Unfair: A Diaper Dimension Novel (Chapters 115 Uploaded!)

[something101]

i was hoping youd get on subscribestar at some ppint(although i wish it wasn't under these circumstances) but ill definetly be signing up when payday rolls around.

[dirtydingus84]

Patreon sucks they could have at least told us why you got cancelled it's kinda scummy that they hate the community so much. 

[starman]

Can't understand why patreon are doing this considering that they still have alot of ADULT PORN Sites on there still ,as I've subscribed to you ,EFFY ,P/P ,T/L/W OVER ON PATREON, 

THE TROUBLE WILL BE Having to pay twice ie conversion and bank non sterling charge 

[GuyInTheBox]

 I just finally subscribe to you not 2 days ago too.  Luckily I was able to get up to date on the story. Saw it in real time too, looked up and read the latest chapter then went back to the main page and it was all gone.

[CDfm]

I can imagine how frustrating it must be to go through all the work of posting your stories and then have someone who doesn’t understand what this is all about decide it’s not appropriate. I wonder if this is part of the reason I always had a hard time getting a payment to go through.  

[Kif]

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[Personalias]

Chapter 105: Jefe

Somewhere on the horizon, the orange sun was setting, and I was being cascaded with soft white fluorescent lights. I was pink skinned and greasy with sweat, and smelled a special kind of terrible that only came from having most of my body encased in a barely breathable jumpsuit.  I’d smelled worse though. There were tangential benefits to not having any body hair. 

 I still wanted a shower…

“Did you have fun?” Janet asked for what felt like the hundredth time.  She just wouldn’t let it go.

I sighed and nodded tiredly, already starting to brood.  “Yeah.”  Thirty-two years of being on near constant alert and several months of plotting vengeance made it hard for me to enjoy the moment.  I wasn’t very good at it.   

A hammer was always going to drop. Something would inevitably take a bad turn. Happiness was fireworks; a short burst of color in a dark night sky that faded within seconds and left only the abyss hovering above.

“Hm?”

Lids dropping so I wouldn’t have to look her in the eye, I repeated myself. “Yeah, I had fun.”

Janet was practically radiant. “I could tell.”

Alarm bells rang in my subconscious. I looked up at her, feeling incredibly self-conscious.  “How?”

“You and Ivy and Tommy and Chaz and all the other Littles.  You were having so much fun!  Smiling and laughing!”  She ran her hand through my sweat soaked hair, unflinchingly.  “It made me really happy to see.”

I definitely wanted a shower.

I gripped the cart’s push bar. “I didn’t smile, then.”

“Not with your mouth,” Janet granted. She reached over and grabbed some gargantuan bananas.  “Your eyes, though…”

My eyes rolled with the shopping cart’s wheels and Janet leaned the other direction to grab a bag filled with green grapes bigger than my eyeballs. How did they get food so big? Those really were a choking hazard.

“Wanna know how else I know you had fun?” Janet asked.  She looked away to get salad ingredients.  

Oooo! Blueberries!  I leaned the other way and put them in the cart.  Something about blueberries seemed really good just then.  “How?” I asked.

“You’re still wearing your costume.”

Accurate.  Janet had taken off the blow up costume, redressed herself in more teacherly civilian clothing, used the toilet, washed her hands, and then ran a brush through her hair.  

“Who’s fault is that?” I asked, knowing full well I wasn’t going to win.  “You’re the Grown-Up.”

A thin, devilish line formed on her lips.  “Please Mommy!  Don’t make me take off my costume, Mommy! Not even to change my diaper, Mommy! I wanna be a GhostHaunter forever, Mommy!”  She pitched her voice higher and lowered her volume to barely a whisper so that only I could hear it, but I was still mortified.

“I did not say it like that!” My voice came out much louder than hers. A few shoppers, some of them also wearing costumes, turned their heads.

Janet booped me on the nose with her pointer finger and kept pushing the cart.  “That’s how it sounded to me.”

“Did not!”

“I know,” Janet said. “But you’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“Someone’s cosseting,” I quipped.

“Nope,” Janet replied. “It’s not cosseting when the cute Little baby is yours.”

I leaned back and crossed my arms, pouting.  “Typical,” I mouthed.

I wasn’t really mad, though. Too tired to be mad. Too many upsides had happened to stay mad over a silly and petty slight.  Despite her gross misrepresentation, Janet was correct. I really hadn’t wanted to be taken out of my costume and shoved back into a onesie.

On some level I was still pretending that this was an alternate timeline where I’d never been Adopted. Even something as simple as a diaper change would wreck the last vestiges of that illusion.

Granted, the illusion was entirely one of my own making. My Monkeez was far from dry and had swelled to the point where the bagginess of the jumpsuit couldn’t hide its outline.  I’d still leak before I let that fantasy live for one second less than it could.

Janet continued to go down the grocery store’s aisles, getting dinner ingredients, snacks, and impulse buys.  “I’m really proud of you, by the way,” she said out of nowhere.

That shook me out of my cobwebs.  “Why?” This better not be anything about embracing my ‘true self’ or whatever Maturosis claptrap Little Voices filled her ears with.

“For including Ivy in your play,” she reached up and got a box of macaroni and cheese off the top shelf.  “That was very nice of you and better than any present you could have given her.”

“How was I supposed to know today was her birthday?”  I asked. “She never brought it up!”  I would have thought that she wouldn’t have shut up about it all week.  “I did it so she wouldn’t cry.”

Janet petted me again. “That makes it even nicer.” 

It did. Didn’t it?  I’d been steadily ignoring her while trying to balance out the baking soda that was Amy with the vinegar that was Tommy and Chase. Ivy had been raising her hand, too, practically begging for attention. Mine, Chaz’s, Tommy’s…probably not Amy’s…and we ignored her. 

Every other time I’d hurt the mindfucked faux Yamatoan, it had been on purpose or impulse. Never by accident.  That felt weird.  What else was I supposed to do?

 “Tomorrow’s gonna suck,” I mumbled.

“You got invited for a playdate and you said yes,” Janet reminded me.  “It was sweet.”

If Zoge and her husband hadn’t invited us in the privacy of Beouf’s empty classroom, I would’ve said no.  If I hadn’t found out that today had been Ivy’s birthday I still would have said no.  If Ivy hadn’t shown she had the ability to casually unlock Amazon grade restraints, I might have found a reason anyways.  “It still gonna suck.”

“It was still very sweet.”  The cart slowed through the wine aisle, and Janet started eyeing different bottles.  “Do you want some ice cream?” she asked. “For dessert?” Three guesses on what she was planning for ‘dessert’.

“Tell me again,” I said, “about what Helena-”

“Amy’s Mommy,” Janet tried to correct me.

“-about what Ms. Madra and the others said to Brollish to get her to let us use the bounce houses.”  

Janet’s expression of schadenfreude mirrored my own.  “I already told you.”

“Tell me again,” I coaxed. “Line by line. Where you found her.  What she said.  What they said.  I wanna picture the light leaving her eyes when she realized that she wasn’t gonna win this one.”

“You are such a spiteful Little brat,” she snickered.

I went for the throat.  “But you love me…”

Janet’s resistance plummeted right in front of me. Her crazy amped up and her heart left a puddle on aisle five that would need to be cleaned up.

“Okay, so first we went to Coach, and pitched the idea of letting Littles on and having a house all to yourselves for five minutes at a time as long as we supervised.”  

I grabbed the sides of the cart seat and boosted myself to adjust. “Mmmhmmm.  Five minutes on, then back of the line, just like everybody else.”

“Exactly, but he was worried that Brollish might well…”

“Be Brollish?” I offered.

“Mmmmhmmmm,” Janet agreed. “So we had to clear it with her.”

I was seconds away from reliving the greatest victory of the day that I wasn’t a part of, but a familiar face crossed into view.  “Tracy?”  

Janet halted and looked behind her.  “Tracy!”

My former assistant looked like a deer caught in the headlights.  “Oh! Hi Ms. Grange!” She waved but didn’t move her cart any closer to ours.

Janet bridged the gap between them and pulled us up to her. Tracy looked like she’d just swallowed a goldfish. It’s always awkward meeting people from work, unexpectedly. Even more when you hate your job.

“Small world,” Janet said. “How are you?”

“I’m…good.” Tracy lied. If I hadn’t seen her just yesterday with snot bubbling out of her nose, I would have fallen for it too.  She was an exceptionally good liar when she needed to be. “We’re just getting a few things for dinner this weekend.”

“Us too,” Janet echoed. “We’ve been at Oakshire Elementary all day. Fall Festival celebrations. Bounce houses. Candy. You get it.”

“We?” I asked. 

Neither woman appeared to have heard my question.  “Did some volunteer work passing out Tricker Treats,” Janet said, “but got to spend most of it having fun. Pretty much a day off.”

“That’s nice,” Tracy said emptily. 

“What about you? Did you do anything special today?”

“I wasn’t needed,” Tracy said. “So we just took a personal day.” None of the bitterness or anguish from yesterday made its way into the conversation.

“We?” I said again. “We who?”  My question was answered by the arrival of another Amazon. 

Out on the internet among the MistuhGwiffin community and others of its ilk, there are urban rumors and conspiracy theories aplenty of Amazon technologies that would make the current monstrosities seem tame in comparison: Serums that fundamentally undo puberty characteristics and add baby fat; portals to fantastical All Little dimensions ripe for the coddling and conquering; unbirthing procedures that see a full grown Little put into a coma and then shoved into an Amazon’s uterus until muscular atrophy takes hold and then they’re re-birthed.

I personally don’t believe in any of these, because if Amazons could reliably do anything to make us even more their diapered pets, they would, Little Voices be damned.

Looking at the size of the Amazon that came and stood next to Tracy, you would forgive me for thinking that maybe the rumors of size changing technology were true.

He was towering, even by Amazonian metrics; a true giant among giants. He could have snapped Mark like a twig; ground Brollish into dust beneath his heel. He could have lifted Ambrose off her feet or shoved Forrest down on her ass with one hand. If two other Littles had magically popped up beside me, I suspect he could have juggled us.  Tracy could have ridden comfortably on his hip in the same way that Janet toted me around.

He had more than just raw size about him. He had dark black hair, darker than Janet’s that he wore in a ponytail. And a neatly trimmed handlebar mustache with a few flecks of gray. His dark brown eyes complimented caramel colored skin, almost contrasting with Tracy’s fair complexion or the farmer’s tans she sometimes developed over long weekends playing paintball. His arms were muscular, but he had a bit of a gut beneath his short sleeved button up. He didn’t exercise so much as whatever he did for a living made him work out.  

The goliath put two full jugs of orange juice and milk into Tracy’s cart. “That should be good for a while.” His voice was warm, yet gravelly; a dire wolf that could give a friendly wine or warning growl with equal credibility. I knew instinctively that I didn’t want to hear this man bark.

He rose back up, and noticed the shelves of reds and whites. “We cooking with wine tonight?  Pollo morado?”

Tracy chuckled as if she’d heard an old joke. “I’m not that bad of a cook anymore.”  She playfully slapped the behemoth on the bicep and my heart stopped. He laughed quietly like he scored a point at something.  Tracy turned her head at us and said, “When we first started dating, I tried to cook a fondue for him, and I used red wine instead of white, you know, to cook the chicken in. Turned it purple. He’s never let me live it down.”

“Never.” The mammoth agreed. 

She stood on her tiptoes and he bent over so they could give each other a kiss and my idiot brain finally put things together.  “Tracy?!” I gasped. I couldn’t help it. “This is your husband?!”

My Tweener friend’s personal backup plan to avoid Adoption had a lot more credibility in my eyes. If he came into an I.E.P. meeting or to a courthouse and said he was adopting Tracy, there wouldn’t be anyone with the intestinal fortitude to object.  I was surprised she didn’t ask him to protect her from Ambrose and Brollish.  He looked like he could wring one’s neck and still have a hand free for the other.

When I spoke up, something seemed to click behind her husband’s eyes. He said something to Tracy in another language. Mayztepic, I thought, but I only knew a handful of basic words like “Hola” and “Adios”, and this wasn’t any of those.

“Si,” Tracy said, softly.  Then she said to Janet and I. “Ms. Grange. Clark. This is my husband. Emiliano.”

Her husband  took half a step forward and reached past.  “Emiliano Limpiaparabrisas,” he introduced himself.

“Janet Grange,” Janet said, taking his hand and shaking it lightly. “Nice to meet you.” She released it, stepped to the side and she motioned to me with her other. “This is-”

He broke off his handshake immediately and reached out to me in the shopping cart. “Emiliano Limpiaparabrisas. Es un placer.” Then he translated, “It’s a pleasure.”

I put my hand in his palm and his fingers engulfed me. “Clark…Clark Guh…I’m Clark.  It’s nice to meet you Mr. Limpy…?Mr. Limpia…?” I was trying to pronounce his name phonetically and failing hard.

“Lim-pia-pa-ra-BRI-sas,” he said slowly. It still didn’t help that much.  

My lips were mouthing it, slowly- I caught Janet doing it too- but I was feeling too embarrassed and anxious to try saying it.

Tracy looked embarrassed for me.  “This is why I have most people just call me Miss Tracy at work.”  She was gracious enough not to mention or say anything about children that might compare me to them.

Her husband showed no sign of offense. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s tricky. Means windshield wiper. A joke my great-great-grandpa came up with when he emigrated. He watched his friends at the front of the line get their names changed from ‘Rodriguez’ to ‘Rogers’ and ‘Garcia’ to ‘Garret’ by a buncha idiotas with clipboards. He decided to do them one better. Spelled it out and everything. Now I’m stuck with it.”  He grinned big and toothy.

“Good thing you’re a mechanic,” Tracy chirped. “It fits.”

“It fit great-great-great-grandpa, too,” he said.  

Completely disarmed in the moment, I forgot all manners and social graces. I just had to know:  “What did his last name used to be?” 

Tracy’s husband frowned, menacing craggy lines forming on his face from his forehead down the bridge of his nose.  “I…don’t…know…?” 

Janet looked abashed. “I’m so sorr-!” 

The apology on my behalf was cut off by Emiliano’s big booming belly laugh. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”  He doubled over, and slapped his thigh. Any tension that had built up in those seconds dissipated immediately. He rubbed his eye a bit, as if wiping away tears of laughter.  “Nobody’s ever asked, and neither did I!”

Janet and Tracy laughed politely, both seeming more at ease over the awkwardness. I felt at ease too for perhaps a different reason.  I took in the man’s clothes: plain and simple without ostentation, but neat and cared for. No stains, holes, rips, or wrinkles.  And his mannerisms, from the way he moved to how he talked, there was an element of practiced ease to them.  

I may have been projecting, but I saw something of myself in this man.  All of my life, I’d crafted an image to make people see me as competent and relatably adult.  Tracy’s husband had mastered the art of seeming less threatening.  The world was too big for me, and too small for him, and both of us had no doubt learned a trick or two.

He said something quickly to Tracy. The words might as well have been encoded in trinary to my ears, save for “Grange” and “Gibson”.  

Tracy nodded. “Si.”

“How about this?” he offered when he turned back to me. “Since we both don’t know about last names, you just call me ‘Mr. L.’ and I’ll call you ‘Mr. G’. Deal?”

Mr. G!  Plausible deniability! Malicious Compliance!  I liked this man. I really liked this man!  “Deal! Yes! Thanks Mr. L.!”

“De nada, Mr. G.” 

Janet must’ve been willfully oblivious to not see what was being said right under her nose. She clasped her hands together and let out a melodic, “Awwwwww!”

My Mommy barely had time to comment further when Emiliano turned the charm back on.  “My wife has told me all about you two,” he said, his tone soft spoken and pleasant. He pointed to me and Janet in rapid succession.  “She told me that I would probably like you and that you were probably the best person he could have ended up with…after…” he showed the first bit of discomfort. “...you know.”  He waited a beat and then announced. “I think I agree with her.”

Janet put one hand on her chest, and the other between my shoulder blades. “Thank you so much for saying that,” she said. “Clark is wonderful. I’m so lucky to be his Mommy.” Hearing it out loud in public like that still made my skin crawl. My neck and shoulders started to tense up.  

Did I really need to hear about how my life had first fallen apart again?

“You wouldn’t believe how many stories I heard,” he said. “‘Clark said this.’ ‘Gibson did that.’ ‘Jefe, jefe, jefe’.”  He puppeted his left hand to mimic mouth flapping.  Tracy blushed lightly, but still had a flicker of nervousness in her eyes. “I’m really sorry that I didn’t get to meet him first.”  

Ouch. I winced. More living funeral vibes.

Janet’s hand quietly slid up from my back to my shoulder. “Clark and Tracy were a great team.  Everybody knew it.” I watched Janet’s face twitch and twist battling with cognitive dissonance.  “It’s a shame what happened…happened… but everything happens for a reason.”

 Her hand drifted off me completely.  She didn’t like the taste of admitting I was a good teacher while being happy that I no longer was one.

Tracy’s husband understood better than I would have hoped for. “It’s a shame,” he said quietly. He looked back down at me. “Jefe, I’m sorry this happened to you. I wish you were still teaching.  How I was raised, you work hard, you are respected, no matter how big or small.”  

Janet looked from me to Tracy to Mayztepic Man Mountain who had just said the quiet part just loud enough to invoke guilt.  “Yeah…it’s been a rough adjustment…but it’s not his fault…and I love him.” 

Softly, his words careful lest they break something, he replied. “I agree. I agree. I can see, and I agree.”

A look of contemplation replaced Janet’s previous expression.  “You know what? I think I could really use some ice cream. Miss Tracy? Mister L? Could I ask you a favor?” She waited just long enough for the couple to glance at one another. “Would you mind keeping Clark company while I go to the freezer aisle? I’ll move faster without the cart.”

“No problem,” Tracy said.

Janet touched my shoulder again so I made eye contact. “Is that okay?” she asked. “Are you comfortable with them? I won’t go if you don’t want me to…”  She’d learned since Raine Forrest.

“I trust Tracy,” I said. “And Mr. L.”

“Okay,” Janet said. “I’m not sure what I’m looking for, so I might be a few minutes.” She looked up. “Is that okay?”  The odd-couple nodded that it was. “Do you want a flavor?”

“Coffee?” I asked. “Mocha?”

“I’ll look.”

We waited for Janet to round the aisle.  Tracy stepped up with her arms open wide. Of course I hugged her.  “Hey, Boss.”

“Hey, Tracy.” My eyes clenched shut to maintain my dignity. The awkwardness of my co-worker turned captor looming had thinned, but having Tracy in front of me brought back everything that had happened on Thursday in a fresh wave of hurt. “Good to see you.”

“You too, sir.”

Emiliano shook his head narrowly, staring in the direction Janet had left. “Another mamá loca,” he said half under his breath. 

“Janet is okay,” Tracy said. “Mostly.”

“I know, I know,” Emiliano grumbled a bit. “You told me.”

As comparatively small as Tracy was, and as gargantuan as her husband was, I could face forward and keep eye contact with them both at the same time. No need to turn my head, just look straight ahead for Tracy and way way up for Emiliano.

Things were awkward enough, so I saw no reason to hold back.  “Not gonna lie,” I said. “I kinda wondered if she made you up.”

“Dude!” Tracy scoffed. “Really?”

The big man relaxed and smirked. “I work in Elizabeton,” he said. “Long hours.”  His posture somehow both wilted and stiffened at the same time. “Thought I had more time to meet you, too. Thought ten years working meant you had at least ten more.” He sighed and looked away.

Something about the way he said it irked me. It was just like Beouf and Janet talking about the old me over the baby monitor.  “Hey,” I snapped. “I’m wearing a diaper, not dead!”

The biggest person I’d ever seen glared at me. His nostrils flared and his upper lip curled into the beginnings of a snarl. I had provoked the dire wolf.  His hand went to Tracy’s shoulder, and the Tweener placed her comparatively small and fragile atop his. 

 All the anger went out of him.  “Es verdad,” he said to Tracy. To me he said, “I see why she likes you, Jefe. You got balls. In old Mayztepistan, you'd be wearing la coraza, not pañales."

“Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate it.” 

“This shouldn’t have happened to you,” Tracy said.  

I bowed my head. “Yeah. It shouldn’t be happening to you, either.”

“Que?’ 

I looked up.  Tracy’s back was to her husband’s and her face was raw panic, eyes bugged out and pleading, face draining, and lips tight.  She hadn’t told him yet. I had no idea why, but it wasn’t any of my business to interfere in their marriage.

I put on my ‘lying to Amazons’ face back on.  “Yeah,” I said, looking confused. “Tracy hasn’t told you about my replacement? She’s awful.”  Tracy’s panic retreated back inside of her. “If I hadn’t gotten Adopted, Tracy wouldn’t have to deal with her. I’m sorry.”

Tracy leaned back into her husband and he draped his arms comfortably over her, bringing her into a hug.  “Don’t worry about it, Mr. G.,” Emiliano said. “The crazy, stupid, and evil of this world are not your fault.  We all do what we can.” 

“I’ll be fine, Clark,” Tracy said.  She’d be fine, but would she still be here? That’s what I needed to know.

The two conversed in Mayztepic again for a few sentences. “You’re sure Janet is treating you right?” Tracy asked.  Her husband twisted his mouth up, but held his tongue.

“She’s the least worst option I have.” It sounded a lot nicer coming out of me than I thought it would. “She stood up to Brollish today.” I quickly prayed that I wouldn’t be asked for specifics.  Bounce house victories didn’t seem so important in hindsight.  

“Good,” Tracy said. “Good.”

The conversation dulled down to small pleasantries and uncomfortable pauses. Janet came back with two cartons of mocha coffee ice cream. “Okie doke,” she said.  “I think that’s about everything we need for this run.  Thank you,” she nodded to Tracy.  “See you at work?”

Instead of answering, Tracy just said, “It’s always a pleasure with Clark.”  Once again, she spread her arms wide and approached the child seat.  “Can I give you one last goodbye hug?”

I held my arms wide too.  Why did she have to say ‘last’?  Last for the day? Or last for this lifetime?  “Thanks, Boss.” she murmured quietly in my ear. “For everything.”

“You’re welcome, friend.”  I didn’t have the courage to tell her that I’d miss her. Still not ready to say goodbye.

“Come on, mi luchadora,” Emiliano waved Tracy back to their cart.  She started pushing, and he lumbered slowly behind her.  “She’ll see you on Monday, Jefe,” he called back. “Ms. Grange. Mr. G. It was nice to meet you.” It would have meant more coming from the giant man if he’d known that his wife was being diapered at work and contemplating quitting.  It wasn’t my place to tell him, though.  There was a very real chance that I’d never see either of them again.

“See you Monday, Tracy,” I tried to shout, but my voice fell quiet.

Waiting in the check out line, I asked Janet, “Can I have a shower when we get home? I feel gross.”

“Absolutely,” Janet replied. “We’re both gross.”

Another question. “What does ‘Jefe’ mean?”

Janet took out her phone and looked it up.  “I think it means ‘Boss’.”
 

Chapter 106: Inside the Doll’s House

Janet opened up the back door and unbuckled me from the car seat.  She set me down on the driveway and let me readjust my own clothing; though I could see her fingers fidget and twist.  Some part of her baby crazy brain was likely screaming at her that I was doing it wrong just by virtue of my size and state.   “Remember,” she told me. “Best behavior. We’re guests.” 

I hiked up my tan slacks with the elastic waistband for the first of what would surely be dozens of times that day.  Just sitting and wriggling in the car seat trying to get comfortable, they’d managed to slip halfway down my ass. I was still dry too. I could only imagine how bad it would get if I stayed wet for any amount of time.

 “I know,” I replied, quietly.  “This was kind of my idea, remember?” 

Janet bobbled her head from side to side.  “Kind of. But…your temper…and Miss Zoge and Ivy…” she saw the blood rushing to my face from something other than embarrassment.  “I’m really prou…”  She dropped down to one knee to look me in the eye.  “I want to keep having a good weekend and for us to keep an open mind.”  

“I’m only doing this because it was her birthday and I feel bad and junk,” I insisted. “That’s all.”  A lie of omission. New applications of Ivy’s strength coupled with her persistent desire to befriend or impress me despite every way I’d managed to hurt her were definitely a factor.  A half-truth is still better than nothing.

“And I love that you’re doing that,” Janet insisted. “Just don’t let it stop us from having fun.”  My Mommy’s eye twitched. She dug a thin black comb out of the diaper bag and started to attack my tangled curls for the third or fourth time since I woke up.  “We are going to have to either start gelling your hair again or get you a haircut.”

I pictured my hair matted down with product and slicked back. That mental image was immediately replaced with my carrot colored locks parted right down the middle, the tips still curling at my ears.  “Haircut, please.”  

