Unfair-Chapter 130: Grown-Up Time (Patreon)

Chapter 130: Grown-Up Time

The construction site was objectively a marvel of whimsical aesthetic, hitting a near perfect balance between blocky industrial brutalism and childhood innocence.  It was also objectively a glorified play place at a mid level burger joint.

Boxy, blocky, faux girders molded together in a permanently unfinished building frame that functioned as a jungle gym.  A few jutted out and had ropes made to look like thick steel cables, their brother beams beneath never being fully raised and instead acting as slides. Jack hammer replicas tethered to the floor acted as combination spring ponies and pogo sticks. A climbing wall decorated to look like a rock quarry had a pool full of gray foam blocks to cushion falls and a slide at the highest point of the playground was made to resemble a steel vent.

But it was a playground. Just being in its proximity was making the front of my forehead heat up from the inside out.  My throat tingled like I was getting ready to throw up. I felt every breath while I inhaled through my nostrils.

“You can do this, Clark,” I whispered to myself. “You can do this.”  I caught glances of stink eye from the others busy in their bullshit pretend play.  I was breaking their ‘immersion’ and not playing along, but their conditioned desire to be good Little boys and girls prevented them from calling me out.

A good thing too. Everyone I laid eyes on could have objectively kicked my ass. They were Bert Braun big. The ones that weren’t still had calloused hands and lean athletic builds they’d managed to maintain in their captivity.  They all likely had previous lives toiling, crafting, and sweating proudly away before some giant decided they were too precious to actually work for a living.  The laser like focus one group was putting into stacking cardboard bricks into a the rough shape of a structurally sound playhouse was only one such confirmation.

None of the other Amazons minded me crinkling around in just a t-shirt and diaper.  To them I was probably just a toddler that couldn’t sit still or lacked the presence of mind to wear a hardhat and orange vest.  They didn’t know me.  Conversely, Janet was gnawing a hole through her bottom lip so hard that I could almost hear it. She was nervous that I was about to do something incredibly stupid and embarrassing but was doing her best to give the benefit of a doubt that I hadn’t historically earned.

No one stopped me or talked to me on my way up to the tippy top of the jungle gym. I was the outsider here and the unknown.  Everyone else was too involved in their personal friend cliques or their own tepid fantasy to pay me much mind.  

Good.  

I was always at my best when people didn’t see me coming.  

Up at the top, I cupped my hands together and boomed out to the entire site in my loudest, most authoritative teacher voice. “Attention everyone! I am a baby!”

The ants beneath me kept at their games as if I hadn’t said anything. “I said ‘I am a baby’!”

“We know!” One of them, a Little lady on the ground who could have cracked my skull, called back.  

“We can see your diaper!” A quiet, dismissive, chuckle rippled through the Amazons and Littles alike.  My gaze wandered to the pod of giants with their cell phones out and my cheeks flushed.  This better not end up on MistuhGwiffin…

“But I’m a baby!” I repeated, hoping that there was at least one kindred spirit among this uninspired rabble.

“That’s good for you!” A guy who could have passed as a Tweener were he taller shouted back from a few beams away.  “We’re all real happy for you, bro!”

Idiots. For all their pretending, they still had no imagination. At least nobody chimed in stating that we were all babies.

“NO!” I hollered back.  “LISTEN TO ME YOU BRICK BRAINED KNUCKLE DRAGGERS! I’M TRYING TO TELL YOU SOMETHING!”

The construction site ground to a halt. Cardboard stopped being stacked. Gray foam stopped being waded through and shoveled. No one bounced on their play jackhammers. Eyes-rolled. Knuckles cracked. Hands went on hips or folded across chests. Bodies positioned themselves in either open defiance or prepped to run and tell on me to their Mommies and Daddies.

Moment of truth time.

“THIS IS A CONSTRUCTION SITE!” I gestured all around.  “YOU’RE ALL CONSTRUCTION WORKERS!”  My hand went to my chest. “I…AM A BABY! SOMEHOW I HAVE MADE IT AAAAALLL THE WAY TO THE TOP OF THIS THING!” A beat as I failed to hide a playful smirk playing on my lips. “HAVEN’T YOU GUYS WATCHED ANY CARTOONS?”

