Each of us still holding onto the same pole, we wrapped our free arms around each other and held on tight just in time for another speed bump. “I love you,” we both said.
A shadow fell over us. A figure was blocking the passing street lights. A very tall figure. “Excuse me,” the Amazon said politely enough, “but do you happen to work at Oakshire Elementary?” I immediately lost any remaining discomfort in my bladder. I still had to pee like a racehorse, but adrenaline can do strange things to one’s pain tolerance.
A full bladder was nothing compared to being in the shadow of an Amazon…especially one that thinks they know you.
I looked up. Catherine broke off our hug, but she slid her hand over mine and gave it a squeeze. Riding on the giant woman’s hip, I saw a Little. “Yes ma’am,” I said, giving my best bit of congeniality. “What can I do for you?” The Little was probably one of Mrs Beouf’s students, though I couldn’t place her right away.
A massive hand came down and stopped just in front of my chest. “Helena Madra,” she said. “Pleased to meet you, sir.” She was offering to shake my hand. This? This was different…I took her hand gingerly, grasping the tips of four fingers in my palm and shook it up and down.
“Clark Gibson,” I said.
She released her grip and stood back up. “You probably don’t remember me, but my Amy used to go to Mrs Beouf’s class a few years ago.” She bounced the Little on her hip a bit more upon mentioning the girl’s name.
I nodded and smiled. Time to lie. “Amy? Amy, oh yes! Sure!” Fun fact friends: Teachers; whether Little, Tweener, or Amazon; don’t always remember your kids years after the fact. Especially if they weren’t your kids’ teachers. Doubly so if just looking at them made them fear for their very freedom and made them feel like complete and total hypocrites.
“Mommeeee!” the Little girl squealed. “I want down!”
The Amazon looked at her captive riding on her hip. “You’re only going to want uppies again in a few minutes, sweet girl.” I stole a look at Catherine. She wasn’t making eye contact, with me or anyone. She was eyeing the bus driver, looking for a way out, just in case.
We were on a moving bus with automatic doors. We weren’t getting out that way. Had to play it cool. Had to talk our way out. Don’t trigger the crazy. Don’t give Helen Marda or whatever her name was a reason to think her ‘baby’ could use a ‘sibling’ or two.
Oblivious to our panic, the conversation above Catherine and my heads continued. “Mommee! Pleeeeease?!”
“I never could say no to you,” the Amazon lady said. What a crock that was. I’m pretty sure she had said no to a lot of things. No toileting. No big kid clothes. No independence. No freedom. Anyways, she put her Little kid/captive down, and the girl plopped down on her padded behind almost as soon as her feet touched the floor, the way that one-year olds who weren’t quite comfortable with walking sometimes did. That tracked.
Now that the girl…lady…I really should refer to her as a lady…now that the Little lady was down near my eye level, I could get a better look at her. Maybe get a few gears in my memory to start spinning. I didn’t want not remembering this diapered lady to be blown out of proportion as some kind of mental defect on my part. You never know with Amazons.