Alex Bridges

I’m having a procedure called a sphincterotomy in two weeks to try to heal an anal fissure. There is a low risk of gas incontinence and a lower risk of fecal incontinence. For the few patients who experience it, it’s temporary. For a tiny fraction who have previous history of other procedures or experiences (multiple vaginal childbirths, for instance), it can be permanent. The surgeon doesn’t think I’ll experience either. But I want to be prepared for any eventuality. Makes me less nervous, and this procedure has me very nervous (they divide part of your internal anal sphincter to keep it from cramping, allowing blood flow to the fissure so it can heal). Let’s assume I do have some temporary gas or fecal incontinence for a period after surgery. What advice do those with bowel incontinence have for me to help me minimize the impact on my work and life? I’m a professional. I spend most of my day at my desk or in meetings. I very occasionally have to travel for work. I don’t have my own office. There are no single-person restrooms in the entire building. I can work from home, even for extended periods (3 weeks when I developed the fissure), but not for as long as it may take this to resolve without it somehow impinging on my ability to do my job well (and hopefully get promoted in June). I live alone, not seeing anyone right now. I did wear at work, sort of, for the first time last week, but all I did was change into a diaper after the work day (pretty much everybody gone) before I met a friend for dinner. The experience showed me there’s no way for it not be noticed if someone walks in. The gap in the stall door is too wide, and the door itself is too short (diaper was hanging a few inches lower than it when I unfurled it). I suppose I could ask HR for some kind of accommodation, but it’s not like they can retrofit a restroom for me or make one available exclusively to me. My company is just a tenant anyway in a 20-story high rise. I keep thinking about my ability to be respected by my peers and seen as promotable (more client interaction) if I soil myself at my desk, or worse, at a meeting. My career would halt, and my job could become much harder to do. At least that’s my fear. I’ll give some advice in return, the same advice I gave my niece the day she was born six months ago: FIBER!!!! Always eat a lot of it. It actually bothers me kinda, to think there are people out there doing all kind of kinky stuff inserting large objects in their butt, and I’ve been suffering for 15 months because I didn’t eat enough fruit! Wtf!?! ?

Chapter 26 Part 1 Dear Cheryl, I’m sorry I haven’t written more. The days are longer here, but somehow, they pass by quick. Not much time passes but that I’m wrapped up in something again. I’ve started call Rebecca “Mom.” I feel that way about her now. The three of us, we feel like a family. We will never repay you for your role in bringing us together. You so perfectly matched us to one another Amanda remains my person. She’s my hero and confidante and advocate. She’s not perfect, but she’s mine, and I’m hers. Whatever force moves the universe, it feels like we were meant to be together, and you did that. Your first letter to me, I’ve memorized some of it. Do you remember what you wrote? ‘I cannot stand the thought of you again without love by your side all day and long night.’ I have that kind of love, Cheryl, because of you. Amanda has a friend named Mel that I have a crush on. I can’t help it. She has red hair. I started daycare recently, and it’s been a rough few days. It’s loud! At first there was no one to talk to except the receptionist and the big who’s in charge of me. I was afraid I’d be bored and alone there, even in a room full of littles. Then I met a friend. I’d tell you her name, but I don’t think I’m supposed to. For some reason, it’s supposed to be a secret. All I know about her is she had some kind of back surgery and needs PT. Having her to talk to has made daycare tolerable so far. I started seeing a therapist. I believe I have you to thank for that. And I am thankful. I’m not sure what the end-goal is, but I’m open to therapy. I do believe, like I always told my kids, talking solves problems. We went to the zoo, and I saw all kinds of new things. Did you know Big Foot is real and that they have pet bears they call “dogs?” There’s more to tell in time. Cheryl, I miss you. The missing you is getting easier, though, and I hate that. I’ve gotten used to a lot, more than I can ever explain. I don’t want to get used to missing you. I want it to hurt, but I hope it doesn’t hurt for you. It shouldn’t hurt you, for I’m in love with the people whose arms you placed me in. Remember that when times are hard. I’m happy because of you. I still struggle sometimes, but a kind word and a firm hug can dispel much more than I thought possible, at least for a moment, when it comes from the people I love and who love me. Please tell me, Cheryl, how are you? What are your days like? Do you still shine when you smile? Are you happy? I think on our reunion. It warms me to anticipate your embrace again. Give me leave to hope you remember the feel of my arms, as I remember yours. Your forever friend, Jamie ______________________________________________________________________________ “Manda, can you please mail this for me?” “Sure, buddy. Who’s it to?” Jamie handed over the envelope. “Ah. Got it. What are you up to now?” “Well, I have a business lunch at noon, but I might have to cancel that for a conference call. Other than that, my calendar is up to date, so feel free to drop some time on it if you need to meet about something.” “Does Cheryl know you’re the most sarcastic little in San Siena?” “She likes that about me, actually.” “Well, I got nothing to do, and mom is out running errands. Why don’t we take a walk and drop this off, then maybe find some lunch?” “Sounds like fun. Can you, uh, change me first?” “You’re the boss.” “Damn right I am.” “Have you ever been tickled while being held upside down by one ankle?” “So what do you want for lunch?” “Thought so.” Amanda hopped off the couch and followed Jamie to his room. The summer was fast closing. Not many more weekends of warm weather. Even better, though, the autumn. Amanda looked forward to the fall and its crisp air and fun outfits. She especially looked forward to dressing Jamie in flannel and sweaters. She couldn’t help it; she didn’t mean to think of him like a doll, but she so loved making him look cuter than he already was. Amanda picked Jamie up and laid him on the changing table. “You’re a little pink down here, buddy. Does it hurt or itch at all?” “Both, a little. Not bad.” “Well, that’s our fault. I’ll Mom know, and we’ll make sure you get changed more often until it clears up. Explains it, though.” “Explains what?” “I’d be a little grumpy, too, if I had a diaper rash.” “I’m not grumpy!” “I said ‘a little grumpy.’ Lift up for me.” Jamie lifted his hips, and Amanda slid the new diaper under. “Prepare to be slathered,” she said as she held up his ankles and smoothed an extra thick layer of nursery cream on his diaper area. Jamie couldn’t help but move his hips a little in response. “Feels good, huh? Have you ever had a massage?” “Like from a professional? No.” “Maybe we can do that after I pick you up one day this month. I know I could use one.” She sealed the tapes on his diaper and a sly grin came to her face. “What?” “I just thought of something new.” “What?” “Promise you won’t tell?” Jamie looked around as if to make sure they were alone. “Sure.” Amanda bent down as if to whisper something to him. Jamie wasn’t unsure what she was thinking. “You listening real well?” “Yeah.” “What I wanted to say is pbbbbbbbtttt!” A dirty trick! Jamie squealed at her raspberry on his tummy. “Manda! Hehehehe! Stop! Hehehehehe!” She relented after three. “I can’t believe that hadn’t occurred to me months ago!” Jamie’s cheeks spread in his typical contented smile. When he laughed, it was a different kind of smile. The one he gave when he happy-warm inside was less expressive, unless you looked at this eyes. The wrinkles that formed at the corner his eyes said more than his lips. “Better late the never. Maybe I ought to return the favor when you least expect it.” “Guess that makes us ready to go,” she said as she put his shorts back on. Jamie was getting to enjoy the stroller. He imagined this was what Roman nobility felt like being carried along on litters. “Hey Amanda, tell me about school.” “What do you want to know about school for?” “Curiosity, and because I want to know more about you. Ya know, the you that I don’t see. I don’t even know what you’re studying.” “Education, like Mom.” “Why did you pick that?” “A lot of reasons. It pays really well, it’s secure, you have lots of time off.” “What about the job itself?” “I like teaching. I’m not sure I want to teach kids, though.” “You’d rather teach college?” “Yeah … though … since you’ve been here I’ve been thinking about switching majors to Little Studies.” “We’re a field of study?” “Yeah.” “What do you … I mean, how … what are they studying about us?” “Lots of things. Medicine, psychology, education, recreation, social work. There’s even a legal discipline about littles.” “Makes sense I guess.” “So I’m taking my first Little Studies course now.” “Do you like it?” “I do. It’s interesting, kinda comparing what I know from you to the class materials.” “Can I see your textbook some time?” “Sure.” “Do I fit the mold?” “What do you mean?” “Comparing me – do I fit what they’re teaching you?” “In some ways. Not many, though. It’s only been a few class sessions. So far the class has only hinted at the idea of unregressed littles.” “Maybe I should come to class.” “I did tell the professor about you. He’d love to meet you.” “I’d be okay with that.” “And I told him no experiments if I did bring you.” “Experiments?” “Electric shock therapy, vivisection, those sorts of things.” “Har har. Very funny.” They were in downtown now next to the library. Amanda dropped the letter in a post office box. “Can we go in?” “To the library? Sure. I haven’t been in here in ages.” She pushed the stroller up the ramp, and the doors opened for them. She lifted him out and set him on his feet, and left the stroller along the wall with a half dozen others. “Smells like the libraries back home.” “Anything you want to look for?” Jamie really just wanted to browse, but now that she asked, he considered what he wanted to know. A lot, he realized. For starters, where was he? He didn’t have a picture of his town, region, country, or planet. He didn’t know anything about San Siena or Tosca or Itali. He didn’t know about the people or the culture. “Can we look at the history section?” “Of course.” They approached the help desk. “Excuse me, can you point us toward the history section?” “Sure. See those spiral stairs? Up there. There’s a storytelling session for little going on downstairs if you want drop him off while you browse,” the librarian replied. “Actually, we’re browsing for him.” “Oh! In that case there’s a more little-friendly history mini-section downstairs, too. Ya know, more pictures you can show him.” Amanda smiled patiently. “Jamie, what do you think?” “Do you have any books on unregressed littles?” “Ohh. Sorry,” the librarian said as she turned red in the cheeks. “I didn’t mean to assume.” “It’s okay,” Jamie said, “There’s not many of us.” “Sorry anyway. Please let me know if I can help you find anything.” “Thanks,” Amanda and Jamie said in unison. The stairs she had indicated was a tight, wrought-iron staircase. Amanda had Jamie go first, and she boosted him along the way. “Little accessibility isn’t a thing here, is it?” “No. There’s an elevator we could have used.” Jamie shrugged. They began browsing together and slowly drifted their separate ways until there were a few aisles between them. Books we’re little-accessible either. To bigs they were the equivalent of a standard paperback. To Jamie they were the size of coffee-table books, but thicker and heavier. He was also limited to the lower three shelves. He spotted a rolling step ladder in the corner and brought it over to a shelf of books on Itali history, locking the wheels in place carefully climb up to browse the spines. He decided to take down one of the newer looking ones. He began to flip through it until his arms got tired holding it, so he sat down on a step and put the book in his lap, getting absorbed in a chapter on pre-historic Itali. The shadow of a big hand fell over the page and pulled the book away. Jamie looked up to see a blue-haired lady with a name tag tut-tutting as she put the book down. “Honestly,” she said to no one, “so irresponsible. How about I help you find your mommy and help the two of you pick something out?” Jamie spotted a name tag. Another librarian. “Like a book on how to be a good big,” she muttered. “Actually, I was hoping to find a self-help book on how to mind my own business.” It wasn’t that Jamie didn’t understand her heart was in the right place, just that she was being kinda rude and was talking like she couldn’t hear him. Three aisles over, Amanda heard Jamie’s remark and said , “Oh, shit …” and started to quick step to wherever he was. “And up on a ladder. Why not just put him on the roof,” the librarian continued. One those, Jamie realized, you don’t even hear me. “Manda!” “Coming!” If I can figure out which aisle you’re in. “C’mon,” the woman said as she put her hands under Jamie’s arm pits and lifted him off the step. Jamie’s patience for being ignored was getting longer; where his patience ran out was being picked up by a stranger, especially one who didn’t even pay attention to what he said. “Put me. The fuck! Down!” The F-bomb seemed to catch her attention as Amanda turned the corner. “Is this your little?” “Put him the fuck down like he asked, please,” Amanda said with her friendliest unfriendly voice and matching face. She set him on his feet, and Amanda brushed past the woman. “You okay, Jamie?” “Yeah.” Just my feelings hurt, as usual. “She’s one of those.” “I can see that,” Amanda said, turning to the librarian. “Thank you for your concern.” “You shouldn’t leave littles alone. He was on the ladder by himself.” “Thanks, we got it,” Amanda replied. She turned back to Jamie. “Find anything you like?” “Yes, that one.” She picked it up. “I’ve heard of this author. He supposed to be pretty good. Informative, but tells a good story.” The woman interrupted, “I think you’ll find that book a bit much for bedtime reading. There’s a little section downstairs. He really shouldn’t even be up here.” Her lips thinned and her eyes flashed wider. Wow, you’re still here, Amanda thought. Jamie saw the expression and knew what it meant on her. He reached over and touched her arm. “Manda.” He shook his head. She let out the breath she was holding and her eyes softened. “C’mon, let’s keep browsing.” She offered her hand and helped him down. Turning back to the woman she held his book and the one she’d found out. “Thank you, again. Do you mind taking those down the front desk for us? We’ll be down when we’re ready. Thanks.” The woman looked irritated. Amanda wanted to ask her how it felt to have someone ignore you right to your face, but she wanted to respect Jamie’s wishes more. He didn’t want her to, so she didn’t. The two of them walked to another section, and the woman went downstairs with the books. “Sorry,” Amanda offered. “Shhh!” Taken aback, Amanda asked, “What?” “Shhh! We’re in a library,” Jamie stage-whispered. Amanda didn’t laugh a library-appropriate laugh. They took the elevator back downstairs and went back to the front desk. The blue-haired lady was gone. The other librarian was still there. “Find everything?” “Everything for this trip.” “You know there are some little books …” “He can read!” The woman let out a patient sigh. “Sorry. I meant there’s a section of books from where he’s from down in the little’s section.” “Oh! I’m so sorry!” “Don’t be. Mildred caught me up on what a “rude” woman and little we had upstairs. I get where you’re coming from.” “Sorry just the same. Jamie, want to go check those out?” “Yeah, that sounds great actually.” “Back corner all the way to left.” “Thanks.” They walked downstairs through a corridor past darkened doors every forty feet. “Did this used to be a school,” Jamie asked. “I think so.” “Looks like it.” They walked down a wide, short staircase into what looked like it had been the cafeteria. Everything was bright from the walls to the carpet to books. They turned the corner, and they both recoiled. Story time was being led guy in a clown costume. One little was hugging her knees while her clueless big rubbed her back. The rest just looked bored. They walked past the group to get to the back, catching a little of the clown’s performance. “Woof,” Amanda remarked after they passed, “Someone over there stinks!” “Yeah,” Jamie replied, “and someone’s got a loaded diaper, too.” Amanda snorted when she laughed. They found the section the librarian told them about. It reminded Jamie of the book section at a charity-run resale shop. It was mostly board books, followed by a shelf split entirely between John Grisham and Tom Clancy. “Wow,” Amanda said, “This Clancy guy must be a celebrated author.” “Yeah,” Jamie responded, “Pudgy white guys in their 50s and 60s who’ve never been anywhere near a battlefield really think he’s the bee’s knees.” “Sometimes I don’t know when you’re kidding.” “Yeah ya do.” On the last shelf in the section was an assortment of authors Jamie had heard of and hadn’t heard of, the grocery-store-quality romance novels in with some of the greats. Twain. Bellow. Whitman. Achebe. Morrison. Walker. Steinbeck. Baldwin. McEwan. Faulkner. Homer. Soyinka. Robinson. Mantel. Coelho. They appeared to never have been opened. Jamie picked a few he hadn’t read before, plus a couple he had. “Jamie!” Startled, he turned around. “Hi, Jenny! Manda, this is Jenny, from daycare.” Manda got down to her level and introduced herself. “I like your dress.” A big approached. “Mama, this is Jamie.” “This is the famous Jamie? A nice surprise.” “Nice to meet you …,” Jamie held out his hand. “Grace. Jenny gushed about you last week.” “I’m Amanda, Jamie’s sister.” “I think I remember you from drop off.” Grace made a sympathetic face. “We’ve all had that day. Jenny tells me your brother is a great reader.” “One of the best,” Amanda replied proudly. “One of the only.” Jenny didn’t care much to listen to them banter. “Jamie, will you read to me? That clown is scary and doesn’t read as good. He doesn’t do the voices.” Grace blushed, “Sorry. I’m sure you guys are in a hurry. Jenny, how about you ask him again at daycare? How does that sound?” Crummy, Jenny’s face replied. “Actually, we’re not rushed today,” Jamie said. “Is it okay if I read one story ,Manda?” “Of course,” she smiled. Jenny handed him her storybook and took his hand, leading him to the carpeted area away from the clown. He sat down and began a story about cow that didn’t feel welcome at a barn dance because he was too heavy to dance and was worried the chickens and even the pigs would make fun of him. Plus he didn’t have anyone to dance with. Jamie’s depressed cow voice was spot on, as were his clucking chickens and supportive goats and a dumb donkey. The other littles heard him and left the clown by himself. Jamie felt bad for him. He paused in his reading and whispered to Jenny, who walked over to the man and led him back by the hand. He sat on the carpet and listened. The bigs smiled at how cute that was and at how Jamie kept everyone’s attention and made them all laugh, even the bigs. When he was done, Jenny’s mom thanked him, and so did the rest of the littles and bigs. Grace nodded toward Jenny to draw Amanda’s attention to the way she looked at Jamie. “She’s got a crush on him.” “Who wouldn’t?” “No kidding!” The librarian behind the counter approached Amanda and Jamie and told them he could come read to the other littles whenever he wanted. She’d post it on the bulletin board if they let her know in advance. Jamie promised he would on occasion. Amanda beamed. They checked out all of their books from upstairs and down and stashed the under the stroller. The big with the stinky little walked out of the changing room down in the corner, reminding Amanda she needed to check Jamie more often until his rash cleared up. “How are you pants,” she whispered. “Damp, I think.” What does he mean ‘think,’ she wondered. “Let’s go take care of that.” When he was up on the change table, Amanda used the time to deliberately follow through on Mary’s instructions. “That was a very nice thing you did.” Jamie shrugged. “Sorta had to.” “No, you didn’t. You did it because you’re a sweetie. And inviting the clown over was very kind. That’s one of the things I like so much about you; not everyone is like that. I’m proud of you.” Jamie blushed. “And you were good at it. All those bigs were jealous of me.” She smiled to herself. She knew exactly how lucky she was. “I’m ready for lunch. You?” “Starving.” Amanda helped him down, washed her hands, and the left. They walked a block and had their choice of several restaurants on the same street. Amanda lifted Jamie so he could see the menu by the door. “You guys imported Tex-Mex?” Amanda chuckled. “After littles I think it’s everyone’s favorite thing about your dimension. You like it?” “Uh, yeah I do.” They got a booth with a booster seat, and soon there was queso and fresh chips on the table. “I meant to thank you, Jamie, for stopping me from going off on that woman.” “You’re welcome.” “I’m sorry so many people are like that.” “I know, they’re just blind and deaf to me because they love littles so much and don’t know any unregressed ones.” Jamie rolled his eyes. Amanda caught the sign. “Want to talk about it?” Jamie grimaced and said nothing, though is face darkened. Finally, he asked, “Am I a person here?” “Of course you are.” “Why … who treats other people that way? She made a mistake thinking I was regressed. I corrected her. It did zero good. She listened to you when you said literally the same thing I’d just said.” He paused, and Amanda could tell he just needed to rant. “She treats me like I’m not even making words come out of my mouth and then lays her fucking hands on me like it’s no big deal. And that excuse, that whole ‘little blind’ stuff, is just bullshit. It doesn’t justify the way they treat me. It just reveals them to be bigots. They treat me like I’m inferior, like I don’t exist as a person they owe any courtesy to. I’m tired of being the one who nods patiently and says ‘It’s alright. I know they can’t help it.” They’re fucking grown-ups, aren’t they? They can, too, goddamn help it!” He paused again before bringing his fist down on the table. “I am not an infant! I am not disabled! I am not inferior! And I am not a goddamn puppy they can just manhandle!” Now he looked done. “Feel better?” He breathed out. “Yes.” “You’re right.” “I know I am.” “Let’s talk about it again later.” “Good.” Jamie rubbed his forehead a moment. “Not gonna let that ruin my day. It’s been great so far. Thanks for taking me out.” He was smiling again. He just needed to get that out of his system. Amanda understood because she wished she could as well, and she likely would when they got home, out of ear shot of Jamie. She knew she and her mother were not perfect, but they’d made a lot of progress, and the excuse they’d make for others was worn thin. It certainly didn’t convince Amanda anymore. “Thanks for coming with me. We can stop at the park on the way home if you want.” “That sounds fun.”

