “Not poopy, either.” he said more to himself. There was an unspoken ‘yet’ that she found most disturbing. He shifted her down so that she was off his shoulder and closer to riding on his hip. “What was that honey?” “How? Old? Do? You? Think? I? Fucking? Am?” she repeated with deliberate slowness. She was taking her shock at being manhandled, having her personal space so casually violated, and being ignored, and tempering it with the realization that this world was decidedly not her own. Ironic, in a way. She was a foreigner in a foreign land, but talking like every depiction of a stereotypical American tourist; including the vain hope that speaking slower might make her more easily understood. “Bla-blah-blag-baw!” Daddy crossed his eyes. “See? I can make silly faces, too! Drooly girl!” “Drooly girl?” Self-consciously, she started patting her mouth, feeling for bits of saliva. Her chin was as dry as it ever was. Just like everything else, this man who looked so much like a younger version of her father, was seeing something that just wasn’t there. Speaking of things that weren’t there, Wendy took a gander at her surroundings as she was carried off. Besides her room, not much else had changed. Everything else was exactly as she remembered it from this morning. Correction: A family photo in the space between the living room and the kitchen caught her eye. It was supposed to be her High School graduation picture. Mom and Dad looked the same, albeit younger, but there was a little girl sitting down beneath them, wearing a pink dress with white tights and a big floppy bow in the child’s fair and fine hair. She only recognized her younger self in it by virtue of inference. She might have had a baby picture like that back home, but she’d long since forgotten it. A baby picture that didn’t exist... What did that mean for this world seemingly adjacent to her own? Between that photo, how her bedroom was decorated, and the way this version of her father was acting, Wendy might already have had her answer. “Daddy,” she said, much nicer than before. “How old am I?’ Wendy didn’t get her answer until she was set down and buckled into a particularly large highchair with a tray clicked into place. “How old are you?” Her Closet Daddy repeated as though he was just barely understanding her. Wendy nodded. “In just a couple of months,” he said slowly, “you’re going to be this many!” When he said ‘this’ he held up a single finger. Part of her threatened to panic; that was why when she fiddled with the buckle around her waist, even though it was just a simple mechanism, it wasn’t budging. She likely couldn’t move the catch on the tray either and the bar between her legs would have prevented her from sliding out the bottom. A larger part of her was legitimately curious, not frightened by the absurdity as much as driven to understand it. Here was something that was completely outside the realm of normal possibility and Wendy’s brain itched to scratch the surface and understand it. “You think I’m not even a year old?” she asked. “That’s right,” Daddy said. He tied a bib big enough to be a towel around her neck. “You’re almost one whole year old! You’re growing up to be such a big girl!” “That’s not what I said…” “You’re getting to be such a good talker too. You’re a little smarty-pants just like your mother!” Closet Daddy turned from the microwave and started stirring around a bowl of instant oatmeal. “And when you turn a year old, you’re gonna have a big party! There’ll be cake, and balloons, maybe even a clown!” “Fuck clowns.” Even now, she was experimenting. “Okay, okay.” he chuckled. “Clowns are bad,” he picked up a bowl of instant oatmeal with a plastic spoon in it. “Maybe we’ll revisit that when you’re two or three. But all of your little friends from daycare will be there.” “I don’t go to daycare,” Wendy said. “I’m a Law student.” Her father dipped the plastic spoon in. Rather than make a straight line, though, he made the spoon duck and weave. “Bumble-bee, bumble-bee, bumble-bee….buzz-buzz-buzzzzzzzz!” Despite herself, Wendy giggled at just how ridiculous he looked. That’s when he plunged the plastic spoon into her mouth. It was, in fact, just instant oatmeal. Cinnamon raisin flavored Not her favorite, but good enough. “You don’t get this kind of quality performance at daycare, I bet!” he congratulated himself. Wendy swallowed. “I...don’t...go...to...daycare...” she repeated herself. “I’m...a...Law...student.” The man who looked every bit like her father leaned over and tickled her foot beneath the tray, making her laugh again. That got another spoonful. While he was waiting for her to swallow, his brain seemed to make sense of the non-language barrier. “Oh?” he said “Oh yeah. They don’t call them daycares anymore, do they? I still think calling it Preschool is a little far-fetched. What’s the name for that place?” Wendy searched her own memory. Back on the other side of the rip, she had pictures and certificates all the way back to before Elementary School. Being a chronic natural overachiever, she’d become inundated with story after story of her entire life. Before Elementary, it was Preschool. Before Preschool it was... “Just follow the bouncing spoon!” “Bouncing Babies Academy?” She got the words out just in time for a spoon to ‘bounce’ through the air and into her mouth. She swallowed, and closet Daddy did that squint again like he was trying to parse out a thick accent. “That’s right! Bouncing Babies! My big girl goes to Bouncing Babies with her little friends like...Morgan and Tonya and Lindsay...who else is in your little playgroup? Oh yeah! Peter!” The mention of her current classmates shut Wendy up quickly. Silently, she’d been working under the theory that this was some kind of time portal. She’d known her current group of friends for a while now; some of them for years. But she hadn’t known any of them for so long that they’d been in diapers together. Red Flag! Definitely a red flag! Nothing a dollop of whip cream on the next spoonful and a tickle on the thigh couldn’t fix. Wendy swallowed another gulp of oatmeal. It was actually quite relaxing. Not having to feed herself gave her time to sort this particular puzzle out. So this world beyond the rip wasn’t exactly a time portal. What was it? “Fuck clowns.” “Yes, yes,” this alternate version of her father chuckled. Weird that he didn’t react to her deliberately dropping an F-bomb. Why was that? “I know you’re afraid…” he stopped himself, “I mean I know you don’t like clowns. That’s fine. I’ll tell Mommy. Maybe we can find a ballerina for you. Or we can dress you up like a ballerina for the party. Would you like that?” “Yes.” “Okay. I’ll try to remember it in a couple of months,” he started scraping the bowl. A final spoonful came up wobbling to Wendy’s mouth. Wendy leaned back in the highchair like the final spoonful contained cyanide instead of moistened oats. “No.” “No?” Good. He understood ‘no’. “No.” Closet Daddy shrugged. “Okay then. More for me.” He put the final bit into his mouth and swallowed. Glancing at the clock on the microwave he did a double-take. “Wow! That normally takes longer! Someone’s either super hungry or Daddy’s seriously upped his game! We do this a couple more times, and I can get the regular oatmeal! Good girl, Wendy!” The praise, however condescending, caused all sorts of happy chemicals to release in Wendy’s brain. She smiled bigger and brighter than when she’d gotten her Bachelor’s degree. “Ooops!” he reached up and used Wendy’s own bib like a napkin, dabbing at the corners of her mouth and cheeks. “Not a hundred percent success rate.” Wendy blushed. “Not your fault, baby. Hard to keep all your food in there when you’re being such a giggly girl.“ He smiled. “But if you weren’t such a giggly girl, Daddy might not get any of the food in at all!” He tickled the bottom of her foot again for emphasis. “Such is life. Time for a bottle.” He went to the fridge. “Chocolate milk?” she called out. “Chocolate?” He pointed to the nearly liter baby bottle he’d brought back. Wendy nodded. “I don’t think so,” Daddy said. “It’s a little early for chocolate milk, don’t you think?” He blanched. “Why am I asking you?” Wendy reached out and accepted the bottle. The cool milk felt good after the hot oatmeal, and she gulped it down while her father wiped the kitchen counter and talked to himself. Chugging down the bottle, Wendy felt like she’d about figured it out: For some reason, she was seen as an infant in this world; a toddler at best; not even a year old. Hence the giant baby furniture in her room and the chair in the kitchen she was sitting in. It’s why she had just another baby picture instead of her in a cap and gown. As far as her Dad was concerned, she was a baby; which explained patting her bottom and declaring her ‘dry’. In his mind, he was checking her diaper. The physics of the world seemed to confine her to that diminished role, too. Closet Daddy was strong enough to carry her through the house like it was nothing. And even though she was a fully grown young woman, she lacked the physical capability to undo a safety latch meant for a small child. She didn’t feel particularly weak, just that everything else seemed that much stronger; like in the Marvel movies when someone tried to lift Thor’s Hammer. Interesting. Most interesting so far, though, was the communication barrier. Based on her probing, it seemed that there was some kind of one way language filter going on. She could understand everything that her kind-of-father said to her, but everything she was saying came out as though a small child just learning to talk was saying it. If it was something she might have said twenty-one years ago, he could just get the gist of it. Anything else must have gone unheard or come out as well...baby babble. Did not even one-year olds actually talk that much? Wendy didn’t know enough about kids to say one way or another. Maybe a few words. ‘Mama’ or ‘Dada’. Maybe this weird mirror universe was taking what she was saying as a full grown adult and kind-of-sort-of splitting the difference. Almost like part of her world, the real world, was bleeding over into this one. That made as much sense as anything else, she supposed. “Daddy?” she said. He turned around from wiping down the counter. “Yes, Cupcake?” Good. He recognized when she called him. “Since I’m going to go to the Supreme Court one day, what’s your opinion on Roe versus Wade and a woman’s right to bodily autonomy?” “Really?” He sighed. “Okay, Cupcake. Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Row, row, row your boat….” Theory all but confirmed. “-gently down the stream-” Roe versus Wade certainly wouldn’t have been something she’d have talked about when she was less than a year old, so the best that could be done was- “-merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily life is but a dream.” Closet Daddy exhaled. “I love you, Wendy.” “I love you too, Daddy.” Something in that made Wendy feel tingly all over. She was sure she said it to her parents often enough, and they to her, but there was just something...different about it. Tone? Context? Implication? She wasn’t completely sure. He didn’t say it any differently than he usually did, it just felt different. She most often heard such praise and affirmation either when she was feeling rather low in despair, or right after a major success: ‘Oh, you forgot your homework? Don’t worry, I still love you Wendy.’ or ‘Straight A’s all year? So smart! Love you!’ But if everyone thought she was, say nine or ten months, then they had nothing to say “I love you” about. No minor failures to soothe or major successes to celebrate. Looking into her Closet Daddy’s eyes, she caught the smallest hint at being valued not for what she’d done or what she might yet do. Instead, she had the briefest memory of what it was like to feel valued just for being herself. And that feeling tingled in a way that she hadn’t felt in what seemed a long, long time. “All done with your milk?” Instead of speaking, Wendy just handed the three quarters drained bottle of milk off to the man and waited patiently. It would be as easy for him to remove her from the scaled up highchair as it was impossible for her to escape it. “Almost forgot.” He removed the bib, and walked over to the sink, depositing it there and dumping out the rest of the milk. When the bib came off, Wendy felt her first bit of renewed caution. Still buckled into the highchair, she looked down at herself, and witnessed something both miraculous and disheartening. Her clothes were changing color! Her tan shorts, now that she could see them, were now undoubtedly powder blue. “Huh?” Her shirt was in the midst of changing, too. Like an oil slick spreading into the ocean, Wendy watched dabs and droplets of pink spread out on the plain gray of her shirt. The rose tinted color expanded and blotted out the dreary cloud coloring much in the way paper towels soaked up water. Strangely, the pink morass left a section of her shirt untouched while it washed over the rest of her dreary clothes. That was only because the outline of a white cartoon kitty-cat faded and bleached itself into existence. Wendy’s own language usage wasn’t the only thing bleeding. This world, it seemed, was bleeding into her; or her clothes at least. This was certainly a new wrinkle! Blue and pink instead of tan and gray wasn’t the most infantile thing in the world; it was still just a t-shirt and shorts, but it was definitely an alteration from when she had entered. What did that mean for the clothes beneath? She got half of her answer when her Daddy removed her from the chair. “Wow,” he said, patting her butt again through her shorts. “Still dry! New personal best!” He joked. Better one of her parents doing this to her than some creep on campus, she supposed. Wendy felt the hand gently groping her through her panties, with nary a squish or a telltale crinkle. As far as she could tell, she wasn’t wearing a diaper, thank goodness. However, while the kitchen zoomed away from her back towards the giant nursery, Wendy cupped her breasts. “Still have my...” Just as they crossed the threshold back into her room turned nursery, Wendy felt the wires and padding of her bra evaporate. The straps and fasteners practically melted into her shirt. A ruffled pattern, like flower petals, manifested and sprouted along her chest and all around her back, just above the white cartoon kitty cat. “...-bra?” “Don’t worry, baby.” the variant of her father said. “Mama will be back in just a little bit.” He sat her back down in the nursery version of her room and gave her a wet, though chaste kiss on the forehead. “I love you so much.” He gently nuzzled his head against hers. Wendy felt her face blush a deep crimson. Not just because of the intimate nature of the physical affection, but frankly, the embarrassment of it all. Her nipples were poking out slightly through the increasingly babyish t-shirt. The newly added ruffles obscured it enough, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel them rubbing on the coarser, unpadded material. Her breasts were a long way from sagging at her age, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel gravity try to reassert itself as her support was literally yanked out from beneath her by magic. Bras could be uncomfortable at times, but it was even more uncomfortable when they suddenly and unexpectedly ceased to exist. Out of habit, she brought up her forearm and shielded her breasts, as though that might make her feel less naked. As had been the case so-far, Closet Daddy looked at the distinctly adult, distinctly womanly gesture of reflexive embarrassment and modesty and interpreted it through the lens of a baby still working through its first set of teeth instead of a woman who had long ago gone through puberty. “You cold, baby? Do you want Daddy to get you a blanket? Turn up the heat?” Yet again, he was talking more to himself than to her. “No. I think you’ll be okay.” More for her own peace of mind, Wendy gently shook her head, too shocked to say much of anything. Watching her clothes change color was admittedly kind of neat. Feeling her underwear literally disappear was disquieting at best. Speaking of underwear, at least the padding in her bra hadn’t been added to her panties…(yet). Needless to say, the added hurdle that being on this side of the rip seemed to be affecting her clothing was adding a mounting sense of urgency. “So what can we do?” Her Closet Father asked the air. “What can we do before Mommy gets back? What to do, what to do?” From her place on the carpet the Law student looked at her closet, and saw the same rip of blinding luminescence glowing just inside it. If she could just make it past the threshold she’d go tripping back into her own world where she was a proper woman again. Problem being, this version of her father was bent over the toybox and poised between her and her exit. Howard Merts wasn’t exactly an NFL linebacker, but he had well over a hundred pounds on her and was stronger than her ‘in real life’. Between arriving and breakfast, it was already very obvious that he was disproportionately stronger than her. That might apply to other physical attributes, too. It wouldn’t do to have the comparative speed and reflexes of a toddler. No. Better to wait. Slowly, shakily, she stood herself up. Good. She could still stand, and the shaking was more from nerves than anything else. A flat wooden rectangle clattered at her feet. “How about an alphabet puzzle?” Closet Daddy said. “You love playing with your letters.” It was a wooden puzzle, the kind that only a baby would struggle with and maybe not even that. Twenty six little notches, each one shaped like a letter. Tiny wooden letters with nubs in the middle so that they could be placed and removed one at a time filled the slots. Some of them, anyways. Their trip through the air and subsequent landing at her feet caused a good dozen or so to tumble out onto the carpet. The younger version of her father bent over far enough to finish dumping out the letters. “There,” he said. “You can play with your alphabet.” Wearily, Wendy went back down to all fours. Carefully, she placed the letters back into the puzzle, reconstructing the alphabet. “Oh wow! Great job on finding the S!” Wendy blanched from the enthusiasm. “First try and everything!” Hands on his knees he loomed over her and the puzzle. “What about a W? W for Wendy!” He gasped in astonishment when