He was so pretty, like a living version of his dolls. Smooth porcelain skin. Thick tousled black hair. The same big, blue eyes as Rosie. He was long and lanky. Standing up, he’d probably be taller than Pru. Scrunched up like he was, clinging to his bear for dear life….he looked small. Vulnerable. In need of…something. Like a piece of his life was missing.
Not because of the wheelchair. Prudence had known several people in wheelchairs over the decades. Some of them had been assholes. None of them radiated the broken vulnerability Lucas did. The broken pieces touched something in her. Stirred up stuff in her heart she hadn’t felt in a long time. So she just stood there, watching him. Unable to look away.
He never once looked up. Minutes passed. The girls never came back. The glass donation jar was pitifully empty. Yuppies walked right by, drawn to more attractive booths with goods for sale. A few locals came up, put a dollar or change in. They spoke softly to Lucas. He’d shrink back, rolling his chair back an inch or two then look half way up. He’d force a shaky half smile. He’d mumble back, voice little more than a hoarse whisper. He’d nervously tug down the bear’s skirt, trying to hide the toy’s diaper while blissfully unaware his own used diaper was on display.
The sight was just pathetic. Pru tried to muster up her usual contempt and disdain, but her insides were a jello mush. Lonely. The boy was lonely and hurting. His pain called to her, struck a chord long buried deep within her. Staring at him, she was looking at a shadow of her past self.
Pru looked up and down the busy street. Shadows lengthened as the sun started to set. Parents and costumed children began to line up for the Costume Parade before Trick or Treating. No sign of the girls. Prudence strolled out of the shadows with nonchalant ease, heading straight for the Animal Shelter booth. She pulled the pacifier out of her pocket.
Lucas rolled his wheelchair back a few more inches when a big group of well dressed townies strolled by. They didn’t even glance at the tiny, sparse booth. Costumed kids jumped and shrieked with excitement. The wall of constant passersby pressed in on him. The empty space of the booth around him seemed to shrink. Space compressed, squeezing the air out of his lungs. A cold sweat broke out on his fevered, too-hot skin.
“Not here. Not now.” He mumbled to no one as fear and panic inflated like a balloon filling up his chest and squishing his lungs. His fingers shook. He stroked Fiji the Bear’s tie-dyed teal and blue fur. He concentrated on the feel of the soft threads under his fingers, trying to distract himself from the fear suffocating him.
The teal and blue fur was the same colors as the water around Fiji, his favorite island. His parents had taken their honeymoon there, back when things were still good between them. Before things had turned sour and they ended up in prison for cooking meth. Fiji had been a white bear, but his aunt helped him tie-dye his plush companion. His dad, in rare moments of sobriety, used to tell him stories and show him pictures of Fiji Island. Lucas still wanted to visit there some day. He’d take his bear, too; bring Fiji to Fiji. He would’ve giggled if his chest wasn’t so tight.
He rubbed the silky smooth satin of Fiji’s costume. He’d made the pirate dress himself. Making clothes for his stuffed best friend had been how he’d gotten started making and refurbishing dolls. He’d been little when his mom taught him the basics of sewing after he’d begged her. His father had been less than pleased to learn about that. He didn’t really start sewing again until he was ten and living with his aunt, uncle, and cousin. They were on vacation and ten year old Rosie cut off Fiji’s head. Rosie and Lucas had shared a bed; Lucas’ night diaper had leaked. Rosie, angry at her cousin for peeing on her in his sleep, punished him by killing Fiji. His aunt had held him on her lap while she sewed Fiji’s head back on. She’d encouraged Lucas to help her. He’d been hooked.
Lucas shuddered at the memory. Warmth flooded his crotch as his bladder released. His thick diaper absorbed it all. He’d never been completely out of diapers. Doctors said his bladder was underdeveloped. He’d always wet the bed. Long car rides and vacation meant he was diapered. When he was thirteen, he had an ATV accident that injured his spinal cord. That left him in a wheelchair and in diapers full time.
His trembling fingers slipped under Fiji’s skirt, stroking the slippery texture of her diaper’s plastic backing. Fiji’s diaper was a baby doll diaper. In his mind, his bear needed diapers just like he did. She enjoyed her diapers, too. Just like he did.