Giggles bubbled out, eyes became alive, and smiles blossomed as everyone finally started to get the joke.  It was like waiting alone in a chat room and watching the screen names flood in all at once. They were transferring from their imaginary game to mine.

A Little boy with a thin face shot his hand up.  “I’m the foreman!” he said excitedly. He play-shoved a much bigger man with a gut that seeped its way over his jeans and a plastic tool bet jingling around his hips.  “Mugsy!” he play-scolded, looking like a rat-sized dog that had no clue it could be crushed under a Cerbernard’s paw. “How did a friggin’ baby get on my site?”

‘Mugsy’ looked confused and stammered a bit. “Uh..uh…um…” Then he shook the cobwebs out of his head and got into character.  He switched to speaking deep and slow in his chest. “Duuuuuh…I don’t know, Boss. Infants ain’t s’posed to be here.”

The new ‘Foreman’ grabbed a cardboard brick and bopped his companion over the helmet. “I know that, you idiot!  Where’s the kids’ mudder?!” This guy was really hamming it up. Evidently, he’d seen the same cartoons I had when growing up.

Janet’s hand raised up out of the assembled Grown-Ups. “MOMMEEEE!” I whined, comedically “YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO TELL! THEY GOTTA FIND YOU!”  Her baby-crazy compatriots all chuckled, starting to enjoy the show.  “GO HIDE OUTSIDE THE ENTRANCE!”

“Yeah!” Another Little spoke up. “It’s no fun if we can fix it right away!”

Janet was too caught up in the moment to be cautious.  “Do you mind?” she asked the other Amazons. They nodded and murmured a combination of permission and approval so that Janet could tip-toe out into the main hall.

“You,” the Foreman pointed to a Little girl close to him. “See if you can find that baby girl’s Mommy!”

The girl gave a salute and ran a step or two in Janet’s direction.  She stopped at step three and asked. “Mommy is that okay?”

“Go ahead, Gabby,” An Amazon called back. “I’m still watching.”

I took exception to being called a ‘baby girl’.  “I’m a boy!” I hollered down.

“I don’t know that! You’re too high up!” the foreman shouted back. “And you’re a baby!  All you kids look alike before a certain age!”  That got a full roiling chorus of belly laughs from around the room, including me. I liked this kid. Had either of us the freedom to move and socialize freely in the world I think I could have been friends with him.  

The rest of the players had all dropped their plastic tools and pretend construction supplies and now leaned eagerly forward in my direction, perched on the balls of their feet. The guy who’d been a few beams away from me hadn’t moved, but his eyes moved from girder to girder, planning a path to get to me.  No one had sat down and hashed out the rules of this game we were playing, but a general consensus had been reached nonetheless.  We were all just waiting for the signal.

“What are the rest of you lugs standing around for?” The foreman shouted. “You got cement in your ears or somethin’?! GET! THAT! BABY!”

And we were off!  Littles on the ground bottom sprinted for the jungle gym-like structure. My nearest adversary started slinking from bar to bar gaining on me before I’d taken a step. Holy shit he was fast! Practically no waddle whatsoever. Was it the shoes? The fun-derwear?

I backed up to the edge of my girder.  “Careful!” I warned, “Come in too hard and I might fall!  I’m just a baby, you don’t want me to get hurt do you?” My nearest pursuer slowed to a crawl.

Say, there was an idea. I went down to my hands and knees and started crawling; more of a crouch really, but I had to have some kind of handicap if I was going to be making up rules on the fly. It wouldn’t have been fair, otherwise.

My nearest pursuer hunched down and started calling to me like I was a cat. “Good baby…nice baby. Come here, little guy. Uncle Derrick’s got some candy for you.  You like candy, right?”

I made a show of paying him no mind.  I crawled from beam to beam away from him, playing oblivious  “Goo-goo-ga-ga.”  I looked down. Reinforcements were already on their way, climbing up girders and crawling up the slide, cutting off escape routes.