“Monday afternoon,” Janet said. “Right after school.”  It would mean a trip back to that monstrosity of a salon, but I’d bear it as long as it was only a haircut.

Even though it was a futile gesture I tugged down at the white button up, tucking it into my pants.  Janet had put it through the wash once so it wasn’t as stiff and starchy as it had been in the store. The sweater vest got tugged over the waistband so that the potato chip ridges along the slacks’ waistband weren’t as obvious.  

My Monkeez were already bunching up from the lack of room in my pants’s seat. I could feel the pants inching down by the millisecond. I’d never admit it, but I should have asked Janet for that abomination of a onesie that imitated a button up. Or overalls. Something that would stay put while I moved. That goddamn sailor suit had a better fit and would have gotten bonus points from Zoge since she’d gotten it for me.

This was supposed to be a ‘playdate’, but both Janet and I were dressed for the equivalent of a job interview. 

Oakshire wasn’t a big town.  It didn’t have any country clubs or gated communities.  Cassie and I had hit it pretty big, sneak-living in the suburbs like we had. Janet’s house, by Little standards of scope and quality was nothing to sneeze at either.    

The neighborhood that Mr. and Mrs. Zoge lived in was palatial by comparison.  Rows and rows of two story houses with hedges instead of fences.  Big wheeled tricycles and plastic play houses decorated front lawns in lieu of plastic flamingos and porcelain gnomes.  Driveways housed boats and campers that owners proudly maintained and washed despite probably only using them one or two times a year.

Backyards featured inground pools screened in to protect from falling leaves, trampolines big enough for giants to tumble on, steel swing sets, and wooden play forts.  Children played openly under the watchful gaze of parents busying themselves in gardens, proudly washing cars, or participating in childish play. There wasn’t very much in the way of fencing or attempts at privacy.

The people here didn’t want privacy.  They wanted to be seen. Their yards and driveways were tributes to their own prosperity and their personal involvement as caregivers. Everything was a competition wrapped up in a neat smiling bow. Cars were being hand washed and buffed with thick yellow sponges and grass was cut with bright red riding mowers as if doing the chores were a luxury.

Peak Typical Amazon.

Across the street behind me, a pair of princesses held a tea party in bright yellow dresses. I guessed at least one of them was legitimately a child based on relative height, but distance and distraction kept me from judging on whether or not the smaller one was a little sister or a Little sister.

Janet likewise, was dressed up like it was a school day in a light blue denim dress with a bright red sash tied around her waist, and matching ruby flats. Her hair was done up in a tight bun with knitting needle hairpins keeping it all together.  This was in stark contrast to the relaxed loose fitting and faded attire she tended to prefer when just bumming around the house for a weekend. She looked almost nervous.

Janet technically outranked Zoge in the school hierarchy, but this wasn’t her home turf. Zoge was a fellow believer in Maturosis and a Mommy; but I hadn’t witnessed the chemistry between them like with Beouf or Helena.  We were both in unexplored territory here. Both of us felt awkward but obligated at this social encounter.  I took some comfort in that.  Worst case scenario, nothing would click, I would never see Ivy outside of school ever again. 

She stood up and took me with her, propping me up on her hip opposite the diaper bag. “Ready?”

I groped around and felt the back of my Monkeez already peeking out. More than just the papery thin waistband, too.  It’d be a miracle if I made it through this without my pants falling down to my knees.   “As I’ll ever be,” I sighed.

We traveled up the driveway and hooked right along a curving walkway towards the front door. I spent the final few seconds of the trip analyzing everything I saw while trying to derive meaning from it.  

No cars besides ours in the driveway. No sounds of activity coming from behind the house or movement from curtains. That probably meant that there weren't any other Littles around. It was the day after Ivy’s birthday, but this wasn’t a birthday party I was walking into.  Part of me felt that was sad, but only for a moment. Ivy was actually an adult. Plenty of adults have birthdays without parties.  

Not having additional Littles around meant I had no extra airs to put on.

Cynically, I took note of the baby swing hanging from the boughs of a tree in her front yard.  How many swings, I wondered, before Ivy’s mind had broken?  Oh who was I kidding? Ivy was properly broken well before she’d emigrated to Oakshire. 

A twinge of sadness. Littles who went to Yamatoa were regressed universally and permanently. The one and only balm to that nightmare would be that there was no trace of the adult life those victims had lived to cause them any kind of cognitive dissonance.  No free adult Littles like Clark Gibson to look at them in their strollers and quietly shake their heads in pity.

Janet knocked on the heavy door, her knuckles rapping on the wood.  We exchanged one less awkward look with one another.  “Be good,” she mouthed.

“I know,” I mouthed back.

Typical.

The door opened with a moaning heavy creak.   Mrs. Zoge stood in the doorway, smiling softly. She was barefoot, wearing a loose fitting white blouse and black pants that belled out at her ankles. It was the most casual I’d ever seen her dress.

“Hiiiiiii,” Janet said, sounding as awkward as anything.
Zoge pivoted sideways and bid us enter. “Welcome,” she said, her smile and voice soft.  Janet carried me in and Zoge closed the door behind us.  “You can leave your shoes over there by the door.”

Janet set me down and took off her own shoes. “Thank you,” she said. 

I beat her into taking off mine. Undressing myself was just as much a rare treat as dressing.  The blue light up shoes joined Janet’s red flats.  “Socks too?” I asked our host.

“Socks are fine on your feet,” Zoge said. 

“Yes ma’am.”

The Yamatoan’s eyes twinkled. “So well mannered!”  Her eyes took me in a beat later. “And so handsome, too!”

I did a slight bow, doing my best to pretend that this was an I.E.P. meeting in my head. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Zoge’s eyebrow shot up for a moment.  “We need to dress you like this more often if this is how you behave.” It was hard to tell if she was joking until a few notes of laughter fluttered out of her.  Janet exhaled and joined in.  

“He wanted to dress to impress,”  Janet said, and left it at that.

From around the entry way’s corner, Ivy poked her head around, her hair bunched up in pigtails. We made eye contact for a moment, and then out of sight.

Her presence did not go unnoticed, however. “Ivy,” Mrs. Zoge said.  “Come meet our guests.”

The Little Doll waddled out wearing a pink romper with white polar bears dotting it. It was loose and layered and flared out slightly at the sleeves and legs, and had  overlapping folds sewn in to resemble a kind of robe.  It was the middle of a Saturday, but I felt like I’d just caught the girl in  her pajamas.

Shapewise, it had more in common with my GhostHaunters costume the other day. It was closer to a baggy and concealing jumpsuit than a form fitting romper.  I only thought of it as an article of baby clothing because I caught sight of the telltale snaps on her inseam just above her knee, and because Ivy was the one wearing it.

“Hello, Clark,” she said. She waved at me shyly. One bare foot was already trying to slide behind her Mommy’s leg.

My mouth, for a change, was a step ahead of my mind.  “Hello, Ivy,” I waved back.  Expertly, I tugged on Janet’s skirt as if I’d rehearsed it. “Mommy? Do you have the thing?”

Janet flipped open the diaper bag and handed me a card envelope.  “Here you go, baby.”

“Ivy,” I held out the envelope that was nearly the size of my head. “This is for you. Happy Birthday.”  Ivy sprinted out and snatched the card from me the way a wise rat snatches cheese from a trap. Tiny, closed lip giggles came out of the Amazons bearing witness. “There’s a gift card in there,” I said. “It’s not much, but maybe you can put it with money you already have and buy something nice for yourself.”  

That got more knowing giggles.  I hadn’t chosen my words carefully, just then. They were just the sort of thing I’d say to anyone whose gift from me was money but with extra steps. It took me a second for me to realize what was so funny. 

“Clark was very serious about helping me pick the card out,” Janet told Zoge. “Insisted that he sign it himself.”

Oh yeah.  I hadn’t actually bought the card. I no longer had money in the way an adult had money; back to the land of allowances and lemonade stands…except babies didn’t really get either of those.  I’d basically just given Zoge money with the expectation that she would spend it on Ivy.  Not that she wouldn’t- Ivy was mentally abused, but not physically neglected- it just would have been more efficient for Janet to reach into her purse and give Zoge some money.

Ritual and ceremony has always been important to me, however.  Even if it just reinforced certain viewpoints that I was a small child playing Grown-Up.

With no prompting Ivy handed the envelope up to her Mommy. “Thank you, Clark,” Ivy said. “I am very grateful.” A child recites her lessons. Then, “You look…very Grown-Up.”

“Ivy?”  Zoge seemed surprised. Not angry. Just surprised.  I did look comparatively Grown-Up. Even accounting for my underwear and the waistband of my slacks, a three year old still looks more mature than a two year old. 

If only I was allowed to be potty trained like a three year old…

There were a few clipped words between the so-called mother and her faux daughter. I only knew the songs from Circle Time and my untrained ear picked up none of them. Were I a betting man, I’d say Ivy was being gently reminded not to encourage me. 

“Clark really wanted to dress to impress,” Janet covered for me. “He’s been looking forward to this all morning.”

“Does he have anything more comfortable?” Zoge asked Janet. “Play clothes?” She quickly tacked on. “They look very nice…”

Janet patted the bag.  “I’ve got a spare onesie and a t-shirt in here if he gets uncomfortable.” I threw her some side eye. “But only if he gets uncomfortable.” Despite herself, she also tacked on, “Or if he spills something on his shirt or leaks.”

“Ah,” Mrs. Zoge said. “I see. Good.”

Five words was enough to make Janet fall all over herself with polite self-consciousness. “We had lunch before we came here.” This wasn’t a lunch date, I guessed. “Just…always be prepared, I guess.”

Zoge smiled and undid the spell she’d cast and allowed Janet her out. “I understand. We have everything we need at home or in our classroom, but something always goes wrong when we are out.”

“Yes,” Janet sighed with relief. “Exactly.”

I took back over before the two giantesses started swapping packing and prep tips. “Thank you, Ivy,” I said, giving her the same semi-bow I’d given to her Mommy. “How old are you?”

“Clark…?”  Janet’s inflection almost mirrored Zoge’s from a moment before.  Never ask a woman her age, I guess, even if she’s not allowed to grow up.

 Ivy took no such offense.  Why would she? “Thirty-five.”

My face fell for a second.  Ivy was older than me? How did I not know this? “Happy belated birthday,” I said, recovering.  “May you have many more.”

“Thank you,”  Ivy said. “I will.”

A beat of awkward silence encircled us. Work friends and schoolmates we were, but none of us were friend-friends.  This was uncharted territory for all involved, and I had the preconceived notion that Ivy didn’t get many playdates.

“Please,” Mrs. Zoge said. “Come in. Come in.  Make yourself at home.” Our tiny group shuffled out of the entryway and into the house proper. “My husband is making tea. Would you like some?”  

“Yes,” Janet said, “that would be lovely.” 

Ivy toddled up and tugged at the diaper bag.  “Can I help, Ms. Grange? I can put Clark’s diapers in my nursery if he needs a change.”  Ivy Zoge; teacher’s pet even in her own house.

Janet flushed and blushed. “That’s very kind of you Ivy, but I need a few things out of this first.” To the elder Zoge she said, “I brought some milk from home. Goat’s milk. It’s gentler on his tummy.”

“Goat’s milk?” Zoge said. She almost sounded like I did when speaking Yamatoan, saying the word phonetically but not quite understanding the meaning.

Janet bit her lip. “Um…I think in Yamatoan it’s called…’bonyoo’..?” She winced, knowing she’d butchered the word. Ivy giggled into her hand and looked at the floor.  

“Ah,” Zoge said. “Yes. We have room in the refrigerator. Would you like to follow me so you know where you put it?”

“That would be very nice,” Janet said.  “Would it be okay if Ivy took Clark’s diapers?” That gave me an unexpected chill.  Zoge nodded and Janet dug out two or three and handed them down to the mini-Yamatoan.  “Here ya go, kiddo.” 

 Keeping my mouth closed, I gaped at the stack in Ivy’s hands. How long were we visiting for? I seriously hoped we wouldn’t be here long enough for me to need all of those. “Thank you,” Ivy said.

“Ivy, will you give your guest a tour?”  Zoge asked.

Predictably Ivy said, “Yes, Mommy.”

She tucked the mini-stack under her arm and motioned for me to follow.  “Come on, Clark. I’ll show you around!”

Might as well get this over with. “Sure, Ivy.” She reached out her hand to take mine. I knew I’d never get it back if I gave it to her. “You can lead, I’ll follow.”

What followed was perhaps the most shallow and absurd tour I’d been given.

“This is the kitchen. This is where my Daddy cooks the food.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“This is the family room. This is where Mommy and Daddy watch the news after dinner and watch T.V. when I go to bed.”

“Yup.”

“This is the dining room. This is where Mommy and Daddy and me eat the food.” She pointed to a highchair. “That’s where I eat. Yesterday, I had yummy, yummy cake.  For dessert!”

“Cool….”

“This is the downstairs bathroom. My Mommy and Daddy sometimes use the potty in here when they’re downstairs and have to go potty. Nobody uses the bathtub in here.”

“Neat.”

There was no rhyme or reason to where we went.  Ivy zigged and zagged every which way.  We’d pass a room or an area only for her to double back, show it off, and lead me into another hallway.

“In there is the laundry room, where my Mommy does the laundry. Sometimes Daddy does it too.”

“Fascinating.”

“It goes into the garage where the cars like to sleep at night.”

“You don’t say.”

More so than even Amy, Ivy’s prattle reminded me of my students’.  The point wasn’t to actually impart any kind of usable or amusing information, but for her to talk and show that she knew where things were. Likewise, I did my best to sound pleasant in my vapid pointless responses. 

“This is the stairs. They go up to the bedrooms and my Daddy’s office.”

“Do they go down, too?” I asked.

“Yeah!”

 I silently played a game with myself and counted how many times I had to hike my pants back up over my diaper to keep it covered up.  I was close to twenty by the time we hit the stairs.  The stairs alone added another twenty-four to thirty. They were just steep enough that it was easier to crawl and climb them than to attempt to ascend them using only my legs.  Maybe if my underwear hadn’t been so bulky…

“This is the upstairs hallway.”

“Yeah…” I puffed lightly, feeling winded.  What she didn’t comment on was just how many pictures were on the walls.  It was practically an Ivy museum. Family portraits, school photos, vacation stills, restaurant outings, holidays, and candid pictures.  If not for the infinite amount of time that Littles stayed babies for their Amazon overlords, one might think that they recorded every single moment of Ivy’s supposed childhood.   “Lotta pictures,” I said.  “Are these all of them?”

“Just the ones since we moved,” Ivy answered. “All my baby pictures from before are in the attic.”

I couldn’t help myself.  “Aren’t you still a baby?” I asked.

“Yes,” Ivy replied. “But those pictures are from before.”

I bit my tongue on how all pictures were technically from before and accepted her answer.  I wasn’t particularly curious to see what Ivy looked like in a Yamatoan daycare uniform.

The tour continued:

“This is my Daddy’s office,” she pointed to a closed door. He works there when he’s not at work. I’m not allowed to go in there.”

“Logical,” I feigned interest. I was also playing a game on how many different vapid replies I could come up with.

“This is the guest room. Guests sleep there.”

“That’s a good name then.”

“This is my Mommy and Daddy’s room. I’m not allowed to go in there without either. It has a bathroom.”

“As does my Mommy’s room.”

The irony was either lost on the Doll or she was feeding off of it.  “This is the upstairs bathroom. Mommy and Daddy give me baths here.”

“Indeed.  Not in their bathroom?”

“No. That’s just for them.”

I wondered how she might react if I told her I was sometimes allowed to shower with mine? Jealousy? Disbelief? Best to let sleeping dragons lie. “Interesting…”  

Our tour concluded, or so I thought.  “This is my nursery.  This is where I sleep and play with my stuffed animals and cuddly toys and get my diaper changed when I’m at home.”

“Yeah. Mine…too?!”

Pink. So much pink. I thought the first draft of my room at Janet’s had been pink.  I was wrong.  This was pink. Rose pink walls; a watermelon pink crib; a blush pink changing table; bubblegum pink closet doors; a magenta shelf with porcelain dolls decorating it all wearing ballet slipper pink tutus; a hot pink rocking chair.  “This is…this is really pink.”

“Thank you,” Ivy said.  “It’s my favorite color this year.”

“This…year…?”  

“I used to really like purple,” Ivy said as if that explained it.  In a way it did. Ivy was a tad more spoiled than I gave her credit for.  The most obedient dog often got the best scraps.  I stayed firmly in the doorway, almost afraid to enter, while Ivy waddled to her changing table and placed my diapers gently on the bottom shelf.  She gave them a light pat as if that might not stay otherwise.  “Tour over.”

“Cool,” I said.  “What now?”

Ivy faced her crib. “Mommy! Tour over! Tour over, Mommy!”  I looked up at her crib and my eyes finally honed in on a tiny green light from a familiar looking electronic box.  She was yelling into her baby monitor. Clever.

My suspicions were confirmed with the thundering sound of approaching footsteps. Janet and Zoge climbed the stairs after us.  Janet picked me up and carried me deeper into the Doll’s lair to make way for her Mommy.  

“Ready to play, baby?” Zoge asked.

Ivy already had her arms skyward, begging to be lifted. “Yes, please!”

“How are you doing?” Janet whispered. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I whispered back.

“Having fun?”

“I’m fine,” I repeated. That would have to be good enough today.

We were taken downstairs but we did not stop in the family room like I’d expected. The Zoge family room was barren in terms of Little-centric devices. Janet’s living room was practically half-a-nursery, replete with a playpen, playmats, toys I left lying around, and gifts from the Adoption shower that never found a proper home elsewhere.  Janet’s couch and coffee table were sturdy muted islands among a primary colored sea.  One didn’t need to be a detective to guess that Janet kept someone in diapers here.

Not even the mythical Sherlock Homes could look at this room and guess that an eternal child was imprisoned in this house. Couches and cushy chairs, shelves with useless trinkets on them, landscape oil paintings; a fireplace. Everything in tones of beige and eggshell white.  Even I found it boring. Ivy was old enough to be a mother. Zoge looked old enough to actually be Ivy’s; making her a grandmother.  Short a crystal dish of individually wrapped hard candies and plastic on the furniture, this room reeked of ‘grandparent’.

That’s when I noticed the rainbow colored baby gate and the room that lay beyond it. Sunken into the floor and separated by a multi-hued lattice, was a room that the Littles at the Little Voices would have killed for during the back half of the meetings. 

My feet squished beneath me when Janet set me down. Every inch of the floor here was covered in puzzle piece foam padding; each piece sporting a letter, number, or basic shape in its center. The walls were draped in posters of cartoons both vaguely familiar and disturbingly foreign. 

The first wall had clear plastic bins filled with toys corner to corner. The second had more of the same, as well as arts and crafts items like crayons, construction paper, safety scissors, and clay.  The third had covered play tables marked with signs that I inferred meant train sets, water, and sand. The middle of the floor boasted a sit and spin that could reasonably accommodate four Littles.  

Everything was at eye level and easy to reach, no stepping stools necessary.  The tables all had wheels and pivots on them. They probably wouldn’t require Ivy’s bizarre strength to move.  The bins were practically a library of toys, all neatly organized.

A Little Room. They had a friggin’ Little Room.  My brain started to burn. I stopped breathing.

“Be good,” Janet’s voice knocked me out of my fugue state. Instead of patting me on the bottom she yanked my pants up for me one last time.  “Have fun. Mr. and Mrs. Zoge and I will be chatting in the family room if you need us.

Like a dog begging for attention, Ivy leapt in front of me.  “Do you like it?” 

My eyes swept left and right. How much money had been put into this place? If you combined the money Beouf and I had spent combined on our classroom toys over my career, this might top it.  “Uh…yeah?”

“What would you like to play?”

My temples were throbbing. My face was on fire. I was tiptoeing towards a panic attack of some kind. I hated this place. I hated this house. I hated these people.  Not worth it. So not worth it. I shook my head and did my best impression of a dying fish. Why had I left my pacifier at home? 

“I…don’t know…” I finally said.

Ivy was about to proudly rattle off every single asinine toy and distraction when another one came from her Mommy.  “Juice!” Zoge leaned over the barrier and handed us each a sloshing sippy cup. “Drink up!”

“Thank you!” I said and started slugging back the strawberry flavored sugar water.

Ivy followed suit.  What a relief! Silence but not being expected to listen to or say anything! Those precious few minutes glugging the refreshment helped me recenter myself and remember that I was here to suffer through some nonsense and possibly gain some valuable insight.  This wasn’t really a playdate, it was reconnaissance.

I gasped when I was done, and set the now empty cup down on the foam floor.  “What do you want to play with, Ivy?” I asked.

Ivy finished her drink and picked mine up. “Mommy!” 

Zoge shuffled back up, and took the cups.  “Thank you, Ivy. Such a good girl.”  The praise seemed to rejuvenate her in the same way that Ivy’s silence had patched me.

Ivy wasted no time. “Spin?” she asked.

I thought about it. “No. I don’t want to get sick.”

The mock yamatoan crinkled to a bin and pulled out a black base and handful of tiny metal rods. It was a smaller version of the incomprehensible Amazonian game from Beouf’s class. The one that Ivy had poked at for at least a decade and figured out how to work. “Puzzle?” 

“No thanks,” I said. My own pride didn’t want me to lose again.

Undaunted, she dashed to the other side of her padded cell.  “Music?” she yanked free an entire bin of rattles, maracas, sleigh bells,  and xylophones, and dropped them to the floor. Problem was that at least some of them were the same type of bells that Winters and Sosa used as reward mechanisms in their therapy room.

The room went wobbly and I collapsed to my knees, helplessly spraying in my pants while laughing about it.  So much for my dignity. “Noooo!” I howled through the laughter. “Please no! Not music.” 

Surefooted and seeming confused, Ivy moved to pick them back up.  “Okay.”

“No!” I reached out and pleaded. “Just leave them there.”  Part of me worried that if I heard another jingle like that I might accidentally invent reasons to shake them more.  My body wanted one thing while my mind wanted the other.  It was a rush. I didn’t know how long it took Amy or Chaz to be ruined by this stuff, but I didn’t want to find out if it was more than an afternoon or not.  “Just,” I laughed again. “Just leave them.”

Ivy was starting to look frustrated. “What do we play?”

I steadied my breathing, stood up, and yanked my damn pants up.  If Jessica were more devious, I’d suspect she bought this pair specifically to train me to prefer clothes that snapped between my legs.  “How about something quiet.” I said. “Something without a winner or a loser? Something we can do together but also just lets us talk.”

“Okay!” Ivy said without hesitation. She grabbed a bin that rustled and clip-clopped and brought it over to me.  She did it so fast, I suspected it was going to be her next suggestion no matter what I asked for.  She laid it at my feet, a pirate showing her bounteous treasure “How about this?”

They were old square wooden alphabet blocks. Dulled edges sanded by use and paint faded with time and hours spent in the sun. Simple. Familiar. Easy to multitask with. Something I could pretend to be doing and engaged with while trying to figure more out about the world’s strongest Little.  “Yeah,” I said. “That’ll do.”

She dumped them out.  I reached for one. Her hand jumped out and grabbed mine.  “Wait!”

“What?”  I asked.

She released my hand. “Let’s take turns.”

She was so earnest about it, that I found the patience of Beouf within myself. “Okay. You place a block, I place a block?  Can we talk and take turns?”

“Yes.”

I lowered myself back down to the floor.  Ivy joined me.  “Ladies first.”

Extreme concentration came over my classmate’s countenance, like a chess master deciding her opening move.  She chose a block. She set it down  “Go.”

I grabbed one at random and placed it atop. “Your turn.”

She picked up two and weighed each carefully against the other, a blank expression of pure focus with her looking in the middle distance. “This one,” she whispered, settling on a ‘Y’. She placed it on top, but nudged off center.  “Go.”

My hand reached for another. Her hand caught my wrist. “Hey!” It was all I could do. Not like I could take my hand back. 

She flipped my wrist over and gave me the block she hadn’t selected. “This one,” she said. “Trust me.”  She released my wrist.

“It’s my block and I can do what I want.” I dropped the block among the mass of other nearly identical pieces and picked up a ‘Z’.  “Now stop grabbing my hand and let me choose.”

“Sorry…”  she didn’t sound it.   

Not to be outdone, I placed my own block slightly off center in the opposite direction to counter balance.  The tower immediately collapsed down to the base.

“Toldja,” Ivy said, sounding smug. She’d made it another competition that she could win.

“I need more practice,” I fibbed. “Why don’t we build our own thing to start, and then we can build together?”