I do have a video of this from years back, and it’s a pretty funny sound. About 12 thrusts a second, each with a long, low ooowwuuughoogh sound.

It's just that they've swapped the names. No more to it than that.

And on the lighter side ... __________________________________________ Chapter 25 Part 3 Back in the car, Amanda sat next to Jamie so she could talk to him. Becky turned the radio off so she could hear and be heard. “How ya feeling, buddy?” “Fine.” Really, he was. No breakthroughs or emotional epiphanies, nothing he didn’t already not on some level know already. Amanda looked skeptical. “Really. Nothing new today.” Amanda’s face soften and she put her hand on his knee. “Alright. You know you don’t have to talk about what you discuss with Mary with anyone, even us, unless you want to, right?” “I know.” Jamie couldn’t remember the details of what he’d said anyway. He knew the narrative, but if he’d had to try to reproduce his own words, he’d come up with semi-accurate paraphrasing at best. Amanda wasn’t so sure she liked what had just happened. Jamie had been smiling and happy just yesterday, and now he looked closed off and miserable. She understood it was a process, but what was the point if he had to be made unhappy long-term when he could feel at least somewhat happy, if not wholly so, without therapy? Maybe Jamie had a right to just learn to live with it. She wished they weren’t in the car so that she could do the one thing she knew always made him feel better: hold him. “Since we all have the afternoon free, Jamie, we thought we’d go to the zoo and meet Laurie and Danny. How does that sound?” Jamie had mixed feelings about zoos. He liked animals, but he didn’t like to see them in cages. He hadn’t been to a zoo back home in ages. But he was curious to see what animals they had here, and he hadn’t seen Danny or Laurie since his arrival party. It was starting to bother Jamie a bit that he so rarely saw any men. Jamie assumed it was due to old fashioned gender roles. Single men didn’t seem to want littles; they didn’t go into caring professions like little day care; as far as he knew, they didn’t become little therapists. Jamie loved spending time with all the women in his life, and he never felt out place as a Little boy, but he missed talking to other guys, and he liked Danny. Something about him made him want to spend more time with him, sort of like a little brother wants to tag along with his big brother. “Sounds good,” Jamie answered, sounding in earnest as he actually was. “Where’s the zoo?” “It’s in Wood’s Park. That’s the main park where we live, where the art and history museum are, the science center, the city theatre, those kinds of things.” So an entirely new place. Jamie watched new scenery outside the window, or what he could see of it. Just the normal things on a highway passing from a suburban area and into an urban one. “What’s that,” Jamie asked, pointing. Through the windshield he saw a statue rising between buildings at least five miles away. It shone in the sunlight. “That’s Solea,” Becky answered, “There used to be a stone version of him there, and it broke apart in an earthquake. That’s been there for about 100 years. It’s on the harbor front.” “When did original one collapse?” “A few thousand years ago?” Jamie considered that. “How old is Itali?” Becky and Amanda didn’t know the answer. People had lived there since there were people. “Um, I guess a couple thousand years before the statue fell down.” “Wow.” “Is that a long time where you’re from?” “Very. Humans didn’t start living in settled communities until 5,000 years ago. They couldn’t build anything like that for probably two thousand more … doesn’t seem that long when you think about it.” After a minute of silence, Amanda glanced at her phone and leaned over to whisper to Jamie, “If you need to go, now would be a good time. You’re soaked anyway, right?” He was, enough that he felt squishy. Sighing and looking away, Jamie did what he needed to. The confined space of the car didn’t help. Fortunately, they pulled off the highway a few minutes later and made a left across the overpass, directly into the park. Urban parks are so different from their surroundings, you could forget you were in a city at all. The road split into four directions, two through woods and two falling across opposite sides of the hill Jamie didn’t realize they were even on, past picnic pavilions and sign posts for the different things in the park. The followed one of the roads, and at a corner a large wall made to look like a rock stood out, impossible to miss for its size. Jamie could only imagine the size of the animals a wall like that must have been built to contain. If the trees were an indication, big. Jamie hadn’t never been in a redwood forest, but he didn’t think those were as large and these, and they were everywhere. Rather than park in the lot, Becky parked on the street since it was free. She got out and went to the back to get their things while Amanda got Jamie out of his car seat. “We can do this in the back or in the park. Up to you.” She unbuckled him and lifted him out of his seat, which she saw was wet. “Actually, we have to do this in the car. Sorry.” “Why?” “You leaked. It’s not a big deal.” Easy for her to say, Jamie thought. She wasn’t about to worse than nude in front of anyone passing by. Jamie now felt the cool wetness on the backs of his legs. He followed Amanda around to the back. Becky had heard the exchange and had started setting out what they’d need. Jamie stood there blushing. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll take care of it.” “Fine by me,” Becky laughed, though she also felt she wasn’t getting many of these personal moments with Jamie. She knew he preferred Amanda to do this, and she wasn’t sure why or what difference it made. She was a bit put out by it. Amanda lifted Jamie into the back, and he managed to lay back on the changing mat without sitting first. Amanda took a black cloth from the corner near the seat and unsnapped a clasp to unfurl it. She found two loops at either end and put them over two hooks on the inside of the frame of the gate, blocking the view of passersby. “See? A little privacy.” She got Jamie’s pants off and discovered his onesie was wet as well. “I’m sorry, Jamie, we should have gotten you changed before we left.” “It’s okay,” he sighed. He’d either be back here anyway or uncomfortably holding it. Jamie wasn’t sure why his need to go was more urgent but figured it had something to do with little food. So that ruled out little food having opiates in it. Amanda got him cleaned up. From the other side of the curtain they heard a woman’s voice. “Those are becoming so popular now. I honestly don’t get it. What does a little care about being seen getting her diaper changed?” Rebecca heard it, too. The two women were walking side by side, and didn’t seem to think much of commenting on Becky’s purchase right in front of her. “A good Big mom cares on her behalf,” Becky said. The woman who spoke gave her a not unkind look, while the one who hadn’t spoken yet added, “I like it. If a little doesn’t care who looks at them, I still care what I have to look at.” “Thank you,” Becky replied, “It’s also good for naps. It blocks the entire back when it’s hung up all the way.” “Clever.” The two women went on their way. Amanda wondered what Jamie thought of that exchange. He hadn’t changed his neutral expression. When she had him in a clean diaper, Amanda said, “Let’s see what outfit we have in the bag for you.” She rummaged around, found something, and smiled coyly. “What,” Jamie asked. “It’s your favorite puppy shirt,” Amanda sang, pulling out the shirt with baby bear on it. She tossed the shirt so it landed over his eyes and went to work tickling his chest and ribs and belly and underarms and feet while he writhed and laughed and tried to get away, squealing with equal parts delight and pleading. “What are you guys doing in there,” Becky asked, knowing exactly what they were doing. “Jamie’s tickling himself again, Mom. Didn’t even think that was possible.” Jamie lay mostly off the changing mat panting with tears in his eyes. He hated and loved when she did that. “And for real this time.” She helped him sit up, and he put on his own shirt while she found some shorts for him in the diaper bag, plus his sunglasses and a hat. “One more thing,” Amanda said, taking some sunblock from the bag and rubbing it on the parts of Jamie exposed to the sun, especially the tops of his legs. He then quickly applied some to herself. “Hey, Mom,” she said, sticking a hand out from behind the curtain. “Oh! Thanks a bunch. I forgot.” Amanda stood Jamie up. He thought she was just helping him down, but she put her arms around him and kissed him on the neck. Jamie liked it, of course, but he didn’t need it. “Really, Manda,” he said as he stroked her hair, “I’m fine. Promise.” “I know. But sometimes I need a hug, too.” She let him go, took the curtain down, grabbed the diaper bag, and helped him down. Her hand was on the gate when Jamie said, “Um, Manda?” He pointed to the rolled up diaper. “Oh!” Amanda laughed. “Thank god one of us remembered. Nothing worse than leaving one of those in the car on a sunny day. Ha!” Stashed the diaper bag under the stroller and took the diaper over to a trash can, saying a quick prayer of gratitude and strength for sanitation workers. “There’s a lot of walking today, Jamie. You can hop in and out of the stroller whenever you want.” Jamie opted to walk to the entrance at least, and the trio walked down the wide sidewalk. The walked under a sculpture of two dolphins touching noses and through a turnstile. “No tickets?” “Nope. Our zoo is free. If you don’t count taxes.” A large fountain with a pool under it was about fifty meters from the entrance, with the flow of people going around it in two different directions. Danny and Laurie were sitting on the edge of the pool and waved when they spotted the trio. When they drew nearer, Danny stood up and declared, “It’s the Jamester,” like he was announcing the main act at a rock concert, and knelt down with his palm out. Jamie slapped his palm, and Danny moved it. “Up high.” Jamie smiled and gave him his high five. He did that with young kids back home, trying to get them to warm to him. It worked on the youngest, but stopped around age 9. Laurie smiled and waved rather than emulate her husband’s antics. Danny stood up and gave Becky a hug, a smidge longer than just a greeting. “How you feeling, Beck?” Becky returned the hug. She was his big sister, but ever since he was taller than her their relationship leveled, and he gave her as much guidance and support as she did him. “Oh,” she answered, betraying some stress she didn’t share at home, “I’m ready for summer again, and it’s only been a week.” Danny let laughed and released her, but kept her wrists in his hands. “You’ve said that every year since you started teaching. And before that as a student.” “Jealousy, is what you’re feeling right now, Daniel Webb, Systems Analyst.” He let go of her wrists. “That’s ‘Dr. Daniel Webb, Systems Designer.” Laurie spoke up, “Have I ever told you guys how weird I thought your relationship was when we first met.” Amanda choked on a laugh and turned red. “A few times, yeah,” Danny smiled. “Then I met Dana and it all made sense.” She smiled and looked down at Jamie. “I heard all about your encounter with her. Any thoughts to share?” Jamie didn’t need to think on that one. “She’s a cu … she’s careless with people’s feelings,” he caught himself. Glad I’m not the only one to call her that, Lauren thought. Danny put his arm around his sister and wife, then nodded toward Amanda and Jamie. “I think we have all the family we need right here.” He meant it, but he also wanted to put a stop to discussion of his mother, for all their sake’s but especially Becky’s. “Jamie, wuddya think? Mammals or reptiles first?” In solidarity with his own mammalian class, Jamie chose mammals. Jamie imagined this is what it felt like before pictures and books when a person saw an animal for the very first time. No one could dream up the variety, the colors, the abilities, the proportions, the specializations, the way nature had shaped each one to near perfectly fit its environment. All that was more impressive than the sheer size of some of them. No one could design them all. Jamie asked a lot of “What’s that” questions, and when he couldn’t see, Daniel put him on his shoulders. Not every animal was new to him, though. They went into the ape house, and Jamie watched the silverback gorilla sitting with his back against the glass watching his extended family climb, sleep, groom, and play. Jamie loved gorillas growing up; gentle, yet a mighty force when roused to protect its family. He liked to see them, but he hated to see them there. They deserved to be wherever home was for them, safe and free in their forest. He tapped the glass slightly and put his palm against. “Hey Manda?” She knelt down. “Yeah, buddy?” “Are they endangered here?” “No. Far from it. No one would hurt a gorilla.” “Good.” He left his palm there for another second before taking it away and continuing down the path back into the sun shine. The path wound around the building and gave them a view of an open pen where more apes played and enjoyed the sun and snoozed in the trees. Daniel picked him up for a better view. Leaning out a little to look down against the wall, Jamie saw something moving mostly upright. At first, he thought it was a zookeeper, but then he realized it was another animal. Something about it intrigued him, and he kept watching until it moved far enough away and turned to the side. “What do you call that one?” “The tall one? It’s called an ‘allpamell.’ You don’t have those where you’re from?” “Um, sort of. They’re supposed to be a myth, not really exist.” “Maybe they went extinct a long time ago and endured as a legend. What do you call them?” “Maybe. We call it a ‘sasquatch.’” “The ones that live in snowy places are almost entirely white.” “Seriously?” Weird. From there they moved into big predator country. Jamie always wondered how those predators felt when the breeze blew the scent of prey animals over them. There were a few different species, but the morphology was pretty much the same, evolution sculpting just a few different types of big predators that fit perfectly in their environments. Cats, canids, including ones much larger than the ones at home. They came to a glass wall with something large and brown curled up against it. Its fur was thick and coarse and in need of a comb. It looked like a large lump of hair to Jamie. Danny let Jamie down, and he approached the glass. It was visibly breathing, its huge form rising and falling slowly. Jamie tapped the glass with just a knuckle, and the thing stirred. He had to look just to see the top of it. He tapped again, it stood, shaking itself, and in a blur turned and slammed against the glass, sending Jamie sprawling back in alarm. Even the bigs were startled. His heart beating against his chest and his pants feeling warm, Jamie saw the thing walking away, and only when it was a several yards away did he get a good look at the whole of the thing. It was a gigantic bear. Amanda bent down and helped him up the armpits, laughing. “Did he scare ya, buddy?” She dusted off the back of his shirt and shorts. It had moved out of sight. Eyes still wide, Jamie asked, “What do you call that?” He knew it wasn’t called a ‘bear.’ “That’s a wolf.” Jamie’s face fell into a ‘you’ve-got-to-kidding-me’ expression, and once more he felt like he was breaking the third wall. “Really?” “Yeah. Dogs are their cousins.” He looked at her for some hint. If this were a joke it both very elaborate and very good, and Jamie was impressed by their commitment to it. Daniel was back at the glass trying to catch a glimpse of the thing around the corner. He’d missed the conversation. “Danny,” Jamie asked, gesturing toward himself with his index finger as he stepped away from Amanda. Danny knelt down again. “Can we be guys for a second, a little honesty between men?” “Uh, sure,” Danny replied, expecting some guy parts question or something. He didn’t have much little experience. “That thing,” Jamie said pointing to the enclosure, “what’s it called?” “A wolf. They’re related to dogs.” Jamie eyed him skeptically, looking for some sign Danny was being facetious. He saw nothing. Truth, or an elaborate joke. “Thanks,” Jamie replied. “Uh … any time,” Danny said, confused. He stood up, and they walked back to the group. He leaned over to Amanda and whispered, “What was that about?” “Jamie’s got this thing about dogs. Not sure why.” They kept walking. Jamie saw the elephants, who he especially didn’t like to see behind a fence, and ungulates of all kinds. In the largest enclosure yet, Jamie saw something about the size of an elephant, but furry, with a thick tail and long claws he could as it sat upright. “It’s a giant ground sloth,” Lauri volunteered. “New to you?” “Sort of. We used to have them. They went extinct, I don’t know, like 20,000 years ago.” They were now walking back toward the entrance, passing through the reptile and amphibian section. Some were outside. The tortoises we’re apparently in heat, something none of them had, and the sound the male made with each … effort … gave them a good laugh, though Becky led Jamie away quickly. The went into the reptile house, which didn’t do the building justice. It was more like a stadium, accommodating a menagerie of cold-blooded beasts large and small and in between. “We’re not going down the snake corridor,” Laurie declared. Jamie declared, “I’m on her side.” The animals started small and got larger as they got deeper into the complex. It was humid in there and smelled of perpetual wetness. By the time they reached the end, Jamie was unsure whether he had just seen dinosaurs or not. “Want to check out the petting zoo?” They walked through a gate decorated with anthropomorphic animals. It was loud and crowded with littles and with very young big children. Jamie expected farm animals, but instead found pets. They approached a large enclosure filled with commotion. Peering over the top, Jamie saw dogs and puppies. The familiarity of it as much as the cuteness of it made him smile. “Can I go in?” “Sure,” Becky answered, lifting him over the short wall. Jamie walked a few feet in, and first one and then another dog came over to see what he was about. Jamie liked dogs but had never had one. He knew many of the breeds. There Labradors and English Mastiffs, Dachshunds and Spaniels, Weimaraners and Rhodesian Ridgebacks, Shiba Inus and Poodles, Lhasa Apsos and Beagles and more. Many of the dogs were over the scene, no longer excited by the people. They laid in a pile or by themselves, allowing themselves to be pet but not much engaging. Others were all wagging tail and happy panting, going from person to person sure each one was their new best friend. The couple of dog that came to inspect Jamie became three, then four, and then Jamie sat down on the ground and was surrounded by lolling tongues trying to lick his face and cold snouts sniffing him everywhere and the wonderful, vicarious pleasure of dogs with no sense of personal space climbing and leaning and lay on you. Jamie laid back and let the dogs get in his face and lick his hands and step on and over him and lay down next to and on him. After a bit, Amanda quipped, “Which one is Jamie again?” Danny could keep up with her. “The hairless one at the bottom.” Jamie made furry friends fast. When he stood up, a couple followed him and whined when he got out of the enclosure. Luckily, they’re dogs and made new friends instantly. Becky brushed Jamie off. “So what are those called here?” “Bruins.” A very elaborate joke. “What do you call them?” “Dogs.” Amanda eyed him suspiciously. “I think we’ve seen everything,” Becky interjected. “Who’s hungry for dinner?”