she plucked a W from the scattered wooden alphabet outlines gathered on the carpet. His applause was spontaneous when she placed it into the corresponding slot. “Oh my gosh!” he hopped. “Wow! You did it!” Dad- her real dad- didn’t get this excited watching his favorite sports teams win. Wendy blushed. It had been a long time since she’d gotten this level of praise from anyone for doing something so simple. An unspoken truth was that the more grown-up you were thought to be, the harder adulation was to come by. She looked past her father and to the glowing rip in her closet. Daddy was still positioned between her and her exit. “How about the letter E?” Without nary a thought, Wendy put the vowel in its place. “YES!” Wendy would have thought he’d won the lottery. “N?” Simple enough. “D?” Again. So easy, even a baby could do it. “Y?” Wendy took the penultimate letter of the alphabet and put it in the board puzzle. “W! E! N! D! Y! That spells Wendy!” The girl let out a shriek as her father yanked her up off the floor and started half-tossing her up in the air. “Wen-dy! Wen-dy! Wen-dy!” Wendy giggled and shrieked, spreading her limbs out to catch herself each time the big meaty hands left her side. “Now how did you figure that out so fast?” He wondered aloud. Wendy held her breath. On one hand this might be an effective way to communicate with her dad’s time displaced twin. On the other hand, what would happen if he realized just how little his little girl wasn’t? The dilemma resolved itself when he looked at the lettering above the adult sized crib. “Of course you know those letters! You’ve been seeing them everyday your entire life, haven’t you?” He gushed. “Not even a year old, and my baby girl is studying!” He pulled her in for a hug. Despite all his monumental strength, it felt warm, and soft like a weighted blanket. “Clever! So clever!” Complimented for studying. There was a first. She had to start somewhere though. “Do you want to play something else?” Poking her head up through the clouds of dopamine and serotonin, Wendy remembered that she had more immediate matters to tend to. Her father, her real one, must be worried sick about her to say the least. She nodded. “Yesh!” Then she corrected herself. “Yes!” “Okie dokie!” He set her back down and returned to the toy chest. “What to play with next? What to play with next?” Her not-father kept tossing things out, careful to look behind him only so that he wouldn’t accidentally toss something at Wendy’s skull. “Or there’s your doctor bag. Your jack-in-the box. Your blocks. Your play pots and pans...how did they end up here? Shouldn’t they be in the play kitchen? Nevermind, not important. When did we get you a slinky? Oh a bouncy ball! That could be fun!” Wendy quickly finished the baby puzzle, with one eye on her closet and the other on this strange version of her dad. Something about leaving it unfinished just bugged her. She didn’t need to consciously focus on it, only the slightest amount of anal retentiveness made her double check her work, (which was perfect by the way.) Still on all fours, she shuffle crawled around the Closet Daddy, hoping that he’d distract himself enough digging through useless baby toys long enough for her to get to the rip and jump back through.. “Whoah! Where do you think you’re going, Cupcake?” Two hands reached down and grabbed her by the hips. The carpet flew away from her and she suddenly found herself, dangling by her armpits. She was now looking down at her father, and her tip toes only just grazed the floor, but the act of being held off the ground so easily was still quite unsettling. “Do you want to play ‘closet monster’ again?” Inspiration struck. “Yes,” she said. “Closet monster!” Why fight the language scrambling and just go with it? “Hmmm…” He seemed to look past her. Was there more than one difference between this version of her father and the (for lack of a better term) real one? Could he also see the blinding light that Wendy hoped to escape to? “I don’t knoooow...” His expression was a blend of playfulness and parental paranoia; the kind that new parents get over unforeseen threats to their precious little ones. What could be so dangerous to a baby in her own closet (besides an inexplicable tear in the fabric of existence)? Her old-man’s expression lit up when he pivoted back and looked at the floor. “Is that...did you?” Did she what? She reached behind her and felt the back. Had she had an accident or something? Wet her pants? Worse? She followed his gaze and realized what had gotten him so excited. “Did you do that whole ABC puzzle all by yourself?” For a ten-month old, that was amazing. She found herself on her back, pinned under Closet Daddy’s loving grasp. “That’s amazing! He showered her with kisses, causing her to kick and squirm...but not too hard. Daddy lifted up the front of her T-shirt and a puff of fresh hair breezed onto her belly button. “Who’s Daddy’s smart lil’ cupcake? Is it you? Is it you?” Positively melting with all of the praise, Wendy allowed herself a happy,“Yes!” She didn’t react until her Daddy said ,“Oh I could just eat my little Cupcake all up!” “Daddy! No-ho-ho-ho-ho!” Protests erupted into giggles as a younger version of her father barreled down on her and started tickling her and blowing raspberries on her stomach! “No-ho-ho-ho-ho!” She was powerless to fight the terrible two-ton-tickle monster her father had become. “Nom-nom-nom-nom-nom!” Even his beard tickled. Was she always this ticklish, or was some part of this reality now affecting her senses, too? “Daddy!” she shrieked. “Staaaaaahp!” She couldn’t have predicted the tinge of disappointment she then felt when he actually listened and stopped. The yanking of her shirt back down over her belly button gave an air of finality to the whole ordeal. Catching her breath, her eye was still drawn back to the closet. “Closet…” she huffed and puffed, forcing her breathing to slow back down. “I need...to...go...back...to...the ...closet.” Closet Daddy turned his head and looked back over his shoulder. “What are you lookin’ at, Wendy?” He gave her a light tickle, enough to make her twitch and squirm, but not so much that she laughed again. “What are you lookin’ at?” His own memory seemed to catch up to him. “Do you still want to go hide in that closet?” Breathlessly, Wendy nodded. “Hmmm...what if…” he grinned, mischievously, “I just ate some more Cupcake!” He blew another raspberry right on her belly button. It took so much of Wendy not to break into another fit of laughter. It took even more, she found, not to tell him to try again. “Please?” Wendy pressed. Then she had an idea. It had been forever since she’d done this, but she pouted her lip out, made her eyes big and sad like a puppy dog and gave her best “PWEEEEEEEEEASE!” “Hmmm…” Closet Daddy said. “I don’t know…” He was going to give in. He’d already lost the battle of wills and they both knew it. A muted honking preempted his impending surrender. “Sounds like Mommy’s home,” he said. “Let’s go see what she got us at the grocery store!” Yet again, Wendy found herself carried away from her escape route back to the real world. The second time she was dragged back into her own kitchen, she was deposited straight onto the tile instead of her highchair. Wearing a loose green dress, her mother (Closet Mommy?) walked through the door carrying several bags of groceries. Like her counterpart, this was a younger, fresher, less worn version of her own mother, with hair that was more blonde than pale, and a face far less wrinkled by time and stress. “Hey Wendy,” she cooed. She looked to her husband. “Hey, babe.” They kissed in a way that Wendy wasn’t sure she’d ever seen them before. “There’s more in the car.” “Groceries or kisses?” “There better just be groceries in the car!” They both laughed. Wendy thought she was more mature than to just gawk at her parents acting like a young couple, a half step away from making out. As it turned out, she wasn’t. “Ew…” “Oh. Not in front of the B-A-B-Y.” this world’s version of her Mommy said. “Careful,” Daddy said. “Have I got a story for you! It involves a certain someone being really good with their letters. We’ll talk about making her a little brother or sister later.” “Double ew…” Daddy went out the back door to the car. Mommy started unpacking groceries. Wendy watched. As with her breakfast in the highchair, she was about to travel back inside her own mind and analyze what new factors might come into play, when her Closet Mommy took out a normal sized pack of Pampers from one of the bags and set it on top of the oven. “That goes in Wendy’s room,” she said more to herself than anyone. Wendy grabbed onto the counter and pulled herself up to a standing position from her spot on the floor. Closet Mommy glanced over, but paid her no mind. The package of diapers didn’t leave Wendy’s focus. Something was off, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. But as she tilted her head to one side, she got a better look at the package. Pampers. Size 3. Yet right in front of her, she witnessed a bizarre inverse of what had happened to her outfit. Just like how her adult clothes bled pastel and had become more infantile, the package was steadily enlarging itself on the counter. She watched in quiet horror as it expanded and grew; inflated almost. Yet the image on the outside remained the same. Pampers. Size 3. With a picture of an almost naked child - boy or girl it was impossible to tell - giggling on the front and a promised count of twenty-six diapers. There was no way a pack that big only held twenty-six diapers unless they were very big diapers. Big enough to fit her. More than the package was growing. Her own underwear grew too; except that ‘growing’ wasn’t quite the right word. A better one would have been ‘thickening’. Unconsciously, she spread her legs as a slight weight and a very noticeable bulk added itself to her panties. She felt a light tickle, more like an itch creeping itself, on her inner thighs, back and just below her belly button. Almost like ants creeping across her flesh. It wasn’t until she took a single step forward, drawn to the gigantic diapers that she heard the papery plastic crinkle coming from her own pants. Wendy froze. She reached back behind her, feeling the extra padding on her backside. She lifted up her shirt and stared down past her breasts, seeing the thin waistband of the diaper creep up past the elastic waistband of her shorts as they tended to do. The slight tickling sensation on her thighs must have been leg gathers! That was what they called that weird bit of frilly stuff around a diaper’s leg holes, right? Diapers. Her diaper. The changes hadn’t stopped at her bra. Or if they had, they’d picked back up. She had to go. Now! “Uh...bye!” She took off at a tear back towards her bedroom. “Howard!” her mothers voice called. “You’ve got to see this!” Wendy didn’t slow. It had taken her only a few steps to compensate for the added mass of the giant Pampers that had manifested itself between her thighs. She ignored the lack of support as her breasts bobbed up and down with every thudding step. Now was the time. She’d been gone more than long enough to prove to her real dad that this wasn’t a joke or a hallucination. Within four mighty strides of entering her bedroom, Wendy Merts closed her eyes and leaped head first back into the mysterious light between worlds. She knew she was back when she stubbed her toe and realized she’d hurt herself on her boring old work desk. “Wendy?” her mother called. “Wendy? Are you alright?” Wendy looked at herself. She was still in gigantic baby clothes! She lifted up her shirt and felt between her legs. That was a Pampers, sure enough. Diaper! She had to get rid of the diaper! The rest of the ridiculous outfit, she could likely pass off as ‘quirky’; maybe something she borrowed from Lindsay. So much of women’s clothing was slightly infantilizing anyways. But the diaper? No way! Panickedly, she reached down into the front of her pants and groped along. Weren’t these things supposed to have tapes or tabs? Her hands grasped, unsuccessfully. What was she going to do? Her mother’s footsteps drawing closer, Wendy’s shoulders stiffened and her elbows tensed as right beneath her fingertips, she felt the stiff, crinkling, not quite cloth cover of the disposable diaper shift to the soft, cottony, familiar texture of regular underwear. Her clothes were returning to normal! Her diaper receded back into her shorts, the waistline and leg gathers lightly scratching against her skin one last time before becoming normal elastic. Simultaneously, the ruffles on her shirt’s chest dissipated and she could feel her bra rematerializing around her, the padding from her bottom all but slithering up her back and around to her front. Little by little, gray was coming into her shirt again, and the pink seemed to be draining out. Same for her tan shorts! The door opened. “Honey, are-...?” Mom froze, her pale hale and crows feet back; her expression uncomprehending as the last bits of juvenile color and decoration dragged themselves off of Wendy and vanished from wherever they had come. “-you okay?” Mom finished her sentence less like she was shocked and more like she was a recording that had just unpaused itself. More color drained from Wendy, but this time it was only from her face. “Mom? How much of that did you see?” “Just that you ran back to your room in a hurry. I thought something might be wrong.” Wendy blinked. “No,” she said, unsure if it was a lie or not. “I’m fine.” “Oh. Okay,” Mom said. “Your father told me you’d done something really special just before I got home and-” “Dad!” Wendy shouted! She was running out of her bedroom and past her mother before she realized it. “Daddy!” He had to be completely freaking out! She found her father in the kitchen, having just come in with arms full of grocery bags and started unpacking. The only difference between the groceries he was handling here and the scene she’d just fled was that there was no Pampers package, enlarged or otherwise, laid out amongst the various cans, sodas, bread, and dinner items. “Daddy?” her father repeated. “You haven’t called me that since third grade.” “Second grade,” Mom corrected, coming in from behind Wendy. “I remember because when her report cards went from E’s to A’s she decided she was too grown up to be calling us ‘Mommy’ and ‘Daddy’. So you and I got demoted to good ol’ Mom and Dad.” The two shared a knowing, nostalgic chuckle. Mom stopped just long enough to check Wendy’’s temperature via the back of her hand on her daughter’s forehead. “Normal.” Wendy frowned, not quite following what was happening. “Neither of you two were worried about me?” “Why?” Mom asked. “I thought that mad dash you just made might have been to the bathroom, but you seemed fine in your room to me.” “I hope that instant oatmeal wasn’t past its expiration date,” Dad said. Wendy cocked her head to the side again, this time in confusion. “I had breakfast here?” “I should hope so,” Dad said. “Otherwise I don’t know who I just got done sitting across the kitchen table from.’ No diapers, but Mom was still bringing in groceries. No highchair, but she’d still had breakfast with Dad. “Honey, are you okay?” Mom asked. “She fell asleep studying last night,” Dad reported. “Must’ve paid off though. You should have seen what she did in her notebook just before you came home, the little show off.” “Poor thing,” Mom said. “Why don’t you take it easy today?” Extraordinary astonishment was overridden by mundane anxiety “But my test-” “Test schmest,” Dad said. “You’re no good to yourself if you fry your circuits cramming. Take the day off. You’ve shown you’re ready anyways.” Mom simply added an agreeable “Mmmmhmmm!” Why was his dad so lenient all of a sudden? They were supportive as all get out, but they were never this laid back about it, not when it came to schooling. And what was that about being a show off? “Maybe I’ll go lay down for a minute,” Wendy mumbled. Dad got that same squinty eyed look on his face. “She said she’s going to go lay down, Howard,” Mom translated. “I swear we need to get your hearing checked.” The Law student felt numb from her face to her toes, stumbling back into her bedroom. Just in case, she checked out the old family picture in the living room. There she was in her cap and gown, standing beside two older but very proud parents. Had she dreamed the whole thing up? Had she gone into some kind of fugue state and only imagined that her father had been spoon feeding her the oatmeal in a highchair? A repressed memory maybe? What did that mean about the state of her clothes? More poignantly, what did that mean about the state of her mind? The light beaming out from her closet was as bright as ever. It might have been smaller, but it was hard to tell. Was the light brighter or just more focused? Was this what having a stroke was like? Or going insane? Wendy looked down at the ground rather than stare into the bright abyss. “Hmmm?” A bit of paper caught her eye. Her real room had been as spotless as the giant nursery had been cluttered with toys, so the rectangular shaped notebook stood out like a sore thumb. Wendy bent over and picked it up. “Oh.” Twenty six questions were written, copied word for word from the end of her text books required reading chapters. “My.” Each question was answered succinctly and in a way that she could understand. It was like someone had made her a study guide keyed directly to her brain with all the right questions and answers. No scouring and searching and trying to figure out where the answers were among pages and pages of text. Just simple memorization like a game of trivia. “God!” To cap it off, everything was in her own handwriting. On one side of the rip, she was twenty-two. On the other, she wasn’t quite one year old. Over there, she’d been spoon fed instant oatmeal, and then absentmindedly played with an alphabet puzzle. Over here was now the perfect study guide. Both had Mom going to the grocery store and coming back while Dad made breakfast. Neither seemed to be disturbed or even recognize her absence. The only downside there was the infantile role she’d been placed in was starting to affect her clothing, but only on that side. And if everything she did over there had an adult equivalent effect on this side... Wendy’s mind started racing with possibilities. She was going back. The choice was easy. So easy, even a baby could do it.