Ivy considered it with utmost sincerity. “Okay. I can do that.”

There were more than enough blocks for the both of us. I counted to thirty while I made a wide and steady base. A simple pyramid would look impressive enough and give me plenty of leeway to control the flow of things.  Ivy was absorbed in her portion of the parallel play and started stacking back up to the ceiling, her pace only slowed by the disproportionate amount of consideration she gave to each nearly identical selection.

“Ivy,” I said. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Uh-huh,” Ivy answered. “Yes, you may.”

“I’m just curious,” I said. “What’s your favorite T.V. show?” A safe opener.

“I don’t watch a lot of television,” Ivy said. Her voice took on that rote memorization quality that it did when she was quoting Zoge.“Television is bad for your mind.” 

Piteously, I shook my head and worked on the second layer of my pyramid. “Okay,” I said. “Favorite…food?”

“Sushi,” she said without hesitation. “It’s yummy.”

Okay! We were getting somewhere!  “Favorite roll?  Or cut? Or dish or whatever?”

“Whatever Daddy makes or Mommy gets me.”

I wanted to break my own nose by ramming it into the top layer of blocks. Right back to ‘Mommy and Daddy’.
“Who were you before your Mommy and Daddy?” I asked. Time to just rip that band-aid right off.

There was an uncomfortable pause.  “I don’t know.”  A lot of ways to take that answer.  She genuinely sounded like she didn’t understand the question. I’d had a few students over the years who came to school not knowing their last name and Ivy’s tone was a dead ringer for them.  How far did Ivy’s conditioning go?

“Were you ever married?” I asked.

“No.”

“Any brothers or sisters?”

“No.”

“Do you remember your parents?”

“Yes.”

Okay! That was a start. Not only that but my pyramid was really starting to take shape. Seven by seven for the base. Then five by five.Now I just needed three by three and a cherry on top in the middle, and it would look pretty spiffy. “What were their names?”

“Hana and Haru.”

“No, not your Mommy and Da-!” I gasped. In the time I’d taken making a dinky square pyramid, Ivy had created a mish mashed tower up to her chest. Not a single block was lined up horizontally with its predecessor. Incredibly, some were balancing on each other’s edge.  “How did you…?”

“Ta-da!”

“How did you…?” I stuttered. “How did…?”  My nose wrinkled, involuntarily.  Something smelled off. Something that not even baby powder, rash cream, pulp, and plastic backing could completely cover up.  “Did you poop?”

Ivy reached around and patted her own bottom for confirmation. “Yes.”

Those looks of intense concentration when we had started took on a new meaning. I needn’t ask ‘when?’.  I skipped asking ‘Why?’ altogether.  “Do you wanna stop and get changed?”

“No,” she said simply. “I’m not done playing yet.”  She grabbed two more blocks and set them atop the tower counterbalancing one another. “Babies wear diapers so they don’t have to go potty. It lets them play longer instead of having to take breaks like big girls and boys. Their Mommies and Daddies love them very much. They are the fortunate ones.”

My face went like a dying fish again. “Huh?  You’re not really a baby, Ivy.”

“Yes I am,” she said confidently.  “I wear diapers. I sleep in a crib. I don’t have a job. I play with toys. I drink milk. I live with Mommy and Daddy.”

My ears paused just long enough to make sure that I could hear Janet and the Zoges talking to each other in the next room.  “But you’re a Little,” I insisted. “That’s not the same thing.”

 “Littles are babies,
They never have to grow up,
Eternal children”

I tugged at my freshly combed hair in disbelief. It still hurt, so this wasn’t a dream. “Did you just make up a diaper haiku?”

The tower was reaching Ivy’s eye level.  “No. I learned it at my old school.  It sounds better in Yamatoan.  Do you like it?”

“No.”

She pouted her lip out and grumbled. “I bet if Amy said it you’d like it.”

I stood up and looked her in the eye, ignoring the slacks that were doing their best to slip back down.  “What did you say?”

The Doll looked away. I could all but feel the heat coming off her cheeks. “Nothing…”

“Are you jealous of Amy?”

“No!” she squeaked. She took half a step back from her creation and turned sideways like she was trying to hide behind it.

“You are!”  I said. “You really are!”  Her breakdown tantrum yesterday made a lot more sense. It was more than being ignored that had set her off. It was also who I had been ignoring her for.  I hadn’t forgotten about that kiss, either. “You’re jealous!”

She stomped her foot. “Am not!” Muted by the foam flooring though it was, the tremor sent the tower of alphabet blocks crumbling down. “Look what you did!”

“Clark? Ivy?” Janet called. “Everything.okay back there?”

“Yes, Mommy!” I called back.

Zoge’s concerned voice chimed in. “Ivy? Are you alright, my love?”

“Yes, Mommy.”  Ivy called back, unable to hide her sulk.

“You two aren’t fighting?” Janet called over.

“No ma’am,” we said in unison.

“Play well, children…” came the Yamatoan’s gentle reminder.

I sat back down on the mat. So too did Ivy.  We grabbed blocks and started stacking again. I went straight up.  Ivy started going up and out, stacking two on the bottom block’s center end to end and using a fourth to keep them balanced together. She repeated it again. And again.  And again.

Through practice or natural talent, she had the same crazy level of dexterity and almost unexplainable knowledge of basic physics that my Amazon preschoolers came to me with.  Impressive considering that it would take me far too many failed attempts to get even one group of blocks like that.  Amy spoke only one language and was more interested in what she could fit in her mouth.

“You’re really good at that,” I admitted.

Ivy had already gotten her one-two-one layered tower up to her sitting chin level.  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Amy’s just a friend,” I told her. “I’m married. Even if I wasn’t, we’d still just be friends.”

“Why aren’t we friends?”  Ivy scooted on her bottom around her old tower and started building a new one.  

My eye twitched just imagining what was going on in her pants, but I shoved that thought to the side.  “We are friends,” I lied. “Just school friends.”

“Mommy says it’s not nice to fib,” Ivy said without looking directly at me.  She took two more of the worn wooden cubes and pinched them together on either side of the third layer.  Her new tower was starting to resemble a triangle.  “Hold please.”

“Sure.”  I crawled over and held the two blocks in place so tightly that I almost fell over when the building crashed. A stray block found its way to Ivy’s other masterpiece, sending the diamond layered tower sideways.

Ivy’s temper did not flare this time.  Nor did Janet or Zoge come calling for us.  The sound of our rising voices, not the clacking of blocks, drew their concern.  “Sorry,” I apologized.

“It’s okay.” Ivy sighed. “You didn’t mean to.” She started again with the basic one-two-one stacking. It kind of looked like a diamond. “Why aren’t we friends?” she asked me again.

I had neither the time nor courage to fully divest my feelings on why I tended to be so nasty to that Little Doll.  “Because you’re a baby.”

“Amy’s a baby,” Ivy said.  “You’re friends with her.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” I said. 

“No it isn’t.”  She repeated her attempt at an upside triangle.  “Hold please. This time squeeze together and not down. Sit on your bottom and not on your knees so you don’t accidentally go down.”

We paused our conversation long enough for her to stack two blocks on top of the three and then a single block on top of that, perfectly balanced.  The diamond had grown!  I held my breath, gathered my legs underneath me and backed away slowly.  “You’re really good at this.”

Ivy did the same.  “Thank you. These are my oldest toys. Lots of practice.”

Holding my breath had had the side effect of me smelling Ivy’s soiled diaper all over again when I started back up. I’d almost (almost) gotten used to it.  Without consciously coordinating, we circled around our creation at a wide berth.

“Ivy, you’re not a baby,” I told her. “Neither is Amy.”

“Yes we are,” Ivy answered simply. “Amy’s just a bad baby.” I couldn’t tell if she realized something or if she was pooping again.  “Is that why you’re friends with her? Do you only want to be friends with the bad babies?”  She nodded to herself, like she’d just figured something out.

I shouldn’t have argued with her. She was just as crazy as the Amazons who’d re-raised her.  

Stubbornness is a powerful drug.  Keeping my voice level and calm, I tried to explain my stance to the Doll in good faith. 

 “We’re not babies, Ivy.  We just wear diapers because our Mommies and Daddies make us.” I yanked down my pants and pointed to my wet Monkeez. “And make us watch cartoons that turn our brains to mush, and have bells and buzzers that make us pee our pants.”  I hoisted my slacks back up.  

“This is like…one of three pairs of pants that I own that don’t snap together.  Real babies wear diapers because they’re too young to figure out how to hold it and their clothes have snaps in them because they don’t know how to work their hands enough to dress themselves. Littles wear diapers because the tapes are too sticky for us to take off.  The snaps keep our other clothes on us, too.  We’re trapped in our clothes until we go pee and poop in them and the Amazons call it cute.”

Ivy reached down and popped open two snaps of her kimono romper. With only a little fumbling, she popped them close again.  “I’m not trapped,” she stated.

My heart thudded against my ribcage. “Can you take off your diaper, too?” I whispered, terrified to raise my voice.

“Yes,” Ivy said. “If Mommy says it’s okay. Like if I’m not poopy and it’s bathtime.”
 
The rank stench coming from her pants no longer mattered to me. “Ivy…why are you still here?”

The Doll didn’t understand my question. “This is my house.”

“You’re not in Yamatoa anymore,” I hissed. “You can walk. You can talk. You’ve got all your teeth.  You could take off your diaper, grab the least babyish clothes you could find and then run away! To Misty Brook! Or Elizabeton! Or literally any other place!”

“That would make my Mommy sad,” Ivy replied, voice cracking.

I grabbed another fistful of my own hair. Every. Damn. Time. This is what I got for indulging crazy.  I might need this crazy, though. With her hands alone she was an asset.  It was pure hubris of me to think I could undo however many years of programming.

Hubris was my middle name.

“Don’t you ever want to grow up again?” I asked her. “To be on your own?”

“No.”

“Don’t you ever want to…?”  Get a job? No.  Kiss someone? Hell no. “Use the potty again?”

Ivy looked down at her feet. “I’ve never gone potty before.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Never?”

“Never.”

“Oh no. I’m so sorry.  Are you incontintent? I didn’t know.”  New connections were clicking into place.  What Little would want to be friends with another Little that legitimately needed diapers? That was just asking for trouble and Amazons. “Is that why you-?”

“I’m just too Little,” Ivy cut me off.  “Mommy said.”

Mommy said. Mommy said. Mommy said. 

“Let me guess,” I said. “You tried being a big girl, but then you had an accident in your panties and your Mommy and Daddy took them away and put you back in diapers.”

“Yes!” Ivy clapped. “I was never potty trained! I’m a baby!”

I stifled a growl. That was some borderline abusive gaslighting, there, even for the Maturosis crowd.  Zoge wasn’t always Beouf’s assistant, I reminded myself. Places like Yamatoa would likely mindfuck Littles into believing they were never potty trained; but just had a twenty something year streak of good luck.

Why did I even bother?

“What’s it like?” Ivy suddenly asked. “Going potty?”

I’d never been asked that before. My lips puckered out.  “You really don’t remember?”

“Nuh-uh.” Ivy said. “No”  She walked back over to her blocks. “Long time ago.”  She squatted on her haunches and started building a second diamond structure right up against the first. “What’s it like?”

How long ago had they gotten to this girl? “Um…it’s like nothing I guess,” I answered honestly. “You just listen to your body. Empty it out in the toilet. And nothing happens.”

“And that’s good?”

I shrugged. “Yeah.  You don’t get smelly. Your pants don’t get warm or mushy. Nobody thinks you’re a baby.  Then you wipe, wash your hands, and walk away like it never happened.”

“Then how do you know you did anything?”  That question sounded way too deep and profound considering it was about the difference between shitting one’s pants and not.

“Memory…?”

She immediately followed up with “What’s it like being married?” A rock fell into my throat. 
I tried to quietly offer to pinch the two blocks like I had before, but she shooed me away with her hand. “Or working?  Or having a job? Or growing up?  Or getting called ‘Mister’?”

“It’s…it’s really…”  All that I knew I wanted. “It’s great. Big people talk to you like you’re big and you get to help them in big people ways instead of just kid ways.  Even though you’re not bigger or stronger than them, they still talk to you like you are.  You matter.” 

I searched my fellow prisoner’s face for some form of recognition. Some mysterious but unspoken rebuttal like Amy or the sadness of something barely tasted like Chaz. There was none of that.  I was describing three dimensional existence to a two dimensional being.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna get changed?”  It wasn’t the smell, it was just the easiest way to change the subject.

The faux-Yamatoan patted herself again, and some extra near the front.  “No. I only need to tell Mommy I need changing if I think I’m going to leak.  I don’t want to stop playing.”

“I don’t mind pausing,” I offered. Anything to get Ivy to advocate for herself in some way.

“No. My Mommy is very busy talking to your Mommy. So the best thing to do is to be good and play.”

I listened and heard very little. Voices sounded faint.  Distant. I crinkled over to the lattice, but due to the sunken floor and the angles, the most I could see were the tops of chairs and the ceiling fan.  “They don’t sound very busy.”

“They are,” Ivy spoke with the certainty of a cultist. “Grown-Ups are always busy unless they’re playing with us.”

“Whatever,” I moaned. “Let’s just…let’s just keep playing with blocks, I guess.”

So we did.  

That might have been the end of it if Zoge hadn’t intervened. 

Eventually she stepped over the gate and checked us.  “Not poopy,” she said, making me cringe. “But very wet.”  She picked Ivy up. “Very poopy!” she gushed. “Let’s get you two cleaned up!”  We were both on opposite hips that minute.

“Where’s my Mommy?” I asked, looking around the living room. Janet was nowhere in sight.

Zoge toted us into her kitchen.  “Your Mommy is in the bathroom,” Zoge told me.  She took thirty seconds to place Ivy, loaded pants first, onto the counter so she could grab a familiar bottle from the refrigerator.  I took it from her and she picked her so-called daughter back up. “Time for bonyu and afternoon naps.”

Ivy clapped and giggled some more. “Bonyu!”

Naps? I didn’t have time to stick around for naps! Not on a Saturday when there was still so much to do!  “Can um…my Mommy change me?” I asked.  I could beg Janet to take me away. Play fussy.  Retreat.  “Please?”

“She is in the bathroom,” Zoge explained on our way to the stairs.

“I don’t mind waiting,” I offered. 

“She will be a while,” Zoge said.  “I asked her and she said it was okay.  Change. Bottles. Nap. Then you go home.”

“I can wait.”

Zoge laughed through her nose. “Clark, my love. I change you at least once a day. Why are you so scared?”

The Yamatoan was a stickler:  In her world babies needed to be supervised or contained with a Grown-Up close by. Babies took naps in cribs. And were changed on changing tables.  I’d toured the whole house and saw only one changing table, and one crib.   “No reason.”

“Clark wanted me to get changed,” Ivy tattled. “Why don’t you want to get changed?”

Her Mommy beat me to an explanation. “Some babies like to pretend to be big by talking about other babies the way they think Grown-Ups do. They don’t do it to be mean, though. Right ,Clark?”

I hung my head. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Just pretending?”

“Just pretending,” I lied.  

We were carried back into Ivy’s very pink room, nursery. Zoge flipped the lights off, but the afternoon light seeping in through the curtains and the nearly fluorescent hue of some of the furniture gave her more than enough light to work with. 

Zoge stashed me in the crib so she could change Ivy first.  Out of politeness, I turned my back and scrutinized the headboard in a vain attempt to tune out the sounds and smells of Zoge changing a diaper and cooing down to her Doll in Yamatoan. Ivy cooed right back, happy to play her part.  

It ended with a kiss and what I had to assume was their language for “I love you.”

“All done!” Ivy shouted after Zoge put her on the floor.  She was practically doing laps and chirping like a cavey whose owner had just come home.

Next it was my turn. Zoge clicked her tongue and took my failing slacks all the way off. “This looks uncomfortable.”  What was more uncomfortable was the mental image of me in a button up shirt and sweater vest with only a soaked diaper on beneath. Small mercy that Zoge didn’t also have a mirror above the changing table.

“Mommy!” Ivy butted in.  A tiny hand lifted a Monkeez in my size up to the Amazon. “I put them right here!”

“Very good, Ivy!”  Zoge praised. “Thank you for helping!” 

Tapes ripped as they had countless times before, but I winced like it was my first day.  I had an extra audience member, one who was very interested in participating instead of minding her own business.

“Can I help?” I heard Ivy ask. “Can I?”  If only there were ceiling tiles to count.  “Can I give you the wipes? Powder?”

The giantess didn’t break her stride. She wiped my penis, pubic area, and testicles while explaining the obvious.  “I’ve got those things right here.”

“Another diaper?”

“Ivy,” Zoge warned, “Are you trying to help or are you trying to pretend to be big like your friend Clark was pretending?”  She crossed my ankles and lifted my legs.  She swabbed between my cheeks on the word ‘pretending’.

“Just helping,” Ivy promised.  I believed her, too. Why hadn’t I brought my pacifier?

Zoge deposited the last wipe in the open diaper and slid it out.  “If you want to help, go get Clark’s diaper bag. It should be in Mommy and Daddy’s room. Near the bed. You have my permission, but come right back.”

Ivy didn’t wait longer than it took to finish that sentence. I heard her footsteps fade round the bend into the upstairs hallway. Zoge flapped and fluffed open my new diaper and slipped it under me.

“Why is my diaper bag in your room?” I asked. 

The powder Zoge dusted on my butt was cool and fragrant. She lowered me down onto the fresh padding, then said, “Because your Mommy is using my bathroom.” She dusted my crotch and put the powder back down.

Ivy’s returning footsteps came in time with Zoge finishing the change and pulling the front of the diaper up and making it as snug and comfortable as ever. Lady was a pro at what she did.  “I love you,” she said.

I did not say it back this time.  “Why is she in your bathroom?  You’ve got three.”

Ivy interrupted Zoge’s chance to reply.  “I’ve got it, Mommy!”

“Good girl,” the Amazon aide replied.  She sat me up and yanked the sweater vest over my head. “Can you get his onesie out of there?  We want your friend to be comfy.”

I was getting shades of Raine Forrest all over again. Bad things happened to me when Janet disappeared for the bathroom.  As insane and terrible as Zoge was, she didn’t deserve that comparison. Zoge was a bear. Raine was a rattlesnake. Bears still had mothering instincts.   

Still…

“You’re sure my Mommy is okay with this?”

“Hmm…tiny buttons…” Zoge growled to herself. That bit of schadenfreude helped me. “Got it! Yes, Clark. You’re safe. You’re Mommy is okay. We won’t hurt you. The Grown-Ups just want to talk longer. You just need a ba-ba and a nap.”  

Every statement made me short one button and one stalling question.

Ivy handed up the onesie, a blackish blue one that was patterned with stars and lines connecting the imaginary dots of constellations.  Perfect for a nap.  In no time at all, Zoge had me back in proper baby clothes and snapped up so that I had zero hope of escape. “Thanks Ivy…” I growled.

“Welcome!”  Irony was lost or she fed on it. 

Zoge put me back in the crib and handed me the bottle. “Drink your ba-ba. It will help you sleep.”

I tentatively sipped the thicker creamier stuff.  So much better than the skimmed cow swill in the cartons.  This was goat’s milk alright.  I was still pulling it out from a rubber nipple, but I’d take every point of sophistication I could.

“Bonyu!” Ivy sounded like she was cheering. Zoge cooed and prattled to her in their shared language and picked Ivy up, and placed her on her lap in the rocking chair.  Sitting still, and gulping the acquired taste down, my mouth was full but my eyes were busy. Where was Ivy’s bottle?

My breath shortened, my eyes slammed shut, and I turned around to face the nursery wall.  I could have gone my whole life without seeing Ivy open up Hana Zoge’s blouse.  “Good girl. Thank you for helping.”  The nursing bra and short time it took for her to unclasp it saved me from knowing what her bare tit looked like.

I suckled louder and harder on my bottle, trying to fill my ears with something besides Ivy’s animal grunting and mewling and Zoge’s motherese while Ivy breastfed. I planted myself on my back and gulped away, hoping the full stomach and dim light would miraculously conk me out.

No such luck. My limbs felt heavier, but my ears were just as alert. Finishing faster just meant I had to wait through the suckling soundtrack longer. Refusing to open my eyes, I knew that particular awkwardness had passed when an extra weight was added to the crib, my bottle was picked from my loose grip, and another pillow and blanket were added. 

Ivy and I shared the crib, but slept on opposite sides, our feet barely touching.

“Good night my loves,” Zoge said.

“Night Mommy.”  

I pretended to sleep and braced myself for a forehead kiss that didn’t come.  

The air was still and quiet in the nursery. I didn’t want to open my eyes. Oh please, unconsciousness, claim me! I’d done more than enough work, faced more than enough karma, and felt more than enough frustration for one day!  Let this next time pass in the blink of an eye.

“Hey, Clark…?”

“Aren’t you not supposed to talk at nap time?” I half-snapped at the Doll.

“That’s a school rule,” Ivy said.  “Home rules are different. I don’t take naps with other Littles at home so I don’t know if it’s a rule.” 

Please just let it end.  “What do you want Ivy?” I sighed, determined to keep my lids shut.

“Were you nice to me when you were a Grown-Up because you were a nice Grown-Up? Or was it because you felt sorry for me?”

The latter. “I don’t know, Ivy. I’m dealing with some stuff and it’s not your fault. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Go to sleep,” I shushed her. “Just go to sleep. We’ll talk later.”

I was getting out of there having done my duty and paid my debts.  ‘Later’ would have to be Monday.

Then Ivy asked “What’s sex like?” 

If I hadn’t been lying down right then, I would have been knocked right on my ass. My eyes opened.  “Why do you need to know…?”  

If she tried anything I’d bite her again, I told myself. That wasn’t where this was going, though, and I kind of knew that.

“One time I got out of my crib. Mommy and Daddy were-”

“Got it,” I said. “Got it! No further descriptions necessary! Thank you! Good night!”

“Good babies don’t get out of the crib,” Ivy went on anyway, “but I hadda nightmare and Mommy turned the monitor off so I wasn’t in trouble. That’s when she got me my special monitor.”

I looked up and saw the baby monitor. Hers was attached to the crib’s headboard instead of out of reach on a shelf, but it was exactly the same model as mine. Unlike earlier, the green light wasn’t on.

“Is sex like the green stuff?” Ivy burrowed deeper into my brain with her words.”Mommy sometimes squirts the green stuff in my diaper, but only when I’ve been really really good for her. 

“Ivy…”

“It feels really good and she gives me an extra pillow to tickle myself with. I climb on top and I tickle and play naughty pretend games.”

“Ivy…”

“I used to pretend that I was Mommy and the pillow was Daddy, but that didn’t feel right.”

“Ivy!”

“Then I started pretending it was other Grown-Ups like pretty babysitters or waiters at restaurants.”

“I don’t…”

“That didn’t feel right either. Mommy taught me about penises and vaginas and what big people do with them and those strangers were too big for me.”

“This isn’t happening…”

“I tried playing pretend and imagining that the special pillow were other Littles, but that didn’t seem right. Those were my classmates and friends. It felt bad pretending to do that to friends.”

I slammed my pillow over my face.

It didn’t drown out, “But then I started thinking of you. A Grown-Up Little. That felt really nice. I pretended that for a long time.  Then you turned into a baby and I stopped pretending about you like that.  Can we please be friends?”

A shudder rocked through me. Serious brain bleach needed!   Plastic bed sheets rustled and plastic backing crinkled while I sat completely upright and stared the Doll down. “Ivy,” I whispered. “What the fuck is wrong with you, girl?” 

So she told me…

Chapter 107: Ivy’s Tale

Once upon a long long time ago, before your Mommy or your Mommy’s Mommy, or your Mommy’s Mommy’s Mommy was a child, the People came down from Heaven. They worked the land.  They raised animals. They prospered. They multiplied. 

But they were not happy. 

They worked the land but they did not care for it.  They raised animals but took no joy in it. They prospered but found no meaning in their prosperity. They multiplied but the People came out full-grown and left on their way to work their own land and raise their own animals and prosper and multiply all on their own.  There were no Mommies or Daddies back then.  Everyone loved, but it was a selfish and short sighted love. 

A love without Family.

So Heaven sent the People a gift.  Heaven sent children for the People to care for and teach and to fill with love unselfishly, and there was much joy.  People became more than just People because with children to take care of they became Mommies and Daddies, too! They became more whole.

Mommies and Daddies and children became Family and settled the land together and loved each other unselfishly and shared with one another and built homes and villages and towns and even great cities and countries together. There was so much happiness!  

