Chapter 39: A Shower of Sparks

I’m not a religious man. I can’t say that I’m an atheist either; nor an agnostic. Frankly, whether there’s a god or gods influencing the world in some intangible or unseen way is something I never gave much thought to. I had other…BIGGER things and people taking up my time and thought process. Depending on the circumstances, religion as a whole is either the last bastion of the desperate or the luxury of those with enough time to contemplate on such great mysteries.

When I was growing up, my mother, my REAL mom, once quipped that “If God exists, He must have a whole more creativity than sense.”

Living in a world where a thirty-something could be reduced to the status of an infant in not-quite twenty four hours due to his relative size; I was inclined to agree. I just didn’t think about any god that much, because I was spending so much time trying to avoid the result of such creativity. Caught standing there all but naked in front of the T.V. a small horde of Amazons parading into Janet’s living room, I mentally added that if there was a God they had a wicked and cruel sense of humor. Someone up (or down) there was surely laughing at me, in this moment.

Mrs. Springfield and Mr. Renner; fourth and fifth grade teachers respectively were there. I knew their names only because of a handful of faculty meetings where they’d saved me a seat. Less save, and more didn’t object to me climbing up next to them. The various therapists from the I.E.P. meeting; Bankhead, Skinner, Winters, and Sosa were right behind them. Skinner had the gall to wave at me, all bright eyed.

I did not wave back…

Mixed in were at least half a dozen faces whose names I didn’t know from around campus; and a few who I didn’t even know their faces. They might have been complete strangers or friends of Janet’s.

And I was stuck there. Hemmed in from all sides by giants wearing giddy smiles and holding gift wrapped boxes of various sides.

I froze. What did I do with my body? Did I try and hide? Cover my diaper with my hands? Stand defiantly and upright with my arms over my chest? I didn’t know. What about my voice? Did I scream and shout? Did I cry out? Did I play coy and make a vain attempt at dignity? I didn’t know.

My breath came out a small and trembling thing; shaking and involuntarily whimpering because of how much my chest was hurting. I hadn’t even realized that I wasn’t breathing for the good half a minute as more and more of Janet’s guests filtered in. I only breathed when Janet came in, practically arm and arm with the last guest: Melony Beouf.

All Amazons. No Tweeners. Good. I didn’t know if I could have stood seeing Tracy see me as I was just then. No Littles, either. I was the only “baby” in the room of infantilizing maniacs.

“SURPRIIIIIISE!” The assembled cadre of former coworkers and strangers cheered. My heart rate ticked up but it had nothing to do with excitement. My skin, still a bit pinkish burned a brighter shade of red as my breathing quickened from a wild mixer of fear, frustration, and embarrassment.

Janet’s friend, Jessica, trotted in from the side. Proudly in front of her she clutched a certain stuffed feline belonging to the genus Panthera. She’d gone snooping after disposing of my old diaper. “Ooooh! So this is Li-!”

“Janet, what the hell are you doing?!” I demanded. I had chosen to go with belligerent, apparently.

A few uncomfortable giggles and some murmurs of “Janet” was my reward.

Janet stepped forward, turned the T.V. off and picked me up. The T.V. off was a small mercy. I didn’t want another Monkeez commercial coming on. “I thought my Little boy might want some Little boy toys and clothes before he went back to school on Monday.” She forced her forehead against mine, nuzzling me. “And Mommy doesn’t have everything she needs to take care of you, yet.” She walked me back over to the couch and sat down right in the middle; a Queen on her thrown with me in her lap. Two of the guests moved the coffee table out of the way. “So, Mrs. Beouf contacted allllll of our friends and they chipped in to get us presents.”

Get us presents. That was a laugh. Never has a baby shower ever been about the baby. Never has any interaction involving Littles and Amazons really been about the Little’s wants and needs.

“Us…? Really…?” I meant to sound sarcastic. It didn’t take.

Jessica sat Lion on my lap, and pinched my cheek hard enough to hurt. “That’s right, cutie!” I caught sight of Skinner whispering something to Sosa; likely remarking about how it was she who’d first handed me the stupid stuffie.

“Jessica,” Janet waved her friend off. “You’re cosseting again.” That got a quiet round of chuckles.

“Sorry!” My newly christened ‘Auntie’ skittered away. “‘Scuse me, I gotta go get his present! Left it in the car!” The sea of Amazons parted awkwardly for her so she could go out the door and into her car.

“Now Clark,” Janet gave me a gentle squeeze. “These are our guests. And they all brought these things just for you. They were thinking of you when they got them, and only want to help start you and Mommy’s life together.” Her voice was calm, loving and patient; it wasn’t any kind of secret knowing that she thrilled in calling herself Mommy. But still had the warning cadence of an adult prepping a child to receive gifts.

I sighed. “Yes…Mo……ma’a….” Nope. I couldn’t say it. Not then. “I understand, Janet.” There were no audible gasps, but looking at the faces of those gathered, I could tell that I’d made more than a few people squirmy. How DARE a Little call his Mommy by her first name.

The unfamiliar faces seemed a lot more startled than the people I’d actually shared a modicum of space with. Clark Gibson- may he rest in peace- had a certain reputation about him; a Little that had learned to pass as an adult. It made sense to those who had known him that Baby Clark Grange might have a little bit of Clark’s wit.