There’s a blank spot in my memory where I can’t remember if this man down the street ever did anything to me. He did it to his sons and to a neighbor. I don’t know if Jamie and I have that in common or not. I grew up in a healthy, loving home. I remember that man’s younger son was about my age. He wasn’t fun to play with. Sometimes he’d come over to our house and leave within five minutes; sometimes he wouldn’t even cross the threshold. Looking back I know why. I was too young to know what it meant, but I wish to god I could go back. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to go back and make it right. Another time, I got in a tussle with that kid’s older brother, and he bloodied my nose. I can still hear that man shouting at his son with me standing in their kitchen with a wet towel on my face. I don’t know what happened after I went home. I don’t remember the fight; just the after. Hate to think on what happened after I left, if anything. My brother punched the kid back when he found out. I didn’t like that. It wasn’t satisfying. I felt bad about it. I was maybe 8. The older kid and my brother would have been 13. I don’t think my parents ever thought much on it, which just makes them average; not good or bad, just average. I’d like to think that if I had been in my parents’ shoes I’d have recognized the signs, like that kid being too nervous to leave his house, and that I’d have had the courage to ask the kid what was going on, call social services. I tend to think I’d have done what almost everybody does when there’s no obvious sign of abuse: decide it’s not my business, that it wasn’t right of me to pry into other people’s lives, that siccing social services on a family is out of line if you can’t prove it. That’s reality. We fantasize about all the injustices we would stop, the forces we’d stand against. But we’re just average people, most of us. We’d have done the average thing. I was a child. I didn’t know to look for signs or what they meant if I had seen them. I guess I’m blameless, but damn if I don’t feel like shit about it, thinking back. Got me thinking about A Christmas Carol again, and what Jacob Marley said: “‘Business!' Mankind was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business. The deals of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!” It’s not people’s job to prove anything. If you think something is amiss, call the authorities. If you ever doubt whether it’s the right thing to do, ask yourself, what would feel worse: knowing you put a family through something hard but survivable, or knowing you could have saved a kid who needed saving and didn’t.

You’re a very sweet person.

I do write based on what I know. Jamie and I have some similar perspectives, needs, behaviors, idiosyncrasies, and values. I don’t like compliments, I’m socially awkward outside of professional situations (and sometimes in them), I’m passionate about certain issues, and I’m a deep thinker on what it means to live an upright life and how to actually live one. I at least like to think I am kind and a lot sweeter and more sensitive than anyone not very close to me knows. I try to be generous with the benefit of the doubt when thinking about why people say and do the things they say and do, and I try not to judge too often or too harshly. Unlike Jamie, I’m not so near a saint as he is, nor do I carry around the guilt, in quantity or kind, that he does. I do find it easier to forgive others than myself, but I’m not crippled by it like Jamie is. No comment on the professional bit.

I didn’t like the dimension either. That’s what inspire me to write this.

It ought to read the way it sounds when you think it.

First, I was born interested in diapers. Then I was taken out of diapers, and ten years passed. Second, I hit puberty. My lifelong interest in diapers and my newfound love of orgasms married perfectly together in my mind. At least twice a day at first. Third, I got access to the internet. I recognized the internet as the perfect orgasm aide. It took about 10 minutes from having the internet in a private space for me to search for "women in diapers." That's how I found about the ABDL community.