 And when children got enough love from their Mommies and Daddies they would grow, and grow, and grow, until they turned into People too.  Then they would go and make children and become Mommies and Daddies themselves and experience such joy!

This also brought great sorrow.  

When their children grew into People, Mommies and Daddies would no longer have them to love as they did and felt such loss! How could they be Mommies and Daddies without their children? It was as if their children had died, replaced by People, and with that death came a death within themselves.

Just as terribly, not everyone was able to become a Mommy or Daddy.  No matter how hard they tried, Heaven would not send them children of their own.  They saw the joy of other People being Mommies and Daddies and felt a most terrible longing! They feared they would never know the love of Family and the joys of children. To these People it was as if they were starving while their neighbors grew fat and content on a great feast, and then were ungrateful once the meal was finished.   

To add to the difficulty, some children received so much love from their Mommies and Daddies that they grew much too fast, much too quickly and became People before they were ready. The fruit that ripens too early rots on the vine.

So Heaven sent the People a new gift. Heaven sent perfect children who would not grow into People no matter how much love they were given. And even if these perfect children multiplied, their perfect children would not grow into People either, so they would not become Mommies and Daddies.  They could only become more perfect children in need of the pure love of a Family.

Now, Mommies and Daddies could stay Mommies and Daddies forever and the perfect children need never worry about how much love they were given because they would never grow into People! The People, the children, and perfect children became one big happy Family all over the world, and so Heaven changed their names to reflect that.

The People’s names were changed to “Grown-Ups”, because they were all once children who grew with love. Their perfect children were renamed “Littles” because they stayed tiny and precious and lovable no matter how much love they were given and Heaven did not wish to hurt the other children’s feelings for not being perfect.  A cub is not a perfect kitty cat but will one day be a mighty tiger. A kitty cat will never be a tiger but is perfect as a cub.

For a long time, Grown-Ups, children, and Littles lived in harmony, each as they should. But it could not last.  Littles are playful and imaginative, but they are also forgetful and foolish.  All over the world, Littles started to play and pretend that they were Grown-Ups, and their doting Mommies and Daddies spoiled them by allowing such foolishness to persist for much too long.

And the Littles pretended so hard and for so long that they forgot they were merely perfect children.  “We are Grown-Ups, too!” they cried. “We may look like children, but we are just as Grown-Up as you!”  

But Littles do not grow as Grown-Ups do, and never can.  So they gave the Grown-Ups another new name: “Amazons”.  Against Heaven’s rules, they shouted “We are all Grown-Ups! We are all People!  Big People and Small People.  Amazon Grown-Ups and Little Grown-Ups!”

And all over the world, silly and doting and lazy Grown-Ups let them keep pretending, and instead of spanking them or shushing them and taking them back to their nurseries for a nice nap, and giving them yummy milk, they played pretend with them too until Grown-Ups too, forgot they had just been pretending.

Littles tried to work the land. Littles tried to raise animals. Littles tried to prosper. And they failed. No matter how much a kitty cat pretends to be a tiger, it can only be trampled or starve when it hunts a tiger’s prey.  

Worse things came from the constant pretending. Terrible Grown-Ups, barbarians who had either forgotten or had never heard of Heaven’s rules and Heaven’s gifts did terrible, awful things to the Littles.  

They did worse than humoring the Littles and allowing them to call themselves Grown-Ups.  They did worse than neglecting the Littles and allowing them to hurt and suffer in a land that they were not made to work and tame.  

These awful barbarians who had forgotten or ignored Heaven would let the Littles into their homes and villages and towns and even great cities and countries, and live in a mockery of Family. They did not give their Littles a Mommy’s or a Daddy’s love and treat them like the perfect children Heaven meant for them to be. They lied to themselves and to the pretending Littles and said that Littles could be Mommies and Daddies too!   

And they multiplied. 

It was not fair to the Littles because Littles are not made to do such Grown-Up things. A kitty cat cannot roar no matter how loudly it meows. Nor can it feed a tiger’s cubs save with its own blood.  

Heaven did not want to, but it had no choice but to send another gift to the People. The children of Littles and Grown-Ups would grow with the love of Family, but they would never get as big as a Grown-Up because the Little part of them would eat up all the extra love.  Some of them would be as hard working as a Grown-Up, but others would be more like a Little and never grow up on the inside; but because they were bigger they would need much more care and love than a Little ever would.

These Twixt People, these “Tweeners”, gave Grown-Ups the gift of Heaven’s reminder: Grown-Ups are meant to be Grown-Ups, Littles are meant to be Littles, and when Littles are treated like Grown-Ups sad and unfortunate things can happen. You either get a Grown-Up who isn’t big enough and struggles to work the land and raise the animals, or you get a Little who is so big that their Mommy and Daddy have a harder time giving them love and taking care of them.

It was not the Tweeners’ fault. No one asks to come down from Heaven. It was not the Littles’ fault either. Perfect children cannot be bad or evil; only naughty and mischievous. They did not know any better. Littles were made to need Grown-Up care and Family love. It was only because Grown-Ups spoiled and neglected them, and because barbarians lied to them that they tried to make their own.
  
It was the Grown-Ups’ fault for not watching their Littles more closely and for not taking better care of them and letting them pretend until they got silly and forgot.  And just as it is the job of a Mommy and Daddy to remind their Little ones to take their naps and drink their yummy yummy milk, Heaven did its job and reminded the Grown-Ups what they were supposed to do.

One very wise and powerful Mommy, the Empress, heard Heaven’s reminder and understood that she must set things right.  So she took all the Grown-Ups she could with her to a special land far far away from the barbarians, surrounded on all sides by water, and they lived like Heaven intended. 

They named that land “Yamatoa”.

The Empress heard the rules that were passed down from Heaven and turned them into laws for the Grown-Ups to follow.  In Yamatoa, Grown-Ups would always be Grown-Ups and Littles would always be Littles and pretending otherwise would not be allowed no matter how much the naughty or mischievous Littles cried about it. 

And any Little that came to Yamatoa would be treated like a Little, no matter how hard they wanted to pretend to be a Grown-Up.  It was the only way that they could have the love of Family and for them and their Mommies and Daddies to truly know joy. A kitty cat is safest when cuddling with a Mommy tiger and nursing with the other cubs.

So the people of Yamatoa lived in harmony, happiness, and fairness as intended by Heaven. Grown-Ups were Grown-Ups and Littles were Littles, and everyone got exactly what they needed.

However, all was not yet perfect in Yamatoa. Tweeners wished to live in Yamatoa, too. And unlike Littles who whined and cried and shouted. The Twixt People quietly and politely asked.

“We come from Grown-Ups,” they said.  “Each of us has once had a Mommy or a Daddy who was a Grown-Up. But we are children no longer.  We are not perfect children and have so grown with their love. We can also have children who will grow with our love.  We can be Mommies and Daddies too.  In the name of Heaven, please, let us in.”  

Some Grown-Ups thought this was a good idea. “Yes,” they said. “They should be able to live as Grown-Ups.  They are still of Grown-Ups. A stunted tiger is still a tiger.”

Other Grown-Ups thought this was a bad idea. “No,” they said. “They are of barbarians who turned their backs on Heaven. Turn them away. A tiger cannot change its stripes.” 

Still other Grown-Ups thought this was a good idea for a different reason.  “Yes,” they said. “Let them come live as perfect children. They are still of Littles. An overgrown kitty cat is still a kitty cat.”

There was much arguing. Much bickering and Grown-Ups almost acting like Littles stomping their feet and gnashing their teeth. No one could agree, and if the Empress heard Heaven’s rules, she did not tell anyone.

It was not until the first Empress went back up to Heaven that Heaven sent a new Empress. It was she who told everyone Heaven’s new rule: If a Tweener could work the land like a Grown-Up; if a Tweener could raise animals like a Grown-Up; if a Tweener could prosper like a Grown-Up; then they could live like a Grown-Up.  If they could live like Grown-Ups, they could multiply like Grown-Ups, become Mommies and Daddies like Grown-Ups and be part of a Family like Grown-Ups.  They would serve as a reminder of the original strength of the People and how good Mommies and Daddies can love and become strong no matter what difficulties they face.

But if a Tweener couldn’t do those things, if their Grown-Up side wasn’t Grown-Up enough to stop their Little side from being naughty or mischievous or helpless; they and their Mommy and Daddy would have to leave Yamatoa forever.  Grown-Ups were Grown-Ups.  Littles were Littles. It would not be fair to let Tweeners be both.

So it was decided and so Yamatoa became whole and perfect; living as Heaven always intended. Grown-Ups worked hard and gave love to their Families.  Tweeners helped, too, and reminded everyone how to live right and how important being Grown-Up is.  Littles were the perfect children and made their Mommies and Daddies very, very happy.  Everyone prospered.

Then a long, long time after Yamatoa was made perfect…

There once was a beautiful girl named Hana and a very hard working boy named Haru. Hana was a Grown-Up and Haru was a Tweener, but they loved each other very much.  

Hana’s family did not have very much money. Haru worked so hard that he made enough money for three Grown-Up jobs and was allowed to marry Hana because of how Grown-Up he was on the inside. 

There was much joy and they were very happy!

One day, Heaven sent Hana and Haru a child of their own to give even more love to.  One that would one day turn into a Grown-Up. They loved their child very much for giving them the gift of becoming a Mommy and a Daddy; the gift of Family.  

They named her “Aibīi” which means “Ivy” because they knew that she would grow and grow and grow with all the love they gave her. Hana loved her daughter and loved being a Mommy so much that she knew that as soon as Aibi became a Grown-Up, maybe sooner, she would Adopt a Little so that she would never stop being a Mommy and to give that perfect child the Family Heaven meant for them to have.

This ivy did not grow very much at all, though.  After she was old enough to walk and talk; after she got all her first teeth; after Hana and Haru took down her crib and gave her a big girl bed; and after she stopped wearing diapers and started wearing big girl pull-ups, Aibii stopped growing.  Her shape would change, but she never got any bigger.

Her friends at Daycare got taller and taller. That was okay, because Haru was a Tweener.  Maybe Aibii was a Tweener, too.  Very soon, though, even Aibii’s Tweener friends were getting taller than she was.  Hana and Haru were worried, but they did their best not to show it.  

Then Aibii started having accidents. 

Sometimes, at Daycare, she would spill her juice on her pretty dress or wipe her hands on her pretty clothes. Sometimes she would forget to wipe her mouth when she ate messy foods. Sometimes she would sit on the potty and nothing would come out.  Sometimes something would come out in the potty but she would forget to wipe. Sometimes Aibii would be so busy playing that she would forget to go potty and by the time she stopped playing she wouldn’t be able to get to the potty at all. 

Hana worked at Daycare, and would tell her that accidents happened to big girls sometimes. Tweeners could be big girls too if they worked really hard. Such accidents also happened to her friends at Daycare, too, but for some reason Aibii’s big kid teachers were less patient with her and her friends picked on her for it more than each other. 

Aibii did not feel like she was where she belonged.  She started feeling afraid of her big kid friends and her big kid teachers.

Aibii started to wet the bed and have more and more accidents every day.  Soon she didn’t go to the potty at all, just like a Little.  On her first day of Kindergarten, she was so scared of the big kids and the big kid teacher that she had a really big and really messy accident in her brand new big girl panties and cried and cried and cried.

Hana and Haru loved their daughter, but they could not hide their worry any more. They were afraid that she was a Tweener that was too Little on the inside and so they would have to leave Yamatoa forever. But more than even that, they were worried that she wasn’t growing. 

They took Ivy to a special Grown-Up doctor to try and help her. They did not think that she could be too Little because Hana was a Grown-Up and Haru was a very Grown-Up Tweener.  Maybe she was sick. The doctor ran many many tests to figure out what was wrong with Aibii so that Hana and Haru could help her. After many many tests, Hana, Haru, and Aibii found out about the miracle: 

Aibii was not a child that would become a Grown-Up.  She wasn’t a Tweener either.  She wasn’t even a Tweener with too much Little in her.  She wasn’t a Grown-Up or a Tweener at all.

Aibii was a Little!  That’s why she wasn’t growing anymore! That’s why she was having accidents! That’s why she felt like she didn’t belong with the big kids and why her big kid teachers at Daycare and Kindergarten seemed so scary to her! That’s why she dribbled sometimes when she drank out of big girl cups! She struggled and failed because Aibii wasn’t supposed to do any of those things! She was supposed to be Little!

The doctor said that Haru had given Aibii his Littleness, as Tweener Mommies and Tweener Daddies often gave to their children, so that was not a surprise.  What was a surprise was that Hana also had a tiny bit of Littleness inside of her and that a long, long, long time ago, her twenty times Mommy’s Mommy married a Tweener and that pinch of Littleness had carried all the way down to Aibii.  

 He said that Aibii had only been born the size of a regular child because Hana’s tummy was so nice and roomy that Aibi stretched all the way out when she came down from Heaven. Now that she was out in the world, Aibii would only ever get as big as she was right now.

That was what the Doctor said, but Hana, Haru, and Aibii knew the truth.

Hana and Haru were so special that Heaven sent them Aibii to be their own perfect child forever and always. They would not have to look for a Little and Aibii would not ever have to grow up.  Hana and Haru would always be Mommy and Daddy and Aibii would be their Little Girl. They would always be Family and Aibi could have all their love forever! 

So Mommy and Daddy gave her back her diapers, and her crib, and her nursery, and her bottles and her cute baby clothes. They were extra careful to make sure that all of her baby clothes were still very, very pretty just in case she was sad.  Mommy even learned to sew and turned all of the big girl clothes she’d bought on accident into baby clothes, so nothing was wasted!

Everyone at the Daycare told Aibii she was so lucky! And she was! Most Littles didn’t find their Mommies and Daddies until they were much much older and had started being silly and pretending they were Grown-Ups like Littles tended to do. But not Aibii! She had known her Mommy and Daddy all her life and would be their perfect child forever and all the other Littles and teachers at Daycare were very nice to her and were good friends that didn’t pick on her at all!

Aibii was very happy for a long, long time! But a long, long time is not forever. Heaven sent another Mommy Empress with a new message. This Empress said that because all Littles liked to pretend to be Grown-Ups too much, that every Little in Yamatoa would have to watch a special cartoon to teach them not to play pretend. Every day.

Aibii’s teachers at Daycare made her watch the cartoon too, even though Aibii had never pretended to be a Grown-Up in her whole life. The cartoons made her head feel fuzzy and made it hard to talk and remember things. It was like she was sleepy all the time even when she was wide awake.

Mommy said the cartoons were changing Aibii, and she did not want Aibii to change. She loved Aibii just the way Heaven had sent her. Mommy tried to get her not to watch, but Mommy wasn’t the only Grown-Up at Daycare. One time there was a lot of shouting; so much shouting that all of the Littles at Daycare started crying. The big kids too.

Aibii and Mommy didn’t go back to Daycare after that.

Mommy and Daddy were worried, but they didn’t want their Little Girl to know.  The Empress said that Heaven told her that Littles had to learn from the special cartoons.  Even if Aibii didn’t go to Daycare anymore, and Mommy stayed home to take care of her, they were worried that Grown-Ups from the Daycare might tell on Mommy for breaking Heaven’s rules.  All Grown-Ups, Tweeners, and Littles who lived in Yamatoa had to follow Heaven’s rules or leave.

So they left.

To keep their daughter, their Little Girl, their perfect child, Mommy and Daddy turned their back on Heaven. They loved her so much that they would disobey Heaven’s rules if they had to. They would be barbarians. They left Yamatoa and came to a different country far far away and bought a house in a small village called “Oakshire”. 

 Daddy got a new job that still made a lot of money, and Mommy got a job at a special Daycare attached to a school so she could be with Aibii.  Her new teacher was a very nice Grown-Up named “Mrs. Beouf”.  When Mrs. Beouf met her and heard about the cartoons, she said that she was so happy that Aibii was in her class. Just like Mommy and Daddy, Mrs. Beouf liked Aibii just the way she was!  

Mrs. Beouf’s job wasn’t to make the Littles in her village stop pretending to be Grown-Ups by spanking them, or putting them in special chairs and cribs that held their arms and legs still, or sticking special pacifiers in their mouths that they couldn’t spit out, or teaching them with special cartoons that made them forget and feel fuzzy.  Mrs. Beouf’s job was to teach Littles and their Mommies and Daddies how to love themselves just the way they were!  

Just like Aibii did!  Just like Mommy and Daddy did!  They truly had found a new home!

The funny thing was was that Mrs. Beouf didn’t speak Yamatoan.  So when she heard Aibii’s name, she thought she heard “Ivy”. And Aibii liked it! She liked it so much that she begged her Mommy and Daddy to change her name and call her Ivy.  So many other Littles in their new country got their names changed when they left their old homes and found their new ones, why not her? 

And because Ivy was such a good girl, they did!  

So Ivy got to be the perfect child she was always meant to be and helped other Littles learn to love themselves and be good boys and girls, too.  
****************************************************************************************************
That’s what she told me. 

Right there in the crib. 

All in one go. 

She didn’t have to pause or hum or search for just the right words. She knew it all by heart. It was part fable, part bedtime story, part dissociation technique.  She’d heard the beginning of it again and again and again until she knew all the words like a comforting lullaby. Then she and her mother…yes, her mother… had added onto it through the years; telling the events as she wanted to remember them until the memory of the story was stronger than the memory of the events themselves.

She didn’t look angry or sad to the point where she was choking back tears; her face scrunched up and contorting into cracks and fissures that smoothed themselves out over and over again, fighting to maintain even the slightest composure. Her voice didn’t sound like her throat was clenching and that at any moment she might cry out uncontrollably or be unable to produce sound.  Her breath wasn’t alternating between deep gasping breaths and quick, shallow little puffs of air. Her fists weren’t clenching and unclenching with terrible anxiety and guilt wiping away the droplets of water that threatened.  

That was me. Not her.

No; for all intents and purposes, Ivy was just a precocious and well-mannered child telling a particularly detailed and interesting story.

Her story.  

Ivy’s Tale.

But she wasn’t finished…

“Then one day a new Little came into Mrs. Beouf’s room. But he wasn’t in her class. He was in the class next door.  He was a very strange Little. Ivy had never seen another like him. Mommy said that he was a different kind of Little.  His name was Mister…?”

“...”

“Clark?”

“...”

“Clark?”

“...”

 “Clark?” 

“...”

“What’s wrong Clark?  Why do you look so sad?  I thought you’d like this part.”

“...”  

“Clark…?”

[Kat5]

MY FEELS!!!

You got me right in my feelings.

This was very VERY well written!

[Samriis]

I was very excited seeing this post last night but was only able to read it now... it really does put you in a mental state that I can't describe well.  Thank you again... I know I've said it before but I just can't say enough of how well you have developed these characters, and I look excitedly forward to the next chapters 

[CDfm]

Well to begin with, I am so very thankful that we got to see some more of this awesome story.  Given all the problems with different sites and things I wasn’t sure if we would ever get to see more.

I am still loving the story.  At this point and hearing Ivy’s tale has me wondering a bit. I am not sure if they stuck Clark with her so she could try and convince him that being a little and being babied is a good thing. I definitely think there’s something going on with Janet disappearing.  I also believe there is more to that milk other than it being goats milk.  I don’t believe goats have anything to do with it. 
I am hopeful that we can get some more of this.  I will be watching for sure. 

[FloridaKid]

Wow. This has taken a turn I did not anticipate. I LOVE this story and I’m so happy you are posting more of it here. Thank you!

[Personalias]

On 12/5/2023 at 7:48 PM, Kat5 said:

MY FEELS!!!

You got me right in my feelings.

This was very VERY well written!

Thanks.  Chances are if it got you in the feels it got me too while writing it.  Thank you for your empathy.

 

 

17 hours ago, Samriis said:

I was very excited seeing this post last night but was only able to read it now... it really does put you in a mental state that I can't describe well.  Thank you again... I know I've said it before but I just can't say enough of how well you have developed these characters, and I look excitedly forward to the next chapters 

I apologize for lagging behind on the posting.  Mental health of managing my platform got me way behind on both creating new chapters and posting these older gems)

 

 

17 hours ago, CDfm said:

Well to begin with, I am so very thankful that we got to see some more of this awesome story.  Given all the problems with different sites and things I wasn’t sure if we would ever get to see more.

I am still loving the story.  At this point and hearing Ivy’s tale has me wondering a bit. I am not sure if they stuck Clark with her so she could try and convince him that being a little and being babied is a good thing. I definitely think there’s something going on with Janet disappearing.  I also believe there is more to that milk other than it being goats milk.  I don’t believe goats have anything to do with it. 
I am hopeful that we can get some more of this.  I will be watching for sure. 

To quote River Song from Doctor Who: "Spoilers".    Seriously though, I appreciate the way you're engaging with the material and how you're speculating.  

On the different site thing.  I have all (as of this post) 137 chapters of Unfair on my computer, not to mention pretty much every other story I've ever written.  It's just a matter of re-uploading them to the new platform.  That'll take time, but it'll happen.

[Moon3ye]

At the very beginning you wrote that we would all be surprised when we found out the truth about Ivy.

I always expected something else.

Somehow she would have slipped something into Clark's drink or something.

But this... I didn't expect that.

My absolute respect for that twist.

I take my hat off to you.

[Personalias]

On 12/8/2023 at 11:35 AM, Moon3ye said:

At the very beginning you wrote that we would all be surprised when we found out the truth about Ivy.

I always expected something else.

Somehow she would have slipped something into Clark's drink or something.

But this... I didn't expect that.

My absolute respect for that twist.

I take my hat off to you.

Heheh. Thank you very much!  I feel very accomplished.

[Personalias]

Chapter 108: Moonshine Memories and Mentor Meditations

“Careful son,” Herbert Braun said. “There’s moonshine in that lemonade. Have too much at once and you won’t need one of your coworkers to make you piss yourself.”

Casie scoffed. “Dad!” 

“Bert…” his wife warned him.  The old song and dance wasn’t old yet, and I was just stupid enough to try and challenge my father-in-law to a drinking game on what was supposed to be a casual weekend visit.

“What?” Bert said to his wife. “Blackout drunk is blackout drunk. You take too much moonshine too fast and you either vomit everything up or you pass out and you piss your pants. Or both.”

“That’s not what we’re talking about, Bert, and you know it.”  

The barest hint of a smile played underneath Bert’s mustache. The games had unofficially begun.

We were in the kitchen of the Braun’s heavily modified trailer, sitting at the table: Cassie, Bert, Irene, and me. Cassie’s sister, Michelle, was out and about; chasing boys, doing online college courses or both. Just us married and working folks.  

In front of us were paper plates and Little sized hot dog buns.  They cost more per unit that the Amazon sized hot dog meat which had to be chopped up and spread out in bite sized pieces to fit on the bun. To cover that up, they were drenched in so many toppings that you might not guess there was a hot dog underneath. 

Next to the plates were tall, clear, Tweener sized plastic cups that wouldn’t fit in the top rack of a Little-centric washing machine. They had logos for sports teams I didn’t care about, but oh the things you can find at a garage sale.  

I’d taken barely a sip when Bert worked in his little quip, and I set the glass back down.  So it was gonna be like that, eh?  Bert subtly nodded.  Yup. It was gonna be like that.

Bert Braun’s baseline parenting style was definitively old school. True and tender shows of emotion and affection were rare. Criticisms and competition were expected.  Cassie warned me as much when we’d reached the ‘Meet the Parents’ stage of our relationship.  My own dad was much the same way; same with my mother.

To their generation, and likely many more before, support and love didn’t need to be affirmed because it was assumed. One didn’t need to tell family members they loved them any more than they needed to remember that the sky was blue.  

It was known. A fact of life. A pledge that had to be renewed every day was less powerful than a once in a lifetime commitment.  When I brought that philosophy back up around Bert and Irene’s anniversary dinner one year, Bert’s exact words were, “Clark. Don’t get punched in the teeth.” 

A criticism though? A challenge? That was just a game. A way to test yourself and keep your wits sharp.  Life was a competition of sorts.  Might as well keep it going at home. 

“Bet,” I said.

I picked up the glass with both hands, glugged it down, and slammed it on the kitchen table.  

“Another!” A second later my face felt fuzzy, my stomach gurgled in protest, and the room was just spinny enough where I might need to concentrate in order to walk.  I wrinkled my nose and the gasoline aftertaste kicked in, sneaking up just behind the powdered lemonade.  “Maybe without the moonshine though…”

Irene chuckled and refilled my glass from a pitcher that hadn’t been spiked.  Bert smirked, downed about a third of his glass and put it down.  Not sipping gingerly, just not chugging it like an idiot.  Ever her father’s daughter, Cassie did the same and then some.

“URP!”

