“Research shows that children need structure and routine,” Beouf was still prepping the latest cognitive dissonance-inducing propaganda disguised as a flashcard game. Correction, not prepping; more like absentmindedly shuffling while she tried to placate me.
An errant thought: Was I getting more patience because of how long Melony had known me?
“How’s that?” I pressed. I already knew the answer, obviously. This time one week ago I was still a fairly well read educator. But the answer was not the point.
Beouf gave me the answer I knew she would. “Because kids learn better when they know what’s going to happen. It’s easier to play Hide and Seek when you already know the rules.”
That got Ivy’s attention in the wrong way. “Hide and Seek?”
Beouf started trying to deal out the flashcards. “Speaking of ga-”
I cut her off. Loudly. “Is that so?” Her answer made sense, but I wasn’t interested in understanding the world around me. “We need structure? Repetition?”
“Tommy, eyes to yourself.” Zoge said.
Beouf was trying to regain control. “Yes. Now-”
“Why can’t we do the game we did on Monday?” I interrupted again. “I liked that game.” A lie, but arguing in bad faith doesn’t require you to tell the truth.
“That was Monday. Today’s Thursday.”
Zoge stopped to redirect. “Shauna? Billy? Don’t look over there. Annie…” I didn’t need to look around. I knew who they were looking at.
“Oh,” I feigned understanding. “So we’re going to play that game every Monday and this one every Thursday?”
“Not necessarily…”
“Sandra Lynn…Chaz…”
“I thought routine and structure was important.” I put on my best confused face; the polite and well meaning one I had mastered dealing with Brollish and a million others just like her. “Do you mean that only some structures and routines are important?”
“Yes, Clark.” Beouf replied. She was getting impatient. Almost snippy. Had to keep it going. Had to keep Beouf talking.
New tack. “Or do you mean that there’s a… like a…” I patted my leg as if I was trying to find the right words. Accurate emotionally, but my definition of ‘right’ likely contrasted from Beouf’s. “Like, there’s a framework, but room for variation? Like jazz?”
Beouf paused and her demeanor became more pleasant. “Yes, actually.” She thought I was learning! Got her!
I was tempted to follow up with ‘Who decides?’ and add in a good old fashioned ‘Whyyyyyy?’ but a direct challenge to Beouf’s authority would get me shut down. Instead I chose, “How do you decide?”
Ivy was looking back and forth at us like she was watching an expert tennis match. Really, this was more of a verbal sparring match, and I was boxing way outside of my weight class due to authority.
“Can we play the game now?” Ivy asked. Her voice was steadily rising with impatience.
Idea! Opportunity! I pivoted in my seat and looked at Ivy. “Is it a good game?” I asked her.
Ivy nodded enthusiastically. “Uh-huh! Let’s play! I’ll teach you!”
“Better than the one where I beat you?” I clamped down so hard on my tongue so hard it was in danger of bleeding just to keep from smiling.
“You didn’t beat me!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!”
Beouf “Clark, why don’t we play a new game? Then you can see who does really well.” Nice redirection, I thought. Now for one of my own.
“Mrs. B,” I pressed, “Who won on Monday; me or Ivy?” I put her in the middle of it, when by all reasonable estimates she’d already put that snippet of Monday out of her mind.
Ivy stood up out of her chair and raised her hand. “Me-me-me-me-me!”
Beouf was beginning to show the first signs of being well and truly flustered. “I don’t think of it in those terms, Clark. I think of it as an opportunity to learn-”
“Like what?” I started to stand out of my chair but another cramp forced me back down on my ass. A diaper change would be a great way to get me shut down. “What are we going to learn?”
Beouf made a lowering motion with her palms. “Hold on, hold on, no need to get ahead. Ivy, go ahead and sit down.“
Like a good girl, Ivy sat right down. Me? “Can I play standing up?” I asked. Knees shaking, I stood up. Any moment now my body would start pushing on its own. I was fighting two battles at once and no realistic chance of winning either.
There was such a thing as a moral victory.
“Turn around, Mandy.” I still had an audience.
“How about we just sit down?” Beouf was getting frustrated. Nice.
I pressed my own agenda. “What will that accomplish?” Beouf was dealing out the cards and no longer waiting. I was losing her. The baiting could only go so far. “Mrs. Beouf? Mrs. Beouf?” I would not be ignored. “Mrs. B.? Beouffy? Beouf?”
“Clark, I need you to sit down so that I can teach.” She was doing her best not to feed into me.
“Why do you need that? I can be quiet and pay attention while standing up.”
Beouf avoided eye contact and just kept dealing cards. “Because unless all students are sitting down, my head will explode.”
My face contorted, and not because of what my insides were threatening “What?”
“If you don’t sit down,” Beouf repeated herself, “My head will explode. It’s a teacher thing.”
I opened my mouth to argue the absolute absurdity of that. No one with any common sense would think that! Not even someone as far gone as Ivy! Instantly, my brain generated a dozen counter arguments and I almost started to give them.
Instinct kicked in! This was a trap! Don’t debate on her terms!