I sat down on a bar and hooked my legs, falling backwards. “WHEEEEEEE!” I gurgled, hanging upside down. My hands grasped at the underside and I flipped backwards onto the next lowest level of the playplace.  My blood was pumping in the best way, even though I knew I was going to be feeling this tomorrow.  “This is fun!” I cheered. “I have no concept of the danger I am presently in or the distress I am causing everyone!” A beat. “Goo-goo ga-ga!”

Peels of laughter emerged from the Amazon adults watching this go down. We’d gone from playing pretend to precocious parody and they were loving it.

“Quick!” The foreman ordered.  “Somebody get under the kid in case they fall!”  Half a dozen new strangers jogged underneath me, arms outstretched.  I was legitimately tempted to try my hand at crowd surfing but that would end the game.

I opted for stretching out my arms and half-leaping over onto the top of the swingset..  A collective gasp from the far corner of the room paired with my farcical “Goo-goo-ga-ga”.

“Careful!” A deep voice warned. That the Amazons weren’t invading our space and sweeping us all up out of smothering, controlling ‘concern’ was a minor miracle.  

My plan to drop down onto the swings to extend the route was cut off. Every dangling beam was suddenly filled with another Little standing up and reaching at least one hand towards me. Calls and coaxes  “Careful baby” and “Come on down, baby” mingled together.  I looked over my shoulder. The guy who started closest to me had gained ground and cut off my retreat.

I eyeballed the crash pit full of foam and wondered if I could manage the leap. Probably not.

Janet returned holding hands with the Little who’d been sent to fetch her.  “I found the mother!”

“My baby!” Janet crooned like an actress in a black and white B-Movie. “Please! Save my baby! Won’t somebody save my baby?!”  She fanned her hands over her face and pantomimed crying and panic that didn’t align with how she was really feeling.

“Don’t worry ma’am,” her guide said, taking her hand and patting her on top of the palm.  “We’ll save him.”

“Gotcha!”  My initial adversity gripped me by the waist.  

“Well, dang.” I said.  “I mean..goo-goo-ga-ga?” I looked back to him. “You gonna pick me up?”

“No chance,” he said with a smirk.

Janet trotted closer. It was nothing for her to reach up and take me back into her arms. “My baby! My baby!”  I could feel the heat coming off of her.  Something told me that the padding in her nursing bra was being put to work. She regarded the guy who’d ‘caught’ me. “Thank you so much, kind sir. I don’t know what I’d do without him!”

The victor tipped his helmet to her.  “You’re very welcome ma’am.”

“Do you need any help getting down?”

“No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”  He jolted off to the side and made the leap into the pit full of foam.  Janet didn’t breathe until he’d climbed out again. Darn. Maybe I could have made that jump.

Janet leaned over and extended her hand towards the Little playing foreman. “Thank you, sir. I am forever in your debt.”  She extended her hand.

The skinny Little guy looked at my Mommy’s hand as if it were an acid mawed alien for a moment.  Being equals to a strange Amazon, even in pretend was something foreign to him.  “Don’t mention it, ma’am. But please, try to keep a better eye on your baby from now on. This ain’t no place for kids.”

“I will, sir. Thank you, sir.”

The buzzing in my brain was completely gone. Or if it was there I didn’t even notice it.  My initial goal had been reached. I just needed one last thing to feel well and truly satisfied.  “So,” I asked. “Who’s ‘baby’ next?”

“Do I have to take my pants off?” the Little girl who’d gone after Janet asked.

Foreman took the lead. “Nuh-uh. But you gotta take off the helmet and stuff so we can tell you don’t work here.”

“Then I’ll do it.”

One of the cardboard brick layers raised their hand.  “We should all start working again. Give the baby a chance to hide or something.”  

“That makes sense.”

I tugged on Janet’s shirt sleeve and jerked my head to take us out.  She listened and carried me back out into the main hall while the game I’d helped start built up its own momentum behind us.  “Having fun yet?” she whispered.