“URP!”

“URP!”

“Savages,” Irene said. “Complete savages.  I don’t know where I went wrong.’  She bit into her hashed up hotdog and took a sip of boozy lemonade.

“Maybe it’s genetic,” I offered, motioning between father and daughter.  “Maybe it’s parenting.”
 
The color was rising to Cassie’s cheeks, and she was looking at me with flirty bedroom eyes. The moonshine was hitting her, too.  We were so gonna fuck later… “How does that explain you?”

I scrunched up my face and overacted like a teenager in a made for T.V. movie.  “From you! I learned it from watching you!” Talking circles around Cassie was easy when she was tipsy. It was even easier when I was tipsy because I didn’t over analyze every little thing.  Between Cassie, Bert, and Irene, if I could out talk them while drunk, I could definitely talk around your typical everyday Amazon while sober.

This wasn’t self medicating, it was weight training for my mind.

I buried my hands in my face to keep up the fake crying and felt the tipsy topsy turvy-ness of the world more acutely with my eyes closed. That was a mistake! I cut the act and attacked the hotdog, hoping the sensory input and fuller stomach would accomplish something.  

Okay…yeah…I was feeling the moonshine too.  Mistakes had been made.

If Bert was feeling the effects of it, he wasn’t showing it. “First week of work stressing you out that much?” Bert asked me. He fingered toward my glass.  “You don’t normally drink like that when the sun is up.”

Cassie defended me.  “You do, Dad.”

“Yeah, well that’s me,” Bert said. “What’s his excuse?”

I chewed and swallowed about half of my hotdog mush and wiped my mouth. “No excuse, Bert,” I said. “Just enjoying getting to act like an actual adult.  This was week three by the way. One for setup, two with the kids.”

Bert arched an eyebrow, which in my experience had been the closest I’d seen to him showing concern.  “Actual…adult?”

I took a few gulps of lemonade. My blood alcohol level had already skyrocketed past the point where my body was telling me to shove everything into my mouth and I was focusing on my father-in-law to stop that from happening.  

“Yeah, you know.  Right?” I looked over at Cassie.  Fuck I was already running out of gas. “Right?”

“He’s the only Little at his school,” Cassie explained.

I snapped my fingers. “Yeah! That’s what I mean. So…yeah…that.”  

Bert was unimpressed. “Hm.”

I closed my eyes, inhaled and put on my best professional teacher face. “Okay, okay, okay. Hear me out,” I said. “You know how when you do a job, I talk one way to Littles, one way to Tweeners, and one way to Amazons?  Different levels of..of…being on guard?”

Bert lowered his eyebrow back down. “Yeah,” he said.

“Most of my co-workers are Amazons,” I said. 

My father-in-law nodded upward. “Ah. So as far as coworkers go, you’re heavy on the ‘work’ but not so much on the ‘co’.”

“Pretty much,” I took another bite of hotdog. “They’re not mean or openly trying to Adopt me. They’re just…Amazons.”  Correction, the receptionist at school was definitely taking an unhealthy interest in me.  If she wasn’t actively gunning to Adopt me, she was watching me like a hawk and waiting for me to fail.  Same for the Vice-Principal.  

Best not tell the family that, lest they frown on me working at Oakshire Elementary.

“Do you have lots of interactions with Amazons, Clark?” Cassie’s mom asked. She was curious but suspicious. I heard that tone from Cassie often enough to recognize where she got it from.

I felt a kind of dip in my perception. The room spun a little bit faster and then slowed. I already felt like I was starting to come down and sober up.  Nope! Never mind. I was approaching sensory overload.

Fuck it. I took a bunch of lemonade and gulped it down.  “Not really,” I said. “I tend to…tenta…tenta.” Damn it. “I. Tend. To. Keep. To. Myself.” If I were more sober I’d be embarrassed at how hard it is to enunciate.  Another deep breath and I spat out the next line like it was rehearsed from a play. “I’ve got a teacher’s aide, but other than that and faculty meetings, it’s just me and the kids.”

The center of the table had more cutlets. I reached out to load them up on another bun when Cassie practically smacked me in the face with her words.  “That and your mentor.”  Ooof. Phrasing!

“Mentor?” Irene said. “I thought you had a degree already.”

I recovered and started piling on onions, sweet relish, shredded cheese, ketchup, mustard, and mayo. Oh gosh I was gonna regret this later, but it looked so delicious in the moment. “Not that kind of mentor,” I told them. “She’s more like the person I’m supposed to go to when I have a procedural question. What paperwork to file where and when. That kind of thing.”  I took a bite and swallowed.  The ratio to booze and bites in my bloodstream was starting to level out.

“She’s the Little’s teacher.”  Cassie said. She took a massive gulp of lemonade.

Well…fuck.

My in-laws didn’t reply.  Irene’s eyebrows were skyrocketing towards the ceiling and Bert’s were knitting together into a unibrow.  Verbal sparring and outmaneuvering Amazons was easy. Cassie had just upped the difficulty with hard mode.

“Yeah,” I admitted, and shrugged like it was no big deal.  “She teaches the Maturosis and…and…” I snapped my fingers rapidly like I was trying to recall a bit of trivia.  “Maturosis and Developmental Plateau Unit.”

“The hell does that mean?”  Bert asked. His brows had yet to unknit.

“It means she breaks Littles,” Cassie finished her drink.
She got me that scooter. She let me go to the job interview. She helped us buy the house in a mostly Amazon neighborhood. Right now she was saying stuff that might start a fight between me and her family.  Sometimes I didn’t understand my wife.

Time to retake the narrative.

“It’s a relatively new fad,” I explained. “Basically, there are Amazons who are pretending that Littles have a disease.  They’re trying to justify the whole ‘adoption’ thing with some psychological, neurological, genetic mumbo jumbo.”

“Not just trying to call us immature before they take us.”  It did not sound good coming from Bert.  “We’re now defective on top of it.”

I didn’t want to defend Maturosis.  It was bullshit pseudo-science at best and a cult at worst.  I just didn’t want my family to worry about me. “Look,” I said. “Beouf is crazy. She’s an Amazon. She’s a nutter. Her world view is skewed.  But she’s not directly malicious.”

“Is she indirectly malicious?” Irene asked.  

Nobody but me was eating anymore.  I put down my second dog and let out an exasperated sigh.  It was bad enough that I was on my toes the moment I got on campus.  I didn’t want my inlaws trying to constantly shame me for taking a risky career path. We couldn’t all be artists and handymen. Shit like this was exactly the reason I was drinking.

“I don’t think she’s actually a teacher,” I admitted. “But she knows a lot of legitimate educational theory and practices.  Stuff I just got done learning about in college. Looking at her lesson plans and room set up, the worst thing she does is she treats her prisoners like actual children.”

“That’s better?” Irene asked.

“According to guidance records and I.E.P’s, she’s got a two to three year rollover period before dismissal.”

Bert was now squinting his eyes.  The man had no face from the nose up. “Meaning…?”

“Meaning she’s mindfucking them but isn’t doing hypnosis and drugs and shit. It doesn’t take three years for hypnosis to plunge somebody past the point of no return.”  The significance wasn’t landing with them.  

“And…?”

“It means she’s a true believer.” I paused for effect. “She literally believes the poor sons of bitches in diapers are babies. But she also believes that Littles who haven’t been caught yet aren’t.”
They didn’t seem impressed.

  
Arguing was literally sobering me up. Adrenaline was the greatest drug of all sometimes. 

 “I’ve been putting out feelers for like…close to a month, now,” I said.  “No offers of food or drink. No wanting to get me to watch anything. She’s avoided the subject of bathrooms entirely so far.  No asking if I’m tired or needing a nap. No baby talk. No trying to hold me or carry me.”  Her assistant, this Yamatoan woman old enough to be my mother, had offered…but I wasn’t going to mention that.  “Calls me Mr. Gibson.  She literally helped me set up my classroom by moving heavy shit and reaching and then asked me to return the favor.”

Cassie blinked. I hadn’t told her this part.  That and/or she was getting more drunk.  “What kind of favor?”

“Nothing big,” I said. “Unstacking and moving tiny chairs. Unpacking bins from cabinets. She’s almost forty. She’s tall.  She doesn’t want to bend over as much.  It’s not like she’s asking me to climb up on her changing table or anything.”  

Wrong move, Clark. Wrong move.  Your family is worried about you and you just admitted that your co-worker has a changing table in her classroom. Maybe I wasn’t as sober as I thought I was. 

They weren’t coming at this from the same outlook as I was. Amazons were crazy, but they were also bad faith actors and self-serving. This was true; just not as true as they thought.

 “Oh yeah,” I said, remembering, “She donated some old toys for my students to play with. Would an Amazon purposefully give something meant to sabotage LIttles so that they were in the hands of actual children?”

Bert’s jaw worked and wiggled for a second.  “I don’t suppose she would.  Awful nice of her though.  Just donating toys and supplies like that.” 

“It’s kind of an unwritten rule in schools. Teachers try to look out for each other.” 

Irene reached out and grabbed a second helping.  “You teach three year olds and have to supply their toys?”  Bert glanced at her. “What? Three olds need playtime. I don’t care how humongous they are.”

Yes! Irene was getting it! People could be shit, but children were still children! 

“Anything that isn’t a chair, a desk, printer paper, or a mandated textbook of some kind is out of pocket, unfortunately,” I said. “Beouf says she’s gonna help me write a mini-grant so I can get some better materials for free.  Puzzles, games, educational toys.”

“Maybe we can go to a few garage sales,” Irene offered. “Get some toys that neighbor kids have outgrown.”

“Hell yeah!” I almost slurred. “Not that I’m a daycare. But like you said, they’re three.  All work and no play.”

“This Buff,” Bert slugged back the rest of his cocktail.  I didn’t know if he mispronounced her name on purpose or not. “Did she let you pick the toys yourself, or did she pick them out?” 

Trap incoming!  “I’m not sure if I like where this is going,” I said. “If I say ‘yes’ you can talk about how she’s eyeballing me and trying to create a justification or something.  If I say ‘no’ you can make the claim that she’s only giving my class the toys she knows are safe.”

The women folk stared at the patriarch.  “He’s got a point, honey.”

“Okay,” I said, placing my palms on the table.  “Let me lay it all out: Would this lady rescue me if your average typical Amazon put me in a diaper? Probably not.  But is she gonna be the one that diapers me? I don’t think so.”

I started putting out all the different calculations I’d made so far.  “She’s got a daughter in highschool she talks about, so there’s no empty nest syndrome going on yet, and her job is to literally play teacher with eight or nine Littles who already got caught. I think that particular itch is thoroughly scratched. And other than the introduction, she doesn’t tend to talk about her whack theories. She bitches about administration. She complains how she needs a drink at the end of the day.  She talks about union stuff.  She…”  I almost brought up how she saved me my first day on the job by invoking the union card.

“She what?” Cassie asked.  I don’t know if everyone was swaying, or whether it was just me.

“She curses sometimes and doesn’t act offended if I curse.”  I saw Bert’s eyes again. Amazons hated using ‘naughty words’ around people they supposedly thought were babies.  

“I’m not saying I’m friends with her,” I hammered on. “I’m not saying that I’m gonna be hanging out with her every day before or after school or that we’re going to be helping each other more than ‘hey can I borrow some supplies’ or whatever.  I’m saying that this lady is both bugnuts baby crazy and extremely sincere at the same time. I’m probably safer around her than any of the other giants.”

Bert’s face softened.  Not a lot, but I knew him well enough to tell I’d scored some points.  “Alright,” he said. He got up and fetched the pitcher of moonshine and lemonade. 

“You’re welcome,” Cassie whispered to me, nuzzling me.  She was feeling it too.

“For what?” I hissed back.

“Getting the fight over with.”

She…okay she had a point. I wouldn’t have brought any of this up if not for her.  I kissed her on the lips. One  kiss became two. Then three. Then four. Our tongues started exploring.

“Ahem,” Bert said.  He’d had just as much to drink as us but still seemed completely sober. 

We stopped and remembered where we were. “Glad you feel you’ve got a good handle on your work situation,” Irene said, smoothing things out.

“Just don’t drink any coffee she tries to give you.” Bert filled up his class and topped off mine.  “Can’t have you getting tossed in a crib before I become a Pop-Pop.”

“Bert!”

“Dad!”

Bert grinned, full out grinned. It was kind of terrifying. Old man loved pushing buttons almost as much as his son-in-law.  “What? I just want the boy to be careful.  Play with fire and get burned and all that.”

Cassie kept her hand on my shoulder. “Clark’s very good at reading Amazons. He knows how to be very charming when he has to be.”

“Thank you, hon….I think.”  That got a good natured chuckle from the table.

“Enough about co-workers,” my mother-in-law chimed in. “What about the kids?”

“What do you teach a three year old anyway?”

“Three and four, actually,” I said. “And I’m working on a lot of things with them.”  I sipped the lemonade and winced the awful aftertaste again. Yup. This was the moonshine. “Right now it’s mostly how not to be toddlers.”

“Whaddya mean…?” Bert glugged back more moonshine and shook his head like he’d just been slapped. Finally he was relaxing enough to look drunk.  

“Most of my kids are first and only children,” I started.

“Amazons only send their oldest to school?” Bert interrupted.

“They’re three, Bert.”  Irene said. “If they have younger siblings they’re too young.” She looked at me. “Continue,”

I nodded gratefully to my mother-in-law. “So I’m working on turn taking, sharing, conflict resolution, that kind of stuff. How to work and play with other people besides pushing and screaming.”

“I’ve met a couple people who still need to learn how to do that,” Bert chuckled.

“There’s a reason I only work online,” Cassie agreed.

Irene raised her giant cup and clinked it across the table with Cassie. “Here here”

Fuck it.  Worst of it was over. I took another gulp.  “Yeah, I’m also doing letters, numbers, shapes, colors, all that stuff,” I said. “But doing the other stufffirst.”  Yeah, no. I was well and truly drunk and wasn’t going to recover until I slept it off.  Too bad it was only one in the afternoon.

“Can’t learn if you can’t act right,” Bert agreed.

“Yeah.  That an’ potty trainin’.”  I shook. “God I gotta do a looooootta potty training this year.”

“Hm?” Bert melted forward.  Oh gosh I might actually drink him under the table. “Why?”

“None of my kids are potty trained!” I half shouted on accident. “None!”

“All in Pull-Ups?”

I laughed.  “Ha! Workin’ on it. Got two of them in Pull-Ups.”

Irene’s jaw dropped. “What about the rest? Diapers? At three?”

I nodded with the dumbest, smuggest look on my face. “Some of them are four. Their parents have barely tried or have given up.”

“How do you even change them?” Irene said. She was by far the most sober and her eyes were crossing, imagining the physics involved with me trying to clean up a three year old that outweighed me.  

“That’s the best part,” I said. “I don’t. Little hands can’t even rip at the tapes. So I make my assistant do it! She’s already getting sick of it and calling parents with me to get them to switch.  The ones in Pull-Ups I make change themselves.”

Bert was still visibly puzzling things out.  “Do the kids have special needs? Medical needs? Something with their musculature?”  

Wow. Bert giving Amazons the benefit of the doubt. He really was drunk.  “Some of them are um…whatchamacallit…developmentally delayed.  Fine motor problems, speech and language delays, late bloomers and such, but as far as I can tell there’s no reason why they should be standing up in the middle of circle time so they can squat back down and take a dump.”

“Typical Amazon parenting, sounds like.”  Bert said. “Like they’re compensating for something.”

“Amen.’ It was Bert and I’s turn to clink thick plastic glasses.

“What do you think about the Littles in Beouf’s room?” Casie asked. 

“Honestly?” I said, starting to feel the slightest bit woozy again.  “I don’t.”  That was met with somber and respectful nods all around.  Probably for the best.

There wasn’t much point in fretting over Littles that had been captured and put back inside padded pants.  It was like mourning the dead. You did it when you could emotionally afford to, but then you moved on and tried to live your life.

The world wasn’t fair, but we all played the game and took our chances every time we walked out the door or talked to someone taller than us.  All those poor bastards in Beouf’s class had played the game and slipped up at some point along the way.  They’d been too friendly or too distant or too trusting or too cute or too beautiful or too handsome or too sickly or too independent.  It was bullshit, yeah, and sometimes it was just dumb luck of wrong place wrong time, but every Little past five knew about the dangers of the world on some level.

Every Little, it turns out, except for Ivy Zoge.

*************************************************************************************************
The Sunday after Ivy told me her entire life story I wouldn’t leave my room.  I sat on the carpet with my back up against the crib leg, clutching Lion like he needed the comfort instead of me. The words didn’t vibrate in my throat but I kept mouthing “The fuck?” again and again to him.  Lion knew what I meant.  He didn’t have any answers though.

My onesie was periwinkle blue and very comfortable, my diaper was soaked, and I didn’t care. Not griping about my outfit was a form of self-flagellation. Janet had been treating me with super kid gloves since we’d come back.  Ice cream for dessert, and a shower with Janet hadn’t made me feel any better. We weren’t cold to another, but there was weight between us yet unvoiced.  I fell asleep that night without struggle, craving the oblivion of unconsciousness.

 It was probably for the best.  If I’d talked more I’d probably have said something I’d regret that would only hamper me in the long run.  Such tactics would be unwise.

Tactics?  Why the fuck did I care about tactics?  I was dead. I had died. I had lost.  Clark Gibson was a memory and a myth.  Legally I was dead and reborn. I was a ghost lingering with the idea that I might yet raise myself from a lavender scented afterlife.

Regrets? Of course! Bad mistakes? More than a few!  But I’d gotten to make them! I’d gotten to grow! I’d gotten to live!  My life was in stuffed animal shambles, but it had been MINE!  I’d taken my chances and made out better than a lot of folks my size; or at least a lot longer!

Poor Ivy never even got that chance. She never got to play the game.  When she was kissing and crushing on me and asking me those bizarre questions, she hadn’t been trying to recapture something that had been taken from her.  She’d been longing for experiences that no one had ever offered her.

Gaslit and betrayed by her own flesh and blood parents. The girl was older than me but never got to grow up.  Not even close.  She would have only been a bit older than my students when her parents got a doctor’s note allowing them to shove her back into diapers and put her back in daycare.  It’d be like me deciding it would be too much effort to teach my students and somehow finding a way to shove them into Beouf’s room.

Why? For what reason?  Because of some genetic anomaly? Because she was done growing? Because she was socially awkward and nervous at school…for a five year old?    

Who the fuck did that to their own kid?! Who gave up on their own family that goddamn fast?! Who would deprive a literal child of decades of development and life experience because they were born short?!  

“Typical!” I mouthed to Lion.

No!   

That was worse than typical!  

What had been done to Ivy was downright Yamatoan. That was the only word for it.

Yamatoans were the most Amazon of Amazons and how Ivy had been raised really showed how they saw the rest of the world: Judging people by one metric and only one metric.  A stupid one that couldn’t be controlled, no less.

“How?” I mouthed.  “Just how?! The fuck?!”  Lion had no wisdom in his black beady eyes and no friendly comfort in his stitched up smile.  Stupid plush never did.

I’d hated Ivy. I’d resented her. I’d manipulated her. I’d ostracized her. I’d detested and caused her harm. Just like an Amazon, I had been willfully cruel to her for things completely beyond her control that caused harm to no one.   The fact that I hadn’t known her exact circumstances didn’t make me feel any better. 

 I’d done all of it specifically to make myself feel superior to her in one way or another.  I’d craved that moral high ground; that toxic false integrity that I was so willfully resisting compared to her.  I’d made it longer than her without getting caught and I’d keep my sense of self longer too. I’d escape, goddamn it!

Thing is that I’d beaten Ivy’s freedom record by my second day of Kindergarten. The second Janet took me home with her I’d beaten Ivy’s resistance streak.  If she somehow escaped, she’d be pulling off an even more miraculous feat than anything described on the wildest reaches of MistuhGwiffin: Escape to an adulthood that she’d never had.

Never had a choice. Never had a chance.  Never knew the options. Didn’t fuckin’ have them.
And I was just another in a long list of loser Littles who soothed their ego by ostracizing her as teacher’s pet.

How very typical of me.

Selfishly, my ego tried to preserve itself by harping in the back of my head that Ivy wasn’t technically a Little. Her freakish strength and the strange intuitive ways her brain worked like with the puzzles were leftovers from her Amazonian heritage that leaked past her accidentally inherited stature.  

Did that really not make her a Little, though?  Was she not ‘one of us’ just because neither of her parents weren’t Littles?  The tiny voice that was my conscience told me I was making excuses for myself.  People had been cruel to her and disguised it as kindness, same as with me and for a lot longer.  It was a miracle she was only as mindfucked as she was and could still walk and talk- in two languages no less!  A small mercy from Beouf’s kinder gentler brand of conditioning that nudged one over a line instead of shoved you off a cliff.

“Fuck.”

Janet poked her head through the open door.  “Hey, bud.”

I averted my gaze and stared into Lion’s.  “Hey.”

“You doing okay?”

No. Not at all. Not even close.  “Oh….y’know.”

She stepped in.  “Yeah. I figured.  She crossed the room, bent over, and slipped her fingers past my leakguards.  “Want me to change you?”

“I don’t care.”  I gave Lion a bone shattering squeeze. “I really don’t care.  I don’t.”  

She stepped back and gave me my space. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“I heard what Ivy said on the baby monitor.’

“I know.”

“I understand why you got upset. It’s okay that you’re upset.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Mrs. Zoge said she understands too.”

“Good, I guess.” That one came out with more fire.

“She’s not gonna be mad at you tomorrow…” 

I looked up at her and bored right into her eyes.  That wasn’t the consolation Janet thought it was.

Janet bit her lip nervously. “Can I say why I think you‘re upset?”   

I gave the barest shrug.

“Do you wanna vent? Yell about Mrs. Zoge? Talk about Ivy?” Janet tried to smile.  “Just cry? I can listen.”

“No. I’m good.”

“Do you want advice?”

“No.”  I practically said ‘Fuck off’ with how I said it.

Janet nodded and kept chewing a hole through her lip.  “Mrs. Beouf is coming over in a few minutes.  Do you want to talk to her?”

That got my attention.  “What?!”  

Not again!  I have one bad reaction (okay very bad reaction) to new levels of Amazon crazy and now my behavior is something to be modified again?  My skin sizzled and I started shaking.  I drew my knees up to my chest and put Lion between my face and Janet’s. 

 Panic! I was on the verge of a panic attack!

“I’m sorry!” I lied. “I didn’t mean..!  I just…!” 

“It’s not what you think.” Janet’s voice was measured like a hostage negotiator’s.  “You didn’t do anything wrong.  You didn’t say anything wrong.  Mrs. Beouf just wanted to come by and I said yes.”

I suppressed a scream and fear swang rapidly into frustration. “I thought we were done with this bullshit of talking behind my back and making decisions about me without me there!”  I tried to sound angry, but so much of the fight had left me and refused to come back.  I was really about to collapse into a pile and hide my face in the carpet. “Why are you doing this to me?!”

“I’m not doing anything.” Janet said, choosing each word carefully, stepping around land mines with every syllable.  “Nothing is even being suggested.  Mrs. Beouf is just coming to visit.”

“Are you mad that you didn’t get to baby me since I was five?” I half-shrieked half-rasped. “Jealous? Jealous that I know better?!”

Janet looked like she’d been slapped. She was visibly wrestling with the idea of slapping me back and bending down to give me a hug.  I could see it in her eyes, mouth, and hands.  “You’re trying to hurt my feelings so you can distract me and feel like you’re in control.”

“You’re goddamn right I am!”

We stood there and stared at each other a little while until my breathing slowed down.  It took a good five minutes.  “No one is talking about you behind your back, love.”

“Then why is she coming?” I screeched, my voice breaking again. “Why is Beouf coming?”

“She texted me just before I came to check in on you,” Janet said slowly. “She asked how you were doing, and I said you were having a rough day.  I didn’t say why.  Then she asked if she could come over and I said yes.”

I hugged my knees as tightly to me as I could. My diaper was so swollen that I was still  having trouble making my thighs touch.“Why is she checking up on me?”

“Because she’s your friend. No other reason.”

“Did Zoge tell her?”

“Probably.  That’s not important, but probably.’

I tried to clench even tighter.  “I don’t want her to come. I don’t want her to check up on me.”  I grit my teeth and gnashed at my tongue.  “I just want to be alone for a while.”

“That’s fine,” Janet said. “You have that choice. She’s my friend, too, though. So if you don’t want to talk to her we’ll just hang out in the living room and visit with each other.”  She half bent over and stopped herself from giving me a kiss.  “I’ll give you some more privacy. I’ll tell you when she’s here. Call me if you want anything or just come and find me.”

