My old mentor took the box to the bathroom. She came back with the bibs still in hand. “I’ll have Mrs. Zoge unpack his diapers after breakfast. I’ll let you know when we’re getting low so you can bring another.”
“Deal.”
“I prefer it to the parents who only send two or three diapers a day in their kids’ backpacks,” Beouf said.
A backpack! That’s what I needed! Something with lots of pockets to spirit away contraband and escape tools should the opportunity present itself. That and another layer to hide the back of my diaper when my pants started creeping down again…
Janet scoffed. “No way. If I forget to refill his backpack one day, that’s putting you on the spot to find spares.”
“Yeah,” Beouf replied. “I understand parents wanting to keep track of how many diapers their kids are going through in a day, but it’s just not practical.” I saw her roll her eyes. “But,” she said, “If I complain too hard about it, Brollish will probably have me filling out some form or another every time I change a diaper and send it home with them.”
Janet agreed. “Totally. She’s petty like that. Always bends over backwards for the parents.”
“You’re the parent now, though.” Beouf said. The two giggled and looked at me. I looked away.
“Oh,” my so-called Mommy added. “I don’t mind if some of Clark’s diapers are used as back up if one of his classmates runs out. What about the bibs?”
My oldest friend flopped the bibs in her hand. “Sharpie marker them real quick. Put his name on them. We’ll drop them off at the cafeteria before sign-in. The ladies there are nice enough to wash them with the dish rags.”
“Oh great!” Janet took the bibs back and strode over to Beouf’s desk, snatching up a marker and labeling them.
Complaining about parents. Bitching about administration. Last minute preparations before the kids got to class. Random smalltalk. It was so normal; so everyday. Just talking shop. It felt different knowing I was the shop. Even when Beouf had a tendency to go Amazon crazy and talk about forty year olds like they were toddlers and I had to tune out lest I cringe, I was still part of the conversation.
Now though?
“Excuse me,” I said. I even raised my hand. “I’m kind of thirsty. Could I have some…-?” I looked over to the coffee pot. Hope against hope bubbled in me.
“Use your words, Clark.” Janet looked delighted that I was talking at all after the weekend.
“Coffee?”
Beouf looked sad for an instant; but only just so. “I’m sorry, baby. Coffee’s a bad idea for you. That’s for grown-ups only, and I don’t have any more syrups or sugar or the stuff you used to like.”
“I’ll take it black.” I said. “Just like when we first met, remember?”
If that reminder bothered Beouf, it didn’t show. “I have some juice or some milk that I can put into a bottle for you. Would you like that?”
“No.” I said. Then I remembered what was at stake. Janet was still in the room. Then, “No thank you.”
Mrs. Beouf hunkered down so that she was eye-level to me. “Aww, Clark. Are you still worried about what you said to me this Saturday.” I didn’t have time to answer one way or another. “It’s okay, baby. I forgive you. I’m not mad about it. You were having some really big feelings.” She opened her arms wide in the universal gesture for an embrace. I didn’t move. She may have forgiven me, but the feeling wasn’t quite mutual.
“You don’t have to give me a hug if you don’t want to. That’s fine.” She stood up, and Janet handed her the sharpie marker. “Now what time is-?”
The door opened up again, this time from the outside. Right on schedule, in walked Mrs. Zoge and Ivy. “Good morning every-” She stopped when she saw me. Between her gaping smile and her clapping her hands to her cheeks, Zoge’s face became so taut with joy that every wrinkle on her face disappeared for an instant. “Ooooooh! He’s wearing the outfit I bought for him!” Her flats pattering on the floor as she marked time and flapped with excitement sounded like galloping horses.
Ivy’s reaction was slightly more delayed. She came in a rose colored sleeveless dress, her hair kept in place with a bow and did her curtsy, the bottom of her plastic backed padding peeking out a bit as she did it.
“Hiiiiiii!” she froze mid curtsy. “MR. GIBSON!? “YOU’RE A BABY, TOO?!”
The giants all laughed. “Clark’s maturosis finally kicked in,” Beouf said. My ears burned at that “finally”. “He’s gonna be in our class, now. Will you be a good girl and help him learn what it’s like this week?”
Ivy lost all composure. “UH-HUH!” Just like her captor, she marked time and flapped in excitement. It really was uncanny. Unlike Janet and me, Zoge really was old enough to be Ivy’s mother. Mine and Janet’s too, technically. It made the resemblance between Amazon and Little seem that much more familial. How much was coincidence and how much was the workings of a Little’s Salon, I wondered in that moment.
