Chapter 31: It’s a Boy!
The car ride to Janet’s house was easily the longest car ride in my life. It wasn’t because Janet lived particularly far away from school. Distance had little to do with it, though sitting in a pink backwards facing car seat didn’t help my sense of spatial orientation.
It wasn’t because I suddenly had to pee despite throwing up a ton of water. My bladder had little to do with it, though when a toilet is strapped around your ass, you suddenly become hyper aware of every rumble and twinge. Had I been in underwear, I probably wouldn’t have registered the slight need to urinate.
It wasn’t because I was panicking and bemoaning my very new existence as a captured Little. That would come later. In any catastrophe, the shock and numbness comes first as mind and body flails desperately to protect themselves. The real pain always comes later, assuming you’re lucky enough to survive.
What made that particular car ride seem so incredibly long to the point of it being its own tiny eternity, was that Janet wouldn’t get off her damn phone almost the entire ride.
“Hello? Jessica? I’m a Mommy!” I winced as she squealed and her friend on the other line screamed. How could people so big manage to get their voices so high? “I’m so happy, you have no idea! His name is Clark! Yes! That Clark!” I looked in the mirror mounted in front of me. It was angled so that I could see the reflection of Janet in the rearview mirror. Our backs were to each other, but eye contact was still feasible; almost unavoidable. Hers were sparkling with delight. Mine were all but obfuscated by the fuzzy main of a stuffed lion. “Yeah! Yeah! He’s soooo cute you have no idea! Okay! I’ve got to make more calls!”
She hung up. Giddily, she waved in the mirror at me. I just buried my face in the stupid stuffie, while she “Awwwwed” and squealed like a girl with her first kitten. It made sense. Littles were pets. Dolls. And I was one of them, now.
“Hello, Shiela? Guess who’s a Mommy?!” Again. More screaming. You’d think she won the lottery. “No. No. I didn’t need an agency. Not a girl.” My blood ran cold. When Amazons wanted baby girls, they got them….one way or another. “Poor Little thing just fell into my lap! I’m SOOOO happy! Thank you! Okay, talk to you later! Love you! Bye!”
I’d never seen Janet this happy. I don’t think I’d seen any Amazon this happy before. She was a wino getting her first sip. What was going to happen to me? “Janet?” I called out. Through our reflections, she made eye contact with me, but didn’t respond. “Janet?” I called again.
There was this strange anticipation in her eyes. A bizarre kind of hope. It was the first time I’d opened my mouth since she’d taken me in her arms. I was too shocked to say anything when she signed the custody papers promising to take responsibility for me. I was terribly mute as she strapped me in the car seat. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course you can, sweetie!” Her voice was still a stack of giddy pancakes, now with extra sweet syrup. “What can Mommy do for you?” There was that word. She was trying it out, seeing how she liked it on her tongue. But more importantly, she was hoping to try it out and see how it felt coming out of my mouth.
“Why are you making so many phone calls?”
My ex-friend turned captor giggled like I’d said something particularly precocious. “Because Mommy wants to tell all of her friends how excited she is and how happy she is to have you!”
Right then I prayed to whatever might listen: Please don’t ask if I’m happy. Please don’t ask if I’m happy. Please don’t ask if I’m happy. Please don’t ask if I’m happy. Please don’t ask if I’m happy. Please don’t ask if I’m happy.
I was terrified that I might answer truthfully.
Thankfully, she didn’t just then. All praise whatever angel doles out small miracles.
“Why don’t you just send out a group text?” I asked. If nothing else I wouldn’t be forced to have to listen to the same giddy screeching about my lack of personhood over and over again.
“Because silly,” Janet said, “I’m so happy that I want to experience it again and again and again!” She was trying to draw the moment out. Making the buzz last for as long as she possibly could. Teasing out her own masturbatory fantasy. “And if Mommy sent out a group text, her friends would still be calling her to congratulate us.”
Us. Congratulate us. As if I had any say in this. Any at all. I wanted to scream. I also wanted to avoid being gagged, so instead I just buried my face into the lion stuffie.
“Awwwwww!” Her eyes went back to the road and her auto dialer.
“Hello, Chelsea? Guess who’s a Mommy?! EEEEEEEEEEE! Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Yes! You should see him! He’s in the car seat right now and cuddling with his stuffed lion!”
My face flushed with I can’t even tell you what emotion. Janet continued on, oblivious. Typical. “Clark! Uh-huh! He just pooped his pants today! I mean, he’s a Little and I think he might’ve had one or two accidents at school before; but somebody noticed and checked him today! No! He wasn’t a student! He’s all done growing.” Whatever the Amazon on the other line must have said something particularly funny, because Janet was practically cackling. “Oh you know what I mean! You’re bad! You’re so bad! Okay. Love you too. Bye.”
It was at least another four phone calls before we came to stop. Each time, the details got more and more explicit: How cute I was. How I’d pooped my pants in front of everyone. How I used to be a teacher…and that was only for the ones who didn’t know. I counted at least two times where I was “that Clark”. Meanwhile I kept praying into my lion: Please let us crash. Please let her be so overwhelmed with pseudo-maternal.
The car came to a stop, but I had next to zero chance to be able to see out the window positioned as I was. The engine didn’t turn off. Ride wasn’t over yet. Heck if I knew where we were.