“Fine,” I mumbled. When she was almost out the door I called out. “Janet!”

She stopped and looked at me. “Hm?”

“Beouf is coming over?”

“Yes, baby.”

“Please change me.”

“Sure.”
**************************************************************************************
The doorbell rang twenty minutes later. Thank goodness I was still dry. Thinking about it would just lead me to overanalyze and then agonize as my bladder slowly refilled, which might inevitably lead me to drop my internal coffee cup. 

Instead I focused on the approaching footsteps. “Clark?”  Janet poked her head in again. I’d resumed my post against the crib. “Mrs. Beouf is here, sweetie.  Would you like to talk to her?”

I gave a last look to Lion and then gently placed him aside so Melony wouldn’t see me cuddling him.  “Yes, please.”

Janet withdrew and in her place came my batshit best friend who just so happened to wipe my bottom from time to time.  “Hey.”

“Hey,” I returned the greeting.

She stepped in and Janet popped her head back in from the hallway. She was a spectator in the operating theater.

“Wanna talk?” she asked gently.

“Nnnn…” My tongue froze.  “Only if you do.”  I looked past her and towards Janet: Hopeful. Curious. Slightly jealous that I was opening up to someone else.

My mentor didn’t even need to see where we were looking. “Want some privacy?”

Mercifully, Janet took the hint.  “I’ll close the door. Let you guys talk. Come find me or call for me,” she pointed to the baby monitor.  She closed the door and her footsteps faded.

I allowed myself a questioning glance at the stupid box by my crib. How were we supposed to have privacy if she was going to be close enough to hear us on a monitor?  That could wait for later.

“Where can I sit?” Beouf asked, looking around.  “Toybox? Lean against the wall? That rocking horse in the corner?”

I gave her a half-hearted shrug.  “Wherever you feel comfortable, I guess.’  At least she was asking permission.

“Mind if I sit next to you?”

I looked to my side and imagined her sitting there, just chilling.  

Yeah. 

Okay.

 “Knock yourself out.”

She let out a groan and lowered herself down to my level, leaning her head back against the crib bars.  “Ow!” she said. “That was a mistake. You should get  a rocking chair or something.”

“Janet doesn’t spend a lot of time in here.”

I wasn’t looking directly at her, but I could almost picture Beouf wanting to ask questions or try to convince me of something. Bedtime stories. Before bed bottles in Janet’s lap. Or I should call her ‘Mommy’.  Wisely, she opted for “Sorry, I don’t have any coffee with me.”

“It’s no big deal,” I monotoned. “I didn’t have time to brew any either.  No biggie.’

My old friend laughed a little at that. “Touche.” A beat, and then she clicked her tongue. The band-aid was about to get ripped off. “So,” she said. “You know about Ivy.”

My nostrils flared.  Just thinking about it made me heat up again.  “Yup.” 

“Including the part where I mispronounced her name so many times that she wanted to change it to Ivy?” The smile in her voice was rueful, but still a smile.

“She said it was only once, but yeah.’

“Any questions?” Beouf asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “What the fuck?”

She let out a “Heh,” and stopped herself from full out laughing. We weren’t at school but I was still a ‘kiddo’ to her now. Children cursing was funny to adults but they didn’t want to encourage it.  “You’re gonna have to be more specific, sir.”

“How could her mother do that to her?” I asked. “Ivy didn’t even have a chance! It’s not fair!”

“No,” Beouf agreed. “No it isn’t. Life isn’t fair. Maturosis isn’t fair.”

Full agreement. We’d be disagreeing on the exact definitions and particulars of that sentence, but I completely agreed with her. “I don’t get it.  I just don’t get it.”

“Ivy was about twenty-one or twenty-two when the Zoge’s moved here and Mrs. Zoge took up the assistant position to get her in,” Beouf said.  “I don’t know if she really had early onset Maturosis or they just kept her as a toddler until it kicked in post puberty like most Littles, but she had more or less reached her Developmental Plateau by then.”

I tugged at the bottom of my eyelids so that the sensitive pink parts stung against the open air.  “Melony, please. Stop.  I really don’t have the energy to listen to your beliefs right now.”

“Okay,” she replied quickly enough. “How about I tell you about Mrs. Zoge’s beliefs?”

I looked to Lion and then back to Beouf.  “Huh?”

“Just follow my train of thought,” Beouf took a deep breath.  “Pretend for a second that Maturosis isn’t real.”

“Done,” I said a bit too quickly for her comfort.

Nevertheless she continued.  “Does that change how the Yamatoans treat Littles?”

“Of course not,” I scoffed. “Yamatoans have been doing what they do forever.”  I had the courtesy and strength of character not to emphasize that Maturosis had only been made up for less than two decades.  I knew my mouth wouldn’t be able to pronounce ‘identified’ or ‘diagnosed’ sans the sarcasm.

Beouf was bobbing her head along. “Yeah, it’s practically their religion. All Littles must be taken care of, Maturosis diagnosis or not.  Mandates from Heaven and all that.”

“Yeah, Ivy included that,” I told her. “A lot.”

“Now,” Beouf said. “Close your eyes and keep imagining.”

“What? No!”  The idea that I needed to close my eyes to imagine something was just condescending enough to irritate.

“Just do it, Clark.”

“I can visualize just fine with my eyes open, thank you.”

“Fine,” Beouf said. “Whatever. Pretend you’re not a Little. Pretend you know nothing about Littles.”  I almost made a crack of saying that I was basically any Amazon ever.  Beouf could read me like a book and gently elbowed me. “No backsass this time, mister.”

“I didn’t…” I muttered and settled for mouthing “yet.”

“Now pretend you’re born in Yamatoa.”

“Where the only time I’d see Littles is if they were in diapers,” I droned on. “I get it.”

Melony and I looked at each other. “Do you?  Did you have any Amazon friends growing up? What did your parents teach you about people taller than you?”  She’d probably heard enough from the Littles in her class over the years.

My upper lip curled. “You’re not ‘both sides’-ing this thing.”

“No,” she said. “I’m not. I’m saying people’s upbringing can really mess them up if it’s the wrong one.  Ivy and her parents and her grandparents and on and on all grew up on this island with next to no contact with the rest of the world. They’d never dreamed of a Little being able to function as an adult, even temporarily.”  A beat. “What would you have been like if we had never worked together?”

Free. Married. Working. Untraumatized.  I swatted those intrusive thoughts away. Those did me no good.

“What would you have been like if you’d never met me?” I threw the question back at her.

Mel answered without hesitation. “Unlucky,” she said. “Poorer in spirit. A few less gray hairs to dye, but less happy and not knowing it.”

I fell sideways and let my head hit her lap..  “Yeah,” I said. “I get it. Zoge didn’t know any better.  We’ve been over this. When she pulled back my pants last year, remember?” 

“I remember,” Beouf said, patting me on the shoulder. “Did you know about the Heaven stuff? Those beliefs?  She was practically committing blasphemy when she apologized to you the way she did.” 

“Yeah, I pieced that out pretty quick.”  My hand went up in the air and I flapped my fingers and thumb together like a sock puppet.  “And other than that one time, and the time she offered to carry me she was very civil to me and restrained. Yada-yada-yada.”

“You’re still holding onto that grudge? From ten years ago?”

“Yup.” 

The conversation started to be steered a different way. “Was Ivy clear why they moved when she told you?”

“Yeah,” I said. I continued flapping my hand like the most uninspired and out of sync Muffet. “New law. Mandatory cartoons. The bad kind.”

“Mmmhmm.’  Beouf brushed some of my own hair out of my eyes that had drooped over. “But if Maturosis doesn’t exist and she just wanted to make Ivy stay a baby anyways, why not just make her watch the cartoons?  Why didn’t she start Ivy watching them right out of Kindergarten?”

I huffed and pushed myself back up to my sitting position. “Because she really thought Ivy was a baby.” 

“And…?” Beouf prodded me. “What else? You’re smart, big boy.”

“And real babies don’t need hypnotic conditioning to make them act like babies. They just do it naturally.”  I climbed to my bare feet and dug my toes in the carpet out of anxiety.  “So Zoge did the brave thing and ventured out into the wide scary world and got everything she ever wanted.”

Beouf remained seated beside me.“Come on, Clark,” she said, sounding sad. 

“What?” I asked. “You said it yourself. It’s very likely Ivy didn’t have early onset Maturosis.  Even by your standards she was probably neglected or abused for years. Abuse coming from a sincerely and deeply held belief is still abuse, Mel”  I gripped onto the crib bars to stop myself from pacing.  “If what Zoge did her daughter is okay, why not just do it to all Littles? Catch us wherever you find us, dress us up like this, and wait for Maturosis to kick in?  Why not if it’s gonna probably happen anyway?”

“That still happens,” she admitted. “Happens less than it used to since doctors started identifying and diagnosing Matur-”

“Good for you and your conscience,” I interrupted her.

“Oooooooooof,” Melony exhaled. “You are hurtin’ extra hard about this today.”

“Yeah,” I said a little louder than we’d been talking. “I am.”

“Why?  Why does Ivy bother you so much?  We’ve got other kids in class who’ve lost a lot, too.”

“Because she never had anything. She never got what I did. Or what Billy or Annie or anybody else at school did.  She never got a life outside of…of…” I waved my arm indicating the nursery. “This!”

My friend copied my gesture, “And you think all of…this…invalidates everything that came before it. And ‘cause Ivy never got some version of the Independent Adult Little lifestyle that makes it worse; puts her in the negatives instead of just canceling it out.”

“Kinda,” I admitted. “Pretty much.”

Beouf tapped her chin in thought for a second and slid her glasses back up her nose. “Question: Keep pretending Maturosis isn’t real.”

Not pretending.  “Uh-huh.”

“What would have happened to Ivy if Mrs. Zoge had just decided to stay in Yamatoa?”

I answered immediately. “Doll. Full doll. Anywhere from being rewritten as a person so that the real Ivy functionally never existed, or full brain death so she’s a drooling blob, or having so many triggers that she loses her free will, or she’s trapped in her own body. Basically what New Beginnings does that nobody wants to admit to.”

“Mmmmmmhmmm…”

“Basically the same thing that would’ve happened to me,” I heard myself say. “If…if…”

Janet’s words that day screamed back into my conscious thought with a new weight: “Yes!  I’ll Adopt him.  He’s mine. I want him.  He’s mine!  Please!”

“If she hadn’t…” I was starting to shake again.

“Can I give you a hug?” Beouf asked.

“Yes please.”  

An Amazonian dragged me into her lap and she squeezed me like I was her Lion, except it didn’t hurt. “Feel better?”

“Not really,” I said. “It’s still not fair.  Ivy shouldn’t have ended up like this.”

“Ended up?” I heard Beouf laugh. “Her life isn’t over buddy.  And neither is yours.”  She ruffled my hair and turned me around so that I was sitting in her lap and facing the same direction as her.  “It’s just different from what any of us expected it to be.  Y’all aren’t dead.”

The grim pallor of my mood wasn’t ready to part ways with me.  Being happy, or at least forgiving felt like losing.  Even giving an ‘it’s complicated’ pass felt like less than a draw.  “How do you figure?”

“Because a very smart Little boy that I’m friends with reminded me that my students are not the same thing as their diagnoses.”  Her voice shot up nearly an octave. The top of my head was under her chin and I could still hear the sappy near condescending smile.  Was she cosetting me or teasing me?  Maybe both?

I wriggled out of her grasp and scrambled back to my feet.  She wasn’t trying to restrain me so I managed it.  “It still sucks for her,” I said.  “Do you have any idea how often people mess with her?”

Beouf crossed her arms and shot me a teacher glare that made the bare handful of hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight.  “Really? Really, Clark? Do I?”

My cheeks flushed with shame. “Point taken,” I said. “But even if I stopped, it was happening before me.”

Beouf stood up and smoothed out her clothes. “Good thing you two get to stay together.”

My mouth went dry.  Was this a trap?  “Huh?”

“Ivy’s had some friends over the years, but they always graduate. Now that you know more, maybe you can be her friend.”

“How is that gonna stop literally everybody else in class?” I asked.

Beouf smiled softly down at me.  “Only child?”

“Both times,” I joked.

She didn’t laugh, but neither did she scowl or scoff.  “I don’t wanna assign labels or imply relationships that aren’t there, bud, but Mommies and Daddies aren’t the only ones who protect their Little ones.”  

“Hm?”

“Family is family,” Melony told me. “Doesn’t matter where your plateau is.  Doesn’t matter who’s functionally the older sibling and who’s the younger one. Someone comes for my sister, I’m stepping up.”

“Ivy is nowhere near my sister,” I said.

“Yeah, but it sounds more powerful talking about family.”

“You could have just said something about right is right and wrong is wrong,” I grumbled.

She scooped me up and placed me on her hip.  “Yeah, but then you wouldn’t get to say it.” She laughed at her own joke while I pouted.  “Good talk?”

“Good talk,” I said.  “Ready to go see my Mommy?”

Beouf pointed to the baby monitor.  “I think she’s on her way, bubba. Talk’s over.”  The light was blinking again. “Do you wanna tell her what we talked about or not?”

“What do you mean?” I thumbed over towards the monitor. “She’s probably been listening the whole time.”  Frankly, I was just glad she wasn’t staring at us or adding in extra comments during awkward silences.

“Nope,” Mel said.  “You just turned it on.”

“Turned? It? On?” I  suddenly felt like I was being interrogated after downing a tall glass of high proof moonshine with just enough lemonade to mask most of the taste.

The door squeaked open and Janet came in.  “Hey guys. Did you have a good talk?’  She reached over and took me from Beouf.

“Janet Grange!” Beouf said, like she was scolding a puppy dog.  “Did you read the baby monitor instructions at all before you set it up?”

Janet looked just as confused as I.  “What?  What are you talking about? Is it broken? Did it get switched again?”

Beouf snatched it up and pressed a button on top.  The light stopped blinking.  “This is a King Fisher, Janet!  It’s language activated to give the kid some privacy and to encourage them to call for their Mommy or Daddy when they need something!”

The light started blinking again and Beouf pressed the button to turn it off.

“This is both a great safety tool, and a great educational tool,” Skinner had promised.

“Yeah,” Janet said, sounding baffled that this was even being discussed. “I know. Why what’s up?’

“Know what?” I asked. I had no reason to but I kept looking around. 

“Janet!” Beouf smacked her head. “Don’t tell me…” she gestured to me.  “Did you forget to tell him?!”

Janet’s eyes darted around wildly trying to remember.  “Did I?’ she asked me.

“Did you what?”

“Clark,” Beouf said, holding up the monitor.  “Say the M-word that she likes you to call her.”

“Mommy?”  I said.  

“That’s right,” she said. “Now it’s recording, and wherever your Mommy has the other end, she’d be able to hear it.”  The faint echoes of Beouf’s voice coming from the living room put truth to it.  “Before you said ‘Mommy’, it was off. Like this.”  She pressed the button and the light stopped blinking.  “That way if you needed to cry or self soothe or just snored a lot, you could have that privacy without waking her up; and if you woke up in the middle of the night and needed a cuddle or a bottle or a diaper change you could just call out to her.”

“I could what?!” I said.

Melony started cackling and doubling over in laughter.  ‘Holy crud! What?! Really?”  She fell to the floor clutching her sides.  “Janet!  Rookie mistake! Why didn’t you tell him?”

“I forgot! That was a really stressful day!” Janet’s face went rose petal pink. “You’ve used it before,” she said to me.  “I thought you knew.’

“When?!” I demanded to know.

“When…?” Her face grimaced searching for polite phrasing. “Um…I wanna say it was last week…? A night or two before you used your rash gel. The green kind…”

The green kind? The masturbation goop?!  That was right after I’d had that weird sex dream turned nightmare and was trying to relieve some tension to get back to sleep. The light had been blinking then, too.  And Janet had taken out the monitor entirely when she’d squirted the green stuff down my crotch.

When would I have said ‘Mommy’?  

Oh no!

“Janet! I was talking in my sleep!”

“You were?!”  Janet opened her mouth, and then her eyes went wide and sorrowful.  “Oh no! Baby! I’m sorry! I thought you’ve been sleeping fine all these nights and you probably thought I’ve been ignoring you this whole time!  I am so sorry!” She started planting kisses on my cheeks like they were money trees. “So, so, sorry!”

I didn’t resist or blanch away from the unasked for affection.  I was too deep in the realization that none of my spiteful sleep deprived declarations of hate had ever made it to her ears.  I’d been keeping myself up for nothing.  Why couldn’t I tell her I hated her to her face, then?

“Talking in his sleep!” Beouf continued to howl.  “Oh my gosh! That’s too funny!” She pounded the floor.  “We’ve probably used it more than he has!”

“Hold on!” Janet realized. “You talk in your sleep?”

“I guess,” I said.

The biggest, dopiest smile spread on Janet’s lips.  “You’ve been calling me ‘Mommy’ in your dreams?”  

[CDfm]

Thoroughly enjoyed the latest chapter. The look back at Cassie and her family was definitely a highlight.  I realize that the story isn’t about Cassie but I can’t help but to keep thinking about her and her family’s reaction to Clark’s situation. I would love a look to see how they are doing. 
I thought this chapter really cemented the bond developing with Clark and Janet. I realize he is still fighting it on the outside but like with him calling her mommy in his sleep, I see him more accepting of her role in taking care of him. I don’t necessarily see him coming to fully embrace becoming a baby again, but I do see him accepting his situation and role in it a little more. 
I am really excited to see more. 

[FloridaKid]

A wonderful series of chapters! I simply love the depth of your characters. The twist of Ivy’s life story and how it affects Clark’s views of both her, and his actions…wow. I can see how he’s beginning to trust Janet and Mel more and better understand their intentions, even if he disagrees with their beliefs. This is easily one of my favorite stories. Thank you for continuing to post chapters here.

(Oh, and the whole thought-the-monitor-was-working-when-wasn’t-so-Janet-never-heard-anything…that’s fantastic)

[Personalias]

Chapter 109: Setting Limits

First thing Monday morning, my head was back on its swivel.  Left, right, up, forward, behind. The only direction I neglected looking was down. Stupidly, I imagined my neck stretching with use making me taller. It was a silly thought, but the absurdity of it kept my otherwise negative emotions in check. 

What was really stupid, truly idiotic, was that every time I was ready to give up, I swore I saw something just on the periphery of my vision that made my head turn and I’d do the whole dance all over again.

“What are you looking for?” Mandy asked, sounding suspicious. A bad luck of the draw had put us side by side in line.  Calling the former athletic tomboy an enemy would be an extreme exaggeration; but we were neither of each other’s favorite people.

“Nothing…” I lied.  Is it a lie when everyone knows it? Or is it just politics? 

“He’s probably just peeing and hoping nobody notices,” Billy joked in front of me. 

“Shut up, Billy.”  I said robotically. “I’m not peeing right now.”  I’d already done that once before school and again after breakfast.  Total wet and forget scenario. Would have stayed forgotten until Beouf or Zoge plopped me down on the changing table, too.  

It’s not that I was numb between my legs or had zero bladder control; it’s just that who in their right mind kept a constant tally on how many times they peed and pooped? Barring health issues and pain, most people forgot within a minute of washing their hands.  For me there was no flush or handwashing, so I was starting to allow myself to forget as soon as my bladder stopped aching.  If I didn’t have more important things to worry about that fact might have made me start to worry about myself. 

“You’re wet, though,” Billy laughed over his shoulder. 

Anyone with more than a day of dealing with toddlers would recognize that I was already wet.  I’d been wet before Zoge took Ivy and I out to the bus loop and added to it during breakfast. The light blue and green striped romper Janet had dressed me in was especially snug between the legs. The pulp had done its job of absorbing everything I’d put into it and had had enough time to swell up. 

Still, my diaper was nowhere close to leaking and the snaps that ran up between my legs were holding firm.  I was going to get changed at Circle Time, but only because it would be inconvenient to have to change me any other time prior to Lunch.

What Billy was really looking for that Monday was a fight. Distractedly, I added to the banter and kept looking.  “Pot? Did you just call your dear friend Kettle black?”  We were about to go into the breezeway and then round the corner into the classroom but maybe I could see if a familiar car had pulled into the front parking lot.

“Huh?” Billy said.  “Pot?”

Mandy rolled her eyes. “He’s saying you’re wet too.”  She called back over her shoulder to Annie.  “Your boyfriend is an idiot.”

“I know,” Annie said. My eyes were elsewhere but I could hear the condescending smile. “He makes me laugh.”

“Billy,” I heard Zoge call from Chaz’s stroller. “Eyes forward. Look where you’re going, my love.”  Billy took the hint.  “Clark, you too.”

I stilled my head but my eyes kept going, straining to see in the direction of my ears. Damnit!  Nothing!  We were back in the breezeway, a brick wall to either side.  A left turn would take us to Beouf’s room, but maybe I could jerk my head right and get one last peek in the parking lot.

A tap on the shoulder brought me back.  “Are you doing that thing, again?” Mandy asked. “Still worried what the big kids think of you?”

I frowned at the absurdity.  “What? No?”  We’d left Breakfast so late that beyond a tardy car rider, there weren’t any actual students around to bear witness to my humiliation.  

“Good.” Mandy said. “You don’t look that babyish.”   Easy for her to say. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d seen her dressed with anything needing snaps.  Other than her diaper, Mandy tended to be dressed in clothes that my students might wear. A three or four year old’s wardrobe of shorts that weren’t quite baggy enough and skirts that weren’t quite long enough was a major upgrade from onesies, shortalls, rompers, or just the t-shirt and diaper combo.

Rather than argue with her or vent or point out how she was referring to people a fraction of her age as ‘big kids’, I let it go and said “Thanks.”

“What are you looking around for?”  She asked as soon as we turned the corner.

From behind, Ivy answered for me. “Miss Tracy’s not here today. Clark misses her.”

I didn’t reply. There was no denying it. She hadn’t been at the bus loop. She hadn’t shuffled in late to the cafeteria to help with the kids at breakfast.  I didn’t see any sign of her car.  The only consolation I had was that Ambrose looked incredibly peeved, so Tracy’s absence probably wasn’t part of her plan.

Brollish maybe…?  No! Don’t think about it! Don’t think about it!

Tracy was just gone.  She didn’t show up today.  Called in sick. Took a personal day.  Or she just quit; got tired of Ambrose and Brollish’s bullshit and ran off with her man mountain of husband to start a new life.

“Whoah!” Mandy said, snapping me out of my head. We were in Beouf’s room and the Amazon duo was unhooking us from the line harnesses. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” I rasped.  “I’m fine.” I was in no mood to fend off Billy or any of my other jackals. 

Her voice pitched down low and quiet.  “You sure? You just looked like you were about to…”

“Thanks. I’m good.  Just…exhausted.”  Exhausted was a good word for how I was feeling. A fine word. An adult word.  One that was harder to pounce on than ‘tired’ or ‘cranky’.

We waddled over to the front of the classroom and took our positions on the carpet.  “I get it.”

I stirred and looked gloomily at Mandy. Shauna was on her right, but there was another open spot on Shauna’s other side.  She didn’t need to be sitting by me.  “Get what?”

“I get it,” she repeated. “You’re worried about your friend. That sucks.”

“Yeah it does.”  I kept breathing and looking down at the massive pulpy bulk squishing beneath me just so that my throat. 

Billy had gotten unhooked from the line first, but was still prowling around the semi-circle like a tiger in its cage looking for the perfect spot to sit. When Annie walked behind us and took the seat to Shauna’s right, leaving no room for her beau, Billy stopped and looked downright offended.

Ivy plopped down on my left, wearing a soft pink dress with her legs covered up in thin white tights.  It was just short of Picture Day fancy, and depending on how hot it got as the morning went on, she’d probably lose the tights by the time we got to the playground.  

Was that why Zoge tended to dress her daughter up so much? Were ornate and flashy baby dresses the closest thing she could fathom to letting Ivy grow up?  Did that extra touch somehow make her feel better that her grown flesh and blood never got a real opportunity at life? Did she sleep better at night because at least her daughter was wearing top shelf baby gear instead of running around naked in just her diaper?

That was giving Hana Zoge too much credit, I decided. I felt I understood her reasons for the awful things she’d done, but that didn’t mean she’d earned any kind of benefit of the doubt yet.

Beouf high stepped over us and sat down cross legged at the head.  “Billy, sit down,” she instructed. “We’re ready to begin.”  In perfect choreographed harmony, we all heard the first tape on Chaz’s diaper rip from the bathroom

“AH! COLD! COLD! COLD!”  Zoge’s gentle laughing and cooing were less distinct from where I sat.

