questions from the Judge

The judge reached out and took the folder, and set them down before looking at me. “Hello there, Little boy! What’s your name?” I didn’t answer. I didn’t bother glaring or sneering. I was in an Amazon’s arms, dressed how I was, and had already been put through this particularly torture twice today. I wasn’t defiant…just emotionally exhausted by this point.

Was this how they wore us down?

“Can he talk, still?” the judge asked Janet.

Janet nodded.“Mm-hmm. He’s just tired. Maybe feeling shy. He’s had a big day, today.”

“Oh I’m sure,” the judge agreed. “Very big day!” He opened the file. “Hmm…Clark…Gibson. Yes?”

“That’s right, sir.” Janet wasn’t even waiting for me to talk, now.

“Name change to…Grange…?” The judge looked at Janet and back down to the file. “Miss, if I’m reading this correctly, you’re divorced. Are you sure you want his name to match your ex-husband’s?”

“I’m sure,” Janet said. “I married young. I think of it as my last name now.” She paused a beat. “I don’t want to go through all the paperwork to change it back.”

“Fair enough. If only we could change our names as easily as they change theirs.” He indicated me. They both had a good laugh at that. Ha-ha-ha…it only takes a form and a kangaroo court to get my last name changed. Har-dee-fuckin’-har. The judge ran a finger down the paperwork. “Reason for adoption is Maturosis, correct?”

“That’s correct, sir.” Janet said. “He’s already enrolled in the Developmental Plateau and Maturosis class over at Oakshire Elementary.”

The judge gave a light chuckle. “Maturosis, huh?” He shook his head, knowingly. “Back in my day, we just called it ‘being too Little and immature’.” Some dark and angry part of me liked this man, now. Guy was an asshole, but at least he was somewhat honest about it.

“Terms change as our understanding changes,” Janet replied. A flash of the teacher I admired was buried in that sentence. A flash of Beouf’s and Little Voice’s influence, too, no doubt.

“Fair enough,” the judge chuckled. “Fair enough. My daughter is forty, going on three! Is that still a term?” Both of them laughed. I didn’t. The old bailiff was smiling good naturedly but otherwise shaking his head. The secretary/clerk/whatever was barely paying attention. No doubt the judge used that line a lot.

The judge flipped through the papers. “Everything seems to be in order. It says here that you’re applying for Twenty-two thirty-five status…?“ A lifetime of scrounging through Amazon propaganda and secrets and I’d never heard of that one. It was either new, secret, or something no Little had been able to escape from long enough to tell the rest of us about it.

“Yes, sir.”

I sat up a little more in Janet’s arms and threw a questioning look at her. The heck was a twenty-two thirty-five?

“It means that you’ll be issued a new social security number,” Janet explained with a smile. “Your old one will be retired. You’ll keep your same birthdate, but all your records will start fresh. Doctor’s, dental, education, employment history. Legally, you’ll be a new person. A fresh start!” She sounded like she was doing me a favor. There was love in her voice. Love and madness.

I did some calculations in my head. That also meant that if I ever escaped I could never get a job that required a social security number. I could never leave the country with my own passport. I could never use the name “Clark Gibson”. In some far off imaginary future, everything I’d do would have to be strictly under the table, deep net, and black market.

If I ran away, I’d never be on grid; never stop looking over my shoulder. This was almost as bad as if they’d injected a tracking chip in me. Worse in some ways. I could imagine digging a tracking chip out of my skin. This? This would really follow me. Janet was taking away more than my adulthood; she was taking away my literal identity.

“Legally, I’ll be dead.” My voice came out as barely a squeak. This place was an execution chamber. I, Clark Gibson, had come here to die.

“It also means,” the judge said to Janet, “that you won’t be entitled to any benefits he might receive with your power of attorney. That bit of unemployment they get when they lose their big boy jobs can still buy a lot of diapers.”

That was something that had never occurred to me before. If adopted Littles still had some rights or property as adults; there might be an entire market towards kidnapping them and getting compensated through unemployment or inheritance or insurance.

If only I could make it back to my bedroom, my real one, and tell Cassie about it as we searched MistuhGwiffin.web. That wasn’t an option anymore, though.

“I know,” Janet said. Her gaze hadn’t left me. “But my Clark deserves a fresh start and I want to give it to him.”

“Fair enough.” The judge grabbed his gavel. “Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you mother and child! You are now his legal guardian and control nothing of the estate of Clark Gibson.” He pointed the gavel to me. “And you are now Clark Grange.” The gavel slammed down, sealing my fate.

I was brought over to the clerk’s desk, and Janet handed the files over. My hand was pressed on a scanner right next to the clerk’s computer. My feet too. Within moments, a certificate was printed, my hand, finger, and footprints now fully in the system; with a new certificate verifying who I was, and a sample Social Security Number that was completely different from the one I’d long ago memorized. The “real” one, it was mentioned, would be mailed to Janet in a few days.

Clark Grange.

