The book was in her hands now, but she was no closer to figuring out what to do with it. She held it tightly in her hands and said out loud, “I want to be a grown-up again.”
Nothing happened.
Megan stared hard at the book again and tried a new tack. “I like being a grown-up,” she whispered to it. “I am happy as a grown-up,” she pled, willing it to work.
Her eyes shut tight, book gripped tightly, she wished silently over and over for it to change her back, to fix things. Then she opened her eyes and looked around. Nothing had changed. She was still dressed in a unicorn t-shirt and pull-ups, there were still toddler toys all over and an adult-sized infant swing in the middle of the room.
Now Megan felt a new emotion, anger. In fact it was more than just anger. Megan was enraged. If the book couldn’t fix her, what good was it? It seemed that it could only make things worse, not better. After all, just as Rachel had pointed out the night before, things hadn’t turned out so well for Holden Caulfield had they? He’d ended up in a nut-house. In fact, that’s what happened to another devotee of this novel, John Hinckley, too. No, the book was clearly evil and there was only one way to deal with that. Megan knew she had to destroy the wicked thing and she had to do it now.
First she needed to make sure she wouldn’t be interrupted. So she crept upstairs, hearing the sounds of cooing and giggling echoing down to her. At the top of the steps she peaked her head just around the corner until she could see into the bathroom.
Assured that Mommy was well distracted Megan scurried downstairs and tip-toed into the kitchen. The place was well baby-proofed with plastic locks on every cabinet. While those may have thwarted a mental toddler Megan easily undid them and rifled through cabinets and drawers until she found what she was looking for, a big box of matches.