My mentor and colleague leaned in close and lowered her voice, like she was giving me her assistant’s deep dark secret. “As a country, Yamatoa doesn’t believe in things like Maturosis,” she said. “OR Adult Littles,” she added hastily. “All Littles are babies over there. By law.”
That’s where I knew that name. Yamatoa had popped up on MistuhGwiffin.web several times in the past. I wanted to say that’s where that airplane had made the emergency stop the last time Catherine and I had gone conspiracy spotting. Before now, it had been one of those words that I didn’t read as much as recognize in print.
Yamatoa. End of the line. One of those places where Littles got diapered and never got away. And Zoge was from there. “That adds up,” I said, feeling smug.
“Clark, think about it.” Mrs Beouf placed a hand over mine. “Mrs Zoge grew up there. She spent most of her life over there. The idea that Littles are…are…” she paused. (Please don’t say mature). “Capable of maturity-” (Typical) “-has been a literally alien concept to her for the majority of her life.”
I said nothing, letting my silence speak for itself.
“She’s good at her job. She’s a natural with my kids. She’s got none of the bitterness or pettiness that a lot of locals have towards Plateaued Littles. And you know what I’m talking about there.” I did. Raine Forrest and Brollish came to mind. “She treats them how they need to be treated; loves them how they are.”
Still nothing from me. I didn’t care that Zoge was good at her job. After the bus ride, those were points against her.
“Clark,” one of my few Amazonian friends, maybe my only one, said. “You’ve got to believe me. She feels awful. She’s been beating herself up about it for days.”
“Maybe she should…”
Beouf was getting exasperated, I could tell. “Clark, it’s been close to ten years,” she said. “One slip up in ten years is pretty good.”
I stood up. I walked to my door. “In my world, Mrs Beouf.” I said, pulling on the chord and pushing out. “I’m not allowed one slip up. Why should she be any different?”
That day I walked to the front office alone.
“What’s wrong, boss?”
“I’m sorry…?”
“What’s bothering you? Something’s bothering you.”
“Nothing is bothering me.”
It was just after lunch. The kids were laying down on their mats and the lights were out. Tracy hadn’t taken her own break quite yet and was instead grilling me. “Clark…” she said. “What happened between you and Beouf today?”
I suppressed a growl. Tracy had a habit of addressing me by my first name only when she was worried. Of course she knew something happened. How couldn’t she? “Nothing is wrong with me and Beouf.” At least she’d been civil enough to wait till nap time to bring it up.
“Yeah. Beouf said the same thing,” Tracy whispered. “That’s how I know it’s bul…-” she stopped. “That’s how I know it’s a lie. Both you guys seem really off today, and you didn’t walk up to the front with us.”
Beouf was bothered too? Some part of me was happy about that. It felt…good…knowing I could upset a big strong Amazon. “How’s Beouf off?” I asked. I hadn’t spoken to her since I’d walked out this morning. Yeah, I’d seen her up front out at the bus loop, but there was a distinct tension: The difference between ‘can’t talk’ and ‘won’t talk’.
“Same way as you,” Tracy told me. “You get this look when you’re deep in your own head.” Inwardly I laughed. Shows how much Tracy knew. I was always in my own head.
“What look?”
“Like your mouth and your eyes don’t match. Like you just bit into a nasty piece of fruit. Or like you’re constipated.” If anybody but Tracy would have said that last part…
“Constipated?” I said, trying my best to sound offended without waking the students.
“Last couple of days.”
“I’ve been constipated for the last couple of days…?” Don’t laugh…don’t laugh…don’t laugh…
“And now Beouf’s got it, too. She’s got it, too, Boss!”
I snickered. “I made Beouf all backed up?”
We both giggled and shushed each other when Elmer groaned and rolled over. Mickey yawned, too; not quite asleep “So what’s going on?” Tracy lowered her voice back down to a whisper. “Really?
“Mr Gibson…” a new voice hissed itself into the fray. Tracy and I whipped our heads up and over to the back door. A most unwelcome sight was poking her head into my room. “May I please talk to you?” Mrs Zoge asked. “In private?”