About 90 minutes ago, at 10:20PM, my doorbell rang. I looked out my peephole, and there was a fat kid with a platter of cupcakes. Fucking inexplicable. I didn't open the door. __________________________________________________ Chapter 25, Part 2 “If it’s alright with you, I want to start with before you came here. That will help me understand your reaction to this world,” Mary said. She sat with tablet and stylus in hand. She was older than Rebecca, with rectangle glasses and the soft skin of a woman on the far side of middle age. Her voice to this point had been business-like, transactional. She was practiced in the art of her science, at making her patients know what she needed from them and then gently coaxing it from them. Jamie lay on his back against the arm of the sofa, staring at the door to the waiting area. He could stare at the door silently for as long as she could stare at him over her tablet, or he could cooperate and make this as painless as possible. One thing he was determined to do was not to cry. Enough of that. Too many tears shed during and after a life that was over for him now, or at least behind a curtain for good. “I know what you did for a living. What did you for fun?” “For fun? I was sort of active when I wanted to be … I went to the beach a lot to swim … I went to the gym sometimes, when I cared to … I’d get into it for a few months and burn out on it and stop. I liked to tell people I was a hiker, but that sporadic; I’d go months without … I watched a lot of TV, binged a lot of the same shows over and over, just to have the background noise sometimes … I read a lot, but in the last few years I mostly read news; my attention span wasn’t what it used to be, and I’d have a hard time staying committed to a book, even one I liked … I can’t remember the last piece of fiction I read … I always wanted to do something creative like sing or act or play an instrument or paint or something, but it never seemed like I had time, or if I did that it would be too hard; ya know, like I wouldn’t be good at it right away, of course, and I’d get frustrated.” “Nobody’s good at anything right away, right?” “No, course not. Just, when you’re doing something for fun … it’s hard to have fun doing something you suck at.” “Do you ever draw or color now?” “Yeah. In a coloring book. Nothing original.” “You read a lot.” “I do. We don’t watch much TV at home, so I read a lot.” “What do you read?” “I guess you’d call it young adult fiction.” “No regular fiction?” “Not yet.” “No nonfiction or news?” “No.” “So the average workday for a year ago. What was your evening like?” “I left work around 5:30 or 6. If I was staying fit at the time, I’d go to the gym and get home around 7:30 or 8. If I wasn’t, then I’d be home by 6:15 or 6:45 and have dinner and watch Netflix and surf on my computer. Sometimes I’d play video games, if there was one I liked playing out; I was picky about which games I bought.” “And on the weekends?” Jamie shrugged. “A long version of my weekday evenings. I’d usually get up and take a hot bath and read for longer than I meant to. Go run any errands. Go to the gym or beach, maybe have lunch or dinner out. A lot of time, though, well, really, I guess most of the time, I’d stay home all day. I‘d always make plans to go do something like hike or go swimming and then not go. And I’d feel guilty about that, felt like I was missing out on things, wasting my days.” He nodded his head toward his left shoulder in another shrug. “Eventually I told myself that it was my free time and that if I was doing what I wanted to in the moment then it wasn’t a waste of time.” “You like hiking and swimming and things like that?” “Yes.” “And you’d skip them anyway sometimes. Did you feel like you weren’t taking pleasure in the things you liked anymore?” Jamie knew what she was getting at: anhedonia. “Yes. And yes, I was being treated for depression.” “Do you feel depressed now?” “Well … I’m not sure. Sometimes. If I’m busy or with someone, then no.” “When you were describing your free time, you didn’t mention hanging out with friends.” “Didn’t have any.” “None?” “I had long-distance friends I lost touch with. I had work friends, but I never asked them to do anything outside the office, and they never asked me.” “Why?” “I don’t know. I guess maybe we saw enough of each other during the day, or else we all just wanted to draw a line between work and home … I always thought it would be kind of awkward to ask, because you know they’re going to say yes just out of collegial courtesy … and then what if you found something about the other you didn’t like and had to see that person all the time and act normal? I mean, what’s even normal for colleagues to talk about outside work?” “Did you have a hard time making friends, or did you not try, or both?” “Both. I’m bad at social situations most of the time. Or at least think I am and then overanalyze everything. Takes all the fun out of it … and how do you try anyway? Growing up, all your friendships are organic, and then that stops unless you do make friend-friends with your coworkers. Trying to make friends in some random or even purposeful way seemed like too much work and not enough pay off. I didn’t think I’d make ay friends that way.” Mary paused to take more notes before moving on. “About work. Tell me more about what you did.” Jamie took a deep breath. They made it awful hard to put it behind him. Jamie figured his ability to be happy at times over the past weeks was precisely because he was too busy with other things to think back on it. What was wrong with that strategy? It was essentially what he intended when he left. “I was a social worker. I mostly worked with kids.” “Doing what?” “Child welfare.” “What’s that?” “I think you know.” “Yeah, but I want to hear what you did, specifically.” “A relative, a neighbor, a teacher, a friend’s parent, a cop, a doctor, a priest – whomever – reports a concern about a child being neglected or abused or just in a bad situation – that happens most often, whole family is in a bad situation, not abuse or neglect – and I check it out. Go through the guidelines, make an assessment, and if I find the report substantiated, then I try to fix the problem.” “How?” “Depends on what the problem is. Remove them from the home, or sometimes keep certain family members away. Get the family counseling or other services. Try to get them better housing, get on food assistance, get them medical care, get them job counseling. Work with the school to make sure the kid’s getting what he needs. Or work with the police to keep the kid out of trouble, or more often to get him out of trouble. If I do have to separate them from their family, try to place them with other relatives, or a foster parent, or as a last resort, a group home.” Group homes: Jamie shook his head. “Basically whatever I can do to make sure the kid is healthy, safe, and on a path that doesn’t lead to crime, addiction, prison or death.” “Do you realize you just said all that in the present tense?” Jamie hadn’t. “No … I see your point.” “I saw in your file that your job had a lot to do with why you decided to come here. Can you tell me more about that?” This time Jamie didn’t respond right away. It always came back to this. Well, fine, Jamie thought, out with it. “I got tired of failing at my job and seeing people I was responsible for get hurt. Even when I got a kid out of a bad situation, I didn’t get ‘em far. They’re still poor and still stuck in a high-crime neighborhood and still having to choose between life, if they’re lucky, driving a shuttle at the airport or pushing a broom, or crime. And that’s if they even get that far. I had a client who was shot on the street walking home; someone killed him to steal his cell phone. I had a kid die of an asthma attack because his parents couldn’t afford an inhaler after they got kicked off Medicaid and it took too long for the ambulance to get there from the good side of town. I had one of my clients murder another of my clients over an argument, and they were friends. I don’t even know how many ended up in jail or dead after they aged out. I had girls who were prostituting themselves for drugs. I had 12 year old alcoholics. I had pregnant teens. Every which kind of mental illness you can think of compounded by poverty and every other problem they had. Kids who the court returned to their parents only for the parents to beat on them some more or worse. Kids going to jail. Kids getting beaten by the cops or a rival gang. Kids suspended or expelled from school for having a weapon or drugs, and probably one out of every three of those, it was the parent who gave it to them. Kids just so angry they want to fight the world; there’s no room for learning or maturing or being loved or feeling loved when you’re that angry ... and a lot of them were right to be angry.” Jamie took a breath and slowed down, thinking back on all of it. His eyes fell, and he breathed slowly. “Those were just the worst parts. Ya know, like they stand out, but they were rare. Those were … god, they were so fucking hard, but it was the shit that passed for good that … that’s what burned me out. All the work I’d do getting a kid in a good situation, making sure he had what needed, that he stayed on the right path – success was just not falling into gang life or getting arrested or getting killed. Success was the kid graduating high school, though that wasn’t a must-have to count a case as a success, and then getting a job. Any job. Burger flipper, floor sweeper, bus driver, ticket taker, luggage handler, concessionaire at the ballpark. Success was getting them through high school, graduates or not sometimes, without them getting arrested, killed or addicted, so they could transition from a childhood of poverty into an adulthood of poverty or near-poverty. That’s what’s open to kids from poor backgrounds and yes, usually of certain complexions. And fuck if everybody doesn’t ignore that last part, as if it’s just the natural state of things that nine out of ten janitors in any city are the same color as that city’s largest racial minority. Go to LA, and it’s Hispanic people cleaning the hotel toilets; go to Chicago, it’s African-Americans. This whole sprawling underclass that’s just accepted as the norm. “There’s no winning. I had less than ten percent of my kids go to any kind of post-secondary education. Trade school, community college, college. Most of them didn’t make it through their first year. A-students in the shit schools they came from, and not at all prepared for actual learning. “Best outcome was the military, provided they didn’t get wounded or killed. Hard to fail out of that, and it positioned best for a better life, but only if they survived. All but one did, but what kind of society is that? Having to choose between the street or life of working your ass off and still being poor or maybe getting killed or maimed or PTSD. Don’t even list climbing into the middle class as an option; might as well be a myth for how often that actually happens. “And hardly anyone gives a damn. Social workers, teachers, a handful of cops, some do-gooders. Most everyone else ignores it; even if they acknowledge it exists, they do nothing or next to nothing to change it. And worse, half of them that know it blame the kids, say they should work harder, say the parents should get off welfare, and just to help, they’ll take welfare away. Plunge the kid deeper into poverty just because they don’t like an adult is also getting welfare. And then want to throw the key away when a kid starts stealing or dealing, like they wouldn’t do the same fucking thing if they grew up in those environments and with those same chances in life. Fuck; society just turns racist, maniac cops fucking loose so long as one juror or judge or prosecutor can say ‘he feared for his life’ with a straight fucking face.” Jamie rubbed his face and eyes. “So I couldn’t take it anymore. Failing even when I succeeded, and watching all that happen again and again. … You become a party to it, when you make yourself a part of the system. It ends up being your fault, too.” Jamie sat there silent. “Some people would call you a hero for trying.” With his eyes closed and jaw tight, Jamie answered, “Do you have any idea what a shit feeling it is to be called that when you failed and the consequence for that failure is someone gets hurt or hurts themselves or just ends up in another cycle of generational poverty and discrimination?” Mary hadn’t thought of that. People bandied the word ‘hero’ around in Itali, too. She never considered that being called a hero could make someone feel worse, even awful. “So why didn’t you just walk away and stay in that world?” “Couldn’t. I couldn’t be so close to it, literally, and stay away. Couldn’t live with myself if I became one of the people who just ignore it. Hard enough failing all my kids and abandoning them. I … I needed distance, I guess … and a life so different it doesn’t seem … doesn’t seem like I’m surrounded by it. I know it’s bullshit, but … I guess I feel like my kids are not in this world, therefore I’m not ignoring them. I know that’s wrong. I know they still exist.” “Jamie, why was all of this your responsibility to fix?” “Because I took the job … No, because if a few people hadn’t stepped up for me, I would have ended up like most of my kids. I tried to pay it forward. I took the job.” “Fair enough. But why is it you take it so personally? Obviously, not all of your colleagues feel like they’ve failed because they couldn’t fix everything … and surely some left the job without feeling like they’d abandoned anyone. Why isn’t that you?” “Different perspectives.” “Because you were a foster kid?” “That and just … they can