“Getting there,” I said. “Help me get my pants back on, please? I’ve got another idea.”

“Sure thing, baby boy.”  She squeezed me lightly between the legs.  “Wet, but not that wet. Do you want a change before we go to the next place?”

“Nah,” I’m fine,” I replied. I’d only let a little out out of nervousness and excitement while I was prepping for my big performance.  “Let’s just get dressed so I can do my next thing.”

She set me down on my bare feet and started digging out the shorts, socks, and shoes she’s squirreled away.  We didn’t need a changing room. There was nothing obscene or immodest about me stepping back into a pair of baggy shorts, some sneakers and socks. Not in this crowd. “Of course, honey. Of course.”

**************************************************************************************************
The employee at the laser tag section of ‘Crime and Punishment’ finished tightening the laser tag vest over my chest. He took out a keycard and swiped it along the laser connected laser gun to activate it.  In his hands it was barely a squirt gun, in mine it felt more like a sawed off shotgun.

“This will register on any vest that the laser hits,” he said. “Be careful of friendly fire.”  

“Yes, sir,” I said, trying my best to be respectful even though I was probably close to double his age.

He slid forward two me-sized bins; one filled with badges and police hats, and the other with domino masks and black knit caps.  “Which team do you want to be on? Cops or robbers?”

“Neither,” I said.

“Neither?  Kid, this is cops and robbers.”

“Let him,” Janet said. “He’s feeling creative, today.”

“Yes ma’am,” the employee said without hesitation. “You’ve got it.”  He pointed me towards a smoke filled maze entrance. “Off you go, buddy.  Go play.”

The ‘Crime and Punishment’ section was deeper, darker, and more populous than the construction site play area.  It was also so completely fantastical that it should likely have been on the upper ‘fantasy play’ levels alongside cowboys and knights in shining armor.

Little industrial workers? Yes. I’d known more than a few. There are plenty of employable advantages to being able to get to low and cramped spaces that Amazons can’t squeeze into.  Outside of Little majority companies, no Little would be trusted with a badge and gun or be brazen enough to try and mug someone. The only thing the play-robbers were ever guilty of was being too cute to be allowed undies.  Such was the fate of those living in the Amazons’ world.

Living in the Amazons’ world: Just that thought made the back of my skull buzz and heat creep up and down the back of my neck and spine.

The fact that it was on the base floor with the other ‘real life recreation’ exhibits tipped the establishments’ hand. No one at this part of the Pretend Play Preserve was re-living or preserving anything about their identity.  But ‘Cops and Robbers’ was a classic kids’ game using simplified everyday archetypes.  Annie was right; we were adults pretending to be babies pretending to be adults.  Everyone more than a head taller than me just started in the middle of that last sentence.

Painted on skyscrapers loomed overhead and rapid stomping footfalls blended in with the ambient soundtrack of car alarms, barking dogs, yowling cats, revving engings, and squealing tires. Shouts of ‘You’re under arrest’ were answered with 'You'll never take me alive, copper’ and 8-bit approximations of gunfire sounded off.

“Officer down! Officer down!”

Everything was moving so fast.  Everyone was so caught up in their own personal skirmishes there weren’t any good opportunities for me to actually play.  “Should’ve started with the jail” I mumbled dejectedly.  I could have given a good performance being dragged to the electric chair pleading for innocence. That was surely something everyone here could relate to.  Would that I could get someone my size to pull me over on the electric car track so that I could get into an argument over a speeding ticket.

No. This was the better scenario. I had to trust my instincts. There were fewer big people in this area, mostly Tweeners and other employees looking bored and quietly standing by in case someone did a faceplant while running away from electronic gun fire. They were practically part of the scenery. Janet and every other Mommy and Daddy had to abide waiting outside the laser tag area. Security cameras and tracking apps that corresponded with the vests kept an eye on us to prevent escape.

Good thing escape wasn’t in my itinerary right then.

A Little in full cop regalia leapt out and pointed their gun at me. “Freeze Scum Bag! Go to jail!”