The thirty year old woman-child tromped up to me and gave me a rough approximation of a hug. I say “approximation” here because:
- In no way did I even attempt to hug her back and,
- It was one of the most physically painful things that I could imagine.
I couldn’t breathe! My arms were pinned to the side and I was wheezing for air. I didn’t know if the crackling sound was coming from our two diapers or if my ribs were cracking! Incredible! This girl gril was almost half a foot shorter than me, wore a size smaller Monkeez than I did, and could absolutely positively kick my ass in a fight! She might’ve been stronger than my father-in-law! If she had squeezed at my gut instead of my chest and shoulders, there’s no doubt in my mind that I would have been forced to fill my pants on the spot!
This…this is why Ivy was so often the line leader in Mrs. Beouf’s class. Not just because she was a full-native goody two shoes; but because her grip was damn near Amazonian! Any Little forced to hold her hand wouldn’t get away; and misery sure loved company, so the next Little in the chain would get no mercy, and so on and so forth.
“We’re gonna be bestest friends Mr. Gibson!” she said.
“He’s not Mr. Gibson anymore, Ivy.” Janet said. She took a knee and placed her hand on Ivy’s shoulder. Thankfully, that reminded the girl to let me go. I audibly gasped, sucking breath back into my lungs. “He’s Clark. Clark Grange.” I was too busy not dying to wince. “You can just call him Clark.”
Ivy took the cue. “Hiiiii Clark!” she waved again. “I’m Ivy.”
“Uh…Hi Ivy.”
Janet was watching us like we were two kittens batting around a ball of string.
“Sorry if I hugged too hard. Mommy says I gotta be gentle with my friends. Can we be friends, please?” No. No we could not. Absolutely not. Never in a million years. “I always wanted to be friends with you, but I was a-scareded.”
Shit. Fuck. Damn.
I broke a little bit. “Um…sure…”
Fuck it. In all the prison movies, the brilliant hero always made friends with a well meaning brute, right? Right. Same rules applied to mind fucking daycare. That and in ten years, those few sentences were probably the most I’d ever heard out of Ivy. What can I say, I melted a little. I felt bad for her.
“Janet,” Beouf said, thumbing to the clock on the wall. “It’s time to go.”
Zoge was putting her purse down. “Don’t worry,” she said “I’ll watch the babies and take them to the bus loop in a few minutes. We’ll meet you there, ma’am.”
“Okay,” Beouf said. “See you two Little Ones, there.”
Janet nuzzled me on the forehead. “Have a good first day at school, Clark.” She kissed me on the cheek and stood up. “I love you.” The thing is, in her own weird way, I think she meant it.
“Don’t worry,” Mrs. Zoge said. “They’ll be fine.” She looked at Janet. “He’ll be fine. I promise.”
The two mad giantesses got up and left, Janet having to double back because she forgot the bibs she’d just marked. It was the first time in forever that I hadn’t joined any of them, speed walking along to keep up with their leisurely stroll.
Maybe it was just me being sensitive, but the pair seemed to be walking faster without me. They didn’t have old Clark to slow down for so he could hustle on behind them. They didn’t have Old Clark at all. They now had the ability to leave Little Baby Clark behind…
Another difference in the ritual this time: No Tracy. Normally, Tracy would have popped her head in long before Zoge and Ivy intruded in on our jokes and bitching. Beouf and Janet were exiting the same way we always had, through Beouf’s back door to cut into my classroom as a shortcut.
Why no Tracy though?
Was she sick? Avoiding me? If so, why? Was she ashamed of bailing on me? Not coming to my defense? Or was she just busy un-Littleing my classroom; removing step stools and ladders and such?
I clutched at the dumb sailor hat on top of my head and pulled it down, wishing I could rip it apart. I wish I could have torn out my newly curled and even redder than red hair. Anger was such a more useful emotion than sorrow.
I watched the door closed, shutting me out of an aspect of my life that I’d had no idea that I’d miss as much as I did right then. All my old friends were walking up to the front office without me, and I was left with people who knew nothing about me but felt they already knew everything.
I felt myself start to tear up and had to bite my tongue to focus. Just get through today. Just get through today. Tomorrow will be a new problem and the day after that. Just get through today.
That’s when I felt two Amazon sized fingers hook into the back of my pants…