forgive themselves for their failure … and that’s assuming they even think it’s their failure.” “You said yourself these problems are systemic, in so many words. Why is it the individual social worker who needs to ask forgiveness? Or at least, why do you think you do?” Jamie didn’t have a ready reply. He didn’t even have a thought process for a reply. He just lay there with his mind clear, his eyes not focused on anything. No awkward silence was going to give him an answer, nor could he reason one out. He knew it wasn’t reasonable; he felt that way nonetheless. There’s no telling yourself not to feel a certain way. You may get over the feeling, or the feeling can be replaced by another, but you can’t reason your way out of a feeling. That’s why they call it a feeling and not an opinion. Sometimes, though, if you wait patiently, the clarity you need just comes on its own, and the thoughts you couldn’t express on purpose express themselves. Jamie started talking again without putting much deliberate thought into his words. They just came. “You have violent people here?” “Of course.” “We did, too. Always something in the news, no matter where you live, right? Some guy murders someone over a drug debt. I can forgive him; maybe he goes to prison, maybe he doesn’t, but I can forgive him because I don’t think he’s necessarily an evil person or beyond redemption. Does that make sense?” “I think so.” “But someone … hurts someone defenseless, hurts his girlfriend, someone …” He swallowed hard. “Hurts a kid. I can’t …” His eyes flashed, and he choked on the very thought. “I can’t forgive that person. Lot of reasons other than evil someone does that. Doesn’t matter. I can’t forgive it. I don’t want to. Maybe that person is beyond redemption or not …” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t deserve a chance at redemption. Least, I won’t give it to him …” Jamie’s forehead knotted and his lips grew thin; his eyes were looking somewhere not in the room. “Fuck him.” He spat the words out. “Jamie, did someone hurt you, when you were young?” “Sometimes.” “Do you think that’s why you feel so strongly about it?” Jamie didn’t hesitate. “Nope. I forgave those people. They … they weren’t worth hating. They don’t get to have me spend the energy on them that it takes to hate.” “Why then?” “Because … I forgave the people who hurt me because that’s what was best for me. I even meant it, sometimes. But what’s best for these kids, my kids … what’s best for them is that I hate those … that I hate those people, so there’s no mistaking whose side I’m on … and so I fight for my kids with everything. No sympathy for the other side. Empathy, maybe, but no sympathy.” “And did you? Fight for them?” Jamie exhaled as tears came to his eyes. “Fuck yeah, I did. For all of ‘em. Not just the ones who were being hurt but all of ‘em, the ones who needed a little help to get by and the ones who needed saving, from themselves, from others. Fought like god’s own army, or at least I tried.” “And yet you feel guilty.” “I didn’t always win, did I? I don’t even think I won half … The abuse cases were easy by comparison; not always easy to prove, but if you did, you could lock those people up. It’s the other ones. Neglect cases where the parent can barely take of themselves; that’s not a monster, just a pity case … Kids getting into trouble; kids who are hungry every day; kids getting pulled into gangs; kids whose only problem is they’re poor or live in the wrong neighborhood; selling drugs, taking drug, drinking; violence. A kid like that isn’t a kid to police; shit, a kid in the vicinity of that isn’t a kid to police … Trying to save ‘em before they get murdered or end up in jail. Just trying to get ‘em out of school and into the workforce. And so many of those kids … Five; five might as well be a million. Like trying to hold back five oceans that are gonna crash on these kids and there’s just one of me.” “Doesn’t trying count for something?” “How much difference is there between someone who hurts a kid and someone who fails to protect a kid? Whether he tried or not? … You fail; you enable all the other shit that comes at the kid, whether it’s the abusive parent or the poverty what’s gonna swallow her like it swallowed her parents. Kid still gets hurt. Kid still gets lost in the shuffle. You tell them they can count on you … when it turns out they can’t, that hurts them, too … I hurt them, too … and then I left and came here, even after telling … I don’t know how many, but telling them I was always going to there. Just the latest person to lie to them and abandon them.” Mary looked down at Jamie. He had that thousand-yard stare; she wondered what he was seeing right then. Maybe nothing. Jamie was case-reportable, she thought, easily no other little like him and with his experiences and problems in Itali. Others had other kinds of suffering. The circumstances behind his arrival and his decision to not be regressed or even have some memories removed just made Jamie unique. “Okay. I think that’s enough for today, unless there something else you want to talk about.” Jamie shook his head. He didn’t have more to say that day. “Do you want to take a minute, or …” “No, I’m good.” It’s scarier when someone with that much pain is calm. You never know how close to an edge they are or how they might let those emotions out. “Okay.” Mary stood, and Jamie stood after her. “I’m going to ask you to wait in the waiting area while I talk to Amanda and your mom. Okay?” Jamie just nodded and opened the door, walking into the outer room. Amanda and Becky stood and smiled gently. “How’d it go?” “Fine. Your turn, I guess,” Jamie responded with a simple smile, as though he didn’t take this all that seriously, that learning to live with it all was his best chance, so why not talk about it? And why take talking about it all that seriously? “Becky and Amanda,” Mary said, “Jamie is going to wait out here, if that’s alright with you, while we talk now.” When they were seated on either side of her desk, Mary put on her professional smile and deliberately sounded upbeat to start the conversation. “That is one complicated little you guys got there.” “Ya think,” Amanda joked. Mary chuckled. “One of you is rubbing off on the other. Jamie has some wonderful qualities, and I’m sure you’ve noticed them. He’s passionate. He’s empathetic. He’s humble. He doesn’t judge people too harshly. He has a strong moral code. Those are all such great things, things that should be encouraged. Where he seems to be running into trouble is believing it’s his responsibility to fix things he couldn’t possibly fix. He sets himself up for failure in that way. It’s a collision of all those good qualities taken to an extreme and then not applied to himself.” “I’m not sure I understand,” Rebecca replied. “Jamie has a lot of empathy, except for himself. He doesn’t judge other people harshly, but he judges himself harshly, and by standards no one could meet and no one would reasonably hold someone else to. That strong moral code and his passion are partly why. He sees a problem, he believes he must fix it, and whether it was fixable doesn’t matter to him. He does or he doesn’t, and because the problems he was engaged in where he comes from were so big, there was virtually no way for him to walk feeling like he fixed anything, even when he succeeded by the standards of his profession. Does that make more sense?” “Yes. We’ve known all along his work drove him here. That and his childhood,” Amanda said. “So basically his whole life,” Becky frowned. “And we know he wanted to leave there; he didn’t really want to come here, per se,” Amanda finished. “In our calls, you said he has anger outbursts. What are those usually over?” “People treating him like he’s regressed. Or just frustration boiling over, but that’s really rare.” “How does he feel afterward?” “If it’s over someone treating him poorly, he stays mad about it. He’s getting better at controlling those outbursts and ignoring those people, and at not letting it get to him in the first place, but you can tell it still does sometimes. When he just loses his temper, though, when he calms down he’s ashamed.” “That makes sense based on what he just told me. He said he has a difficult time forgiving people who can’t defend themselves, and that’s him now. And realizing that’s him probably drives a lot of that frustration. And when he lets out those negative emotions, then he thinks he’s in the wrong and has a hard time forgiving himself,” Mary explained. She pondered silently for a moment. She began again, “Bottom line is he’s angry at himself. He’s angry at others, but anger turned outward stays anger. Anger turned inward is depression.” Becky was getting irritated, not at Mary but in feeling like they’d been going in circles since Amanda opened his file. “We’ve known that. It’s just … he’s such a sweet and kind person. I …” Rebecca put her forehead in her hand and her elbow on her knee, looking at the floor in front of her chair. “I don’t understand how he can’t see it. How he can be angry with himself.” Amanda interjected. “And we don’t want to give you the wrong impression. He’s happy, at least on the outside, most of the time now. Things were harder at first, but he’s had very few outbursts since the first couple weeks; he tends to get more quiet and brooding than outwardly angry. He’s had, I don’t know, maybe two or three episodes where his frustration boiled over. I mean, is he making progress or not?” Mary smiled to reassure them, “Absolutely he is. I suspect, though, that’s he making more progress in adjusting to his new environment – knowing what to expect and so having fewer big emotions, and learning to control those big emotions he does have better. But I don’t think he’s making much progress with the issues that led him here.” “Guilt, right,” Becky asked. “He feels guilty for having left those kids behind, but that doesn’t even make sense. He left because he felt guilty for leaving?” Mary nodded in sympathy. “It’s a little more complex that guilt. He feels guilty because he let them down, both by not being able to solve their problems and also, now, because he left. More problematic than the guilt over leaving, however, is that he sees letting someone down as being the being the same as purposefully hurting someone. That’s not uncommon in professions like his. It’s someone who empathizes too much with the people he needs to help; he loses the critical distance. There’s no way that person doesn’t burn out. What concerns me is how calm he is about it. That usually means someone has made a decision.” Amanda spoke up, “He wasn’t calm about it when he got here. He was … he was a wreck. He didn’t just cry. I mean … he sobbed, full body, clinging to me, shaking all over. He still cries maybe kinda easily for an unregessed little, and we did have an incident a few nights ago where he got very upset over something, but that’s all become rare. We thought he was getting better.” “I think he’s learning to live with it,” Mary replied. “And that’s a bad thing?” “Yes. If he had done something wrong, by all means, learn to live with it. But he didn’t do anything wrong. If he continues thinking he did, it will hang over him forever, and he’ll probably never be happy with himself or fully embrace this or any life.” “What do you think he decided,” Becky asked, her mind thinking of all the worst possible answers. “That because he’s equivalent in his mind to the people who hurt kids on purpose, that he may not be redeemable, and that even if he is, he doesn’t deserve forgiveness.” “How do we help him?” “We have teach him that he does deserve forgiveness. By showing him all the good he does in the world. But he’ll only accept that if he’s trusts us enough to believe we’re not just saying it. Just saying it will make it worse. We have to show it, over and over, and he needs to see it from more than just the two of you. You guys are on the right track: if he can trust you enough to let himself depend on you for anything, he’ll trust you on this. That’s the hardest thing for him to depend on others for and to accept from them, praise and forgo. Then, maybe, if we can get him to at least accept forgiveness from others we can prove to him one day that there’s nothing to forgive. Or if not that, then that he is forgiven, can forgive himself, and move on.” Becky absorbed that and asked, “How do we show it?” “Two ways. The first is praise. When he does something nice or kind or anything that shows what a sweet person he is, always call it out for him. To him, those are things he’s supposed to do, so doing them doesn’t count. Make sure he recognizes when he’s being those things, because he doesn’t give himself credit for them. The second is love. People worth loving are worth forgiving. Every day, make sure he knows he’s loved, and by as many people as possible. A big, loving, social circle.” That seemed too easy, or at least sounded like it. Mary saw that reaction and added, “And we’ll continue to work in here. This is where the heaviest emotional lifting will get done. He’s stuck in these negative feedback loops. We call them cognitive distortions. These are errors in his thinking: he sees what he thinks are negatives about himself – which I don’t think are negatives at all – and his mind magnifies them and makes them even worse. At the same time, he ignores the good things about himself. What he and I are going to work on, and what we’ll eventually need your help with too, is to break him out of those distorted thought patterns and replace them with positive patterns and coping skills.” Becky sat back in her chair. Amanda glanced from her mom back to Mary and quipped, “So you’re saying this is gonna take a while.”