Yeah. Uploading on patreon got away from me. I make sure that patreon is only 30 chapters ahead on this one. So I posted these 3 all at once to keep that distance.

Chapter 70: Little Voices: Games Grown-Ups Play I sulked in Janet’s lap at that night’s Little Voices meeting; still brooding and stewing over what went wrong with Beouf. Beouf gushed over how ‘well’ things had gone that day, and said how much of a joy it was to have Lion in the class with me. Beouf was happy, and that meant I couldn’t be. I felt like a chess player going over a game in my head to see where I made the wrong move. Where had the gap in my defense been? Had I not attacked hard enough? Had I jumped in too quickly? I felt like the comedic relief in my own story. I wasn’t some idiot who didn’t know he’d been manipulated. I’d been just with it enough to realize I was being manipulated, but not enough to fix it back. I was Sheriff of Nottingham, instead of his bumbling henchmen. I knew just how screwed I was and I hated that I couldn’t figure out how to unscrew it. What had I done wrong back there? In between replaying the events with Lion, I couldn’t help but overhear the other Little Voices members and their Littles talking and interacting with each other. “Yes, we had a scare with her the other day,” one Amazon said to another. “I don’t know how it happened, but one of the drawers in the kitchen was open and batteries were scattered everywhere. They were right next to her playpen. I almost ran her to the emergency room. Not sure how the baby proofing got undone, but we’ve ordered some stronger ones.” She looked down at the Little by her feet. The doll was wearing a matching denim jumper. The Doll had a doll. “It’s that darn cat.” “This is why we never had pets in my family,” the other Amazon said. “far too much work.” I suppressed a bitter laugh. Changing diapers for decades was fine, but litterboxes were crossing a line? “Plus some of them are just so...small...I’d be afraid to hurt one or step on it. Or something.” Typical. “Yes,” the first agreed, “but the cat came with her, and they’re so adorable together. Especially snuggled up. It’s just so precious, almost makes it worth it. Although I don’t think we’ll get another one.” The Little in the jumper took exception to this. “WHAT?!?!?!” “Don’t worry, Bea, Kit-Kat isn’t going anywhere.” Bored, I listened in on conversations elsewhere. “You know that coffee shop, a town or so over, that we encouraged everyone to avoid because of their um... ‘special’ items?” A Daddy with sandy blonde hair arched his eyebrow. “Yeah, ‘Le Grande Bebe Cafe’, right? With the spiked chocolate milk?” “Right. That one. Same place where they have the Amazon with Maturosis working full time.” “Are you sure she has Maturosis and just isn’t parading around in a diaper or something? Using it as an excuse to dress like a baby in public?” I must have been punchy because of how hard I laughed at that. If I was the Sheriff, these were my henchmen. I was in a room where a bunch of pots were calling kettles ‘black’. Janet looked down at me. “Something funny, giggly boy?” Her smile took mine away. Her light hug stole my laughter but at least let me listen. “Not sure. I’ve heard rumors, but…” the woman shook her head. “Getting off topic. We won’t have to worry about them slipping anything into people’s drinks without asking. New store policy. Less innuendo. Someone had to take their Little to the emergency room for dehydration. Didn’t know what was meant by ‘special’ chocolate milk.” “Oh my god!” Mentally, I disengaged. There was far too much to take in there, and the cult meeting proper hadn’t even started. Another pair of ladies took a seat next to Janet. “How did the date go last night?” “Oh it was going really well, until we started talking about kids and how to look after Littles.” “Let me guess,” the first hen covered her Little’s ears. “H-Y-P-N-O?” “Yep, and kept going on about how good that place was.” Ironically, both of them joined me in an unconscious shudder. “Oh my gosh, that’s ridiculous.” “I tried to talk to him, see if he was open minded, but I could barely get a word in edgewise. Honestly I think he may have seen one of those videos.” They both laughed. As if high and mighty Amazons could be hypnotized. How absurd! I rolled my eyes. Of course they weren’t hypnotized. Why rely on hypnotism when they’d already broken themselves with nice comfortable propaganda and feigned empathy? “Well I’m sorry it didn’t work out, but you know I hear Mark is single.” My ears started burning. Mark. Stupid, plain, milquetoast, Mark with his thick rimmed glasses and mess of black curly hair. I could never have gotten away with hair like that back before Janet started toddlerizing me. He was the only Amazon without a Little prisoner of his own. Even with a week between sightings, I still felt my hackles rise up at seeing him. The only thing worse than an Amazon who’d adopted was one who hadn’t yet but wanted to. I looked up at Janet only to realize that she wasn’t checking on me. Her eyes were also drifting across the circle of chairs, over to Mark casually chatting up two other husbandless- but not Littleless- giantesses. “It’s about that time,” the balding meeting leader said. “Weeeeeeee’re-” “-All together again, We’re here! We’re here! We’re all together again, We’re here! We’re here! And who knows when, We’ll be all together again, Singing we’re all together again, We’re heeeeere!” The opening hymn was always the same. Set the tone, set the mood, set the expectations. It’s how indoctrination worked best. “It looks like we have some new visitors with us this evening,” Baldy said. “Please, introduce yourselves.” “Hi,” a red-haired Amazon said. “I’m Lois.” “HI LOIS!” She bobbed a Little man with dark black hair who was absolutely quivering in her arms. He was terrified. Traumatized. “This is Bradley.” “HI BRADLEY!” “I LIKE TO PEE MY PANTS!” The new guy shouted at the top of his lungs. No one laughed. No one said a thing. New guy’s declaration about him pissing himself rang out to a near vacuum. What’s more, he sounded excited, but not happy about it. He wasn’t celebrating his unpotty trained state, but calling out a safeword. “I LIKE TO PEE MY PANTS!” He was begging. Pleading. A couple of the other Littles exchanged worried, but knowing looks. Cindy, the pink-haired older little whom I’d ruined last week whispered two words to Baldy’s Little. I didn’t need to read lips to guess what she said. “I just adopted Bradley,” his keeper, Lois, said sheepishly. “Money got kind of tight, and so I wanted to enroll him in a public school instead of a private daycare. But there’s a waiting list at Oakshire, and the only other accredited Maturosis and Developmental Plateau unit in the area was...” She gulped. “DO IT CAUSE MOMMY SAID SO!” Tears were leaking out of the poor guy’s eyes, and he didn’t blink. Not once. “I didn’t do my research,” the newcomer said. “I only looked on their website. The staff seemed very nice and professional.” Mark put his hand on her shoulder, and nodded solemnly, not saying anything. Fuck Mark. “I did some more digging when Bradley started…” “I’M A GOOD BABY! POTTY BAD! CUP BAD!” She looked like she was about to cry. “that.” “How long was he in there?” Her answer came out just above a whisper. “Two weeks.” Two weeks? I heard my heartbeat in my ears. That? All of that? Happened in two weeks. There was a brief rumble from the gathered. “I don’t know why the school board doesn’t shut them down.” “Lobbyists at higher levels. Governor. Misinformation.” “Those kinds of ‘therapies’ have a lot more standing...for now.” “What about bugging them?” “Illegal. Won’t hold up in court. Can’t record without consent.” The newcomer drew her Little into a sobbing hug. “I just wanted him to be happy...” The bald cult leader stood up and quieted everyone down. “The important part is you got him out of there and we’re all here to help you. Both of you.” “Abso-fuckin’-lutely.” One of the men said. “Carl! The children!” Amy Madra snapped out of whateverself-induced. “FUCK!” She seemed more amused than anything “Fuck-fuck-fuck!” Helena pushed a pacifier into her lips. Amy kept happily swearing with the bulb in her mouth. No one heard the words, but that didn’t stop her cadence. “MMMMMMMMMM! Mmm-mmm-mmm.” Helena shushed her, but that only got her to lower the volume. “Whelp,” someone joked. “Guess Carl isn’t watching the babies during the second half.” That lowered the tension. Even the Littles who were still with it enough to get the joke laughed. Two weeks. I was almost breathless. I felt Janet hug me again, tighter than before and around the chest like she was afraid I might slip away into nothingness. I could hear her heartbeat, feel it through her chest like a jackhammer. I looked up and saw her looking down at me. She kissed me on the forehead and whispered down to me. “I love you. I love you so much.” There was fear there; guilt too; and I knew why. “I’M NOT A BIG BOY! I’M NOT! I’M NOT! I’M NOT! I’M NOOOOOOOT!” Bradley sobbed into his Mommy’s shoulder. Two weeks. That poor bastard had been at New Beginnings for just two weeks and he was shouting words at the top of his lungs that didn’t sound like they belonged to him. “I’M! JUST! A! BAAAA-A-A-A-BEEEEEEE!” It was almost a relief when he started sucking his thumb and stopped saying real words. Two weeks. That’s all it had taken to wreck this guy. Cut the crying and add a pull-string into his back and he would have been perfect for an Amazon. Janet’s grip on me only got tighter. For once, I leaned into and returned it, and wrapped my arms upward over hers, pulling them down to me like a harness on a roller coaster. He could have gotten into Beouf’s class. Beouf would have broken him, sure. But not like that. The worst part of my day had been carrying around my stuffie, agitated that using him as a loophole to cuss wasn’t getting Zoge to clutch her at her pearls enough. Except he couldn’t have gotten into Beouf’s class. Waiting list. And I’d snatched up the last spot. We’d snatched up the last spot. It’s a weird feeling. Feeling privileged and doomed at the same time. Looking at someone and having survivor’s guilt, even though you too, are a dead man. Feeling a shared sense of guilt with your captor: If there’s a single word to encapsulate that feeling I don’t know it. The meeting got way off track. No silly songs or lap bounces tonight. It was all about people sharing resources with Lois so she could ‘fix’ Bradley. Talks of ‘deprogramming software’ that was hard to find but obtainable ‘if you knew where to look' and ‘specialists’. I heard Dr. Milton’s, my so-called pediatrician, name dropped. Someone mentioned grants and charities that could at least help fund getting him into a regular daycare. Regular by their standards at least. Part of me, a very small part, wanted to help. I bit my tongue sitting in Janet’s lap, almost fantasizing about martyring myself by offering myself up and offering my spot in Beouf’s. I wasn’t gonna do it. Not really. There were a million reasons not to speak up, the fact that I didn’t have an actual say in where Janet put me during the day being one of them. Opportunities for vengeance was another. What the A.L.L. might think of me was a distant but present factor. Mostly, though, I was just scared. Janet wouldn’t send me to New Beginnings, but I still wanted, no, needed the familiarity of my own personal hellscape that I’d been adapting to. The meeting would have dragged on longer than that, had the other Littles not had their routines already driven into them. “Looks like the tots are getting restless,” someone said. “Let’s get them off to the nursery and we’ll finish talking here. Let them play.” “NOOOOOOO!” “It’s okay. Bradley can stay with his Mommy.” Janet reached into my diaper bag. “Don’t forget Lion.” I took it and went to get in line, only to freeze when fresh air hit the rack of my ass. It was practically second nature by now. “Just checking. You’re good.” I got sent away with a pat on the butt. If Lion had had bones his ribs would have broken in my grip. I waddled up with Lion in my arms straight to the Amazon on guard duty that night. “Put me in a crib, please.” “Are you tired, Clark?” Stupidly, I looked down at my shirt or on Lion, wondering if there was a nametag or something. It’s weird when someone knows your name and you don’t know theirs. Not that I wanted to know her name. “No,” I replied to the sandy haired woman who walked her Little on a toddler leash. “I just want to be alone.” “Are you sure?” She asked. “We’re going to play Feather Wand in a few minutes.” She said it loud enough so excited murmurs rippled around the holding pen. “Yeah. I’m sure.” “Okay dokie. Do you need a change?” My eyes darted to the single changing table out in the open. No bathroom. Everyone could see. “No thank you.” I brought up Lion to just beneath my eyes to hide the rosiness that was coming out of my cheeks.. “My Mommy just checked me a minute ago.” “Oh yeah,” the guard said. “That’s right.” She picked me up and dumped me in the crib in the back. “Thank you for being polite, too.” “You’re wel-...” I stopped myself and silently cursed. She didn’t notice. The lady unleashed her prisoner and dug through her diaper bag. “Look what I got!” She brandished two feathers that were so perfectly black and white and proportioned that they just had to be synthetic. “Who’s ready to play Feather Wand?” All around the room, Little hands shot up like a Kindergarten class. “Me me me me me!” The lone Amazon seemed singularly enchanted. “Wonderful! Just remember the rules. Black feather makes things heavy. White feather makes things light. Black feather and white feather can cancel each other out,” she paused and grinned, “but I don’t think anyone’s going to bother doing that.” More knowing laughter. “And how many times do you get to use a feather?” “Three times!” “And then you-?” “Give someone else a turn!” “That’s right!” The sandy haired woman clapped her hands together. “I think tonight, we should start with...Kylie for the heavy wand,” she gave the black feather to a Little girl who’d been dozing in her Daddy’s lap the week prior. “Aaaaand Paul will start with the light feather.” The older man who had been talking blocks the way Burt Braun talked construction, got it. “Mommy!” The Little woman in the toddler leash whined. “Prudence...” That was enough to put a stop to it. “We play Feather Wand enough at home. Give someone else a chance.” The others, oddly enough dispersed and spread out of the room, but instead of looking at the holders of the wand, they started breaking out blocks and balls and other toys like the game wasn’t happening at all. Curious. Very curious. “Ready?” Prudence’s Mommy called. “Ready!” The two Littles holding feathers said. “Then one...two...th..oh wait!” The Amazon