My hands reached for the sky and my laser gun swung from the sensor vest.  “Don’t shoot! I’m a civilian!”  Inwardly I was cursing. I’d really hoped to find a criminal.

The cop player kept their gun trained on me. Their uniform was black and crisp instead of the navy blue that every other Little wore; something brought from home instead of rented or sold here.  I hadn’t seen any kind of reflective sunglasses for sale in the gift shop, either.   “You can only be a cop or a robber!” he shouted at me.

I bowed my head submissively, and kept my hands way in the air away from my gun. Would that I could, I would have asked for a vest without one.  I didn’t need it for what I wanted to do. “Why?”

“Because that’s the game!” the Little said. “Now get on the ground or I’ll shoot!”

Very slowly, I lowered to a knee, trying to keep calm and in control of the situation. “On what charge, officer?”

“For breaking the rules, scumbag! You’re either a cop or a robber! You’re not a cop, so you’ve gotta be the robber!”  He took a step forward and my ears registered a crinkle louder than my own. There were more differences between his costume and the standard rental unit than the color.  His did a poorer job of hiding his diaper bulge.  Most cop uniforms didn’t stop above the knee.

“Is that a romper?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood. I had to bite my tongue to prevent myself from snickering.

Mr. Bad Apple was having none of it. “On the ground, now! All the way. You’re under arrest.”

“What proof do you have?”

“I don’t need proof. I know!”

This poor idiot.  Someone had internalized their captors’ illogic and cruelty and enjoyed venting their frustrations on others.  If only I hadn’t been able to relate.  Looks like I’d be pleading my innocence in a cell after all.  My eyes caught something on his costume badge.  

“But officer,” I said as calmly as I could. “Do real cops-?”

“I AM A REAL COP!”

I lifted my head and made direct eye contact for the first time. “If you’re a real cop you should be protecting me, not looking for an excuse to shoot me.” My face was stone, there was edge in my voice. I was Mr. Gibson talking to a preschool pupil who had just about stepped on my last nerve for the day.  “Now are you a real cop, or are we just playing pretend?”

I saw it. The exact moment he got out of his own pre-scripted head. If I could have seen his eyes, I would have saw it there, but I settled for the complete and total change of posture as his muscles slackened.  “Pre…I…I’m…” He lowered his zapper and stuck out his hand towards me.  “My apologies, sir. It’s dangerous on these streets. You understand.”

As much as I wanted to berate him, I saw an opportunity.  “Apology accepted officer,” I said, taking his hand and letting him help me up.  “I’m new in town. Me and the wife just moved here.”

“This is a really rough part of town, citizen.” The walking piece of  Copaganda said, slipping back into character.

“You don’t say…” I intoned. “Say, officer, maybe you can help me. Do you think you can help me get to the other side of this place and keep me safe?”

Light brown eyebrows shot up over reflective sunglasses. “Like…an escort mission?”

Oh boy! I had me a gamer!  “Yes,” I smiled back and nodded. “Like an escort mission.”

“Hell yeah!”  We high fived like he hadn’t just been about to fake illegally arrest me. “Let’s do this.”

We slinked through the shadows, pressed up against the walls as if our lives depended on it: Extremely melodramatic considering getting shot just made you unable to fire and your score go down.  My own personal meat shield and I fell into a routine of him sprinting ahead and then waving me forward.  Dark shadows blurred by us in the chaos as enemies and allies gave chase to one another.

“STOP IN THE NAME OF THE LAW.”

“MAKE ME!”

“OKAY!”

I shook my head in the darkness and black lights. So much wasted potential. I’d be seeing about that very soon.

The center of the maze was a more wide open area, littered with garbage cans, dumpsters, cars with the wheels taken off, and street lights; plenty of places to duck, cover, and return fire from. Fire escape ladders led to spaces to hide and snipe from above.  It was a chaos, with Littles shooting invisible bullets at each other willy nilly, freezing and falling to the ground only when they got shot.  At least they had some improvisational chops.  An Amazon probably taught them to do that until it became common practice.