That’s what I told myself, anyways. It’s just as likely that my former colleagues expected me to be a little mouthier than those who didn’t regress Littles as part of their job. I hadn’t even had a full day of proper reconditioning.

Speaking of familiar faces, I noted that neither Forrest nor Brollish were in attendance. Thank whatever cruel god that put me in this position for that small delay in torment. The idea that Janet might invite either of those creeps would have made me resent…no…HATE her even more.

Her warning delivered, Janet kissed me on the top of my head and threw another curveball. “And everyone else,” she said, “please remember that Clark has gone through and is going through a lot right now. He might need help using his words productively, so we have to be patient.” Everyone nodded their understanding. Beouf was nodding in pride. This part had been rehearsed. Clearly, they’d been talking. “We’re the grown-ups, and he’s the ba…” I tensed. She stopped. “He’s my Little boy. Who’s first?”

No one moved. No one wanted to be first. Gift giving is kind of like a blind talent show. No one wants to be first and have their gift forgotten by the time a dozen or so are added to the pile, but no one wants to have to follow up a tough act.

It was Beouf who stepped up. In her hands were two boxes. One could have doubled as a life raft on me…that or a coffin. Leaning over, she adjusted her glasses and looked me in the eye.

“Hi Clark,” she said. Her tone was cheery, but neutral. A teacher greeting a new student. I didn’t respond, immediately. I bit down on my tongue instead to suppress a growl. If I was angry at Janet for adopting me I was deeply furious at Beouf.

I looked away. “Hi Mrs. Beouf…” I spat out her name. In that moment I wanted to let her know how angry I was at her. How I’d never forgive her. How I had used her last name before as a sign of respect and admiration and now viewed her as an oppressor; no better than Forrest or Brollish.

She set the first box besides Janet’s lap. “Do you want to open up your present?”

I did not. I must have shook my head a little bit.

“He must be feeling shy all of a sudden.” Janet gave me a squeeze. I couldn’t tell if it was one meant as comfort or a warning.

Slowly, Beouf started to peel open the paper. “It’s fine,” she said. “I’ll do it. It’ll give me time to explain.”

 

Explain? Explain what?

“I know you’re upset at me, Clark,” Beouf told the room. “And that’s okay. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but it had to be done for your own good. You can be mad at me for as long as you need.” Good. Fuck her. I didn’t need permission to be mad at her, though. Fuck her.

Janet had been friends with me for a few months. Beouf had been my mentor in teaching for a decade and had turned on a dime; not even hesitating to strip me of my clothes and shove me into that nightmare hole that fried my follicles off.

Beouf must have been some kind of low level telepath. “Yesterday I got to thinking,” she told me as she undid the wrapping. “I took away your big boy clothes. It needed to be done, but I understand why that would be scary and no fun. So when I saw these on sale yesterday I knew they were for you!” She opened the box. Inside were toddler clothes; discount baby outfits. Nothing more than T-shirts and matching shorts in basic colors: Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, brown, black, and white.

Janet held up an outfit to me. The shirts were too short to cover all but the top of my diaper, and the shorts stopped at my knees. The elastic waistbands would make it far too easy for someone besides myself to pull them down and they didn’t look nearly baggy enough; but there were no stupid phrases like “Mommy’s Little Man” on the shirts, or “Little Stinker” on the shorts.

That was something, I supposed.

“You can mix and match them too, if you like.” That line was directed at Janet, obviously. As far as the assembled giants were concerned, my days of dressing myself were over. Around the room there were nods and murmurs of approval. A perfectly sensible, if unexciting gift. An ideal opening act that few people would feel bashful following.

“Thank you!” Janet said. I could hear the smile. It was a good gift…if I had been an actual baby. “What do we say, Clark?”

“Thank you…” I grumbled.

The first box of clothes went to the floor by Janet’s feet. Beouf took the second box, only slightly smaller. “This one’s from Mrs. Zoge,” Beouf said, using her teacher voice again. “She wanted to be here, but she couldn’t find a sitter for Ivy and didn’t want to draw attention away from you on your special day.”

Zoge not being present was a gift in of itself. Same with Ivy. I wouldn’t have been able to get away with as much with the perfect babied Little giggling and curtseying and calling her slaver “Mommy” to mine’s “Janet”.

Beouf opened the box. A new wave of coos became nails on a chalkboard as Janet clapped in excitement. Beouf held up the present for all to see. Baby sailor clothes. Lots of them: A three piece sailor suit -shorts, shirts, and a hat- with navy blue trim was the least humiliating of the set. The onesie with a rubber duck on the chest and the words “Poop Deck” along the bum made me want to keel over. The romper and the shortalls weren’t much better. The socks with blue anchors stitched in at the ankles was the frosting on a just awful cake.

I felt my temperature rivet up a notch. At one recent point in my life. Mrs. Zoge had been in tears and literally bowing to my adulthood. All it took was forty-eight hours for her to get back on the wagon. I had foolishly thought it meant that Amazons could change…

Ha-ha, right?

“How cute!”

“Adorable”

“I wanna see him in that one!”

I gulped. My throat became as dry as my fresh Monkeez. “THAT!” I pointed to the box of semi-dignified clothing by Janet’s feet! “I WANT THAT!”

Laughter all around. “AWWWWWWW!” Screw their laughter. This was quickly becoming a scenario where the only thing I could control was how badly I lost.