said. “Don’t forget kids. These wands don’t work on clothes! So you can’t make somebody’s shoes heavy and stick them in place.” A few of the girls raised their hands to ask a question. “And you can’t make somebody’s skirt or shirt go up.” The hands went down. “Okay. One...two...three!” And then they just started playing quietly. Blocks were being stacked. Dolls were broken out and played with. The two with the feathers? They didn’t blast off or run around. They just walked around the playroom, like pool sharks lining up their shots. No one else was paying attention to me, but this was so bizarre that I felt the need to exclaim something. I caught sight of Amy crawling around. I might have been able to wave her over and ask what was going on. Nope. Wasn’t gonna happen. I looked at Lion. Close enough. “The fuck?” I whispered to no one but him. This must be why actual children developed imaginary friends: Sometimes the world didn’t make sense and no one was around to just listen. About a minute into it, the real game started in earnest. The girl with the black feather walked up to a girl combing her dolly’s hair with a tiny brush. “Heavy-One!” The girl with the hairbrush let out a yelp of surprise and dropped the pink plastic brush to the floor like it was a brick made of dwarf star matter. “What?! Oh no! Clementine’s comb is soooo heavy!” She pinched it between her thumb and forefingers and pretended to tug, grunting and groaning. “Grrrr! How am I supposed to comb her hair now?” Black feather giggled and skipped off. I kept my focus on the girl with the dolly to see if she’d break character or get distracted. Quite the opposite as it turned out. Unable- more like not allowed- to pick up the hair brush, she turned the doll upside down and started rubbing its head against the brush, humming happily. “Light-One!” Block boy used the feather on his mate, and now the guy was up on his toes holding an orange brick up over his head by the very tips of his fingers.. “Whoaaah! Whoooooah!” The guy was acting like the piece of plastic was a hot air balloon threatening to tug him away. “Must! Get! Block! Back on top...of tower! Reggie! Cindy! Help!” Almost breaking, the three pantomimed forcing the block back to the top like they were pressing on a giant spring. As soon as the other two backed off, block boy’s buddy was back on his toes. “I am not sitting on that,” Reggie laughed. “I know,” Pink Hair said. “What if we build the tower up high! It’s lighter up in the air anyways so it should say!” “Yeah! That might work.” From the safety of the nursery’s rent-a-crib, I nodded. I was beginning to understand the appeal of the game; from both sides. The people with the feathers were empowered to create problems, and everyone else had to creatively solve them. No winners. No losers. Just an improvisation game. It looked kind of fu- “Hey Clark!” Amy smushed her face up against the bars. I scooted to the very back of the crib. She couldn’t walk properly, her underwear crinkled, she was the only face that regularly registered to me in this place, and I had a wall to my back and still she managed to sneak up on me. “How you doin’ did you have a good week in Mrs. Beouf’s class I know the week’s not over yet but we haven’t seen each other and Friday doesn’t really count if you think about it I’ve been meaning to ask you about a ceeeeertain purple-” “Yes yes yes,” I snapped, cutting her off. “Yes. I saw your stupid octopus. I saw Jessennia.” Amy stopped, but only for a beat. “Oh yeah? When?” I leaned to the side. Amy had pulled herself up to a standing position and was just barely blocking my view of the game. “This morning.” “Aaaaaand? Did he say anything about me?” This nutter. This fucking Full Native nutter. “No. He’s playing with Ivy now. She calls him Akka.” Amy rolled her eyes and sighed. “Oh Ivy,” she said. “I do not miss her very much. Did you tell her she was wrong and that his name is Jessennia and he talks with an Albienese accent, you know I bit Ivy once but she didn’t bleed or anything but I warned her not to take the grilled cheese I’d put down the front of my diaper that I was saving for later cuz I didn’t have any pockets and even though it had gluten in it and I wasn’t s’posed to eat it we had picture day that afternoon.” It took me about five seconds to process that particular stream of consciousness. “You bit Ivy?” “Uh-huh.” I smirked. “Is that how you lost your front teeth?” The brightness and curiosity left Amy’s eyes and she sunk down. “No.” I felt a pang in my gut. I had crossed a line. I had guessed it might be there. I knew I was crossing it. Didn’t stop me from doing it. DIdn’t stop me from regretting it as soon as I did. I didn’t apologize, either. “Mommy, catch!” A green rubber ball sailed into the lone Amazon’s arms. The tip of a black feather brushed it. “HEAVY-THREE!” The Amazon dropped like a stone, arms first onto the floor. She practically belly flopped! “Oh no!” She said like the lead in a B-Movie, “This ball is sooooo heavy! And my hand is trapped under it! Oh wooooe is me!” “We’ll help!” The call went out. Two or three other prisoners started playing the game of trying to move it off of the lady’s hand. For extra emphasis, the Little Voices cultist kept it in her vice-like grip making the Littles have to really work to move it. I jumped up and looked over the railing so I could see over Amy’s head. “She’s playing?! “ I yelped. “Why is she playing?!” Amazons didn’t play baby games! They forced Littles to play them and watched while feeling smug about themselves! “Why wouldn’t she play?” Amy looked back over her shoulder. “Prudence’s Mommy likes playing with Littles. Most Grown-Ups do.” I plopped back down, suddenly more interested in what Amy had to say. “What are you talking about?” “That’s why Mrs. Beouf does it? Playing with us is like...her job or something.” I glared at her to no effect. “You know sometimes I think they invented movie theaters so Grown-Ups would have an excuse to watch the fun stuff cuz it lets them pretend they’re doing it for us streaming services are really hurting their access to real art these days, ya know?” “Beouf plays games to mess with us,” I replied. “Playing games, even these, just for fun, would be...be…considered...?” Damn it I didn’t have a better word for it. “Immature?” “Yeah,” I huffed. Completely straight faced Amy peered through the bar and said “What’s more Grown-Up than playing with Littles?” My face was getting hot, and this time it had nothing to do with embarrassment. “Maybe paying a dentist to replace the gap in your teeth?” That’s what I should have said. That’s what I wanted to say. That pang in my gut came back when I started to say it, though, and so I stopped. Instead, I asked. “Why do you call them that? Grown-Ups? You’re smarter than that.” “Thank you.” “Not my point,” I pressed. “Why do you keep calling them Grown-Ups? Why talk like that? It’s stupid.” “No, it’s not, it’s complete zoological sense.” “We’re all adults. Janet is two years younger than me.” “Yeah, but we’re not Grown-Ups, like them,” Amy said. “Never will be, and that’s okay.” The Amazons really got her good. I didn’t have anything to add, so she just piled on more nonsense. “Some adult tadpoles are called toads. Some adult tadpoles are called frogs. But you don’t call a frog a toad or they’d get very upset.” I tried to piece it all together. “So a Grown-Up, to you, is just…?” “A word for an adult Amazon.” She shrugged. “I’m a Little, not an Amazon, so I’m an adult, but not a Grown-Up. Adult just means you’re done growin’. That’s it. Calling them Grown-Up makes it less confusing.” She smirked. “Imagine if you just walked around calling all physically mature creatures ‘adults’.” She stopped and squeaked laughter. “Can you just imagine the signs at the zoo? Adult, adult, adult, adult, adult.” Just when I thought I’d seen the bottom of the crazy barrel. “Is this why Beouf looked so freaked when I brought up the octopus’s-” “ Jessennia.” “-righ, when I brought up Jessennia’s name?” “Hmmm?” I repeated myself. “She looked kind of scared when I called Jessennia by his name. Why?” Amy twisted her mouth and squinted. “I dunno. She used to look like that all the time.” She paused. “She was fun. I kinda miss her. Say hi to her for me?” “Yeah,” I said. “Sure.” I wasn’t lying. A potential silver bullet was a potential silver bullet. “I like your lion,” Amy said, pointing to the stuffie in my arms. I don’t know when I started holding him again, or if I properly stopped. “What’s his name?” “Lion.” “That’s a good name. He looks like a Lion.” I allowed myself a smile. “I know, right?” I exhaled and relaxed a bit. I really needed to lighten- “Light-One!” A white feather snuck it’s way between the bars of the crib and tickled Lion. Amy talking to me had drawn some attention and a feather had exchanged hands again. Pinned to the floor by a rubber ball, the sandy haired giantess called out, “Prudence, Clark doesn’t want to-” “WAAAAAAAAH!” I screamed, chucking Lion so hard that he bumped the ceiling and thudded on the floor. “How in the-?” I said. “How’d you do that?!” Prudence giggled so hard she doubled over. Amy squeaked through her nose so loudly she sounded like a guinea pig. “Hurry! Pin it down! Before it floats again!” A couple of guys dog piled onto Lion like they were heroes throwing themselves onto a grenade. “Ooooooh,” Prudence’s Mommy groaned, finally releasing the ‘heavy’ ball from her grip. She stood up and continued the show of flexing her arm and shaking it’d just been released from a vice or something. “Clark, does that mean you want to get out of the crib? Do you wanna come out and play?” Ever the trouble maker, I was seeing potential. Not for now, but for later. When the time was right. “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah. I think I will.”

Chapter 69: Lionize In terms of class and therapy, most of the week was unremarkable. Just like with work, confinement, conditioning, and resisting said confinement and conditioning take on a kind of daily grind. Things aren’t ‘fine’, but you might say they were if nothing of note happened. Even torture can become unremarkable after a few weeks. The time in the classroom with Beouf. After the shakeup involving Ambrose and an actual factual crying child, Beouf doubled down to try and recondition us and stabilize emotions. I caught the barest mutterings of her complaining to Zoge about “disrupting routines”. Beouf still casually complained about work, she just made sure to do it more quietly and in coded language when she knew I was around. The other Littles seemed off for a day or two afterwards as well. A four year old had been traumatized right in front of them and bawled about how he wasn’t one of us. That had shattered more than one illusion. It’s hard to pretend the plastic bowl on your head is a helmet when you’re standing in front of a real suit of armor. It’s hard to think of yourself as a baby when an actual child is freaking out right in front of you. It’s hard to imagine yourself and believe that you’re cute and cuddly and adorable and everything is right with the world in a soft pastel palette when someone looks at your situation and cries in sharing it. Elmer’s justified freak out disrupted more than just the center schedule that day. I’m getting off track, though. The room’s routine went back to normal, relatively speaking, even if there was still this lingering underlying tension. Therapy was ‘fine’, too. It was downright boring compared to the week before. I was separated from my peers for both Occupational and Physical Therapy for one on one sessions. Physical therapy was me being forced to crawl up stairs and balance on a platform swing, (thankfully with my clothes on). Nothing to talk about. Occupational Therapy was picking beads out of extremely stiff and sticky putty. Great stuff for developing fine motor strength, if the stuff wasn’t practically cement to Little digits. Great. Another thing that I needed help with! The stuff was so thick that it rivaled the tapes on diapers. I could tell that Sosa was enjoying watching me struggle, but she kept her mouth shut about it beyond asking if I wanted help every now and then. She didn’t give me much to work with, so I decided to mirror the relative emotional distance. Sosa also stayed off of her phone. Sosa also looked tired. Really tired. Bags under her eyes that rivaled my own. She didn’t crinkle like me, and her pants were neither puffier nor baggier to hide any extra padding, but she was definitely off. Someone had been staying up late. Someone had been having trouble sleeping. Fighting with their partner maybe? Arguments about pets perhaps? I didn’t dare ask. I’d wrapped Winters around my finger and lit the fuse. If Sosa knew about my involvement, she’d likely snuff it right out. The strength of that particular sabotage was in my marks not knowing that I was trying to sabotage them. Fitting considering how Sosa operated with Littles. In a weird way it made me appreciate her relative finesse compared to some of her peers. But no, I didn’t give into temptation to rub it in. I asked neither one about the other. I mentioned nothing about dogs or birds or phones or anything that would so much as sprinkle salt into any wounds I’d created. Maybe later. Not this week. I was quit proud of my restraint. That’s how Sosa and Winters went. With Skinner, I was beginning to think I’d get to miss out on a week with her. Skinner didn’t come to Beouf’s room to collect anyone. Not me. Not the A.L.L. Not the regs. I was beginning to wonder if she was sick, except that I caught fleeting glances of her around campus during transition times. It did my ego good to think that I’d already broken her enough that she’d skip a week. Being one-on-one with Sosa and Winters limited me to a degree; being alone in a room with Skinner would have empowered me. Skinner was the type that I could just demolish if I was alone in a room. Being one-on-one with Skinner was also a lot less likely, I reminded myself. Skinner had a larger caseload on campus than either of the other therapists. There were a lot more kids in Oakshire who had speech impediments or language delays than kids with fine motor delays or muscular dystrophy. Getting a single student, even if it was me, to herself when she had mountains upon mountains of kids to work with was a luxury she didn’t have. Right alongside my ego, my paranoia was whispering in the back of me. Ambrose had been a sharp reminder that I didn’t have to see them for the giants to be doing awful things. If she wasn’t seeing her regular caseloads. What was she doing? Prepping a counter attack, evidently. Changing up the routine. Trying to catch us off guard. It was just after morning whole group instruction when Skinner came in through the front door. “Hello, hello! Ready for some speech?” Ivy perked