“Thank you for choosing MacDonell’s, can I take your order?” Great. Drive through. I’d never used a drive thru-I was always afraid I’d get run over on my scooter. This was probably the worst introduction to it.
Janet cleared her throat, “Yes, I’d like a number 1, medium, with extra pepper on the fries, a diet cola to drink and…” I saw her bite the bottom of her lip and fail to suppress a grin. “A Little’s Meal!”
The voice on the drive through speaker came back. “Am-Mac meal and a Little’s Meal. Would you like the girl’s toy or the boy’s toy?”
“Boy’s toy!” Janet gushed. “I’m a new Mommy!” The woman actually clapped; she was so excited. I could have called out for help, I suppose. But what would have been the point?
Janet’s car lurched forward and pulled up to the first window. “So that’s a Am-Mac Meal and a Little’s Meal.” I couldn’t turn my head around enough to see the person at the window, but sounded like a guy; maybe even a teenager. “Where’s your new baby?”
“He’s in the back,” Janet gushed. More squeals wiggled their way out her throat. I tried (and failed) to squirm deeper into the cushions of the car seat.
“Heh. He’s a cutie alright.” In the reflection I caught the reflection of a young man with more acne than chin hair. He waved at me and smiled. I was on parade. I was on one long humiliation parade.
Janet paid for the food and took the receipt. “Excuse me? I don’t think you charged me enough.”
“Little Meal is on the house,” the cashier explained. “First one’s free. Store policy.”
“Thank you!”
“Congratulations.” I saw the hand reach out and wave to me. “Later, Little dude.”
The car lurched forward again, and I closed my eyes. Please let this be over. Please.
A woman in the second window handed Janet a paper bag and a brightly colored pink and blue cardboard box: An Am-Mac and a Little’s Meal. “Do you want barbecue sauce or honey mustard for your Little Meal?”
“Honey mustard.” Janet answered before I even had a chance to give any input. No input was expected of me though. Part of me was glad, I didn’t say anything. I liked barbecue sauce. But a big part of me didn’t want to be even remotely comfortable just then. If I was going to be doomed and miserable, I should be completely doomed and completely miserable. If I had expressed a preference, the Amazons would have probably done the opposite anyways as a show of who was in control.
It would’ve been typical.
“Thank you!” Janet said.
“You’re very welcome. And congratulations!” Was business that slow that yet another Little being enslaved was a cause of celebration or were Amazons just that crazy?! Both maybe?!
The ride was just one more humiliating phone call. “Mom? Dad? Or should I say Grammy and Pop-Pop! That’s riiiiight!” The rest of that call was drowned out by my own anxiety and the growling in my stomach. I hadn’t eaten anything solid all day, and as much as I hate to admit it, the food in the front seat smelled good. Lots of things smell good when you’re hungry enough. Even something specifically marketed as a Little Meal.
The car came to a stop, and Janet cut the engine. We were “home”. The belly of the beast. I heard Janet pad around the car and open the passenger door, likely to get the food out. Then I watched as she opened the back seat and leaned in.
“Welcome home, Clark!” I looked in my old co-worker’s face for any sign of recognition, any sign that she might be seeing me as a person instead of a plaything. No such luck. Only manic glee.
As she unbuckled me from the pink carseat, I tried one last futile attempt at reasoning with her. In a weird way I felt I owed her that much. “Janet,” I said. “It’s not what you think.”
Two fingers slipped into the leg cuffs of my diaper. “Still dry,” she said, as if I couldn’t tell the difference.
“I’m not a baby,” I tried to tell her. “Somebody poisoned me or something!”
She picked me up out of the carseat and draped me over her shoulder. “Uh-huh.” She pulled back the waistband. “Still clean.” She gave my backside a little pat. Was that praise? Encouragement? If anything she sounded kind of disappointed.
“Janet,” I begged while she toted me and the greasy fast food inside. “I’m serious.”
The door opened behind me, and I didn’t get to see the color until she kicked it closed behind me. Red. My new prison had a red garage door. “I know you are, hon,” Janet said. “And I believe you.”
Janet’s gait got much steadier as she walked, and I saw her broken heels a few steps in the house.
“You do?” I asked. In terms of grief I had arrived at bargaining. If Janet was willing to listen to me, maybe I could convince her to let me go. I don’t know how I’d get to somewhere safe, but I was in one-step-at-a-time mode.
“I do believe you,” she said. “I believe you’re telling yourself stories, really convincing and creative stories, to convince yourself that you’re still a grown-up.” I saw the beige floor of the kitchen after we’d crossed the threshold. Backwards. My entire life was being carried backwards, both literally and figuratively. “It’s a behavior common in Maturosis Littles who haven’t found their Developmental Plateau.”
I was put down in a highchair. Also pink. I barely managed to lean forward about an inch before Janet single-handedly pushed me back and strapped me in. The tray clicked in, separating my top half from my bottom half; sealing the deal. “Janet! That’s ridiculous. Listen to yourself!”
She sat down at the table and started unboxing the food right next to me. She reached over and took my lion from me, sitting him on the table. “So he doesn’t get messy,” she said. “What’s his name?”
The dead eyed thing sat out of reach staring at me. “I don’t know and I don’t ca-”
“We’ll name him later, then.”
“Fine.” It wasn’t fine. Not at all. Some stupid, petulant part of me just wanted to get the last word in on something.