My name is Clark Grange. I’ve got the same birthday as Clark Gibson. Same fingerprints, too. Same DNA and blood type. Same everything. But legally, I’ve never had a parent other than Janet. I’ve never been married. I’ve never had work experience or a job or taxable income. I’ve never even had a formal education beyond what Littles experience in a daycare setting. Technically according to my I.E.P. I’ve never even been potty trained.

I told you at the beginning that this was complicated.

On the other side of the clerk’s computer was a pile of stuffies. The judge came from behind the desk and picked one up. “Would your new son like one?” He picked up a stuffed bumble bee and gave it a shake in my face. I heard the cling clanging of a bell and almost swallowed my tongue. I felt a rush not dissimilar from a shot of vodka.

That was no ordinary stuffie!

“NO THANK YOU!” I blurted out. “I have a lion! I like lions!” I didn’t wait for the other Amazon to offer again. “Mommy, can I have my lion?”

Mommy. Magic words. The lion was out of the diaper bag and squished against my chest in an instant. “Awwww!” the secretary remarked. “What an adorable lion! He looks just like you!” I looked at the stuffie; come to think of it, it’s hair was a similar shade of red to my own. More brownish than ginger, but close enough. “What’s his name?”

I scrambled for a name. Shit! What did lions name themselves? Ferdinand? Richard? Aslan? Lambert? The fuck was I thinking?! Lions didn’t name themselves! Lions didn’t have names; not really. “Lion,” I finally said. “His name is Lion.”

Janet started laughing as though she thought that it was both the funniest and the cutest thing in the entire world. All the other giants joined in. “An entire vocabulary full of names,” she said, “and you name your lion Lion. Typical Clark.”

I looked at Janet like I’d been slapped. I felt my forehead start to boil with rage. Typical was MY word for people like her! Not the other way around! “HEY!” I yelled out.

I was ignored. “That’s a Little for you,” the judge cut me off. “My daughter’s the same way. Typical Little.” All the giants, the old bailiff at the other end of the room chuckled in agreement. “Can I take a selfie with you two? It’s kind of a tradition of mine. I like to get a picture with every new family I have a hand in officiating.” He showed his phone and flipped through a few pictures. The last one was the people who had come before us.

“Sure!” Janet agreed for me.

The judge held out his phone and leaned in next to Janet. “Say Family!”

“FAMILEEEEE!”

I hid my face behind Lion. The picture would hide my scowl, with only my eyes peeking out. Better I appear “shy” than pouty and have to take the photo again. “Thank you so much,” the judge said to Janet. “I hope you have a wonderful life together, and if you ever adopt another, maybe we’ll see each other.”

“Thank you so much!” Janet said. Then she looked at me. “Come on Clark. Let’s go get you changed.” I tensed at what was going on in my pants being talked about so openly again. That…that was something I was going to have to get used to, sadly. I buried my face in Lion to hide my shame. Better him than Janet. Better him than some messed up bumble bee that had more going on than a simple jangly bell.

The bailiff opened the door and Janet passed the man with the completely mind fucked Little “newborn” before he went in. Just before we got to the restrooms, Janet was stopped.

“Excuse me,” the Amazon said. “I have to use the restroom, but I don’t want to leave my daughter unattended.” It was the same woman who had her Little girl on a leash.

“Oh my gosh,” Janet said. “Same! I’ve been holding it all day! I’ll watch yours if you watch mine?”
“Deal,” the Amazon said, handing her Little’s leash over to Janet, before trotting into the restroom.

Janet set me down, finally letting me stand on my own two feet for the first time all day. The tile felt cool on my bare feel. I also really felt the weight of my diaper. Even with the onesie on, I could feel the diaper sag more now that I wasn’t effectively sitting down. It was an odd sensation at first, the feeling that something was sagging down and being full of something, not to mention knowing what it was full of and why. The fact that it felt full, but no longer, wet was a little disconcerting too. These Monkeez really did their job.

“Hi,” Janet chirped to the Little girl, “What’s your name?” She was still crouching after setting me down.

“Diandra…” the Little girl said. Her pacifier had been removed, but was still dangling from her collar. “Now, anyways. My…my Mommy changed it for me…” We were in the same boat, this Diandra and me. She was nervous and scared: Scared of saying the wrong thing or the wrong term or nervous to say it in the wrong way. Afraid of what Janet might tell her Mommy.

“Do you love your Mommy?”

The girl hugged the toy butterfly as tightly as I clutched onto Lion. “Yes ma’am.” Right answer. Not likely a truthful one, but it was the right one. It was what the Amazon wanted to hear.

“Good,” Janet approved. “Your Mommy loves you, too. No matter what.” Janet wasn’t just talking to the girl. It wasn’t nearly as comforting as she thought.

“Yes ma’am.” She shifted and another jangle from the stuffie’s bell came out. I saw the girl’s eyes and nostril’s flare with a kind of excitement. She gave it another shake. This time it was loud enough that I felt a strange buzz in the back of my brain. A guy could get to like that buzzing… that was a bad thing.