up immediately and raised her hand in the air. “Me too? Me too?” “Yes, Ivy,” Skinner said. “You too.” Even Tommy and Sandra Lynn threw her shady glances. Ivy didn’t go to therapy sessions. She’d pretty much ‘graduated’ Beouf’s program and was being kept as professional courtesy to Zoge. That same professional courtesy would keep me trapped there, too, thanks to Janet. Zoge quickly beat feet back to the nap room. Beouf got up from the floor circle and jogged to her classroom closet. Both came back with their arms full of stuffed animals. Questions and exclamations bubbled out of everyone’s mouth and tripped over each other into a discorganized babbling, but the general consensus was ‘What’s going on? What are we doing?” Skinner took the time to sit down where Beouf had been reading us a propaganda story moments ago. “We’re going to try doing something different, and hopefully kinda fun.” She said. “Instead of taking you all the way to the speech room, I’m pushing in here and will teach you all at once. Then, if Mrs. B. and Mrs.Zoge like it and you’re really good, it’s something they can do with you, too.” “Everyone gets a stuffie,” Beouf said. “If you like your stuffie, you can use it next time. If not, you can get another one. But no whining right now. You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit. Make good choices.” I braced myself and got ready to dig my fingernails into my forearms. There was no telling what was inside these monstrosities. Bells that assaulted the senses? Hypnotic songs when you squeezed? Pheromones maybe? Were pheromones really a thing? I didn’t know. Best not to discount the possibility. That’s how they got you. “Clark,” Zoge cooed. “Your Mommy made sure to get this to us just after the buses came in.” She placed Lion right into my lap. The dumb stuffed animal had been smuggled from the edge of my crib and into the classroom. “Awwww!” Billy mocked. “Gibson’s Mommy bwought him his own stuffie from home!” I felt my ears go hot. “Got a problem with that?” Billy stiffened. “Nope. Just sayin’.” Billy got a penguin shoved into his arms. I started turning Lion around and examining him: Dangling him. Shaking him. Squeezing him. Sniffing in. Nope. Nothing different. Still my Lion. “What are you doing?” asked Shauna. “Checking for traps,” I said. Shauna thought for a second, then said, “Good idea,” and started copying me. “Before we continue,” Skinner said. “Why doesn’t everybody share what their new friends’ names are?” “I don’t know,” Jesse said. It was a protest and a pout as much as anything else. “Just listen,” Skinner said. “That’s what we’re doing today. We’re gonna listen to each other using our new friends.” Every Little with so much as two brain cells to rub together looked like Skinner had just peeled her own lips off. Ivy nodded thoughtfully. What kind of pop-psychology hokum was this? Puppet therapy? Really?! And here I was thinking that Maturosis was the dumbest crackpot pseudoscience bullshit I’d be forced to participate in during my thirty-two years of life. Sage on the stage that she was, Skinner took our collective silence as a cue to demonstrate. “Watch. I’ll do it.” She took a stuffed lamb and put it to her ear. “Oh? Oh. Okay. I’ll tell them.” She put the lamb back down in her lap. “Everyone. This is Velma.” “Hi Velma!” Ivy, of course. Chances were she’d done this sort of thing before. “And Velma wanted me to tell you that she’s really happy to be doing this and she has soooooo much to say and she’s ready to listen, too.” Skinner looked among us expectantly. “What’s everybody else’s name?” No one made a move or opened their mouths. Some of us decided now would be a good time to suck on a pacifier. “Go on. What’s their name? All you have to do is listen.” Sandra Lynn broke first. “Clip Clop.” She held up the patchwork horse that looked so worn it might have actually rivaled her in age. Then Shauna held up her panda. “Pam.” And so it went like dominoes crashing down on themselves.. “Chomper” “Rex, I guess.” “Jason.” “Miss Ella Bella. Ella for short.” “Mookie.” “I’m thinking this is Hansen.” Ivy held her stuffie in a death grip, wrapping it around herself like it was a boa or a blanket. It was a purple stuffed octopus that had a top hat and monocle. “This is Akko,” she said. Wrong. She was wrong. She gave the dumb fake animal the wrong dumb fake name. “What’s your lion’s name, Clark?” “Hm?” I said. “Oh. Uh...Lion.” “Yes,” Skinner said. “I know that it’s a lion. But what’s his name?” “His name,” I repeated more firmly, “is Lion.” “Pffft…” Chaz laughed into his teddy bear. He saw where I was going with this, or thought he did. “Are you sure his name is Lion?” Skinner asked. “Maybe he’s a Walter? Or a Randal? Maybe his name was-?” I held out my finger. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, Miss Skinner, but I’m trying to listen to my friend, over here.” I held the stuffie closer to my ear. “What’s that, Lion? You’re feeling invalidated that this stranger who sold you into slavery is now going so far as to suggest other names for you? She’s invalidating your identity? Your heritage? Your very sense of self? Wow, we have something in co-” “Okay, okay, Clark,” Skinner interrupted. “You’re right. He’s your lion. He belongs to you. You can name him Lion.” “I didn’t name him Lion,” I said. “That’s just his name. I listened.” I’d like to think that in the distant future, there will be a word that has evolved and bastardized itself but still has roots traceable back to ‘Clark Gibson’ and that it will have a singular meaning that roughly translates to ‘malicious compliance’. “Okay, Clark.” Skinner bunched. “You and Lion have a very good point. I’m sorry.” “Why are you apologizing to me?” Skinner bent over and made a little bow. “I’m sorry, Lion.” Everyone else giggled. Skinner blushed. She sat back up to her full height. “What Clark was doing was very good, though, boys and girls. He listened to Lion, told me how Lion was feeling, and spoke up for him while not being rude about it.” “Mmmm...hmmm…” I looked up. I hadn’t realized that Beouf was standing right behind me, quietly tapping her foot. “Not overly rude.” I gave my best ‘I’m just a baby’ smile to my ex-mentor. She wasn’t buying it, shaking her head and closing her eyes. I didn’t very much care. “So what do we do now?” Mandy asked. “Let’s practice,” Skinner said. “We can all try taking turns listening to our Speech Buddies. And if there’s anything we want to say for them, or they want to say for us, they can. Just make sure to be clear who’s saying what.” I exhaled. Someone had to say it. “This is fucking stupid.” “Clark Grange!” I tensed up. That was literally the sternest I’d ever heard Zoge speak to anyone, and she did it saying my kinda-sorta-name. “It wasn’t me!” I said, pointing to the stuffed king of the jungle. “It was Lion. Honest! I was quoting him!” “Maybe Lion should take a breather, then,” Skinner said. I shot her a challenging look, daring her to take my stuffie away from me when she’d insisted I get it. She broke eye contact first. Beouf knelt down and gently placed her hand on my shoulder. “No,” she said. “No. Let Lion stay, Miss Skinner. Lion’s not a part of our class and isn’t subject to the same rules. Lion’s a Grown-Up and should know to phrase things better around babies, but he’s free to speak his mind.” “Did you…?” I was shaking with anticipation. “Did you…?” Chaz saw the opening. “The rules don’t apply to the stuffies!” “Mookie says we should get changed more often,” Mandy shouted. “She says that even though Sandra Lynn is only wet, she can smell Sandra’s pee pee pants two spaces away.” Mandy softened and leaned back. “No offense.” “That’s okay,” Sandra Lynn said. “You didn’t say it, Mookie did. And she’s right.” “Chomper thinks its dumb that we have to eat all our food at breakfast and lunch.” Tommy said, wagging his alligator. “We’re not gonna get any bigger or stronger. If we’re not hungry we’re not hungry, and I...I mean he...I mean he says...grr...it’s hard to do stuff when you got a tummy ache.” “Wow, that’s some big feelings,” Skinner replied, on scripts “Velma thinks-” “Velma had her turn,” I said. “So did Lion.” “Lion’s not talking. I am. And I’m trying to listen to everybody else.” Skinner looked to Beouf like a drowning woman looks at a lifeguard. The lifeguard seemed unphased to the plight. “The books are boring and never change, Jason says. It’s why nobody ever reads them and just stares off to space or poops during reading time.” “Pam wants to go out to play first thing in the morning when it’s cooler and fewer people can see us. That or be allowed to strip if it’s too hot.” And on it went. “Rex wonders why we gotta sit in our mess if it happens in the cafeteria? Every bathroom here has changing tables. Would it be that hard to pack a damn diaper bag with some spares and put it on the fucking cart” Billy held out his dinosaur like he was trying not to associate with it. “I’m quoting. I’m quoting! He’s right though…” And it kept going. “Sometimes Clip Clop thinks that Mrs. B. and Mrs. Zoge are just going through the motions. That’s why we have nap time, even though our bodies don’t really need naps. Also Clark snores.” And going. “Hansen told me to tell you that this place is like a cage,” Chaz said. “We go to this school because it’s the same building, but we’re not a part of it. We don’t do anything with the others and are just shut away here most of the time. We’re display pieces. Freaks. Just look at how that one kid acted when he got dragged here.” And going. “Ella wants a less demeaning verb for this Bee-Ess. ‘condition’,” Annie said. “I’m not ‘suffering’ from Maturosis. I’m not ‘afflicted’ with it. I don’t even really have it.” I sucked in my breath. Now, Beouf would lower the boom. She didn’t and Annie kept rambling. “How am I supposed to be a baby to you and a victim of some kind of disease? Ella wants to know. Is it some weird attempt at love, or is it an excuse not to listen to me? If you think I’m just a child, then why use words and terminology like something is wrong with me? Amazons talk to me like I’m a toddler but use language to describe me like I’m a...a…” “A leper?” I suggested. “Yeah,” she pointed at my stuffie. “What the lion said.” “Lion.” “Right. Lion.” Peppered throughout there was plenty of, ‘cock’, ‘shit’, ‘motherfucker’, ‘twatwaffle’, ‘asshole’, ‘dingus’, and whatnot followed by smirking naughty grins and blaming it on the stuffed animal that such and such was translating for. I honestly expected Beouf or Zoge to slam on the breaks; to talk down to us; to stop our momentum or turn our language around on us. After every curse word or complaint or criticism, I waited for them to take away the stuffies or demean us or discredit us. It never came. By the time it was over, Beouf and Skinner were hurriedly jotting things down on notepads. Skinner stopped performing whatever schtick and just directed traffic and conversation. She started pointing to us in turn for our stuffed animals to air our collective and individual grievances. “The activities suck.” “The rules don’t make sense.” “Give us some kind of fuckin’ choice. We have literally none in our lives.” For a solid thirty minutes, all we did was bitch at them. “What’s that Akko? Akko wants to know why people aren’t allowed to kiss or hug or touch each other without permission, but we have to hold hands everyday when walking in line. That’s very hypocritical.” Billy let out a low whistle. “Damn, Ivy.” He shook. “Rex said! Rex said! Not me!” “What do you want us to do about it?” Skinner asked after everyone had said her piece. “You’re supposed to be the adults,” I spat. “You hold way more cards than we do. Figure something out.” I inhaled. “And I said that. Not Lion. You don’t want me to quote what he said.” The Speech Therapist stood up and dusted herself off. “I actually think this was very productive. Would it be okay if they brought their stuffies to speech from now on?” The question wasn’t directed at us. Beouf looked vaguely thoughtful. “I think that might be a good idea. Is it okay if we used them in the classroom, too?’ “By all means!” Skinner looked delighted that some idea of hers had an application of some sort. The three Amazons huddled up and started mumbling to each other. Likewise, my own peers started to gravitate towards me. “Clark. Way to go, dude.” Tommy patted me on the back. “That was pretty cool.” Jesse added. “You should’ve seen Gibson last week,” Billy smirked. “Grade A shit. You had to be there.” Annie pointed to the ground. “You dropped Rex.” “Oh sh-!” My foul mouthed friend went over and retrieved his dinosaur. “Gotta keep this guy on me to uh...translate.” I put Lion down by my feet. “Yeah…” “Clark?” Chaz poked me in the knee. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” I didn’t mean it. Not one bit. I’d subverted the Amazons’ expectations and turned their game on them just like i’d wanted to. It was a victory. Classic Clark. Vintage Gibson. It didn’t feel like one, though. They weren’t angry enough. They weren’t distressed. They weren’t folding or lashing out to stuff us back into the neat little boxes they’d made for us. Their hypocrisy wasn’t laid bare for all to see. I’d won. It just didn’t feel anything like a victory. Not at all. It just felt like I’d been allowed to whine and bitch and moan for half an hour. And all my friends were loving it. Chaz handed Lion back up to me. Without thinking about it, I accepted the stuffie. All of my friends had found a renewed interest in stuffed animals. “Akko says, ‘Domo’,” Ivy said. “That means ‘thank you’.” I huffed. “I know what domo means, Ivy.” I felt my anger rising. “And that octopus doesn’t speak Yamatoan. He’s Albienese.” Irrational frustration was building. “Don’t you see the top hat and the monocle?!” Poor Ivy. “And his name isn’t Akko!” I shouted. “It’s Jessennia!” Ivy positively deflated. She didn’t cry. She didn’t stomp. She didn’t whine. Just a bit of the happiness of being included leaked out of her face right before she slinked off. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t...I didn’t know…” Beouf turned around and looked back at me, seeming more than a little disturbed. I’d worked with Melony Beouf for ten years. She was unflappable. I’d already cussed her out and hit every pain point I’d known she might have from her personal and professional life and she remained completely unphased. She’d shoved me into a glass tube and fried every hair follicle off my body as I screamed myself hoarse and went right back to cooing at me while I passed out. She enrolled me in her class and gave me away like a decade of camaraderie had never happened. Something about what I’d just said to Ivy had piqued her interest. More than ‘piqued’; it bothered her. Immensely. For some reason, Melony Beouf looked shaken. And I had no clue why.