Grudgingly, my most aggressive bully boy sat down next to Ivy and shot me a look of acknowledgement if not respect. That’s just how people like Billy were. I still had enough credibility in his mind where his antics were more friendly competition than any attempt to assert dominance.

I leaned forward just enough to look past Ivy and returned the nod. Then she did the unthinkable.

“I’m gonna miss Miss Tracy, too.”  I stopped breathing. The full weight of that sentence was crushing my chest and I wanted to scream out in pain from it.

Tracy. Gone. Forever.  The last time I’d seen her was a fucking grocery store by accident and she wasn’t even in Oakshire anymore! And it was so obvious that even Ivy, a girl born and raised in a fantasy world, was emotionally aware enough that she could see the writing on the wall that I was refusing to read. Wasn’t that so like my life?!

Too real! Too fucking real!

Oblivious to my emotional state, or maybe not, the Little Yamatoan scooted sideways, leaned over, draped her arm across my shoulders, and pulled me in for the lightest, most gentle hug. I let her. What’s more, I hugged her back.  “Thanks,” I whispered.

“Welcome,” she whispered back.

“EWWW! GROSS!  IVY’S VIOLATING CLARK’S CONSENT AGAIN!”

It all happened so fast that Beouf hadn’t gotten out the first syllable of one of her Yamatoan nursery rhymes.  Ivy jerked up and away from me like she’d been caught doing something wrong.  “Sorry!” she said. “Sorry!  Sorry! I didn’t mean to!”  

She started shuffling back, trying to separate herself from me.  Just the accusation of her doing something wrong was making her shake.

“SHE WAS TRYING TO SUCK ON HIM!” Billy shouted. “LIKE A VAMPIRE!  I SAW TEETH! TEETH I TELL YOU!”

Zoge rushed out of the bathroom, carrying Chaz. “Ivy?!”

Chaz was blushing like a beet.  “Mrs. Zoge!” He yelled. “You forgot to button me up!”

“Mommy!”  Ivy shouted. “I didn’t!  I didn’t mean to!”

“BILLY!” I snapped. “WHAT THE FUCK, DUDE?!” 

Billy was trying his best not to laugh at his own cruelty. “What?! I was saving your life.  Ivy was trying to give you a hickey or something.  She was about to mount you, I swear! That’s how it looked!”

Ivy was shaking her head like she’d been accused of murder.  The first few words coming out of her mouth were “No,” but after that it melted into what might have been a combination of Yamatoan and wordless blubbering. 

Chaz was set down so Ivy could be picked up, and soothed; her back rubbed and her bottom patted. No longer caring that his romper wasn’t buttoned up, Chaz wasted no time taking Ivy’s spot and reached out to both Billy and myself for celebratory high five. He got one from Billy.

Oh, Ivy! That poor woman! Every time she did something even remotely ‘adult’, it became a scene. She’d been conditioned to the point where even the baseless accusation of impropriety reduced her to tears. Coming from Billy, the accusation had even less credibility.

I boomed, “SHE GAVE ME A FUCKING SIDE HUG, YOU ASSHOLE!  I WAS FEELING BAD AND SHE WAS TRYING TO BE NICE!”

Mandy and the half of the class that normally hated my guts were nodding along.  “It’s true, Mrs. B.  Ivy was being good!”  Half a second later she remembered to say, “So was Clark.”

“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?” Billy said, seeming far more entertained than outraged.

I don’t know when I climbed to my feet and stared down at Billy.  I just was. “Try minding your own business just once.”  I’d woken up with a short fuse already.  It was dwindling down. I was done yelling. Soon, a tiny voice in the back of my brain promised, I’d be done talking.

Slowly, deliberately, Billy stood up to meet me. Shoulders back, head up, and chest bowed out.  He was taller than me, younger, and in better shape.  The anger and frustration I was feeling on so many levels didn’t give a damn.  I’d never been in a real fight before.  First time for everything.

Beouf did not stand up, but there was a quiet, intimidating aura that was rapidly expanding from around her.   “Billy. Clark. You’re both about to make a bad choice. Do you want to make a bad choice?”

We ignored her.

“Ivy’s off limits,” I growled.  My fists and everything below my waist was clenched, cheeks included. 

“Yeah?” Billy said.

“Yeah,” I mouthed.

“Why’s that?”  He wasn’t blinking.

I was trembling. Given half a day to play with my words I could have told Ivy’s story in a compact enough way to make him understand that she’d had it harder than most.  Given fifteen minutes I could at least bullshit some excuse so that he’d think leaving her alone was his idea.  

I didn’t want that kind of time.  “Doesn’t matter,” I heard myself rasp.  “Ivy’s. Off. Limits.”

Billy’s eyes left me, feeling pressure from the other members of our clique.   Zoge and Beouf were looking at each other. Everyone else, I felt, was staring at me. “Or else, what?”

“Nope,” Beouf said, snatching me up.  I was on her hip and dizzy from the near whiplash.  “Nuh-uh.  Not doing this.  Not today. Not ever. Nope, nope, nope.” She started carrying me to the bathroom.  “Billy. Time-out. Clark! Diaper change, then time-out!  Mrs. Zoge, take over!”

Billy instantly reverted to being a kid who got his hand caught in the proverbial cookie jar.  “What’d I do?”

“You know what you were doing,” she said, her body radiating anger and heat.

“No,” Billy lied. “I was just trying to help! Honest!”

I was at ground zero watching Melony’s eyes widen and her jaw go drill sergeant stiff.  “Then,” she said evenly. “It seems I need to remediate you on the difference between helping, tattling, and provoking others.  We’ll do it during your playground time.” 

“What? NO!”

The rest of Billy’s protests were drowned out by the closing of the bathroom door.  I was down on the changing table, and staring up into Melony’s eyes instead of my own ridiculous reflection while she popped open the snaps on my romper.

“This isn’t what I meant when I was talking about looking out for Ivy.”

“He started it!” I whined.  I slapped the palm of my hand over my mouth. Wow, that sounded dumb. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“Ignore him,” she said, gathering up the usual changing supplies. “Don’t let him bait you.”

“Oh, come-” She threw me a warning look and opened up my diaper.  I lowered my voice. “How often does that work in the real world?”  I sucked in my breath and bit my tongue while the cold wipes passed over me.

“It’s still against school rules,” Beouf said, crossing my ankles and lifting my legs.  “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’d get in if you actually got into a fight?  Students being dangerous to other students is one of the few ways you could get expelled.”

I crossed my arms and tried to forget the fact that a new diaper was being placed under me mid argument.  “I know the student code of conduct,” I groused. “Wouldn’t Billy get expelled too?”

“Who cares about Billy?” Melony asked. “I’m worried about you!”

I locked eyes again and caught her blushing.  The caught a glimpse of myself giving the biggest dumbest grin up at her. “Really?”

“What?” she asked, pretending to be very focused on getting the tapes on my fresh Monkeez just right. “You’re gonna tell me you didn’t have favorites when you were a teacher?”

“Not the point,” I said.

“Agreed,” she said.  “I’m very proud of you for trying to do the right thing, but there’s a right way and a wrong way to do it.”

She was technically correct and I hated it.  “What am I supposed to do?”

“You work on just being nice to Ivy. I’ll take care of Billy.  Just promise me you’re not going to do anything stupid or crazy for the rest of the day.”

I huffed. “Fine. I promise.”

I didn’t know it at the time, but that was a promise I wasn’t going to come close to keeping.

Chapter 110: Crashing Down

Time slowed down as I felt the thin bones and cartilage pop beneath my knuckles as my wild swing connected with its target.  All around me screams of shock and panic rang out through the air. Heavy running footsteps thundered on the ground too late and the tiniest flecks of blood splattered onto my wrist.  

If I were a better liar, I’d tell you how I felt a terrible happiness, or a sense of numb peace knowing I’d sealed my fate on my own terms, or some other self-justifying bullshit. There was none of that in the then and there; only the unchecked rage of a full blown tantrum; the cathartic release of a pressure that had been building and building for weeks on end until it finally popped like a cork from a bottle of sparkling wine.

I had my reasons of course. I had plenty of them.  But for those few glorious moments between the reason that preceded it and the terror that followed, I had only raw red righteous anger pumping through my veins.  No future. No past. No regrets. No fears. No anticipation. No pain.  No tears. Just red.

All of that would come later and very very soon after the popping and crunching, but in that moment, I had no such thing weighing me down or rippling out from that moment.  Such reflections would only come in the micro-seconds after my fist was reeling back for a second swing.

*************************************************************************************************
“Do you wanna play dollies, or racecars?” Ivy asked me at the independent play center. 

“Neither,” I said. 

We were both on our knees on the carpet next to Beouf’s kidney table, restlessly rifling through the toy selection while being careful not to make too much of a mess.  We’d have to clean up anything we spilled once centers rotated again and couldn’t make so much noise that it would disturb anyone not specifically paying attention to us.

“What about both?” Ivy offered. “The dollies are too big to ride in the cars, but we could have them sit on top of the roofs or something.

“So you want to pretend that the dollies are Amazons and the cars belong to Littles?”  

“Yeah!” Ivy smiled, then frowned. “I mean, no! Little cars are not toys.”  She didn’t fully believe what she was saying, but she was trying to be polite.  The stroller Janet pushed me around in was bigger than the scooter I used to take to work.

“No thanks, Ivy.”  I said.  “Good effort, though.”  Ivy looked briefly crestfallen but busied herself playing with a dollhouse.

My eyes scanned the toy shelf, and I felt a sour taste settle in the back of my mouth.  The play center was probably my least favorite of the morning activity rotations. Being right next to Beouf’s kidney table, it didn’t have the privacy of the reading nook, and it lacked the direction and pretense of the puzzle table or the attention of either Amazon. The options were to select a toy to entertain yourself for a few minutes, and thus take ownership of that playtime, or to sit and sulk.

Boredom could be a powerful motivator. I’d spent more time than I cared to recognize sitting there every day and fiddling with plastic stacking rings, or playing chicken with a jack-in-the-box set to pop before the weasel, just so I could have something to do. lBeouf and Zoge were masterful at creating scenarios where giving in and accepting perpetual infancy felt like common sense, but at the end of the day sometimes all that was really needed were toys and time.  Trap someone in diapers for long enough and they’ll wet their pants.  Give someone nothing to do but fiddle with useless pieces of plastic, and they’ll play.  

I wasn’t even an hour removed from my confrontation with Billy, so I was still stewing in it and quietly imagining scenarios where I knocked his block off.  The sense of injustice for Ivy that I’d been feeling was only compounded by my own personal outrage that my hard one authority was being challenged again; publicly this time.  

It’s not like either of us were in an environment where we could work out and build muscle, but genetics and youth were kinder to Billy. He was a more natural athlete than me and I wouldn’t want to arm wrestler or race him.  He was no Bert Braun though; and lacked the grit that years of manual labor had built on top of my father-in-law’s frame.  That and he was cockier, besides.

I popped my pacifier in my mouth and sucked on it, drawing comfort from the fantasy at punching the kid in the throat. All the padding that his diaper provided wouldn’t protect him from a swift kick in the balls; and he did love to spread his legs. I frowned and immediately spat the pacifier out, the rubber tasting of cognitive dissonance. 

Beating Billy’s ass, even if it were probable, would only get me suspended or worse.  Fighting, being a clear and present danger to other students, was an easy way to get expelled.  Getting expelled for violence wouldn’t just banish me from one of the few familiar places I had left to me;  it’d guarantee me a ticket to New Beginnings.  I couldn’t imagine a daycare would want to accept me unless I’d been properly ‘rehabilitated’.

Ivy’s looked back from her doll house, her eyes starting to get red puffy again.  “Did I do something wrong?” she whispered. “I’m sorry I hugged you.”  What happened at Circle Time was still eating at her, too. It was strange, but that made me feel better about my decision to stand up for her.  Ivy wasn’t nearly as mindfucked as I’d let myself believe.  Not everything rolled off her back so easily.

I gently shook my head and tried to replicate my best adult-talking-to-a-crying-kid voice.  “Nuh-uh,” I whispered. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”  I quickly added, “Next time, maybe ask, but I’m not mad.  I would have said ‘yes’.”

The Little Yamatoan spread her arms wide. “Can I have one now?”

Goodness help me….  “Sure.” 

On our knees, on the carpet, Ivy and I shuffled forward and wrapped our arms gently around each other.  “Thank you,” Ivy said.

“Awwwwwww!” 

I let go of Ivy and backed away like I’d been caught doing something indecent. Over at the puzzle table, Mandy and Shauna were cradling their faces in their hands, and gushing like they’d seen a puppy and a bunny rabbit making friends.  Right next to us at the kidney table,  Tommy and Jesse were snickering behind their hands right next to us. 

“Keep working, everyone,” Beouf said.  “You should only be worried about what is going on at your center.”

Annie and Sandra Lynn were similarly redirected with a gentle tapping on Zoge’s desk.  I only caught a flash of the former’s worried frown and the latter’s silly grin before I was treated to the back of their heads once more.  Over by the reading nook, two beanbags jiggled as Chaz and Billy buried themselves and yucked it up.

“Can I ask you a question?” I asked, face starting to boil.  “Remember that story you told me this weekend? Why haven’t you told anybody else about it?”

Ivy sat back on her heels and seemed to consider it. “I don’t want to.”

“Don’t want to, or not allowed to?”  I asked.  

“Don’t want to.”

My hand reached sideways out of habit and I grabbed a large toy dump truck off the bottom row.  I tilted the dump body up and down, trying to pour some of the anxious, angry energy I was feeling into the yellow mound of metal and rubber.  “Why not?”

 “That would make me different,” she said. “More different,” she corrected herself. “I’m a baby, but not Adopted.” She leaned over and put a doll inside the truck’s dump bin, setting it with its arms draped over the side like it was lounging. “My Mommy is the same Mommy I’ve always had.” She leaned back and sat down on her bottom, spreading her legs.  Even though she was still wearing those white tights, she fluffed out her dress to cover up as much of the diaper bulge as possible without stretching the material.. “She taught me right.”

So much to unpack there, but I let the comment go out of pity. “They might be nicer to you, if they knew,” I told her.  I gently rolled the truck to her and she stopped it.  She waited for me to mirror her so she could roll it back.  We had made a kind of pen using our legs.

“I don’t think so,” she replied, softly. “People don’t like things that are different.”

I caught the rolling dump truck as she passed it and turned it around. “That’s not true.”

“Yes it is.” There was no hesitation there.  “I was different when people thought I was a big girl and went to big girl school and my friends were mean to me. Then I went back to daycare and I stopped being different.”

More than likely, I realized, that was probably because the doomed Littles in Yamatoa were either so mind fucked that they didn’t know how to be mean to her, or they had the common decency to take pity on someone who was an actual child. By the time she left the country, she’d gone through puberty, and had long been a fixture with any and all of the adult Littles already trapped there.

I rolled the truck back while trying to find a way to counter her without it becoming a circular argument.  “Have you tried telling other Littles before?”

“Yes,” she said simply.  She pushed it back without turning it around.

I pushed the truck back. It went so fast and so sudden that the doll fell over. “Alright, what happened?”

Ivy took a moment to prop the doll back up.  “Some were nice. Lots were mean. Much opportunity for hardship.  All went away when they learned they were really babies like me.” Much more gently, she rolled the toy back over to me.

“Why did you tell me, then?” I asked.

“You’re different, too.”

That felt like an accidental insult. “No. I’m not.”

“You used to be a Grown-Up,” Ivy said softly, a hint of awe creeping into her tone.

I remembered the truck and kept rolling it. Using just my index finger I circled the room. “So did they,” I said.

“How do you know?” Ivy held the truck. “Did you see them be Grown-Ups?”

“No.”

“Have they told you about them being Grown-Ups?”

“N…” I stopped. “A little bit, yeah.”  That was a weird question.  Come to think of it, we didn’t talk so much about who we were before we had our lives ripped away from us.  Snippets here and there when we were feeling really sorry for ourselves, but that was about it. “Why is that?” I wondered aloud.

The Yamatoan had a strangely profound answer.  “It does not feel natural to talk about who we used to be.” A bit of her mother’s accent and patter snuck into her speech. “The frog often does not think to tell its tadpoles that it too was a tadpole.”

“You’re losing me, Ivy.”

She passed the toy truck back.  “I knew you when you were a Grown-Up. Everybody did. That makes you different, too. That’s why I told you.”

At least she didn’t mention something about me sticking around forever. “What if I told everybody?” I offered. “Tell them the story you told me?”

Ivy’s entire body stiffened.  “Please don’t.”

Wow. That had come out wrong. I held up my palms trying to make myself look less threatening.  “Not what I meant. I mean, maybe there’s a way I could tell them for you so that they wouldn’t be so mean.  So that they would…”  I bit my lip and reached up so I could at least squeeze my pacifier like it was Lion. There really wasn’t a good way of saying I wanted to spread the pity around.  I settled on, “I’m a teacher. I’m good at explaining things.”

“No.” Ivy said, shaking her head. “Please no.”

“Why not?”

“Do you need a reason to not want a hug?”

I sucked on my teeth and let the pacifier dangle again.  “Point taken.”

Something caught my attention from the corner of my eye.  Across from the play center, on the other side of the room, was the reading nook. It was completely barricaded off from Zoge’s sight, and Beouf would have to consciously lean over in her seat to see what went on there.  It’s why it was most Littles favorite place to poop if they could get the timing right.  Semi-privacy and only sharing your humiliation with one other equally as doomed person.

Billy and Chaz had unburied themselves from the beanbag chairs and had taken up a new pastime.  They were on their knees hugging each other.  That’s the excuse they would have gone with, anyhow.  
I could already hear Billy’s indignant voice in my head:  “What? We were just hugging! Gibson and Ivy can hug but I can’t hug a friend?”  Before we met, Billy already knew how to push buttons and play dumber than he really was.

He and Chaz weren’t just hugging, however.  The way they rubbed their hands over one another’s backs and pressed their faces together, cheek to cheek, gave off more sensual undertones.  Looking right at me, they puckered their lips like dying fish, and blew kisses at me.

Clark and Ivy sitting in a tree…

Caught between our two stations, Mandy and Shauna looked side to side to gauge the boys’ pantomime and Ivy and my reaction.  Ivy didn’t seem to notice. My face must have been something priceless, because as soon as they spied me, they used their pacifiers to muffle their giggles.

My hand tightened to fist.  I was gonna knock Billy’s block off. March right up to him and punch him in the nose.

As soon as I stood up a familiar hand reached up and clamped onto my wrist, immobilizing me.  Even if I pulled as hard as I could, there was no way I was going to escape Ivy’s grasp.

“Ivy…” I leaned in and whispered. “Let go.”  For my discretion I heard tiny popping sounds travel across the classroom and straight into my ears.  

K-I-S-S-I-N-G…  

“No,” Ivy said. “Don’t be bad. Don’t be naughty.”

First Ivy…first then Billy.  Even with all her recessive strength, Ivy would be caught off guard if I punched her in the face.  Everybody had a plan until they got hit hard enough.  I wouldn’t knock out any teeth, but I could shock and stun her enough to…what was I thinking?

There was another play here that I wasn’t seeing, something to keep Billy off my back and give me time.  I sat back down, but Ivy didn’t let go of my hand.  

True to form, my disciples changed their positions and held hands in mock reflection of us.  Their eyelids batting and continuing to mime making out with each other with their tongues flapping out of their mouths disgustingly.  Billy reached out and groped Chaz on the chest.  Chaz threw back his head in fake ecstasy. 

“Billy! Chaz!” Beouf called from her kidney table.  “This is your one chance before I call your parents!”

“But we weren’t doing anything!’ Billy lied, poorly.
“I don’t want to hear it, young man.”

“You can’t even see what we’re doing!”

Beoufs head motioned to me and then the girls muffling themselves with rubber dummies. “I don’t need to. I can see what everyone else is doing.”  She looked over the top of me and straight towards Ivy. Her eyes doubled back on her hand over my wrist. “Good girl, Ivy.  Let him go.”  

Evidently, no one was nearly as quiet as they suspected.

Billy and Chaz finished out that particular center rotation glaring at me over the top of large hardback children’s books. Their gaze was unblinking and unforgiving, as if I’d been the one to tattle on them and break some kind of code.  I’d only wanted to break Billy’s stupid face; maybe boot Chaz in the ribs or something.  

When the timer went off and we were supposed to go pull the latest symbol off of our visual schedule, my two disciples were slow approaching. Tommy crawled alongside Chaz, the pair looking like a couple of dire wolves on the prowl.  

FLICK! 

A painful, stinging thud lit my left earlobe up. Without thinking I covered my ear with my hand.  Tommy, of course.  I knew it before I whirled around.  The wolf imagery was entirely accurate: Pack tactics. Bullying by numbers. I’d created monsters that I could not control; whose only sense of loyalty was based on who helped them feel good about themselves and inflict pain on others. 

How fucking immature!  I understood Ivy’s hesitance. With how they were now, Ivy would be even more of an Amazon to them, and the rules of the game I’d created were to frustrate the Amazons and their Helpers as much as possible at every turn no matter how self destructive.

Wait a second!

Game!

A bolt of inspiration struck me!

“Ow,” I said, rubbing my ear.  “Good one!”

“Thanks,” Tommy said. He blinked and realized what he’d just admitted to.  “One what?”

I threw in a conspiratorial wink.  “Good,” I said, leaning in.  “Just don’t overdo it. I don’t want them to guess.”  Then, because I was still extremely petty, I stealthed my arm up to the other side of Tommy’s head and flicked the bottom of his ear.

“Ow!” Tommy jumped back, rubbing his ear. 

“Clark,” Melony gave away who she was watching, “that’s your last warning, too. Your Mommy is a lot closer than everybody else’s, young man.”

“Yes, Mrs.B!” I chirped back, filled with fake sunshine.

Tommy took the next symbol off of his schedule and stared at me.  “What are you talking about?  Who are we trying to fool?”

I took my own token, and turned my hands to the side of my face to create lip-reading blinders.  Using only my breath, I mouthed the word, “Ivy”.  

A malicious spark lit up in Tommy’s eyes.  I had him hooked!  I put down my hands and saw him rattle his head.  “No,” he mouthed.  I didn’t need to look over my head to know that I’d just been spared a second salvo from another member of the A.L.L.;  probably Billy.

********************************************************************************************************
Annie came and sat across from me during snacks, right on cue.  “What are you doing?” she asked me, point blank.  

“I’m sitting here with my new friend, Ivy.” I said. “Would you like to join us?” 

The only girl member of the A.L.L. narrowed her eyes. “Suuuure.”  She was suspicious, but receptive. Word about what I’d said to Tommy had gotten around to the rest of the group in between center rotations.  Being the most emotionally intelligent of my crew, Annie had come to verify for herself.

Thank goodness.

If there was a con, she’d be the one to sense it.  If something needed to get broken down in a language that even Billy could understand, she’d be the one to translate.  Meaning if I could sell Annie on leaving Ivy alone, she’d do the rest of the work for me.

“So…” Annie said. She gestured across the table. Ivy hadn’t left my side. “This is new. I heard you had a lot of fun together at the Fall Festival.”

“Yes,” Ivy agreed. “Lots of fun. Then Clark came over to my house and we played.”

“Oh really ?!” Annie looked like she wasn’t sure if she should be interested, amused, or offended.  Perhaps all three.  Whatever it was, she smiled in a way that vaguely reminded me of Brollish.  
I returned the look, and babbled like an idiot, never breaking eye contact.  “Oh yeah. Lots of fun. We bounced in the bouncy castles a whole lot! Just us Littles! My Mommy forgot to unbuckle my leash, but then Ivy did it for me.”

 Annie’s smile slowly mutated into something more genuine.  She looked directly at Ivy. “You did?”

Ivy blushed and looked away, smiling from the look of admiration on her peer’s face.  “Yeah.”

My strategy was elegant in its simplicity.  Ivy had grabbed my attention when I realized her strength could be used for more than just keeping Littles from running away in the bus loop. All I had to do to get her some social breathing room was sell the idea that staying on her good side could be valuable in the future. Ivy was too trusting and obedient on the whole to be a lookout, a schemer, or an instigator; but a Little that could remove Amazon strength diaper tapes was a golden flying unicorn that crapped rainbows.  One would have to be an idiot to not see the potential there.

It was a lie of omission, one that played on selfishness and the fantasy of escape, but it would work in the short term.  Speaking of short term, finding a way to manipulate my classmates towards my own constructive ends was keeping me from losing my temper and worrying about Tracy.