“Oh yeah,” I said. “Exploding teacher head syndrome. I used to get that all the time.” I looked Beouf directly in the eye as I ‘yes anded’ her. “Mine always grew back after a second. My students loved it. Does yours not grow back?”
Frozen there in her chair, I saw the slightest hint of anger from the woman. Considering everything I knew about her, that likely meant that her head did feel like it was on the verge of spontaneous combustion. “No, Clark.” she said. “Mine doesn’t grow back.”
“How do you know it’s going to happen if it’s never exploded?” If smiles could kill, Beouf would have been a dead woman.
“I just…know.”
Fuck it. Prepare for killshot. “Whyyyyyy?”
Beouf huffed for a second and closed her eyes. When they opened, I knew that this round of my new game was over. “Clark. Sit down.”
“But-”
“I don’t argue with my children,” she replied flatly. “You can either sit down at the table and play this game with me and Ivy, or you can sit in Time Out.”
I jolted a bit. Time out? Pushing Beouf far enough to where she’d send me back to my old classroom?! The sensible part of me was terrified at the prospect of seeing yet another aspect of my world turned on its ear. The reckless nihilist in me was cackling in delight that it was this easy to push Beouf’s buttons. Guess which part was winning?
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the timer. Had I really been keeping this charade up that long? “How long do I have to choose?”
“Choose now, or I’m choosing for you.”
I put a slight tremble into my voice. “Are you gonna be mad at me if I make the wrong choice?”
Beouf started to shake her head. “This isn’t about me being…” she stopped herself, wise to my ploy. “Clark. Choose.”
BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP!
The timer went off!
I stepped out from my chair and pushed it in. “New center! Gotta go check the schedule like a good-!”
“Clark.” Beouf was around the table and picking me up. “You’re done. My choice.”
“Why? I didn’t do anything!” A blatant lie but if it could work for politicians…
“You know what you were doing.”
Truth. “What’d I do?!”
Instead of carrying me through to my old classroom, she took me over to her desk and dug out a tiny yellow footstool. She plopped me right down on top of it. “Stay,” she said, like I was a naughty puppy.
“I’m just aski-”
“Sit.”
I settled. “I’m just trying to learn,” I insisted. When you lie, lie big. “Why are you being so mean?”
She put the pacifier Janet had clipped onto the bib of my shortalls that morning up to my mouth. “Open up.”
I moved my head to the side so that I could squeak out, “Is it a gag?” Another question that I already knew the answer to. Of course it wasn’t a gag.
“Open up,” she repeated. An involuntary moan of pain gave Beouf the opening she needed. The bulb entered my mouth and I didn’t even have to wait to be told to close down. “Don’t spit it out. Don’t talk. Just sit there. You can suck it if it helps calm you down.” She turned her back to me. “Mrs. Zoge, can you see Clark where he’s sitting?”
“Yes, Mrs. Beouf.” Zoge wasn’t the only one.
“If you see his pacifier out or his mouth or him trying to get up before it’s time.” Inwardly, I smirked. What was she going to do? Tell Janet? Big whoop. I already knew she wasn’t a spanker. “…take his pants for the rest of the day.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Zoge called back.
My lips puckered when I heard that. My knees angled together and wrapped my arms around them, teetering on the stool. On perfect ironic timing, on cue, the inevitable happened and my irritated guts got revenge on me for inexplicable binge drinking. Bladder joined in on the fun. At least it wasn’t a loud one.
My jaw clenched and as a result the pacifier started bobbing a bit in my mouth. The big rubber bulb didn’t inflate, but I still started sucking on it, nervously. In my show of solidarity, I’d opened myself up to a thousand tiny anxieties.
It had only been a week and I’d already lost track of how many diapers I’d been forced to wear, but I was still infinitely more comfortable with them being concealed. Not even a full week and Beouf had figured out a big button of mine to push. Big enough that I would have rather sat in my own mush and suck on a pacifier than get up and suffer a repeat of Monday’s Dress Code.
I pictured myself being paraded to Lunch or the bus loop with no coverage whatsoever and felt my face flush. Everyone important already knew…but then everyone would see. It was irrational, I know, but the thing about irrationality is knowing about it doesn’t help. If only the Amazon strength rubber could be bitten through. At least I wasn’t hurting my teeth working out something that felt halfway comfortable on the stool.
“You can check your schedule in two minutes,” Beouf said. She held up two fingers as if I couldn’t understand her or count that high. Victorious, she walked back to her teacher table while the other Littles hustled and bustled to their next activity. “I’ll set an extra timer and let you know.”
That settled it in my mind beyond a shadow of a doubt. Gloves were officially off. Honeymoon was over.
I sat there, sucking on the pacifier, wincing with every inhalation. The looks of admiration from my peers were giving me strength and regaining my nerve while sulking in my setback.
Setback. Not defeat. I wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot. My mouth continued working on the pacifier, fuming. Two minutes? Two minutes! How old did she think I was? The nature of the penalty told me she was serious, but the duration communicated a perceived fragility.
I started to breathe through my mouth to try to calm myself. Sit still in a dirty diaper long enough and your brain stops noticing what’s going on down there. Turns out that can happen in less than two minutes. That and I was on a roll. “Why Day’ wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. But how-?”
