Where was Tracy?
And they were all using the pretext and language of my own damn profession to do it; a profession that they admitted that I was damn good at! But because I didn’t fit into their cookie-cutter definition of what an “adult” was- a word that was synonymous with Amazon as far as they were concerned- then I needed to be stuffed and contorted into another mold, no matter how much shoving and pushing and what else broke inside me so that I could fit neatly into their categories.
Where was Tracy?
I just kept shaking my head, though to their eyes, it must have looked like I was nuzzling the stupid lion. I even heard one of them whisper. “Someone’s made a new friend.”
Anger wouldn’t serve me just then, and if nothing else, the stuffed lion gave me a chance to wipe away unformed tears, dig my fingers into something, and cool down.Things were moving on toward the end of the meeting. “Wait!” I said, as voices were beginning to overlap and mingle with each other; the surest sign that any meeting was beginning to run too long. Predictably, I was ignored. Time for a different tack. “Excuse me…? Excuse me, ma’ams?”
Just that little spoonful of sugar, that bit of conforming to their preconceived notions got me their attention. “You’re not sure about my developmental plateau?” I felt like I was going to throw up a little bit. I hated using their term, their made up excuse as to why I should be infantilized and denied my rights.
“That’s right, Clark,” Skinner assured me. “But don’t worry buddy, we’ll find it after a couple of weeks.”
“Does that mean that the goals can be changed to…” damnit…I couldn’t think of a better, less grown-up way to ask… “does that mean my goals can be changed to reflect that?”
“That’s right!” Bankhead beamed. “You get it!”
I didn’t dare say it just then, but I felt a bit of hope well up inside me. In actuality, I was already at the “bargaining” stage of my grief. Maybe I could resist long enough and maneuver the social minefield they’d thrown me into so that I could make things better on myself. I’d done it all my life before. Maybe I could do it again and get a toddler bed, or a pair of Pull-Ups.
But what was I talking about? I wasn’t planning on being here long.
Where was Tracy?
“Now comes the hard part,” Bankhead said. “What do we do about guardianship?”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Each of the Amazons in turn looked to one another. Their faces and body posture changed instantly. They all wanted to see me put back in diapers. But none of them wanted to take me home. And there was something else there; something that I didn’t want to recognize: They all had bad news that they didn’t want to break. “Um…what about Tracy? Miss Tracy, I mean. Couldn’t she adopt me?”
There was hemming and hawing around the table, and uncomfortable exhalations; but no one actually spoke.
“Where’s Tracy?”
The world jumped up a little bit as Beouf turned me around and sat me down on the edge of the conference table, staring me in the eye. “Clark, sweetie….” she took a breath. “Tracy already went home. She can’t adopt you. She’s not here.”
I felt nothing. Completely numb. Not disbelieving. Not misunderstanding. As my last grain of salvation slipped away, I was beyond feeling anything in that tiny moment. Tracy had abandoned me. I was fair game.
“Can you adopt me?” I don’t know if it was cunning or desperation that made my voice come out so tiny and pathetic. “Please, Miss B.?” Better the mad devil you know…
Beouf shook her head. “Sorry baby. I don’t think I can. You know I’m going to be a grandma soon. I can’t have two babies to take care of.”
I’d never seen Beouf look so unsure, so discomforted. A dark part of me was glad about that. “But I thought you said you’d take care of me. I thought you loved me.”
“I do, Clark. I do. But I can’t take care of you all of the time. I sent an email out while you were sleeping but-” I was done listening to her.
I twisted and looked around the conference table, the polished wood sliding easily underneath the plastic covering of my diaper. “Then who?”
No response.
Then, “There’s always New Beginnings.” It was Bankhead, of course. “They’ve got an overnight program for um…Orphans.” New Beginnings was worse than any scenario I could have prepared for.
I was going to be murdered but still have my body intact.
“I…” I felt my throat tightening; getting harder to breath. “I don’t wanna…” I was dying. They’d just sentenced me to death, and even Mrs. Beouf knew it. “Please don’t…please…”
Mrs. Beouf looked like she might be about to join me in my impending breakdown. “I’m sorry, baby. I don’t think there’s a choice.” Lies. There was always a choice. I just wasn’t the one allowed to make it. “I promise I’ll check up on you. Maybe whoever adopts you will enroll you back in my class…” Even that was a lie, and I could tell that Beouf knew it. You didn’t need a fully brainwashed Little to be enrolled in anything more than a daycare.
I was all out of outrage. Tears hadn’t come yet and some part of me wouldn’t allow a full breakdown.
I grimaced.
I was going to die.
My mouth opened; I couldn’t breathe through my nose suddenly.
I’d be mindless.
A churning in my stomach, similar to yet distinct from the sensation that had been sneaking on me prior to my accident.
Drooling.
I tasted it in the back of my throat.
Wet.
I wanted to spit. I wanted ro rinse. Anything to get the awful taste out of my mouth. Anything except swallow.
Doll.
I vomited. Clear water mixed with stomach acid came out of me, spilling outward and onto my shirt. It was strong enough to hit open air, but the force of my stomach emptying its meager contents back out wasn’t enough to spill the vomit on anyone else but me.
A wave of gasps mingled with the familiar gargling noises coming from my throat as I sat there, paralyzed in despair as I heaved up the bottle I’d just guzzled down less than an hour ago.
“Oops! Spit up!” Mrs. Beouf was the first to act. The world became a sudden blur again as I was picked up by my armpits and rushed towards the nearest trash receptacle. “It’s okay Clark. It’ll be okay. Just get it all out.” I continued retching and heaving bits of my stomach into the nearest wastebasket. All out!
In the back of my mind, I took some grim satisfaction in how uncomfortable everyone suddenly seemed to be. Good. Let them be.
Just as I was starting to pant, and taste the rancid sting in the back of my throat, snot building up in my nose, a new complication entered the mix.
Positioned as I was, I heard the approaching thudding and clacking footsteps, more than saw who they belonged to. I heard the door to the conference room swing open, knocking against the bumper, and felt the cold climate controlled air spill out into the lukewarm atmosphere outside. I sensed, more than saw all heads turn towards the intruder.
Tracy?
“WAIT!” Janet stood there in the doorway, breathing heavily as if she had just sprinted a marathon. Everyone froze. Her hair was wind whipped, her eyes wild and panicked. Her stance was tilted; she was missing a heel, apparently losing its twin on her mad dash across campus. “I just got the email!”
Bankhead looked over her laptop. “What email?”
“I’ll do it…!” Janet walked, hobbled really over to the trashcan where Mrs. Beouf was still holding me. Two new hands wrapped around my waist and drew me in; holding me as if they were afraid I might evaporate into nothingness. “I’ll take him.”
“Are you saying-?”
“Yes! I’ll adopt him. He’s mine. I want him. He’s mine! Please!”