Chapter 68: A Crying Shame Potty training isn’t natural. For anyone. Little, Tweener, or Amazon: learning how to use the toilet is a skill that is taught, complete with procedure as well as etiquette. Same with things like knowing how to swim or eat with silverware. No, I’m not saying that if left to their own devices, people will pee and poop themselves for the entirety of their natural lives. Bladder and bowel control strengthens with age and increases with natural practice and time. In that regard, it’s just like walking. Barring a medical condition, most people will learn how to do it on their own and at about the same pace as everybody else. Potty training is more than walking, I’d argue. It’s a precise set of skills and social norms that are practiced and mastered to the point of it becoming second nature so that we consciously forget that much of the act and attitudes surrounding are societal constructs rather than a physical need. Back when I was a preschool teacher, a big part of my job was potty training kids. I’d teach letters and shapes and numbers and sight words and some basic Math along with Science and Social Studies. I did all of that. I also did a lot of potty training. A lot. Most of my students knew how to write their names before Kindergarten. Most could count and do basic addition. Most knew all of their letter names and sounds. Most. But all of them, without exception, were potty trained by the time they left me. I’m not an expert- I’m not sure you can be an expert at such a thing- but I’ve got experience to inform my opinions. The kid who wets their pants and goes on about their day until an adult changes them or forces them to change definitely isn’t potty trained. Neither, I’d argue, is the kid who feels the need to go, then yanks down his pants and pees right on the floor. Yeah, he didn’t pee in his pants, and he purposefully undressed himself enough to keep his clothes clean, but being potty trained isn’t the same thing as being continent. Potty training also involves concepts like hygiene, shame, and autonomy. It’s procedures, like ‘Go into the special room and empty yourself’ and ‘clean up when you’re done’. It’s also attitudes like ‘Don’t let anybody but the most trusted and intimate people in your life see you naked or even in your underwear’ and ‘Don’t talk about it beyond expressing the need to go to explain why you’re walking away’. It’s a skillset, but part of that skillset is social etiquette. I’d go so far to argue that a person isn’t really potty trained, as far as society is concerned, until it’s so natural to them that nobody would think to ask if they were potty trained. Potty training is complete when obeying social norms regarding the bathroom appears natural. The process, attitudes, and expectations have become so ingrained into society that most people consider it less a skill and more of something that naturally develops of its own accord. It’s why small children can be carted around in nothing but diapers and be checked and changed openly; but if they’re potty trained, the underwear stays under and concealed. Modesty has officially become a thing. The diaper taped to somebody’s hips is a giant flag to everyone that a given child doesn’t have the autonomy, hygiene, or sense of shame to care for themselves or be embarrassed that they can’t care for themselves. And throughout history, Amazons have somehow used all of these unspoken assumptions to make it so people smaller than them were also viewed as children and not deserving or in possession of autonomy, hygiene, or shame. In a completely fucked up way, Little and Tweeners are never potty trained, because the giants never stop asking us if we are. And because it’s seen as a developmental milestone, instead of a skill, nothing less than pure perfection will ever be enough for them. If Amazons treated sports like they treated potty training, a single missed pass or fumbled football would result in that player being fired and banned from the sport. A missed free throw or layup would ruin your chances at making it into the Hall of Fame. Accidentally swallowing a gulp of pool water would earn you floaty wings for life. You get the idea. If you’re reading this, it’s more than likely that you’ve seen it happen to someone. On my first day as a student in Beouf’s class, Billy had told me that he wasn’t incontinent, just ‘unpotty trained’. This was right after he’d shit his pants at breakfast and then chowed down with gusto. I didn’t understand then. By the middle of my third week, I was beginning to understand. Ivy and I were at an ‘independent work’ station during centers. “Come on, Clark,” she poked me in the arm. “It’s your turn.” She pointed to the towering mishmash of shining metal. Common sense said it shouldn’t be as tall as it was, the way it leaned and zig zagged at random angles made it look like it should have come crashing down long ago. Amazon technology and common sense rarely intersect in the big scheme of things. This monstrosity had a magnetic field or something keeping it up and giving the stink eye to gravity. Tired as I almost always was, I dragged the flat of my palm over the left side of my face and groaned. “Come on Ivy. What’s the point? We both know that as soon as I move a piece anywhere, the whole shape is gonna shift and change again.” Come to think of it, magnetism probably wasn’t it. Not thirty seconds ago the top of the tower was pointed at the ground, but I could easily take a piece from the middle and put it on the bottom and there’d be hardly any resistance. Tiny robots maybe? “You’re just not good at it,” Ivy teased. Annoyed, I huffed. “You’re not any better.”. “Uh-huh!” Ivy said, dramatically. “I’m super good at this. You’re just as bad as I am good so we balance out to a happy medium.” Whatever Ivy was before Zoge plucked her up and mindfucked her back into the cradle, she’d retained a fearsome competitive streak. That was the point of Beouf’s program, though, wasn’t it? Mindfuck and condition the Littles just enough so that they seemed more like ‘baby’ versions of themselves instead of dolls with a set of trained behaviors. Like potty training, we were being trained to have certain behaviors and attitudes to the point where it was second nature to us. Unfortunately for me, I had that same competitive streak in common with Ivy. “Okay,” I said. “Bet.” “Bet?” she echoed like she’d never heard the word before. “You be in charge. Tell me what move to make. I’ll do it. Then you do your move. Then you tell me what to do again.” The girl looked at me; mystified. “I”d...I’d get to be in charge?” My teacher senses started tingling. My foot was dangling over a landmine of sorts. It was like my rookie year when I told a bunch of smart ass four year olds to ‘hop on over’. With both children and adults convinced that they’re children, the use of language is very important; even with ‘good kids’. “You’d tell me what pieces to take and where to put them. That’s it.” “And...and you’d listen?” Ivy’s mouth was agape. You’d think I’d just offered her a treasure chest or a life saving operation. “Yeeeeah…?” I almost felt sorry for her. I didn’t, but I almost did. “Ivy? Are you okay?” “Nobody ever…” She grabbed her pacifier from the clip and gave it a few suckles. She breathed in and out through her nose. After about ten seconds she spit it out. “Okay. Let’s do it! Let’s bet. Take the zig zaggy piece over there and put it over-” I waved my hands in front of her face to stop her. “That’s not the bet! That’s not what bet means!” Ivy stopped. She looked confused but let me explain. “The bet is I follow your directions, and if the puzzle collapses, then...then…” Crap! “Then what?” I had no idea in that moment. They say go big or go home, but my home was ashes so…. “Then you’ll have to do what I say for a center!” Brilliant! A blank check! “Okay!” the twisted Little said. “But if it’s good, I get a kiss. A Grown-Up one!” I swallowed and exhaled. Ivy hadn’t yet outgrown her bout of puppy love with me, and was still fixated on me being some kind of expert on ‘adultness’ or whatever. I don’t think she ‘like-liked’ me or felt any particular sexual attraction towards me. I just happened to intersect at all the right crossroads between ‘peer’ and ‘adult’ for her. I was a fascination. I was a phase. No guts, no glory. “Okay.” I said. “Sure.” If I started making out with her in the middle of the room, that would definitely get two or three Amazons riled up by the end of the day. Might make my real friends jealous that I’d pulled it off, too. Would it really be so bad to lose? “Yeah. Let’s do this. What do you want me to do first?” The Full Native Little pointed in the middle of the spire. “Take that zig zaggy piece there.” She got up from the hard plastic seat and stood up on her tippy toes and reached her hands well above her head. “And put it riiiiiiight here.” Standing up with her arms over her head and leaning forward, Ivy’s underwear could be seen at a glance. Had it been actual underwear, it might have been embarrassing for her. It wasn’t actual underwear. As such, it was no more scandalous or humiliating for her or anyone present than her red pinafore dress. No one within thirty feet of her had any expectation for her to have shame or autonomy of any sort. I took the piece she’d pointed to and stood up. “Okay. Like this?” I stretched with one hand and pulled down on the black t-shirt I’d been dressed in, not wanting anyone to see the waistband of my own disposable undergarment. I wasn’t nearly as unpotty trained as Ivy was. “A little more to the left. No, the other left! No, the other-other left!” “That’s where I was putting it the first time!” “It doesn’t count if you mess it up on purpose!” I stood on my toes and let go of the back of my shirt. Fuck it. No one would care. “I’m.. Not!” I placed it exactly where Ivy said to. The tower shifted and contracted, becoming oblong and almost spherical. One move had made it almost resemble an egg. Ivy grabbed a triangle piece. “My turn.” She waddled around the table and placed it near the back, out of sight. The structure contracted again, taking on the shape of a smooth river stone, the kind perfect for skipping rocks. “Okay. One more move!” She waddled back around and pointed to something that I thought was a paperclip. “Put this down here, and we can make a fishy.” This I had to see. I plucked the paper slip sticking out of the oblong sphere and placed it near the base. A low humming noise sounded in my ears, and the bits of scraps shifted and twisted and turned themselves. It went back to an egg, but didn’t stay that way. From out of the egg, came a metal wire fish, bursting out and turning fragmented bits of shell into fins. Ivy started singing as the fish formed, the completed part wiggling slightly as it shifted giving the appearance of swimming. “Liiiiiittle shark, do-do, do-do-do-do!” Little shark, do-do, do-do-do-do! Little shark!” “How did you...?” I asked, scratching my head. “We did it!” Ivy threw her hands up and started bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Yay!” “How did you do that?” “Huh?” Ivy said. “I don’t know. I’m just good at it. Wanna see how to make a horse?” Kinda. “Not really.” “Can I get my Grown-Up kiss?” She didn’t wait for me to answer; just puckered her lips and started maneuvering towards me. Kissing Ivy Zoge, as it turned out, was a bit like jumping off the high dive. It was hypothetically harmless, something I could talk about with confidence to no end, and something that I absolutely dreaded now that it was a very real possibility. Thank goodness, I’m good under pressure most days. “Okay.” I smirked. I raised my hand and called out. “Mrs. Zoge! Mrs. Zoge!” Ivy stumbled to a stop and put her pacifier in her mouth. Her Mommy wound her way out from behind the workstation she’d been supervising. “Yes, Clark? What’s wrong?” “Ivy said she wanted a Grown-Up kiss. Can she have one?” Zoge looked at the metal fish kept aloft on the table by a single strand of metal. “Since she’s playing nice, yes she can.” She bent over and gave a big sloppy kiss on Ivy’s cheeks. “Mwah! Mwah!” Ivy’s eyes never left me. “I love you, Ivy” She ruffled my hair. “I love you, too, Clark.” I raised my hand again. “Mrs. Zoge! Mrs. Zoge!” “Yes, Clark?” “Am I a Grown-Up?” “No, Clark,” Zoge replied.. “You’re a baby.” No irritation whatsoever. To her I was a silly child asking a silly question. To me, I was a lawyer preparing my defense. “I see…” I smiled back at Ivy. “Thank you for clearing that up, ma’am.” “You’re welcome, baby.” Before she left, she lifted up the back of Ivy’s dress and pulled back my waistband. Each of our diapers got a squeeze in front. “You’re both soggy, but you’ll make it till lunch.” It was true. I’d peed at least twice since being changed after breakfast. My diaper was so absorbent that I’d almost forgotten about the first time until I’d started the second time just after snack break. I’d almost forgotten the second time, except when I stood up and felt the slight sag or squeezed my thighs together and felt the solid mass of wet padding pushing back. The rest of the time, it was pretty easy to tune out. Diapers were becoming just another piece of clothing in so many ways. Neither did I flinch or cringe or tense up when Zoge was checking me. After nearly three weeks someone like Zoge sticking her hand down my pants or making any sort of comment on them had no emotional effect on me; at least not embarrassment. That’s how unpotty training started for me. These people had checked and changed and remarked on what was happening in my diapers to the point where I was almost numb to it. You can only watch your reflection get changed so many times before the impact is lost. By the beginning of that month, it was just something that happened, same as lunch, or walking to and from class. I peed and pooped my pants because I wasn’t given any other choice. I learned to get comfortable in a wet diaper and go about my day in one because I didn’t have any other choice. I more or less ignored teachers and other Amazons being fascinated by my crinkling underwear and wiping my butt for me because no alternative was allowed. Amazons don’t need hypnosis or surgery to make Littles use their diapers. They just need to put Littles in them, not give them an out, and reinforce the new behaviors, etiquette, and social expectations. In that respect, unpotty training isn’t so unlike its inverse. Personally, I suspect that’s how they did it before they figured out hypnosis and faster forms of forcing Littles into being their dolls. After that they just got lazy and impatient. To be clear, I wasn’t even close to completely unpotty trained. A full diaper was still easier to sleep in than a full bladder or cramping bowels, but I wasn’t a bed wetter. Barring some of the circumstances described in previous chapters, I tended to try and wait till I had some measure of privacy to mess. Peeing was done in circumstances where I wasn’t the center of attention. I still held onto that control and need for privacy. I still felt my pulse quicken when someone who wasn’t taller than me saw my cartoonish plastic backed padding. My bladder and bowels hadn’t been completely busted, but the shame and anxiety I felt with Janet slipping her fingers past the leak guards or Beouf plopping me down on a table had pretty much evaporated. I wasn’t bothered at all when Zoge looked to see if I’d soiled myself, and proclaimed me soggy. For just a second though, I realized that I wasn’t bothered. That bothered me. “You cheated,” Ivy said to me, looking like a cat that had been petted the wrong way. “I wanted a kiss from you.” I crossed my arms and smirked. “Am I a Grown-Up?” “No…” Far be it from Ivy to contradict her Mommy. “Then how can I give you a Grown-Up kiss?” Ivy’s nose wrinkled and she looked like she was going to say something, but I managed to sneak in. “You said you wanted a Grown-Up kiss. You didn’t say that it had to be from me.” Like I said: With both children and adults convinced that they’re children the use of language is very important. “You tricked me.” Baiting Ivy was almost as fun as baiting an Amazon. It wasn’t, really, but it almost was. “Yeah. Too bad. What are you gonna do? Throw a tantrum? That’ll just get us sent over there,” I thumbed over to the back door. Ivy got one of her deer in the headlights gaze and looked at the door leading to my old classroom. “No we won’t,” she said. “Maybe you won’t go, but-” “Nobody’s gonna go over there anymore.” “What are you talking about?” I asked. “People go over there all the time.” “Not since you got here.” I made to deny it, but she was right. In three weeks, no one, not even me, had been sent out of the room for punishment. I’d been parked on the naughty stool plenty of times (though objectively speaking, not as many times as I’d deserved it). Not once had I been sent to my own room for timeout. No one else had either. “Why?” That question was not directed at Ivy. Didn’t mean she lacked an answer. “I heard my Mommy talkin’ to Mrs. B. on the phone, but she made me promise not to tattle.” She had her hands behind her back and was grinning like a toddler who’d peeked at her birthday presents. I puffed my cheeks out. “What’s it gonna ta-?” “Kiss me.” She was already puckering up. At this point she didn’t even want the kiss as much as she wanted the win. “On the forehead.” “On the lips.” “On the cheek. Final offer.” “Deal.” I looked to the left. I looked to the right. I looked in front and behind. No one was watching. A side benefit of being paired with the class’s biggest snitch. I gave Ivy the lightest, daintiest, little peck on the cheek possible. “Mwah. There.” “Gibson! Noice!” If he’d been closer I would have broken Billy’s