DING!
An egg timer went off.
“Clark, you can take your paci out.” Zoge called.
“Do you want to go check your schedule now, Clark?” Beouf called from her table. “Or do you need some more time?” Several heads turned to look at me, wondering what I would do. Baiting Beouf had been the first step. Cementing my status and ensuring solidarity would need at least a second. “Either is okay, but you’ll have to wait the rest of the activity. I’m not gonna check on you every two minutes. It’s cool down in time out or go play on the toy shelf.”
Cool down? Something was starting to cool but it wasn’t me. Resiliently, I grabbed the pacifier and held it close to my lips. “Whyyyy?”
“Okay, that sounds like a choice to me,” Beouf said. “Paci back in, bud. We’ll see if you feel like acting like a big boy when the regular timer goes off.”
Big boy? Big boy!? Big boy didn’t mean ‘big boy’. It meant being compliant; being a teacher’s pet; being a Helper. I was a lot of things, but by the end of the day, once and for all, no one would accuse me of that.
Step one was baiting Beouf. I’d been doing that since Tuesday. I’d just now completed step two; defiance. Granted, it was defiance reshaped as a form of compliance, but the glances that my new peers spared me validated it. They all knew what was going on.
Meanwhile, I took the time to stew and ponder. Fucking ‘big boy’. What a joke! I would never be ‘big’ enough. I would never be ‘mature’ enough. I would never be anything more than a ‘child’ not fit to argue with. Always under someone’s thumb to be cooped up or put away and have to follow standards that even a teacher couldn’t follow with reliability.
DO YOU KNOW HOW IMPOSSIBLE IT IS TO GET A TEACHER TO RAISE THEIR HANDS IN A DAMN FACULTY MEETING?!
Sucking on the pacifier, putting on a quiet show, I started to plan my next move.
Extended time out was a strategic move, I told myself. A longer time out possibly meant throwing other routines off. I might become a distraction to the others, possibly put more pressure on Zoge to keep peeking up from her small group to make sure I was complying with Beouf’s directions.
No such luck nor such willpower. I was being quiet and wasn’t ready to act out further. I just ended up chilling on the footstool; looking complacent and compliant like a good Little baby. Even if the others did occasionally sneak a glance at me, it didn’t achieve what I wanted it to. It disrupted nothing. It accomplished nothing.
I was too stubborn to go to a play center and get back with the program. Too afraid to get off a simple stool. Well played, Beouf. Well played.
She’d found my limit.
They’d found my limit.
I’d found my limit
BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP!
“Check your schedule, everyone! Clark? Getting up or do you need more time?” Even the way she said it was infuriating to me on a personal level. She didn’t even sound particularly bothered or angry anymore; like she was doing me a favor and offering me extra time to sort myself out instead of threatening me with more isolation. Knowing that was the point didn’t make it any better. Admitting that after a fashion that was exactly how I’d used the time made it so much worse.
I stood up and stepped into Beouf’s view. “Getting up,” I said reluctantly.
“Okay,” she said. “Go check your schedule.” Reluctantly I nodded and marched to the visual schedule. “Hold up!” I felt her reach out and hook a denim shoulder strap. I cringed as she patted me. “Yup. I smelled something. Mrs. Zoge, will you reset my center real quick?”
“Yes ma’am.”
Mercifully, the change was quick, and Beouf didn’t talk to me until I was sealed back up. She carried me back to her table, set me down on my feet, and got down on one knee. “Mrs. B. loves you,” she said softly, “and I know you’re going through a lot, but I can’t let you misbehave and set a bad example.”
Play it cool, Clark. Play it cool. I averted my eyes to control my temper. “Yes, ma’am.” I said.
“If you need to go and sit back on the stool, it’s okay to tell me,” she said. “Just tell me with real words and not fake questions.”
‘Yes ma’am.” Suitably cowed, I went and took the icon off for the reading center. Dropping off the token, I plopped down on the nearest bean bag and continued to sulk.
Ivy looked up from an easy read book she’d have to have read at least three hundred times cover to cover. “You got in trouble,” she teased.
‘And you don’t?” I asked her. Another question I already knew the answer to. In a way I was using Ivy as a warm-up to an eventual re-match. Easy mode.
Ivy grinned from ear to ear. “Nope! I’m a good baby. I don’t pretend to be big.”
“Why not?” I ignored the implication that I was only pretending. I’d only get so far with someone like Ivy. Ivy was the poster Little for collaborators, tattletales and yeah, Helpers.
“Cuz I’m not. I’m a baby.’
Now that my downstairs were cleared, something was brewing in my upstairs. “I thought pretending is what babies did best,” I said. “Does that mean you were really a frog on Tuesday?”
A befuddled expression warped Ivy’s features. Based on a whopping four days of data and a decade of the briefest of glimpses, I’d already deduced that she was something of an outsider. Even the girls who talked to her seemed to do so out of a simple pity. This might have been the most complex conversation she’d had since Zoge had snatched her up back in Yamatoa.
“No…?”