I managed a half step back. “I wouldn’t,” I said to the diapered woman.

“Clark,” Janet said in a warning tone. “It’s her toy and she can play with it how she wants, just like how you can play with Lion.” She repeated, “Lion” with a grin, still swooning that I’d opted to give my toy the simplest (and therefore in her mind the “Littlest” and most “babyish”) name possible.

Diandra’s (I knew her by no other name) Mommy came out of the bathroom and traded spots with Janet, taking hold of her Little’s leash, and grabbing me by the hand for good measure. I was not trusted to not to run, even though I had nowhere to run to.

This lady didn’t ask questions. Instead she explained the obvious. “Grown-ups like Mommy can’t just go potty in their diapers whenever they want. They have to hold on until they can get to a restroom.”

I started nuzzling Lion as a way to avoid her seeing my eyes roll. “Why don’t you just wear a diaper, then?” I dared to ask.

I got a look of panic from my fellow prisoner. The Amazon seemed unfazed. “Because,” she cooed. “I’m not a baby. Only babies get to have grown-ups take care of them and change them and feed them and buy them pretty clothes and toys.” My punishment was her privilege. Damn that worked on so many different levels.

Typical.

 

“Being a grown-up is so hard and sometimes it’s no fun at all!” she lectured. “Babies get to play and don’t have to worry about anything! Aren’t you two lucky to get to be babies and not have to worry about all that yucky grown-up stuff?”

I exchanged looks with the other Little. That last sentence wasn’t really a question.

“Yes, ma’am.” I said.

“Yes, Mommy,” her voice overlapped with mine.

Janet came back out and picked me up. Diandra’s captor followed suit. “I saw there were three changing stations in there.”

“I saw that too.”

“Their turn?”

“Their turn.”

A few more giant strides and I was on my back, a strap over my chest, and my onesie being unsnapped from the bottom. Janet and her fellow Amazon got all the privacy they wanted, even going so far as taking turns. Me and the Little girl got our clothes hiked up and our diapers changed in tandem. The sounds of tapes being ripped off of plastic blasting in stereo.

I pretended to be deeply fascinated in Lion, pressing his synthetic fur and cotton filled corpse onto my face as baby wipes were dragged over my half naked form. I was both trying to rebury my head in the proverbial sand as well as give the other Little some measure of modesty. It wasn’t much, but it was what I could do. Little things.

Janet and the other woman made small talk while we were being changed. They talked about how friendly the judge was and how excited they were to be officially and legally mothers, all while balling up two wet diapers and wipes and tossing them in the garbage can.

“There’s so much I can’t wait to do!” the other Amazon said as I felt the new diaper slipped under me. “Play dates! Mommy daughter days!”

Janet was busy dusting my backside. “Mmmhmm! I’m personally hoping that his nursery and furniture is replaced and repainted by the time we get back to Oakshire.” I looked up at her just as the front ends of the diaper were being tucked in so that the back sides could be tugged up and taped on. “Surprise!” she winked at me.

“You live all the way in Oakshire?” the other Amazon said. “That’s a shame, I was hoping you might know some good local daycares.”

“Sorry,” Janet said while she finished the last tape and started rebuttonning me.

The Little girl was back on the ground, her change finished slightly before mine, her pink toddler leash still firmly in her captor’s grasp. “I don’t know about daycares in Oakshire,” Janet’s new bathroom buddy said, “but if you give me your email I can forward you to some links that contain Little based attractions here in the city. Might be good for a weekend trip or something.”

“Oh that’d be great. There’s not a lot to do back home. We had to come all the way out here just to finalize Clark’s adoption.”

“Yes, but I can see the appeal for a quiet, less busy life to raise a Little child in.”

The two talked all the way out of the courthouse and into the parking lot, gabbing like old friends, or new parents who were just ready to jump into the room. The other Little- who had had even her first name stolen from her- exchanged quiet looks of commiseration. She’d stopped shaking her butterfly, too. I think my warning clued her in.

We were our Mommies’ dark mirrors in so many ways. They were powerful. We were helpless. They got to lead. We had to follow. They were getting everything they’d ever wanted. We had a life of, at best, compromise to look forward to. They were defined now in so many ways because they had chosen us. We were going to be defined by being forced with them. And most importantly, in the eyes of the law and society at large, they’d be looked at and be seen by so many as so many things.

Janet was a woman, a divorcee, a mother, a teacher, a neighbor and member of a community; possibly a potential lover. Me? All I got to be was her baby and maybe a cautionary tale to Littles who saw me.

As I was being buckled back into the carseat for the long ride home, I saw that the line of new “parents” and their Littles still stretched out. It had grown if anything. Plenty of Amazons had decided to adopt after work, I guessed.

These thoughts stuck with me the rest of the day, my first full day as a babied Little. I had only my simple but harmless stuffed animal to give me comfort, and occasionally Janet when I could make myself forget that it was her fault I was stuck like this.

Janet hadn’t lied. This place was “special”. But “special” wasn’t the same thing as “good”.