jaw. In turns, everyone looked at me, then Ivy, then Billy, before collectively shrugging and ignoring us. Beouf and Zoge each had a suspicious eye on me, but otherwise weren’t saying or doing anything yet. “Just tell me,” I hissed. “Why isn’t Beouf sending anybody else over there?” Maybe a condescending, know-it-all Little really was a secret prerequisite of the program. Ivy leaned in close. “When you were gone, Billy got sent to the new teacher’s room. He came back crying real bad.” “Yeah, yeah,” I whispered. “I know.” “My Mommy and Mrs. Boeuf talked on the phone. They said-” A crack of thunder blasted through the room when the backdoor swung open and battered the wall. I jumped. The high pitched, completely terrified wail that followed drew me in. Standing in the doorway, with a diapered Little under her arm like he was a sack of potatoes, broad shouldered and scowling, was Miss Ambrose. Her hair was done up in a terrible beehive. Her white blouse was fastened with tiny faux pearls embedded in the buttons and bits of lace were embroidered at the wrist and collar. Her skirt, dark and black, stopped past the ankles concealing her feet. If not for her thundering, monstrous strides, she might have seemed to glide across the floor because you couldn’t see her tremendous feet. Had she not been so ogreish and terrifying, she might have looked funny. She didn’t look funny, however. Not at all. She was a sneering, scowling monster, the kind that Little parents used when describing Amazons to scare their children into behaving. Like the Big Bad Wolf, she was a kind of wild animal with only the thinnest veneer of decency. And like Little Red Riding Hood everyone else played along more out of fear and politeness rather than naivety. “Sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Beouf,” she boomed, “but I’m calling in that favor. I need to use your classroom for a time out!” “Noooooooo!” The Little wailed. “Noooooo! I’m not a baby! Not a baby!” Without warning, Ambrose thundered in. My head swiveled. Who was that? How had one of us gotten into my old classroom? They were getting a high five after this was over. “NOOOOO!” Too late, it hit me. It wasn’t one of us. That wasn’t a Little. That was a child. A real one. One of my kids! Stripped down to nothing but a diaper, Elmer, my Tweener student from last year, sobbed pathetically while draped under Ambrose’s right arm. “I’m! Not! A….. Nooooooooo!” “Someone doesn’t want to be a big boy and go potty when he’s told to like all the other big boys and girls!” Ambrose said. Beouf stood up. “I’m sorry Miss Ambrose but-” Ambrose talked over Beouf. “Then someone got all antsy when I put them in a diaper just in case!” She kept walking in like she owned the place, making a beeline for the bathroom. “But big boys don’t have to worry about wearing a diaper. They can hold it in, can’t they?” Elmer’s response can’t be quoted as much as described as the wailing gibberish of a devastated and panicking four year old. “Miss Ambrose, you’re interrupt-” “Then someone couldn’t hold it in and wouldn’t wait like a big boy to be taken to the potty. Someone had an accident! Big boys don’t have accidents.” The door to the bathroom was always open. Everyone in the room jumped again when Ambrose slammed it shut. Ivy was shaking. “They said they’d help her with time out if she helped them,” she whispered to me. “After Billy, they hoped she’d just forget.” I’d figured it out. Elmer- one of the nicest, sweetest and brightest kids I’d ever taught- was completely potty trained. Last year, he just quietly went whenever he needed to. Sometimes I’d give him the opportunity and he’d take it or leave it, but the kid knew how to listen to his body and didn’t abuse the courtesy. Ambrose was having the students take scheduled potty breaks and diapered him because he’d opted out. Then, this ogre, this Amazon’s Amazon, stalled things until the kid’s bladder gave out and was in the process of humiliating him even further. “Don’t close your eyes! Look what you did! That’s what the mirror’s for!” Even with the door closed, we heard every word. No one else was talking, and the only thing louder than Elmer’s screams was my replacement’s admonitions. “NOOOO!” The sounds of tapes being ripped off the landing zone ignited a redoubling of Elmer’s cries. All of us trapped in diapers winced and looked down at our waists. It had been much later in life, but we’d all gone through what was happening to Elmer. Hopefully in the kid’s case, it wasn’t permanent. Beouf and Zoge stared at each other, paralyzed. Beouf was clenching her fists and starting to maneuver out from her kidney table, but based on her body language, she was obviously hesitating. She was angry, but more than that she was confused. No one talked like that to Melony Beouf, not even Brollish. She looked like a dog might if a cat ever managed to bark at it. Zoge was starting to walk around the room and give empty but comforting pats on the head and shoulders to anyone who would accept it. She started whispering kind, reassuring words in Yamatoan. Me? I was going to kill this bitch. I was going to waddle up to the bathroom, wait for her to open the door, scale the changing table, leap over her shoulder and rip her goddamn fucking throat out with my fucking teeth! I’d clamp down on her mother fucking jugular and pierce her fucking rhino hide until I was drenched in her bastard blood. I was going to be the first Little ever convicted of homicide on an Amazon. They’d have to invent new words for what I wanted to do to her. Nobody fucked with my kids. And, adopted or not, Elmer was still one of my kids. Ivy saw the murder in my face. “Clark! Don’t! Just let the Grown-Ups handle it!” “NOOOOO! I’LL BE GOOD! I’LL BE GOOOOOOOOD!” “Too late for that.” I ignored her and walked right on by. I was jerked to a stop as she hugged me around the shoulders. “Clark! Please!” Ivy whispered. Fuck that sellout. I couldn’t break her freakish iron grip, but Ivy wasn’t quick enough to stop me from slipping out. I dropped all of my body weight to the floor, hunched my shoulders forward and scrambled on all fours away from her and towards the bathroom. When Ambrose came out I was going to trip her up like a cat and then do a cannonball on to the back of her motherfucking skull. I’d stomp until something cracked. A body piled on my legs. I looked back and saw Chaz. “Clark,” he said. “Stop!” “Let me go,” I told Chaz, “or I’m going to kick you in the head.” It was strange how clearly I was able to enunciate threats just then. “I’m gooooOOOOOOD!” Chaz tightened his grip on my knees in time with Elmer’s shrieks. “Fuck you, dude. I’m not letting you.” Annie came and sat down in front of me, blocking my view of the bathroom door. “Ha-ha! Just Littles playing silly games! Nothing to see here. Right?” She gave me a worried look. “Right?” Billy was pawing at Beouf, trying to distract so she didn’t see the scuffle. Completely unnecessary. Her eyes were as glued to the bathroom door as my own. Nonetheless, my crew was running interference...on me. Ivy was saying something in Yamatoan to Zoge. My friends and Ivy were doing everything they could to stop me and protect me from myself. Them seeming to agree that I was being stupid was enough to wake me up from my own particular brand of crazy. I should have been proud. The bathroom door slammed open. Annie and Chaz scattered. I’d made it up to Beouf’s desk so I got a good view of Elmer being carried out, and still bawling. “If you want to act like a Little,” Ambros said. “Why don’t you spend some time with them? Do you want that?” “NoooooOOOOO!” She put Elmer down in the reading area on a bean bag. “I’ll be right back, Mrs. Beouf. Promise. Five minutes.” Elmer found enough of his words to plead to Ambrose’s retreating back. “I’ll be good! I’ll be gooooooood! I’ll go potty when you tell me to! I’ll go potty when you tell me tooooooo!” The door thundered closed behind Ambrose. Beouf and Zoge made eye contact with one another. “Go,” her assistant said. An instant later and Beouf was out of the room. I got up off the floor. I started heading to the reading center. I was going to talk to Elmer. I was going to comfort my kid. I could do this. It would be easy and it was something I was good at. With longer legs and nothing to throw off her stride, Zoge beat me to the punch. “It’s okay, dear,” Mrs. Zoge said to the boy, kneeling and stroking his hair. “You’re not in trouble. You didn’t do anything wrong. This is all just a big misunderstanding. You’ll see. Sometimes even Grown-Ups make mistakes.” Muffled noise came from the space between mine and Beouf’s rooms. Beouf and Ambrose were definitely exchanging words. The doors were thick enough and Elmer was loud enough to where I couldn’t make out exactly what was being said, but neither of them sounded particularly happy based on the tones. I didn’t care about that. I just wanted to help my kid. I was going to nudge Zoge aside and show her how it was really done. What came out of poor Elmer’s blubbering innocent mouth turned my blood cold and stopped me dead. “I’m not a Liiiiiiiittle!” he sobbed. Zoge sighed and rubbed his back. “I know. You’re not. You’re very big. You’re a very big boy.” “I can go potty! I’m a big boy! I can grow up! I’m! Not! A! Little! I’m BIG! I’m bi-i-i-i-i-ig!” Elmer caught sight of me, looked down at the diaper he’d been trapped into, and devolved into further incomprehensible bawling. Try as she might, Zoge couldn’t console the boy. She could only hold him in her lap and gently whisper sweet nothings to him while his body racked itself with shame and humiliation. Shame. So much shame. Ashamed for looking like me. Not a Little. He could grow up. Elmer. One of the sweetest and brightest kids I’d ever taught. One of mine... I...I...I...I... I changed course. The door to the Nap Room was left open a crack. Someone must have seen me slip in. It was impossible not to. No one called out to me. No one came in to check on me or tried to drag me out. Or comfort me. Good. It made it easier for me to pop a pacifier in my mouth and scream into a pillow.

I think the thing that's most interesting is the information this chapter gives us on multiple levels. Mrs. Hopper is a candy. That pen thingy shouldn't have worked on her if she wasn't, which is why it was a surprise when it did. That means that a candy is some kind of inherent trait, not something you're turned into. Like the diaper and regression thing presented in all 3 Academy stories thus far, yes, that is something you're turned into. But "big dumb diaper baby" and "candy" are not inherently synonymous. All regressees in these stories are candies, but not all candies are regressies. Another important thing to note is that the brother and sister were abducted and regressed at some point, and the fact that they were brother and sister was missed. Meaning they were likely snatched at different times and locations, and besides possibly minor "disappearing" techniques (as in I'mma disappear you they'll never find you), the fact that they were brother and sister outside of town went unnoticed. That hints that whatever makes people a "candy" isn't genetic; or at least not genetic enough for people to have their family trees and dna scoured by top secret regressing agency. The fact that the men in black, agent smith type characters didn't show up until candies started the (what they thought was completely made up) rumor that as they forget the outside world the outside world forgets them, is also noteworthy. Finally, the in-fighting between the adults and the vibes of "my baby!" and genuine concern from the parental figures indicates a level of sincerity as opposed to performance that hasn't been present in the other Academy works thus far. Whatever the Academy folks are selling, the parental characters are buying and they genuinely love the big babies. (Though Genuine might be up for debate depending on how much of the truth the caregivers know. Loving someone who has been turned into a giant baby against their will and loving them BECAUSE they're a giant baby and working to ensure that they stay that way or get more babyish is pretty messed up...and theirs textual evidence to support the latter.)

Chapter 67: Tough Questions “No! Maxine!” Sosa screamed there on the carpet of the OT/PT room. “Don’t! We don’t have to keep the bird! I swear!” She back crawled to the corner, trembling at the sight of her infuriated lover. Winters held the diaper in hand, unfolding it before her cowaring girlfriend. It wasn’t a ‘true’ diaper; not like the one I was trapped in. There were no ‘adorable’ decorations so that whoever ended up wiping Sosa’s ass on a day to day basis got to associate it with cartoon characters. The tapes weren’t likely enough to overcome the Sosa’s strength, either. Conditioning, psychological torture, and societal pressure would have to be the primary thing to keep Sosa wearing it. That and maybe duct tape... “I’m sorry, Jazzie. It’s too late for that.” Winters pronounced judgement. “Clearly you can’t handle big girl responsibilities anymore. You must have some Little in your family tree. Your Maturosis has clearly expressed itself.” “Why would you...?” Sosa shrieked. “Why would you say that? I’m an adult! A big girl” “Big girls don’t poop their panties.” Sosa rolled over onto all fours, in complete shock as she patted her muddy backside, having been completely unaware that she’d soiled herself. I paused the fantasy. Now how in the heck was I going to get training chocolates or any other kind of poison slipped into her food to make it happen? She freely ate the gelatin when she was putting Littles through their paces. Maybe I could find a way to spike it? With what, though? Annoyed at myself, I reset the stuffies back to their starting positions on the floor. Winters was the big clunky elephant. Sosa was being played by the panther. Lion stayed flopped over on his side, representing me and my fantasy as the ultimate string puller. Gingerly, I refolded the Monkeez I’d snatched from off the changing table, and placed it in the stuffed pachiderm’s lap. “How do I get you,” I whispered and twitched at the diaper Janet had left on the coffee table, “to put that...on her…?” It was a nice daydream, but one that I couldn’t yet write a satisfying conclusion to. Most of the melodrama, especially the dialogue, remained firmly inside my skull, but it helped me to visualize the blocking. However I was going to do this, it’d have to be perfect. I leaned out and looked into the kitchen through the living room doorway. Janet had sequestered herself with over a week’s worth of papers and worksheets to grade in various subjects. She was falling behind. Another thing about being a new Mommy that she was coming to regret was that entertaining me was cutting into her time grading papers. She’d half done it to herself, trying to get a reaction, almost any reaction, out of me that just wasn’t coming. As a result, she was buckling down and catching herself up and I was being given some much needed benign neglect. Such neglect allowed me to relish past victories and envision what might yet happen. Part jouska, part strategizing, part revenge porn, it was my brain’s way of working through hypothetical future encounters and how I might inflict more mischief and hurt. If I’d been a master thief, I would have commissioned an exact replica of where my crime would take place. If I’d been an old time detective I might have used a cork board, photos, yarn, and a strict timetable of events as best as I could predict and understand them. I was a captured and adopted Little. I made do with stuffies and plastic bins to pass the time. To me it was less like playing pretend and more like arranging pieces on a chess board or staging a play; a tragedy preferably. Using this technique, I’d already come up with half a dozen ways to get Skinner’s goat, and I might have dreamed up one or two curveballs for Zoge. Sosa and Winters though…? I was both immensely proud that I’d started that ticking pipe bomb and utterly disappointed that I very likely wouldn’t get to see the shrapnel fly when it went off. A large yawn bubbled up and came out of me and I let out a massive cat-like stretch. Not quite eleven in the morning and I was dozing on my feet . Boredom can make a man sleepy. So can the drain and strain of making captors miserable. I’d spent most every night declaring my hatred for Janet over the baby monitor. At least a thousand times before I’d shut up and try to sleep. “I hate you, Janet. I hate you, Janet. I hate you, Janet.” Always calm. Always level. I wasn’t going to give her my rage; nothing that could be written off as a tantrum. I wanted her to feel my resentment and anger like cold icepicks into her eardrums. I wanted to keep her up at night. That was part of the ‘new Mommy’ experience, right? If not, I was going to make it one. “I hate you, Janet. I hate you, Janet. I hate you, Janet.” I kept this ritual going throughout the night. Before I’d let myself close my eyes, I’d say it a thousand times to the baby monitor before laying my head back down. If I had a nightmare and woke up, or I had to pee or whatever, that meant a thousand more ‘Hate Janets’ before I could get rest. It was very likely I was getting more sleep in Beouf’s cribs than in my own. Beouf wouldn’t have stood for that particular flavor of nonsense, and there’d be enough snitches to immediately single me out assuming she somehow didn’t recognize my voice. Beouf wasn’t above group punishment, either. It would have been hard to keep allies if Beouf and Zoge rained down as hard as they had for Why Day. So I used the afternoons to recoup the energy used to antagonize and inspire others. That and I was legitimately tired. With Janet and the baby monitor, I had more options. I could pretend to be asleep when I heard her approaching footsteps or just look up and stare at her, unspeaking. A ghost that she only heard when her back was turned. Kind of like that one cartoon with the singing frog. Problem was Janet never came. Which was weird. I’d seen her half of the baby monitor here and there. Toting me around the house, I caught sight of it more than once over the last couple of weeks. It’d be by her seat in the living room after dinner. Once or twice when she’d almost forgotten something heading out the door, she’d doubled back into her bedroom with me in her arms. Her half of the one way walky talky was right by the nightstand. It was on. Every time. Why wasn’t she reacting, then? There was no way that she was turning it off and then turning it back on. Not with that kind of consistency. Why wasn’t she coming when I taunted her, then? She couldn’t be that patient, could she? “If you want to hate me forever,” she’d promised, “you have that right. That won’t change a thing about how I feel about you.” Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. Not even Beouf was that patient. She was sleeping soundly, too, as near as I could tell. Only one of us was developing bags under their eyes or yawning when not fueled by spite and adrenaline. Much like with Winters and Sosa, I felt like I was missing something; a piece to the puzzle, some bit of data that was going over my head or that I was taking for granted. “This is both a great safety tool, and a great educational tool,” Skinner had promised at the shower. What was that about? Was I being mindfucked somehow? More reason to avoid sleep. Quietly, I laughed to myself. Wouldn’t it have been just awful if she’d gotten the sending and receiving ends mixed up? The thing in my room didn’t have any speakers that I could see, and I didn’t hear any tossing or turning or snoring flood into the nursery in the middle of the night. So that perfectly mundane explanation was unlikely. Funny, but unlikely. “Muffet Littles will be back, after a word from our sponsors!” The Television announced. Inwardly I groaned. I tolerated the television being on, only because it further obscured my activities. “I’m growing up, I do the potty dance I don’t pee-pee in my pants” An inaudible growl scratched the back of my throat. The diaper commercials on Amazon programming had a fifty-fifty chance for having an actual baby or a Little as the lead. The training pants always had a real toddler “Your growing child is finally mastering potty training,” the voice over announcer said. “But because accidents happen, new Easy-Ons can be taken off like real underwear, but protect like a diaper. And because Roam wasn’t built in a day, they’ve got easy open sides to help clean up the messiest accidents.” An Amazon wets their pants and it was an accident. Anyone smaller and it was by design. I was shaking my head in disgust before I even knew it. “Daddy Yay! I’ll be big someday!” It always came down to size, didn’t it? From behind me, Janet reached out and switched the T.V. off. “I think that’s enough cartoons for now.” I tensed up. I hadn’t noticed her come in. “A nice quiet weekend at home and vegging out in front of the T.V. aren’t the same thing.” Without further comment she laid me down on the carpet and started unbuttoning my onesie. I wasn’t that wet, but it’s hard to stay dry when you have to chug three bottles of apple juice just to look busy enough to be left alone. I rolled my head to the side away from the T.V. and saw the wipes, powder and fresh diaper Janet was about to change me into. She must have seen it in the elephant stuffie’s lap and gotten ideas. No fussing or crying from me. I laid there and took it. Ankles in the air, cold wipes. The whole nine yards. I would give her nothing to work with. On the bright side, being changed on the floor was still better than being tied down to a matted table; doubly so compared to Beouf’s bathroom where my own infantilized reflection taunted me through the whole process. “You’re not that wet,” she said, stating the obvious. “But a dry diaper still feels oodles better than a wet one.” I fought back the urge to scream, or quip, or argue. I wasn’t going to give her anything to work with. I took a deep breath, ignored the perfume coming from her or the soft scent of the baby powder she was putting on my bottom. “Much better,” she said, taping up the Monkeez and snapping onesie back up. She wasn’t done though. Grabbing my hips, she started rocking me to the left and right and began chanting. “You roll it, You roll it, You roll it, You roll it,” Each ‘roll’ signaled a change in direction. Left. Right. Left. Right. I held my breath and tensed my stomach for what was coming next. “And-then-you-put-the-rai-sins-in.” Every syllable of the last line, she poked a different spot in my abdomen. I was her ball of dough, and her tickling pokes and prods were her adding ‘special ingredients’. It was one of the songs she’d acquired at that Little Voices meeting. Raisins. Chocolate chips. Walnuts. Infinite potential variations and repeats. Infinite verses. Thankfully, Janet stuck to the one. My jaw unclenched and I exhaled. It tickled like crazy, but I was committed to reinforcing as little of her crazy as I could manage. My silence was rewarded from the hint of disappointment I was able to glean from her fading smile. In the long run, Little Voices might be good for me. How rewarding would it be, over time, for Janet to see all those giggling Natives who’d long since been broken and then wonder why oh why couldn’t her Little love it like they did? To be clear, I didn’t expect her to reach the correct conclusion about me and my ‘Maturosis’. I expected her to suffer an existential crisis concerning the nature of her fitness as a Mommy. It was terrible, dark, vengeful thoughts like that helped me get back to sleep in the dark of the night after I’d woken up and been forced to evacuate my bladder or bowels into the padded seat inside my pajamas. “Do you want to help me throw your diaper away?” she asked. She grabbed the wet, balled up Monkeez. and held it out for me, almost like she was offering me a chance to play with it. I sat up and made my face blank. If I didn’t have to speak to Janet, I wasn’t going to. She held the putrid piss soaked plastic firm. “Yes or no?” So much for silence. “No.” I made my voice as hard and clipped as possible. Janet was up to something. What, I wasn’t sure, but she was up to something. The gears were definitely turning. “Alrighty then,” Janet said. She stood up and took the diaper with her back to the pail in the nursery. With fast, powerful strides it didn’t take more than fifteen seconds for her to come back. I hadn’t moved from my spot on the floor. She was definitely up to something. I braced myself for a long morning. My ex-friend poured hand sanitizer into her palms and rubbed them together. She held it down to my eye level, close enough that I could see it, but still out of reach. “Do you want some hand sanitizer?” I gave nothing. She might as well have been speaking to me in Yamatoan. Her hand did not budge. Her voice did not waver. “Do you want some hand sanitizer?” She asked. “Yes or no?” I made no move. “Yes or no?” “Yes.” She preempted my stillness by grabbing my hands and squirting the sterilizing fluid into my hands and forcing them to rub together. The cool feeling of the alcohol evaporating up to my wrists contrasted with the heat burning in my ears. I hadn’t immediately considered the game of limiting my answers to yes or no but still remaining motionless- that could have been funny- and by the time it happened Janet had literally forced my hand. So much for that. Janet finished washing my hands for me and picked up the powder and the wipes from off the floor. She looked backwards into the kitchen and whispered something to herself. Then she looked.down to me. Then back to the kitchen. Then down to me. The wheels in her head were turning. Huh. So that’s what it looked like from the outside. Ten seconds later two hardback books thumped on the carpet. She went to the kitchen and returned with an enormous stack of papers. Her long peacock colored skirt pooled around her legs as she sat down cross legged on the floor in front of me. I tensed my body, preparing myself to be scooped up and deposited in the nest between her legs. One of the books took that spot, instead. “Do you want to help me grade papers?” I said nothing, same as before. In this instance, my insides weren’t steeled with spite and petulance. They felt like jelly that had been stirred by confusion. Grading papers? It was arguably the most adult task I’d been offered in over a fortnight. No. Fuck that. It was definitely the most adult task I’d been offered in over a fornight. “Do you want to help me grade papers?” Janet repeated. “Yes or no?” “Why?” She was already digging out a red tipped felt pen, that bitch. “Because I think it’s important that we spend quality time together. Even if it’s not big and flashy like a trip to the zoo. That and it’s something I know you’re good at, so I thought you might enjoy it.” Fuck me. Fuck me sideways. “But I’m a…” I stopped and gritted my teeth. “But you think I’m a baby.” “Yes,” she admitted. “It’s like your pediatrician said: A thirty-two year old baby. I’m not a doctor but I think thirty-two is old enough to grade some spelling tests.” She peeled off some loose leaf sheets from the stack and set it on the second book she’d tossed. “The word family is silent letters.” “What if I refuse?” My captor seemed thoughtful, but not overly concerned. “Then I’ll grade them all by myself. You can go back to playing with Lion and your other stuffie friends or whatever it was you were doing before I came in. Or do something different, I just wanted to give you the choice.” “I...I…” Papers. Grading papers. Never in a million years did I think I’d miss grading papers. Janet held out the grading pen. “Do you want to help me grade papers?” She didn’t even call herself ‘Mommy’ and I had been the one to bring up the b-word. I had next to no fresh fuel to stoke my anger. On top of all that, this was as close to how we’d been that school year before as I was likely to get. I missed that time. I had so little else. “Yes or no?” I took the pen from her and waddled over to the stack. “Yes.” “Well, alright then.” Sitting down on my knees I started organizing the stack to my liking. I mentally designated the papers I placed to my right as the pile I needed to grade, I’d use the book as a hard surface, and I’d shuffle them to the left after grading. Simple but effective. I took the first test, slapped it down on the textbook… And inhaled… A lot can happen in a single breath. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted in that moment to do something just awful: I could scribble on the tests. I could grade them wrong on purpose. I could tear them all up in a flurry of confetti and toss them in the air. I exhaled… I wasn’t going to do that. Besides pragmatic matters like knowing I wouldn’t get to pull such a stunt twice and it might be used to justify even worse treatment, I still had a tiny bit of compassion left in me. These papers represented kids to me. They weren’t my students, but they were just kids all the same; dumb, stupid, silly, innocent kids. Amazon or not, why would I try to hurt or mess with the hard work of a bunch of eight year olds? I took one more breath to center myself. All of that, and Jeremy Merriwether was in fourth grade now. So what was the point? I tuned out the world, and started grading. I began marking down the misspelled words, providing the correct spelling next to them where needed, then wrote the total correct as both a fraction and a percentage. I finished each one down at the bottom right corner and put my initials in cursive. ‘C.G.’ No reason. It just felt right. On matters of right and wrong, about five papers in, I realized how wrong I was. These were my kids. A former student is always their teacher’s pupil, even after they’ve long since outgrown. I couldn’t remember their exact faces in my mind’s eye-they were likely a lot slimmer and a lot taller than they’d been four to five years prior. It’s still super hard to spend a one to two years with a kid, constantly shouting, calling, and praising their names and not have those memories stored back somewhere in your brain. I slowed my grading and read each test, appreciating the names that I recognized, and tried to pull back images and memories from long ago and gossip around campus. Penelope always did have good handwriting. Very detail oriented, that one. Huh. Someone had taught Lydia M (not to be confused with Lydia Z) how to spell! I wished I could take credit for that, but I couldn’t. Somebody must have worked wonders on her with sight words or something. How was Torrence Thomas still writing his name with lower case “t’s”? He knew how to capitalize letters. He had to be doing it on purpose now. A quick scan of his paper revealed that he had capitalized the first letter in every word. Every word but ‘tomb’ . That cheeky little shit! Princeton’s test came pre-marked. Someone had circled select letters in pencil but not a word was misspelled. In the right hand corner where I would have put my initials, in miniscule print read: “See back for joke.” I flipped it over. In the boy’s jagged, sloppy handwriting was written: “If you take the W in ansWer, the H in gHost, the extra A in aArdvark, and the t in casTle; you could make WHAT but no one would hear it because all the letters are SILENT!” An actual, factual, stupidly mirthful grin etched itself beneath my nose and I pivoted on the floor to tell Janet. “Hey Ja-!” Oh no! What was I doing?! For a few precious moments I had forgotten where I was. For a bare handful of minutes I’d allowed myself to tune out my bare legs or how thick my underwear was; how it technically wasn’t even underwear and my shirt wasn’t really a shirt. I’d let myself forget that my classroom wasn’t my classroom and that Janet wasn’t my coworker. Joking and showing off what bits of cute stupidity and even more adorable cleverness was something that teachers did with each other. For just a few minutes, I’d allowed myself to pretend I was still a teacher. The fantasy was more intoxicating to me than the fantasy of escape; more gratifying than a thousand tiny revenge plays enacted by stuffed animals. Waking up from that daydream felt like running face first into a brick wall. “Yes?” Janet asked, oblivious to the pain I’d just caused myself. “Nothing,” I lied. I pivoted back and started staring down at the stack of papers. I should have torn them all up and tossed them to the ceiling. Then Janet would never dare tempt me with this again. I didn’t. “Are you sure?” Janet asked. She had that cossetting look in her eye. If I didn’t say the right thing, I would end up in her lap. I wanted to be left alone. I needed to use her own preconceptions against her. I reached out towards my stuffed cellmate. “Lion.” I said. “Give me Lion.” “You want Lion?” “Yes.” With her longer reach it was nothing for Janet to lean over pick up the leo and hand it to over. “Here you go. Anything else?” I bowed my head and pretended to be preoccupied with Lion, positioning him, just so, propping him up so that he’d be guarding the front of my makeshift work surface. Having no bones he’d be a slumped over drunken guard, but a guard nonetheless. “No.” “Are you sure?” “I’m. Fine.Janet.” I slammed my eyes shut and did my best to steady myself. I couldn’t let her see me like this. I couldn’t let her see me so close to breaking down. If I was going to cry, it’d be on my terms and no one else’s. It would be because I’d decided to be a jackass and scream at the world, not because I was overwhelmed by anything in particular. “Why do you call me that?” she asked. My eyes opened. “Why do you call me Janet?” Finally. Something to use to sharpen myself; steel myself from more complex thoughts. Something to be angry at! “What do you mean?” I said. “We’re alone. There’s no pressure or expectation that I talk about you in a certain way. That was the deal. Or did that deal only apply to my first day in Beouf’s?” “It’s still valid,” Janet said. “But why do you call me that? Why ‘Janet’?” I raised my eyebrow in challenge. I sure as hell wasn’t calling her ‘Mommy’. “What would you prefer?” She held out the palm of her hand as a soft, non-threatening gesture. “Nothing,” she said. “Janet’s fine. It’s just...why ‘Janet’?” I had no idea what she was talking about and it must have shown. “Like, unless you’re really mad and saying their whole name, you tend to call Amazons by our last names. Why am I ‘Janet’?” My temples started to buzz. Was that true? I hadn’t consciously noticed before. I’d called her Grange before, hadn’t I? When we first met? “No...?” “Like, I think you sometimes used to call Forrest ‘Raine’, but this feels different.” It did. It was. “No…?” “Why is that?” Inside my own mind, I felt like the walls were closing in. I was naked. Vulnerable. “Because you used to be my friend.” It didn’t have the effect I was aiming for. “Mrs. Beouf used to be your friend, too. You always called her Beouf.” A little glass tube was being constructed around me and a giant hand was shoving me back down all over again. “I don’t...I mean...I didn’t...I don’t…” Reaching in and taking away my wedding ring. “No…?” “It’s fine. I like it. I like ‘Mommy’ better,” she blushed, “but calling me ‘Janet’ is fine, too.” My tongue was a desert. “Okay…” I stopped talking again. I finished grading the spelling test, then accepted some basic algebra worksheets from her. The weekend seemed even longer after that.