There’s nothing worse than a judgmental or dismissive therapist. You go in there with an open heart because you trust a person to help because it’s their job, and it hurts that much more when you get shot down. ?

Another short update, but i think this chapter might be pretty long when it's done. ________________________________________________ Chapter 25 Part 1 It was lunchtime. Jamie knew Mom and Amanda would be picking him up soon for his first therapist appointment. He was having mixed feelings about it. To start with, they hadn’t asked him if he wanted to see a therapist. It was just announced. Jamie knew why they would have him see a therapist, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He’d seen on a couple of times before. One in college for a while, another during his career. He couldn’t remember the first one’s name – that’s how much she helped. The second one was the classic shrink. He’d say something, and she’d node and say “yeah” and “uh huh” and otherwise stay silent until he felt awkward enough to say something else. Jamie understood the technique, but it wasn’t the kind of therapy he thought he’d signed up for. If all Jamie needed was a friendly ear, he could have talked to the neighbor’s dog or a sympathetic wall. She wouldn’t say anything until the session was five minutes from over, and then he’d leave feeling nothing had been resolved, let alone discussed. Moreover, Jamie didn’t know if he wanted to talk about things. Talking about them helps, sure, but sometimes not talking about things helps, too. Between daycare and everything else he was still adjusting to, why bring up the past, which is what he assumed they thought he needed therapy for. He saw no reason not to talk to Ella about his feelings. “So I’m leaving early today to go see a therapist.” “I’m leaving early to see my physical therapist.” “I’ve been meaning to ask if you’re okay.” “Fine. Just healing from something. Did you notice something that looked not okay?” “No … well, I noticed you get tired easily, physically … like when we walked around the field and you needed to stop … just wanted to know if you’re okay … sorry, I’ll stop talking about it.” Jamie cursed his social skills. There were times when a part of his brain would tell, “Don’t say that,” and the other part would respond, “Saying it anyway, Asshole” and ride away on a motorcycle purposefully throwing mud all over the first part. Ella responded by taking another bite of her lunch. Jamie was sure he’d screwed up the only promising regular friendship he had. He was good at a lot of things, but making friends and knowing when to shut up weren’t them. In a professional setting, he was Mr. Discretion. In social settings, he was Mr. Awkward. He sometimes wondered if he did have some degree of Autism Spectrum Disorder. That was the trendy thing to say or joke about, but he didn’t find it funny. He worked with too many kids who did have ASD. It was just that sometimes he would be so inept in unstructured social interactions that he felt it had to be more than being an introvert or just awkward. He sat there glumly wishing he could turn the clock back 5 minutes. Ella stirred her lunch with her spork. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Jamie head her fine and wasn’t sure if she was being coy or what her intent was. “What do you mean?” “Tell me why you’re going to see a therapist, and I’ll tell you why I go to PT.” Those two things are completely different, Jamie thought. Revealing your emotional or mental health problems wasn’t the same as physical condition. “That’s hardly the same,” he replied. “Why aren’t they?” Ella knew what he was going to say. “Because my … mental health issues are … they’re more sensitive than a … physical problem.” “Is a mental health problem a real health problem?” “Yeah.” “So either you’re attaching a stigma to mental health, or think I am, or you just don’t wanna say. And if you don’t wanna say, that’s fine. We don’t have to talk about.” Jamie didn’t want to talk about it. What he wanted to talk about was Ella and why it was important that no one knew there was an unregressed little at Little Hearth, specifically her. Jamie knew Mom had asked Diane if she had experience with unregressed little, and Diane had responded with just a yes when she must have known telling Rebecca there was another unregressed little in her care would likely have secured Rebecca’s business on the spot. Maybe being a little more open would make Ella a little more open. “I used to be a social worker. I got to the point where I couldn’t stand to deal with everything I had to deal with and be unable to fix it all, and I didn’t think I could stay back there and just walk away from it. So I came here. I think Mom wants me to talk about all that with a therapist.” Ella turned away from Jamie and pulled her back, revealing a scar running down her neck and into her dress. She let her hair fall and turned back. “I had surgery.” “That scar looks old.” “It is.” “But you still go to therapy for it?” “Yep.” Becky and Amanda came through the classroom door. Jamie found himself torn. He wanted to leave daycare; he didn’t want to go to see a therapist; he wanted to keep talking to Ella. All incompatible with one another. “Hey, buddy,” Amanda said when she got near. “You ready to go?” “Yes,” Jamie replied, pushing his lunch away. It wasn’t very good anyway. “This is Ella, by the way. Ella, this is my sister Amanda and my mom, Becky.” Polite handshakes were exchanged. ______________________________________________________________________________ “Nice to meet you, Jamie. You can call me Mary.” “Nice to meet you as well, Mary.” “If it’s alright with you, Amanda and your mom are going to wait in the outer room while we talk alone.” “That’s fine.” “See you soon, Jamie,” Becky said with a small wave as Mary closed the door behind them. Mary turned on a floor fan and pointed it at the door. “Sorry. Just helps makes sure everything we say in here stays in here. Please, have a seat.” Jamie sat down on a regular sofa, one meant to fit littles. It wasn’t a psychiatrist’s couch either, just a regular sofa with a regular coffee table in from of it. Mary sat down in a chair next to the sofa. It was awkward her being so close and looming over him so much, but Jamie liked being on furniture his eye, not up on something he’d have to scramble up or get her help with. Still, he was craning his neck to look at her. It would be easier not to. “Do you mind if I lay down. It’s just hard to talk to you from down here.” “No, go right ahead. Most of my patients do.” Jamie got situated. “Comfortable?” “Yes.” “So, introductions then. My name is Dr. Mary Easterbrook. I specialize in littles only. I don’t see bigs or big children. You should know up front two things. One, I will never tell anyone exactly what you say in here. Two, I will tell your mom and Amanda what we talk about in here, and only them.” “Why them? Isn’t there some sort of privilege?” “No, just like if you were a big kid, I can tell your mom anything I think she needs to know in order to help the two of us in the therapeutic process, and your mom wants Amanda to know, too. If there’s something specifically you don’t want me to tell them, I’ll do my best to abide by that, but I can’t promise. And I won’t tell them anything I don’t think they need to know.” Jamie was trying to keep an open mind. So far this just reminded him of his place in the power structure, specifically at the bottom of it. He understood why she would tell parents and guardians what their little said, but it required him to accept that he was a little and he had no privacy this doctor needed to respect. Therapy works when the patient is open and honest, and already Jamie felt he had to hold back. “How do I know what you think they need to know? I don’t mean to get us off on the wrong foot here, but I mean, why should I be open if I get nor privacy? What if I want to talk about them, for instance?” Mary had worked with a few unregressed littles, and this was always the conversation at first. “I won’t tell them any details unless they absolutely need to know. Otherwise, I’ll keep it vague. As for why you should be open, because it will help you. Do you believe that?” Jamie did, though he also realized the potential for some conflict between his therapeutic interests and his I-have-to-live-with-these-people interests. “I believe that.” To an extent, he wanted to add. “Good. So you know, I do have experience with unregressed littles. There aren’t many of you, and I’m one of the only therapists in Itali who works with them. And I say that just to let I understand your cognitive level. So, I have your file from the agency and notes from what your mom and Amanda told me. Why don’t we start by you telling me about what your time here has been like so far?” Geez, Jamie thought, that’s so much to review. “That’s …” Jamie wasn’t even sure where to start. “How about starting with easy stuff? What makes you happy here?” “Amanda, Mom … Amanda’s friend Mel … Mom’s friend Jane … April, my daycare teacher, she’s nice to me … most little food … not having to go to work, but that’s a mixed blessing … I like feeling younger physically … I exercise a lot here.” When he didn’t add anything after ten seconds, Mary asked, “What don’t you like here?” “When people treat me like a regressed little, you know, like when they think I’m dumb – sorry, not dumb – cognitively underdeveloped, I guess, or incompetent. Not having many people to talk to, getting bored at daycare, getting bored in general sometimes … feeling like I don’t contribute … having to ask for things, you know, bothering people for little stuff … not fitting, but I knew that was going to be a problem … missing my friend, Cheryl.” After another pause, “And what are maybe not sure if you like or dislike?” “Ella, this girl at daycare. I like that she’s there and is also unregressed, but she’s really hard to figure out, too. That sometimes I like being treated like a typical little … I mean, I like when Mom or Amanda feed me a bottle, and sometimes when I use my pacifier; I just don’t like that I like those things, sometimes, I think. And I guess, just being here. I’m not sure if I like it here or not, to be honest. I like my people, and I like not having to deal with a lot of stuff I had to deal with back there, but at the same time I miss certain things … and feel that I walked away from things I shouldn’t have. Mary gave it a few beats. “That gives us an awful lot to talk about.” Jamie laughed for the first time all day. “Ya think?”

Jamie wasn’t being bad. He just made a bad choice. ?

A number of things I’d like to get out of my head are ending up here, which I didn’t intend when I began. Just ... a place for that, too, I guess. I hope it doesn’t detract from the story.