“Hey, Ivy,” I said. “Maybe your Mommy needs help passing out snacks?”  The Little Yamatoan looked weary, suspicious even. I got so close that I was practically kissing her. “Don’t worry,” I promised. “I’m not gonna tell her the story.”

Ivy leaned back away from me.  “Pinky swear?”

I wrapped my smallest digit around hers. “Pinky swear.” 

Ivy got up and waddled over to Zoge by the snack cabinets. Annie and I scanned the room to make sure Beouf was busy passing out paper towels.  “Seriously?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. She’s that strong. I saw it myself.”

Annie’s eyes glazed over with envy and a kind of greed like mine had no doubt been. It wouldn’t take much more to reel her in. And where Annie went, Billy and the others would follow like dominoes.

A knock at the back door interrupted my sales pitch.  No one said “come in”, but it creaked open anyway.

“Hell-o,” an unfamiliar voice called in.  “Knock-Knock.  Can I come in?”

An Amazon stepped inside the classroom carrying plastic cartons stacked on top of each other. “Is this Mrs. Beouf’s room?  The baby room?”  

My eye twitched. For obvious reasons, I did not like this woman, with her bleached blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail so tight that I could see her roots.  For half a second, I thought it was Helena Madra, but Amy’s Mommy had less severe features, and paler skin.  There was a resemblance, but only in the broadest strokes; like two actors auditioning for the same role.

This woman, wearing a bright red suit with a stiff skirt that went all the way down to her ankles and thin rimmed dark sunglasses perched on top of her head, had an air of entitlement and authority about her.  Like most Amazons, I could tell she was very used to getting her way. I didn’t think she was a school board member, but she could have been some kind of nebulous regional official; an unelected supervisor from the county.  If it were later in the year, I could see the cupcakes being some kind of Teacher Appreciation stunt, but it wasn’t even Winter Break yet.

Something in the back of my mind was brewing.  Why did she seem so familiar?

Beouf looked up from passing out paper napkins and walked to the back of her classroom.  “Hello,” she smiled. “How can I help you?”

The stranger extended her hand in greeting. “Hi there. Martha Dunwhich,” she said as if that was supposed to mean anything.

Dunwhich?  That did mean something, but not to Beoufl

Beouf took her hand and shook it.  “Melony Beouf, pleased to meet you, ma’am. What can I do for you?”

I popped my pacifier in my mouth and started working it furiously, biting and gnashing it.  I stared down at the activity table and did everything I could to slow my breathing.  This woman was largely a stranger to me, but I’d met her before.

“My daughter Emily’s birthday was yesterday,”  the Amazon said.  “She’s four years old!”

“Congratulations,” Beouf said.  She was being polite, but I could tell she was annoyed. A parent not connected to any of your students in interrupting your class- who wouldn’t be?

“And I wanted to let her celebrate her big day with all of her school friends,” the intruder droned on.  “But, I seemed to have bought too many cupcakes for the class and I wanted to see if your students wanted the extra.”

A murmuring broke out around me.  Free sweets were free sweets. They were Amazon sized too; they were practically burgers with chocolate frosting on top.  They probably weren’t spiked, but if they were, who cared? We were all padded up and denied potty privileges as it was. Nothing to lose.

I didn’t join in. Martha Dunwhich was the last parent I’d gotten to interact with before I had my accident right there in the I.E.P. meeting.  Her last words to me were,, “Why are you pooping your pants?” in the most condescending tone ever.

“That’s very generous,” Beouf replied. “We were just about to have snacks, but that’s a lot of sugar for their tummies.” 

Groans of protest erupted out of the mouths of my classmates..

“Oh no no,” what should have been my student’s parent said. “I totally agree. I’m not saying you have to pass them out now.  Mrs. Ambrose isn’t having our party until after lunch.”  She gestured behind her to what was supposed to be my classroom.  “I’ve got two more tins over there. You can have these and do whatever you want with them.”

I heard, but did not see Beouf hem and haw semi-theatrically.  “What do you think Mrs. Zoge?”

“I think it would be a very nice treat for them,” Zoge paused. “On the playground. After naps. If they’re good.”  

“Sounds like a plan,” Beouf said.  I looked up to the sound of resounding cheers as my mentor took the confections out of the intruder’s arms. I was gripping the edge of the table like it was a lap bar on a roller coaster.

I wanted this to be over.  I wanted this giant bitch to leave and get on with my day. I wanted to find ways to trick and manipulate my friends old and new so that none of them were mean to each other.  I wanted to not think about my classroom and the eerie silence that was emanating from it and what that might not mean.  I wanted to not accidentally hope that that might mean Tracy had come back in.

Annie did a double take looking from me to Dunwhich and back. She saw the look of recognition in my eyes  “Clark, who’s that?”  

“Clark?”  Dunwhich repeated it.  “Clark Gibson?”

She peered past Beouf and into the center of the room where I was sitting.  Eye contact was made and I froze.  She slipped past Beouf and hunkered down at the side of the table so that she was my eye level, gawking at me  “Oh my gosh! You’re so cuuuuute!” she trilled.

I bit down on rubber and gripped the table, doing my best to avoid eye contact.

Mission Failed. She just leaned in, grinning like Janet had on that first awful day.  “Look at you! In your romper, enjoying your paci.”

“Ma’am…” Beouf interjected.

My friend’s politeness was outright ignored.  I felt a hand reach under the table and grip at my feet. “Do you have widdle booties on? No. But that’s okay.”  Her hand shot back up over the table and wrenched my cheek.  “I bet you’re so much happier now that you’re out of those big boy clothes and have a Mommy or Daddy to take care of you instead of a yucky job.”

WHOMP!

Everyone froze. Beouf’s eyes went wide with surprise.

My fist slammed the table so hard that it thundered. I hadn’t even thought to do it. It just happened.

  “Whoah,” Dunwhich said, standing back up and out of range of my swings. “ Someone’s cranky!”  She wagged her finger at me. I couldn’t tell if she was mocking me or genuinely believed what she was saying. “Remember what your teacher said. Only good babies get cupcakes.”

Beouf side stepped in between us.  “Ma’am. Please don’t put your hands on my students.”

That ‘I want to speak to your manager’ energy I’d sensed started to boil and bubble up to the surface.  “I was only saying how cute he was!”  Then as if everyone hadn’t figured it out she swelled with pride and said.  “I was there when he pooped his pants, right in front of me. Didn’t even notice it or care until I pointed it out!”  I expected laughter but heard none, and it had nothing to do with the ringing in my ears. “I think he’s in a much more appropriate placement now, don’t you?” 

“I understand,” Beouf said, “but do you know his Mommy?”

“No, why?”

“Would you want anyone you didn’t know or approve of putting their hands on…on…”

“Emiwy,” I mumbled past my pacifier. 

“Would you want anyone you didn’t approve of putting their hands on Emily?” Beouf repeated. “Especially when she was a baby and couldn’t decide to say no to anyone?”

The intruder started to object. “Of course not. I went through three nannies because of…” she stopped as the gift of self-awareness loomed its ugly head.  “Oh.  But this is different.”

“How?”

“I wasn’t hurting him…” she sounded unsure. Possibly because I hadn’t stopped rubbing my throbbing cheek since she released me.  “Oh.  Oh.”  She took a step back.  “He’s just a Lit…” she stopped herself and Zoge walked over to open the back door a little wider, making it creak.
“Oh, baby,” she said to me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

I remained mute.

“Thank you for the cupcakes, ma’am.” Beouf said politely yet curtly.  “My class will enjoy them.”

Dunwhich regained some composure.  “You’re very welcome.  I’m going to get back to the preschool room.”

“Good idea.”

There was silence after she closed the door. No one said a word.  We either didn’t dare or didn’t know what to say.  “You handled that very well,” Melony told me.  I didn’t recoil at her touch when she petted me top of my head.

“For group story time today,” Zoge quietly suggested, “perhaps we should get one of the story books about how it’s okay to say ‘no’ sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Beouf nodded.  She removed her glasses, and rubbed her temples.  “And Mrs. Zoge?”

“Yes, Mrs. Beouf?”

“Let’s cut the cupcakes in half. Half now, half later.”

A raucous cheer went up at that.
************************************************************************************************************
Things were looking up all the way until Lunch that Monday. Gears were turning in motion as far as my social life, and I was running on a major sugar high.  Amazon cupcakes…holy fuck, those things were loaded with enough sugar to give a bull elephant diabetes! 

Close to two hours later and everyone was still buzzing like we’d downed three mugs of coffee.  I lied to myself and said I was going to insist that Janet put on that yoga video we’d found as soon as I got home.  The only thing I was really looking forward to was getting the other half of one of those cupcakes.

Even Ivy was bouncing up and down in her seat.

“Nap time is going to be a bust,” Beouf called over to Zoge as they sat us in our communal highchairs. 

“It was a mistake,” Zoge agreed, “but it was a good mistake.”

“Does that mean we can have more?” I asked while the bibs were busy being tied on and the trays of toddler friendly cafeteria food were being wheeled out.  My mentor gave me a look and the vaguest hint of a smile played at her lips.  “What?” I said. “Sugar us up, let us run around, and put us on the bus.  We’re not your problem after the bell rings.”

Beouf spooned up what could generously be called pasta and zoomed some towards my mouth. “I have to deal with you.”

I took the concoction that was at least fifty percent heated ketchup and swallowed. “Yeah, but I’m not a problem.  I’m friggin’ adorable.”  

If my old friend had been drinking milk it would have squirted out her nose. “Booger,” she grinned and switched to Ivy’s bowl.  “It’s a good thing I love you.”

“Do you love me, Mrs. B?” Tommy asked. “Can I have a cupcake?”  This resulted in a chain reaction.  Everyone wanted to be loved by the teacher all of a sudden if it meant getting the other half of that cupcake.

“You’ll all get the other half if you keep being good,” Beouf promised.  She stuck a spork into some limp over cooked green beans and slid them towards Tommy’s lips.  “Eat your veggies, baby boy.”

Twenty minutes in, when the majority of the cafeteria had already cleared out, I realized something.  Still no sign of Tracy.  Also no sign of Ambrose or any of my kids.  I could have sworn I saw them walk through the lunch line, same as always.  Had they finished already?

“Mrs. B,” I asked, “Where’s Miss Tracy’s class?”

Beouf looked behind her and paused. “Huh. I don’t know.  Maybe they’re doing something special for the birthday girl or something.”

That was a hard line of logic to follow.  The idea that Ambrose might do something fun or special for one of her students felt like such a stretch because it wasn’t promoting abject misery and terror. Given her druthers I could see Ambrose stuffing her face with the cupcakes in front of her students and forcing them to watch in silence.  That or conducting academic death matches to decide who gets a bite of frosting.

 There was also Emily’s mother to factor in. Dunwhich didn’t seem in a hurry to leave and without Tracy, Ambrose might have seen the benefit of allowing a parent volunteer. I could also very much see Dunwhich complaining to the principal if her daughter wasn’t given the princess treatment on the day after her special day.
“Anybody need an emergency change?” Beouf asked Zoge while we were being hitched together on the line leash.  

“Nothing that can’t wait until we get back to class,” Zoge said, tying me and Ivy together.

“Okay then,” Beouf said, leading the front.  “Let’s go back and try to take a nap,”  A giddy punchdrunk giggle made its way through the ten of us.  We waddled through the back door underneath the blow fan, and a yawn bellowed out of me. Sugar crash and a full stomach was finally starting to kick in.  A nap might be easier than Beouf anticipated.

We rounded the back corner out of the cafeteria as we always did and any chance of me allowing unconsciousness to claim me. Beouf had been correct: Ambrose was doing something special with the class.

Three and four year olds wore pointy party hats with elastic string chin straps holding them to the top of their heads. They sat cross legged on picnic blankets with disciplined expressions on their faces while a boombox was put on a chair blasting bland generic party music.

The overbearing helicopter parent who I’d been humiliated in front of walked from student to student, her daughter Emily pointing out which classmate of hers got which cupcake. The moment a child was given their dessert, all pretense and discipline left them and they shoved the massive baked good into their tiny mouths.  

“What do you say?” Mrs. Dunwhich asked.

“Fankoo!” the child gushed with crumbs and frosting spilling out of their mouths.

“And…?”

“Happy Birfday Emwy!”

 At a glance, it was kind of nice, actually. Nothing too flashy or over the top. Kids getting some very basic manners lessons and a treat. I spotted a box of loose sidewalk chalk just out of reach of the picnic blankets.  So the kiddos would get some play, too?

Ignoring the fact that that had once been my supply of chalk, I actually felt happy for my kids. But there three people missing from the picture: Tracy, Elmer, and Ambrose.  I knew where Tracy was, or rather wasn’t, but where were Elmer and Ambrose?

I got my answer right as we finished walking past the cafeteria.  Around the opposite corner from the one we’d circled around, near the front of the cafeteria, and just across from the entrance of the preschool classroom, Ambrose was down on one knee and growling at a red faced and crying Elmer.

Ambrose’s voice was too low for me to understand what she was saying, and Elmer’s distress had advanced to the point where all he was doing was shaking his head and blubbering, but I had a very good idea of what was going on; and it was very…very bad.

Elmer, my poor Tweener student had snot coming out of his nose and he was gripping onto his pants like it was a life raft in shark infested waters. Despite that he couldn’t hike them up far enough to hide the diaper bulge beneath his clothes. Elmer was completely potty trained, though.  But Ambrose was holding out one hand and pointing at the ground with the other.

She’d diapered him again, and was demanding that he take off the one bit dignity that was left to him.  No clue why.  His clothes were no more messy than anybody else’s his age; cleaner in fact.  Poor kid hadn’t even had a cupcake yet if his clothes were any indication. Not a trace of frosting on his face or fingers.

Beouf turned her head towards the noise. I saw her frown and mutter something to herself.  The line stopped with her for just a second, but we kept walking.  Office politics. Making a child cry, even one as sweet as Elmer, wasn’t a breach of professional conduct.  Neither was putting a diaper on a child who ‘needed it’ at teacher discretion.  Brollish might even let public humiliation slide if Ambrose dressed it up in the right way. It’s not like anyone else would stand up for the poor kid. 

Enough was enough.

I reached forward and flicked the air. “Tommy,” I whispered. Tommy flinched and looked over his shoulder.  “I’m about to do something awesome, tell Billy in front of you to get ready.’  He looked doubtful but I ignored him and tapped Ivy beside me on the shoulder.

“Ivy,” I hissed over to her.  “Undo my buckle! Hurry!”  We were approaching the breezeway and fast.

“What?” Ivy whispered back, sounding afraid.  I was asking her to do something she knew was against the rules. 

“Don’t worry,” I promised. “You won’t get in trouble. I’ll say I tricked you. Just do it! Hurry!”

“But I-”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” I interrupted.  “I’ll let you hug me as hard as I can. You can kiss me on the cheek whenever you want. Or the lips, I don’t care!” I jostled the immovable buckle around my torso and legs. “Just get me out of this thing!”

Real, tangible fear lit up the Little Yamatoan’s expression .“Can’t you wai-?”

“Ivy!” I cut her off,, my cheeks feeling suddenly wet.  “There’s a little kid back there, a real little kid, who is being picked on, Ivy! He’s being picked on because he’s different for things that he can’t help! And you’re the only one that can help him.” I tugged again at the buckle. “Now, Ivy!”

Deceptively strong yet tiny hands shot out and squeezed the release latch. I slipped out of the harness and sprinted back towards the cafeteria before the woven tether touched the cement.. 

Everything went into slow motion while my heart pounded fire into my veins.  Zoge cried out and reached out to try and stop me, calling my name.  Chaz’s laughter mixed with her screams and he rocked back as hard as he could in the moving stroller, forcing her to try to break his fall or stop my escape.  

Heads must have whipped around fast enough to break the sound barrier and cries went out with “Clark!” being shouted out the way most people screamed “Fire!”   Heavy footsteps were cut short with confused shouts of “Look out!” and crocodile tear cries announcing Annie and Billy entering the fray, tripping up Beouf, yanking around the rest of the class, and generally getting underfoot so that she couldn’t catch up in time. Already, Tommy was shouting something along the lines of “Ivy did it! Ivy!”

 Screams and laughter. Screams and laughter.  Would be anarchists and brats, model prisoners and babies all raising their voices as sacred routine, ritual, and daily transition were broken.  To some it was glorious. to others, terrifying. 

Along the side of the building, pudgy frosting covered hands pointed at my approach while the one other adult was busy trying to select the perfect cupcake for her precious princess.

I didn’t consciously hear or see any of that.  I only pieced it all together after the fact. Tunnel vision and hearing had me. A primal, vicious instinct took over.  The one coherent word out of my mouth was a bellowing “HEY!” causing Ambrose to look right at me.

No satisfaction filled me while my fist collided perfectly with her snout of a nose.  No thoughts of how I was ending it all by swinging as hard as I could and bopping this finless dead eyed shark as hard as I could.  My face wasn’t capable of expressing any joy while bones and cartilage crunched and bits of blood came away onto my knuckles.

There’s an old saying: “Show me a man who resorts to violence, and I’ll show you a man who’s run out of good ideas.”

I guess I’d just run out of good ideas…

Time sped up when I drew back my fist.  “MOTHER! FUCKER!”  Ambrose covered her face and roared. I went to swing again but before I could a meaty paw of a hand smacked me across the face and knocked me off my feet.  My ears rang and my breath raced out of my chest while my body collided with the ground, my skin burning as my arms skidded across the rough concrete.  This must have been what it was like to get kicked in the head by an emu or something!
Dizzy and bewildered I started flying, being hoisted up in the air, jerked around as if by a crane, my face hovering over the ground as tendrils of  lightning started sparking against my backside.  I was three spanks in before it finally registered to my body what was happening.

More screaming and shrieking and crying.  None of it from me because I didn’t have the air to do it.  My lungs contracted but would not inhale. My body kicked and tensed and flopped but had no more potency than a ragdoll.  Lion would have taken a better beating.

The only signs of life my body provided were the tears, snot, and piss that were getting beat out of me while I agonized with every cell of my brain and body certain that this was the end.  I was going to die.  

Everything was over. I was going to die.  In mind if not body.  Body too, more than likely. The ogre was going to beat me to death, I was sure. 

“PUT HIM DOWN!” came Beouf’s roar.  It still sounded far away.  Everything sounded far away.

More cries from all around me, but the pain didn’t stop.  The thundering blows rained down on me like falling meteorites, and I just went limp.

“STOP!”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

The screams, shouts, and protests all mixed together into a chaotic dirge. Classroom doors opened, and onlookers peered out into the bubbling chaos. Littles, students, and teachers added their voices to the song.

“HOLY FU-!”

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

“STO-!”

THWACK! THWACK!

“SOMEBODY GET THE PRI-!”

THWACK! THWACK!

“CLAR-!”

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

“SOMEBODY CALL THE CO-!”

THWACK!

“GIBSO-!”

THWACK!

“DON’T-!”

THWACK! THWACK!

“SOMEBODY GET MISS GRA-!”

THWACK!

“I’M FILM-!”

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

“PUTA! PUT THAT LIT-!”

THWACK!

“BOSS!”

WHOOMF!  

The world blurred forward for a few feet. The sound of flesh being struck still thundered in my ear for a few seconds, but no direct pain registered.  I was beyond pain, now.  Something had changed though.. I was on the ground, again, but couldn’t see anything. 

Something, or someone was huddled over me, wrapping me up, shielding me. I breathed in and my lungs felt like they were stabbing me from the inside with thousands of tiny needles. A ragged gasping cry gurgled out of me. And it happened again.  And again.  And again.

All the while, my savior held me closer and tighter, squeezing me gently and supporting my head, pressing me up close to them; almost cradling me.

“GET AWAY FROM MY WIFE!”  I heard a deep, masculine voice crack the air like thunder.

“YOU DO NOT EVER….EVER!...PUT YOUR HANDS ON A STUDENT LIKE THAT!” Another voice screamed.

“HE BOKE MUH DOSE!  DUH IDDUH BAT BOKE MUH DOSE!”

“IS THAT MIST-?”

“DID YOU SEE THAT?!” 

“THAT LITTLE JUST RAN UP TO HER AND-!”

“IS HE O-?”

“BACK INSIDE CHIL-!”

“WHY DID HE-?!”

“WHY WAS SHE-?”

“CLARK?!”

Through my continued wailing and impact scrambled brain cells I was unable to recognize any of the myriad of voices that were screaming their outrage for and against me.  The first voice I actively recognized was the one nearest to me, with her body directly on top of mine, shielding me as best she could from further blows.

“It’s okay, Boss,” Tracy whispered softly to me.  “I’ve got you. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.  I’ve got you, Boss. I’ve got you.”

 

[FloridaKid]

‘Bout damn time somebody lit into Ambrose. Certainly glad Tracy and her husband showed up. Clark is definitely in for it, though. This is such a great story and you’ve got me emotionally invested in the characters. Wonderful writing. Thanks again for sharing it here.

[Kat5]

Oh my ...! I just... 

WOW.

I mean, Clark is in trouble, but the only thing that's even remotely going to lessen that trouble is the fact that he's probably about to be in a hospital and with people recording her trying to beat him to death, and then hitting Tracy, they may not want to kick him out and deal with the the news spectacle that's already coming. 

So they shouldered him out to get in an abusive Amazon with a lack of self control. And oh boy I have no idea how Clark is going to recover from this Physically. 

I don't know if they -can- expel him after her reaction. I also don't know if they can -avoid- expelling him.

I have the distinct feeling that the big police are about to be involved, and then LPS. 

I'm so shell shocked that I'm rambling!

 

Excellent work!

Edit after a few moments of clarity: Tracy is nothing at all short of a hero no matter the perspective. Amazon? She protected a little from being beaten to death. News? Oh absolutely gonna have a field day. Littles? She saved a little. Police? She was attacked saving a life.

Tracey needs a metal and a fat payout from the school for preventing a staff member from committing murder.

[Samriis]

Good christ... I knew something like had to come sometime but it still hits hard... no pun intended. 

[Personalias]

16 hours ago, FloridaKid said:

‘Bout damn time somebody lit into Ambrose. Certainly glad Tracy and her husband showed up. Clark is definitely in for it, though. This is such a great story and you’ve got me emotionally invested in the characters. Wonderful writing. Thanks again for sharing it here.

Thank you for telling me this. Sometimes I worry that I'm tooting my own horn playing with my imaginary friends. It's good to know they're other people's imaginary friends, too.

NGL, I teared up writing "I've got you boss".

[Kat5]

7 minutes ago, Personalias said:

NGL, I teared up writing "I've got you boss".

And I teared up reading it!

[Personalias]

15 hours ago, Kat5 said:

Oh my ...! I just... 

WOW.

I mean, Clark is in trouble, but the only thing that's even remotely going to lessen that trouble is the fact that he's probably about to be in a hospital and with people recording her trying to beat him to death, and then hitting Tracy, they may not want to kick him out and deal with the the news spectacle that's already coming. 

So they shouldered him out to get in an abusive Amazon with a lack of self control. And oh boy I have no idea how Clark is going to recover from this Physically. 

I don't know if they -can- expel him after her reaction. I also don't know if they can -avoid- expelling him.

I have the distinct feeling that the big police are about to be involved, and then LPS. 

I'm so shell shocked that I'm rambling!

 

Excellent work!

Edit after a few moments of clarity: Tracy is nothing at all short of a hero no matter the perspective. Amazon? She protected a little from being beaten to death. News? Oh absolutely gonna have a field day. Littles? She saved a little. Police? She was attacked saving a life.

Tracey needs a metal and a fat payout from the school for preventing a staff member from committing murder.

This is by far my favorite Tracy scene.  When I was plotting out her arc, I was originally planning to just leave her at the point where she slapped Clark in the face because of the awkward situation and emotional manipulation etc. etc.  Kind of show the Tweener perspective, but it felt...flat.

Then I thought of the going to discreetly get Zoge to run interference in the "Ambrose changes Clark" scene.

But even then that felt not good enough.

Then I realized what Clark would eventually do to Ambrose, and what Ambrose would do to Clark.  And then I realized that this had to happen too.  

Tracy is in an awkward position as a Tweener, socially, but she wouldn't let someone she actually cared about get abused in such a way.

[Kat5]

3 minutes ago, Personalias said:

Tracy is in an awkward position as a Tweener, socially, but she wouldn't let someone she actually cared about get abused in such a way.

I repeat with absolute certainty: Tracy is nothing shy of a hero. At this point in the story I can only expect that there is about to be an extreme amount of fallout and activity. I don't really want to inject any expectations (more than my ramble above because I was genuinely shocked) but WOW. I get the impression that he was nearly beaten to death by an angry giant. They're more than strong enough to kill us on accident, let alone when mad!