No. This toilet was here simply because it was mandated that this room have a toilet in it; even if after today no one was going to be allowed to use it. The Amazons did love their insane rules and plays at fairness. Also, who knows; once upon a time, an architect or contractor might have thought that there’d be a big enough Pre-Kindergarten population to warrant two tiny toilets.
The only difference between Beouf’s bathroom and my own was the furniture. Straight ahead of me, looming over me, in fact, was a giant, sturdy, unmovable changing table. It was a heavy thing; at least as thick and almost as wide as my own teacher’s desk. It was taller to boot. It took up most of the bathroom. Unlike my father-in-law, my spatial awareness wasn’t the best, but chances were only a single Amazon could squeeze in here at a time. Them and whatever Little they were diapering, anyways.
The cabinet in front of me was already stocked, because of course it was. Wipes and baby powder were in the upper levels for easy Amazonian reach mid changing. At the foot end, a packet of wipes was already resting in a little nook near the edge.
The lower shelves were of course, already stacked with diapers. White ones. Colored ones. Plain ones. Decorated ones. All arranged in neat and tidy stacks of four or five. Beneath each stack, was a piece of masking tape and a Little’s name written beneath.
Chaz. Ivy. Tommy. Shauna. Mandy. Billy. Sandra Lynn. Jesse. Annie. There but for the grace of some capricious and fickle god go I. These were leftovers from last year, I knew. Their so-called parents hadn’t bothered to take the diapers home because most of the Littles would be coming back at the end of summer. Beouf hadn’t bothered to throw them out, because it’s not as if her ‘students’ would grow out of them. Ever.
Taylor’s actually had some Pull-Ups on top. Poor girl wouldn’t even get that much at New Beginnings. I wondered who would replace her. Someone always did, it seemed.
Idly, I craned my neck up and away and caught sight of my reflection. That was weird. Why would there be a mirror on the ceiling? Maybe to make sure that whatever Amazon was on diaper duty didn’t miss a spot? But that didn’t make sense.
Best not to dwell on it, I decided. I finished and cleaned myself up; even daring to snag an Amazon sized baby wipe, just in case. Beouf was on my side now, but a skid mark was practically a death sentence. It all got flushed down the toilet anyways; and it’s not like anybody counted wipes. That’d be like counting squares of toilet paper.
Come to think of it, how old was this bathroom’s toilet paper?
It was a morbid and fatalistic curiosity that overtook me when I pulled one of Chaz’s diapers from the top of the stack and looked at it. Chaz, the last fellow Little that had gotten my bullshit “find a way to quietly rebel” speech. Poor kid. Literally. Most of us got at least a taste of adulthood before one of the giants took an unhealthy interest in us.
Chaz probably still had his peach fuzz before a laser zapped it off his lip for ever. Pubes too. Now all of his underwear crinkled and had balloons on the butt; and the only thing that would change that is if his captors switched to a new brand.
I shuddered at the thought and placed it back on top of the stack. Not me. Never me.
I flushed and walked back through to my classroom. Mrs. Beouf had been considerate enough to leave the doors open for me and was waiting. I hadn’t yet attached my pull-chords. “Ready to get started?” I asked.
“Did you remember to wash your hands?” She sounded like a mother just before supper time.