Short chapter! _____________________________ Chapter 24 “Hey.” “Hey back. How was your night,” Ella asked. She was sitting in the art corner with a sketch book and pencil. “I learned my middle name is Patrick.” “Uh oh. Wuddya do?” “What makes you think I did something?” “Either you were looking at your arrival certificate, or you got called by your full name, and that only happens when you’re in trouble.” “I climbed onto the kitchen counter.” “That was dumb.” “I know. Already got that lecture. What are you drawing?” She turned the book to show him. “Wow. That’s really good. You’re doing that from memory?” “Yep. I went there when I was in college during a semester abroad. I studied art.” “It’s really good.” “Lots of practice. I draw this a lot. I can draw you if you like.” She turned to a fresh page and started sketching. “Hold real still.” “Uh, okay.” Jamie suddenly felt very self-conscious, and he wasn’t sure if she was flirting with him. He was never sure about that. “Done.” She tore out the page. “Already? That’s incredible.” Jamie took the page from her and grimaced, handing her back the drawing of a stick figure falling off a kitchen counter. “Ha-ha. Very funny.” Ella did get a good laugh out of it. “So why’d you climb up there anyway?” “To get a snack.” “And you weren’t allowed a snack?” “No, I just didn’t want to ask for one. Ya know, it gets old being a constant burden.” “That’s what they signed up for when they adopted a little. It’s also what you signed up for when you put yourself up for adoption. Does your mom ever make you feel that way?” “No. I’m just not used to asking for things.” “I get that. It takes getting used to, needing permission.” “Not just permission. I mean, just having to ask. Makes me feel like all I do is take.” “You ever have something you loved? Pet, sibling, kid?” He’d never had a pet or sibling. If he counted his clients, he’d had a hundreds of kids. “Kids, in a manner of speaking.” “When they needed something, did it feel like they were taking?” Jamie frowned. Of course it didn’t. “No.” He felt compelled to explain more. “I grew up in foster care. Most of the homes I went through, you didn’t ask for things. Bad luck, ‘cause most foster parents are just wonderful people, else they wouldn’t become foster parents. I just got a few bad ones. Asking was seen as not being happy with what you were given. That wasn’t … well received.” “I’m sorry.” “I know I’m not a foster kid, but this is still so new. Still feel like I’m a guest … Does that go away?” “Doesn’t sound your mom thinks of you that way. It’ll go away when you decide to stop feeling like a guest.” Fair enough, Jamie thought. He knew Mom and Manda didn’t think of him like a guest, and he knew he wasn’t a guest, but the feeling wouldn’t go away. It was always there, making him always a little bit uncomfortable. “So what was your punishment?” Jamie blushed. The two of them were getting to know one another awfully fast. Friendship grows fast in extreme circumstances, and being in a different dimension living in this way among these people certainly counted as that. “Timeout.” “Hard to get used to at first, isn’t it?” “Timeout? That was my first.” “No, I mean the reality that you can be punished again. Being accountable to someone in that way again, subject to their authority. No jury, no appeals court.” Ella scoffed. “Parenthood is the one true dictatorship, especially for littles.” The last part of the statement sounded a bit dramatic, but Jamie understood what she meant, and he agreed wholeheartedly with the first part of what she’d said. “Definitely. For a moment, I thought ...” He sighed and stopped talking. “That she was going to spank you? Does she hit you, or would she, do ya think?” Ella had a definite opinion on corporal punishment: it was hitting, no matter word people used. And she had a definite response to people who would insist a spanking is not hitting: fuck you. At the very word “spank,” a number of littles ears turned up, and several little looked uncomfortable to hear it. James was. “Yes. And no, I don’t think she’d ever do that. And then she told me so last night. It’s just … in the moment … it just brought up bad memories is all.” So someone, or more than one someone, hit him as a kid, she thought. Fucking sonsabitches. She figured he didn’t want to talk about that, so instead she turned to the bright side. “Good that you know that now. at least, that she never would. What did she say when you asked?” “I didn’t ask. I just said that I got … afraid when she picked me up and told me she wanted me to remember not to do it again. I told Amanda, and then when Manda told her, Mom cried.” “Then she must really love you.” “Yeah, she does,” Jamie said without a smile. Just a fact, and fact that wasn’t new but was still fresh, still a puzzle to him. She just loved him. From the start and even more now. What did I do to deserve instant love, Jamie wondered. Don’t suppose you know why, Jamie wanted to ask. Instead, Jamie decided to ask, “So how come Diane didn’t tell my mom another unregressed little came her? My mom was real concerned about that.” “Privacy.” “Just saying there’s an unregressed little doesn’t violate privacy, does it?” “In San Siena it does. I’m not even sure there are a dozen of us here.” That still didn’t make much sense. “So what if someone knew an unregressed little came here? We have to hide or something?” “’We?’ No, we don’t have to hide. How ‘bout I draw your picture for real now?” Jamie knew when a conversation was being purposefully but politely ended. He didn’t try to get an answer to the obvious follow up question. ______________________________________________________________________________ After taking another couple days to think over her letter, Cheryl decided she couldn’t be so serious, not in this letter. She feared causing Jamie any kind of negative emotion that would take his mind out of his new reality, which she knew well would likely set back his adjustment to Itali. She knew how hard it was, and screwing it up for her own reasons was just wrong. Dearest Jamie, I’ve tried to think of all the reasons you haven’t written me in so long, and the reason I want to accept as the truth is every moment brings you so much happiness your hand cannot hold a pen. I want to believe that. We’re so far apart. I want to believe so many things, at least as many as I fear. I did receive the report from Marsha’s home visit, and what relief it was to see happy news to hear she found you are safe and loved and loving in turn. I needed to know that. Becky and Amanda seem to understand you, or at least be coming to it, no easy feat as I know; every day I still think on you. I don’t think you realize the light of soft joy you bring to those you let in. It’s not the ecstatic kind, which never lasts, but deeper a hue of fulfillment in having gained the trust of someone worth counting as a friend, and more. I’ve kept my promise. I take the names from where I keep them and read them. It’s like a prayer, I suppose. I’m not sure who I’m praying for when I read those names. Them; you; me; this whole world and its broken heart. I say your name, too. Are you using my gifts? Have you given your bear a name yet? A token of my love affection for you; it doesn’t seem much now, but I hope it gives you some comfort happiness and reminds you of me. I know it is not over, the time of change in your life when you are trying so hard to come to terms with a new world and yourself in it, nor is it likely to end for some time more. I’m loathe to interrupt what progress you’ve made and how I may set it back seeing you or even writing this letter. But much longer without you, and name me for a liar, Jamie, and know me for one, too. So I am keeping my other promise, too, and planning to visit as soon as I can. I know not when yet I don’t know when exactly, but within the year. I’m sure you understand given how long a journey it is, but that only gives us more time to anticipate and plan. Do you have a soft word for me? Give me leave to hope for that at least. I can’t wait to hear from you again. I want to know about your latest adventures and the people you’ve met. Your forever friend, Cheryl Once she had edited her letter, she rewrote a clean draft and sent it. She knew it would be weeks before her letter even arrived, and she’d just have to wait to hear from Jamie. But hopefully not much longer than the time it took for a letter to get there and a response to come back. She wondered for real, why hadn’t he written. She prayed it was for a good reason.

There’s no way you got a UTI solely from being in a wet diaper. If all you did was pee in it, the diaper was not the original source of the bacteria. The bacteria had to come from somewhere: on your skin, from poor bowel hygiene (aka, sitting in a messy diaper or not cleaning yourself well after using the toilet), from inserting something into your urethra, or sexually transmitted. Id worry less about your wet diapers and figure out where that bacteria came from and what you need to do differently to avoid a repeat. If they told you what bacteria it is, that would be your first clue. E. coli would mean your urethra came into contact with stool, for instance.

Hugs ?

That’s very sweet of you. I do have some people like this, but we can always find a place for more.

Probably won't be an update tomorrow. I have dinner plans tomorrow. ?/? I did get to work out today and still have time to write. I feel lousy. Time away from the gym will do that to you. Yuck. And before anyone says it, yes, it occurred to me that Amanda could wet the bed, and no, it won't happen. I don't want to turn this into that kind of story. _______________________________________ Chapter 23 “How was your day?” “What?!” Jamie could never hear either Becky or Amanda well from the backseat. “HOW WAS YOUR DAY?” Jamie wondered what the right response here was: to include the part about his mini-meltdown or not. He appreciated that what happened at daycare stayed at daycare, though he wondered just how far that maxim went. He figured it didn’t extend to laying hands on someone. “Better.” “Yeah?” That was the word Becky was hoping and not expecting to hear. “Tell me more!” “Can we wait until we get home? I can’t hear you.” He considered what he had to say though, and thinking back on it he was feeling ashamed of himself. Whether he would have actually gotten physical with Jean, he wasn’t sure, but that he was on the cusp of losing control of himself he knew to be true. Ella had it right: a flood of negative emotions he didn’t understand and couldn’t control about to come out as one messy explosion. He hadn’t done that in many years. Once they were, Jamie handed his mom the backpack he’d taken with him that morning. “It has some dirty clothes in it.” Jamie didn’t like handing her a chore to do. He was enough of one already, and though he was becoming more comfortable asking for and accepting things, he wished he could at least do certain chores, like his own laundry, himself. He had thought with a step ladder he could at least do the wash, only to see the machine was so wide he couldn’t reach the controls. “Sorry.” “For what,” Becky smiled. “Laundry? Do you want a snack or something?” That hardly helped. Another chore for her to do for him. “Maybe later.” Becky tried to read his expression and all that came back was he was sad or disappointed or unhappy about something. Of course, that was his expression much of the time, particularly if he was alone. “I’m going to go get the basket from upstairs and start a load.” “Okay. Thank you.” “Just one of my jobs, kiddo.” Jamie actually was hungry as well as thirsty. He just didn’t want to ask. Jamie went into the kitchen on his own and evaluated his options. He could open the fridge, but unless he wanted condiments from the door or a giant radish from the crisper, he’d need to stand on something. The same was true for the cabinets. He’d need to stand on the counter, and to get there he’d to stand on something else. He wasn’t even sure what was in which cabinet. It hadn’t been an issue. Jamie pushed his chair over to the counter, which still left him far short enough he need to pulled himself up with his elbows. He went to the cabinets he was pretty sure the kept cookies were in, and opening it he could only see what was on the first shelf. He could pull himself up to see, but he wasn’t sure if the cabinet would support his weight. Instead he reached up with his hand and felt around. Can. Can. Another can. Box. Box. Bag. More cans. Bingo: something that felt like a tray of cookies. Jamie pulled it out of the cabinet and picked out his prize. A lot of work for a cookie, but worth the effort. He read the ingredient list on the package, and other than noticing how much sugar in them, he couldn’t decipher the chemicals in the list. He wasn’t what he was expecting. MDMA? Acid? Opium? Jamie was sure, though, that whatever it was that made these taste, and not just taste but feel, so good was exactly what Huey Lewis was singing about when he said he wanted a new drug. If I ever go back, Jamie thought, I could be a billionaire with this stuff. Jamie at least knew the glasses were in the cabinet next to the sink, but in the cabinet on the other side of the sink. Fortunately it was a double sink, and he was able to step on the divider between the halves to get to the cabinet. His cups were on the lower shelf, and indeed, none of theirs were practical for him. Looking at the faucet, Jamie decided the best way to fill his cup was to cross back over and sit on the end to fill his cup. The cabinets was too close to the sink for him to bend over. With his cup of water, he went back to where this had all started. He wished the chair was bigger. Climbing down is harder than climbing up, and now the chair seemed unstable. Considering the effort that went into a cookie and glass of water, it occurred to Jamie that asking for things wasn’t so bad. Frustrating though, not only have to ask but need to ask. Control over what he put in his body and when seemed elemental. Jamie put his cup down and turned around to climb down backward onto the chair so he could keep his hands on the counter. He then picked up his glass of water, and Becky picked up him. Sunuvabitch, Jamie said to himself, how the fuck are they so quiet? “Teachable moment: what did you do wrong here?” Now facing Becky, James decided to take a drink first. Becky took the glass from his hand and set it on the counter. “Well,” he began, “I guess climbing on the counter was a bad plan.” He couldn’t help but find it amusing. Not even a bad plan, really, more of a mediocre one. “It’s not funny, James Patrick. You could have gotten very badly hurt. It’s high up, and counter tops can be slippery. Think about that.” “You’re right,” Jamie said. He meant it; he hadn’t consider it might be wet up there. “I’m sorry.” “I know you know I’m right because you already knew better than to climb on the counter because you’re very smart.” She gave him a kiss. “And I want you to remember to make good choices, especially when it come to you own safety. You wouldn’t just have hurt yourself but everyone who cares about you.” She carried him into the living room. What she said had Jamie’s head spinning. Jamie hadn’t really gotten in trouble yet beyond a lecture, and he’d already gotten that. What was she going to do to him? She seemed bigger all of a sudden, and Jamie remembered one of his first conscious thoughts in Itali: you are not in control of this environment. She reached a corner and set him on his feet. “This is your naughty spot; we haven’t had to use it until now. You’re in timeout until I come get you. Nose in the corner, buster.” Becky left the room. Jamie’s relief lasted about thirty seconds before he was just bored. If he had been asked 30 seconds ago whether timeout was an effective deterrent for an unregressed little, he’d have said of course not. Now all he saw was light grey paint, but it wasn’t even the lack of stimulation that was nagging at him now. It was the loss of autonomy, even beyond the amount he’d given up just by being here, it was the not knowing how long he’d be in the corner, it was that he couldn’t leave that were making time stretch out impossibly far. Made to go somewhere and stay there. Boring and embarrassing. I should have protested, Jamie thought, at least said something for myself. Did I not because she’s right? Jamie knew it wasn’t very safe to climb onto a surface seven feet off a tile floor and walk across what was a smooth, narrow and possibly wet surface. And he knew he could have hurt himself. That by hurting himself he would have hurt Becky hadn’t occurred to him. And now that he thought on it, if he had hurt himself, he’d have create even more work for Becky taking care of him, the very thing he was trying to avoid. So what motivated me, Jamie questioned. She’s never said no when I asked for a snack, so I wasn’t trying to get away with something. Did I just really not want to ask for help? And what is so wrong with asking for help? Well, you start to feel useless after a while, and a burden. But they asked for a little specifically knowing it came with things like this. Still, he didn’t like the way asking felt. Dependent, and remembering his days in foster care, a very good way to piss off an adult and communicate weakness to any peer looking for someone to pick on. The front door opened, and Jamie’s ears turned red. And I thought this was embarrassing before. I wonder what would happen if I just walked away? Nothing good. Amanda saw him and didn’t greet him. She knew the timeout rules. She found her mom upstairs looking at her next day’s lesson plan. “What did Jamie do?” “Is he still in the corner? I caught him standing on the counter.” “He’s still there. Didn’t turn around when I came in, but his ears blushed. Why would he get on the counter?” “He probably thought he was doing me a favor by not asking me to get something for him.” Amanda nodded. “Guess that’s sweet of him.” Becky looked up. “You think I’m being too harsh?” Amanda’s face expressed her approval as she said, “Oh, no. That was totally stupid of him, and he knows better.” “Well, it’s been long enough. Guess it’s time to let him out. Gonna have a little chat with him; wanna come?” “Do you think that will undermine you?” “No, I think it will show we’re a united front.” Well, Amanda thought, at least on this. They went to the living room, and Amanda and Becky sat on the couch. “Jamie, you can come out now.” Jamie sighed and turned around. He was feeling guilty and stupid and didn’t want to face either of them. “C’mere; let’s talk a little more.” Jamie dutifully walked over, and Becky picked him and put him in her lap so he could see both of them. “Will you ever climb up on the counter again?” She sounded very sober. “No. I know it’s unsafe.” “So why did you,” she asked, her voice softening. “I’d just asked if you wanted a snack and you said no.” Jamie blushed. Deliberately disobeying would have been more dignified. “I didn’t want to ask.” “But I offered.” “I know, but … I don’t like feeling like a burden.” “Have I done something to make you feel that way?” She needed an honest answer. She certainly had never intentionally done that. “No.” “Why would you feel that way?” “Because you’re always doing stuff for me. I feel … like I don’t contribute anything.” “Oh, baby boy, you contribute exactly what you’re supposed to. I wanted you, not a someone to do the chores. Don’t you know that?” “Well, yeah, but …” “And you do contribute. Taking care of you gives me so much joy, just like holding you and talking to you bring me so much joy. Don’t you know that?” “I just don’t like being a trouble.” “You are never, ever a trouble.” Jamie didn’t respond. “What would be a trouble and would break my heart is if you ever got hurt. I couldn’t stand that, and neither could Amanda.” Amanda leaned in and smiled, just being a friendly presence to tell him what mom said was true. The thought of Becky and Amanda sad because of him being hurt not only made Jamie feel guilty; it hurt to imagine them that way, over anything. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I know you are. And you had a little reminder timeout. And now it’s over. We love you no matter what, you have no reason to ever feel like a burden or a trouble to us. You are just the very opposite.” She pulled him into a hug which he didn’t fully return. He sat back down when she was done, and he still looked miserable. “Jamie, is something else bothering you,” Amanda asked. She knew Jamie’s looks better than he did. Jamie looked at his lap. He didn’t want to say it looking into her face; Becky’s either. “I … I almost threw a tantrum at daycare.” What a pathetic face for an ‘almost,’ Amanda thought. “Do you want to tell us what happened?” Jamie recounted the story. “I don’t even know why I got so upset, and angry. I just ... I got so … I don’t know. So fed up I guess.” Becky interjected. “Wait, so you got upset, and you gave Jean a dirty look and were about to say something or maybe do something, and that’s when April stepped in?” “Yeah.” And you’re this upset with yourself over that, Becky wondered. “Honey, we all get angry sometimes, and sometimes we don’t even know why.” “I don’t. At least, not very often … Mom, I was about to lose control.” “But you didn’t.” “But I might have.” “But you didn’t. That’s a success to me. And when you did get upset, you handled it in a very positive way. If Jean hadn’t gotten in your way, it wouldn’t even have been a thing, right?” “Still,” Jamie moaned in shame, “I don’t want to be that person.” That was more than Becky could objectively take. “Oh, my Jamie,” she said, bringing him to her shoulder, “One bad mood doesn’t make you that person. You are such a sweet and kind boy.” Jamie wasn’t so sure. The line between the thought of a bad deed and the act of a bad deed was blurry in his mind; to Jamie, the former was in itself a bad deed, even if a lesser one. When it was clear Jamie didn’t have anything to say, she just rubbed his back. “Tell you what, how about we go out to dinner tonight. A little treat. After we go change your pants.” At dinner, Amanda was able to pry out of Jamie the good parts of his day. They, too, wondered why Diane hadn’t mentioned having another unregressed little in her care and why only one big talked to her without her speaking to them first. Jamie wanted to try to answer both of those questions tomorrow. Amanda got Jamie ready for bed that evening. She didn’t feel she had done much to help today, taking a backseat to her mom. That was appropriate, but she still wanted to make sure Jamie understood everything Becky had said Amanda felt also. She laid him down, and Jamie wrapped his arm around his bear for a pillow. Amanda sat on the edge of the cribbed and ran her fingers up and down his back. It felt just as good as the first time she’d done it not long after he’d arrived, and when Becky had done it too. He shuddered each time her, soft, light fingers kissed the small of his back. “Long day, huh, buddy?” He just sighed. “Are you feeling okay about everything?” He didn’t say. Amanda stopped rubbing his back, and got down so her face was on level with his, though he was looking the other way. “You can tell me anything, always, Jamie. In fact,” she said lightly, “I’m gonna have to insist you do, and you can’t fool me into thinking everything’s okay. You’ve actually gotten terrible at that since you got here.” Jamie didn’t turn over. It wasn’t the memory of the afternoon, but the memories the afternoon had stirred that were bothering him now that the day was over and there was nothing but the dusk-darkened light of his bedroom to distract his attention. He took a deep breath and let it out. “When … when Mom carried me into the living, to put me in timeout, she ... it scared me.” Jamie choked on a memory. This wasn’t just upsetting for Amanda to hear. It was alarming. She recognized it for the very big deal it was. The kind of big deal that had to be dealt with right then. She scooped him up onto her shoulder, grabbing his bear when he let it go. Jamie didn’t physically resist, but he protested. “No … Manda, I don’t want her to know. Please?” “I’m sorry, baby, but I have to.” She carried Jamie up to Mom’s bedroom. She was on her bed with a book now, her lesson plans set aside. “Hey, Mom,” Amanda whispered. Jamie was silently crying on her shoulder. She sat down on the bed next to Mom. ‘Jamie just told me something …” “Manda, I don’t want to,” he whined, his breath catching now. “It’s okay,” she cooed. “Jamie told me that today, when you were carrying him to the living room to put him in timeout, that you scared him.” Jamie couldn’t hold it back. He broke down one sob at a time, silent and with big tears. Becky hid the horrified look on her face and did her best to look merely deeply upset and concerned. She held out her arms, as Amanda expected her to, and she took him. He rested his head over her shoulder, and she rested her cheek on him, holding him tight but not too tight. Becky thought back on the afternoon. She hadn’t raised her voice or moved quickly or done anything alarming, but she felt like a monster anyway. Or at least an inconsiderate big who didn’t think how her size and words could frighten a little so. The thought that he was afraid of her, even for a second, and that she had caused it, made her sick to her stomach. “Jamie,” she said through her own tears while Amanda now rubbed her back, “I will never, ever, ever hit you. Do you hear me? I will never do that to you ever.” She spoked slowly and deliberately, and it wasn’t clear whether he heard. “We don’t do that in our house. There’s nothing you could ever do to make me or Amanda ever raise a hand to you. I promise on my life, Jamie. Do you understand?” Jamie replied with a yes muffled by tears and Becky’s t-shirt. Becky moved on to apologizing for making him feel that way, saying sorry in every way she knew how. She gently rocked him and herself as well. What an awful feeling, making someone afraid, and how very much worse that it was someone she loved so very much. Becky readjusted Jamie and then reclined back, rubbing his back even though they’d both stopped crying. Amanda, too, was upset to think on how Jamie felt and to imagine how her mom must’ve felt and watching a tender and gut wrenching scene. She left and returned with a wet washcloth, which Becky used to clean Jamie’s face and let him blow his nose before she used the other side to wipe her own dried tears away. Amanda got up to leave them. “Why not stay with us, Manda?” Her mom had never called her by Jamie’s nickname for her. She laid down next to her mom, put her cheek on her mom’s breast, and her arm over Jamie. You don’t outgrow how it feels to snuggle with your mom, Amanda thought, you just stop doing it and make yourself forget it until it’s too late to start again. Another gift from Jamie, bringing physical affection and comfort in the house. She hated to ever think of not having that with her mom or with Jamie ever again. Jamie’s breathing slowed until it was obvious he was asleep. Amanda said quietly, “You did a good job today, Mom.” To hear that soft praise from Amanda forced Becky to stop herself from getting emotional again, even if she couldn’t stop her watery eyes from spilling a few more tears. “We’re seeing the Therapist in two days, right?” “Yes. Double session for his first time. You can miss class this early in the semester?” “For this? I told the professor I was dealing with a sad little, and he practically told me to come back whenever to pick up my A+. But like I wouldn’t go anyway.” Becky ran her hands through her daughter’s long hair. I missed this so much, she thought. Littles really bring love with them, and they rekindle a lot that was forgotten, just like everyone says. “I’ll put him back to bed,” Amanda whispered as she started to ease herself off the bed. “No,” Mom said, “He’s fine where he is tonight.” She smiled down at him; she meant every word she said to him. She realized then that she never would or could say anything to him but the truth. “You bring me so much joy,” she said, kissing the top of his sleeping head still resting just below her chin. Even in the hard moments. How good just holding him felt, this sleepy little boy, how soothing to her heart. Amanda got to her feet, and her mom reached out to take her hand. “You, too, baby girl.” She paused a moment and took a chance. “You can stay with us tonight, if you want.” Amanda smiled soft and slow. “I’ll go change into my PJs. Do you need anything?” “Just a glass of water. And could you bring his bottle back up, too?” “Be right back.”

Mine arrived. I like them. They advertise them as being fun and allowing people to get beyond the medical look and to feel like they look good even if they do need to wear diapers, but I question how much they're really just ABDL diapers. They're plastic, not cloth-covered, which is rare in incontinence products. They don't have a wetness indicator, so they're meant for people who are independent. Comparatively few incontinent people are both independent and need a full diaper; not a big market. Come in a small package relative to their thickness and cost $1.33 a diaper, compared to $1.04 for the comparable Abena M2. I’d be interested to know their sales figures after a couple months.

I don’t worry about strangers. I do try to avoid it becoming known around people I interact with regularly and so don’t wear near them (doctor, for instance). I don’t know if my mom knows. She definitely knew about it when I was a teen; no idea if she thinks I grew out of it. I absolutely do not want family or friends to know, though as it happens I have a kind of legitimate medical excuse, but that’s temporary. I don’t worry so much about being found out by family or friends because I think it’s mostly invisible. There have been times when I’ve caught sight of myself in public or with family and realized that, because the way my clothes were hugging me, it was extremely obvious I was wearing, but even then people aren’t looking there, and if they do, they don’t pause to think on it.

She’s already your favorite? she hasn’t done anything yet! At some point I’m gonna have to something in the evenings besides lay on my back writing. Like, use a muscle, work my lungs. Ya know, the kind of things that stave off premature death. But this is so much more fun! Grrr.

Just ordered some and looking forward to them. I prefer this level of absorbency, and even less, when wearing out, especially with summer coming.