“I’ve got a civilian coming through!”  My escort announced. “Don’t shoot! I repeat! Do not shoot! Innocent civilian coming through!”    

Running  and shooting stopped. Rumblings of confusion gave away the positions of those too curious to keep their mouth shut?

“Civilian?”

“Is he a robber?”

“Whose side is he on?”

“He is not a cop and is under my protection!” Mr. Living the dream projected out. “We’re coming out! Don’t shoot!”

We went out into the open with my hands in the air, my head on a swivel and my gun as far away from me as possible. Intrigued faces peered out from hiding places and sniper’s nests. Shiny badges and black hats alike regarded me with curiosity, but no one acted. Poor dears needed a hint.

“Oh no,” I said loudly and completely monotone, “I sure hope someone doesn’t try and rob me!”

A Little boy in a zebra striped jumpsuit and domino mask rushed out and pointed his laser at me.  “Give me all your money, punk!”

I threw back my head and mouthed “thank you” to whatever god or security camera might be watching.  “You’ll have to shoot me first!” I proclaimed with all the melodramatic pomp I could muster.  It didn’t have to be convincing or well acted to be fun.

“Your words, not mine!” My would be assailant said. He pulled the trigger. I shut my eyes. I readied for my vest to blink and vibrate.

But that hit never came. “NOOOOOOOOOOO!”

My loud mouthed escort lay on the ground, panting, his vest blinking. Fake cop took a fake bullet for me. I was almost touched.  Almost.  

“OFFICER DOWN!” The call came.  “OFFICER DOWN!”

I spun and threw my back into the kid in the corny looking robber. I grabbed his arms  and wrapped one around my neck.  “HOLD YOUR FIRE!” I screamed, lest the scene devolve into another pointless firefight.  “IF ANYBODY MAKES A MOVE HE’S GONNA BLOW MY BRAINS OUT!”

“I’ll what?” My new best friend asked.  

I turned my head so he could hear me. “You’ll blow my brains out,” I said in a softer voice. “Now put your gun to my head and back away with me as a shield.”

“Ha! Right!”

He finally got into character and started dragging me away. “I’ve got a hostage! I’ve got a hostage!  Everybody back off!”

Throughout the area, calls of “Hostage situation” went up. Formerly stoic Amazons and Tweeners started laughing to themselves while trying to maintain their thin veneer of professionalism. As predicted, this hadn’t happened in recent memory.

“Tell them you want a negotiator,” I hissed.

The barrel of the gun was pressed against my back where its shot would would actually register. “Shuddup,” my blessed captor said. “You’re the hostage.” More loudly, he echoed my words and ad-libbed. “I want to talk with a negotiator!  Racoon Gang! On me! Let’s make some demands!”

For a guy who looked like a supporting character in a burger ad campaign, this kid was a fast learner. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so proud of a student.

We found a secure corner, taking cover behind a prop car turned over on its size and a group of what I could only assume were the guy’s friends ran out of hiding, play-weapons drawn and sweeping the horizon.  These kids played and they played hard.  

Mouth sirens signaled opposition approach “Wooo-ooo-ooo-ooo! We’re coming to get our wounded! Wee-ooo-wee-ooo!  Don’t shoot!”

I saw one of the Robbers’ cock their head in confusion. “We don’t pick up the wounded!”

“We don’t do hostages either!”

“Good point!”

The two sides retreated and gathered around.  My initial point of contact was lifted up and carried away with a resounding “Hut-hut-hut-hut-hut-hut-hut-hut-hut!”

I sat on the floor while the others huddled around me. “What are our demands?”
“A helicopter!”

“And a pizza!”

“A hundred million bucks in small unmarked bills!”

Classics demands; all of them. And yet, smarty pants that I was, I couldn’t leave well enough alone. I looked up from the floor.  “Why not stuff that you can actually use?”

I felt their gaze fall upon me. “New kid’s got a point. Like what?”

“I dunno,” I shrugged.  This game was already more complex than the simple busy work of the construction site. “Get out of jail free cards?  They can’t arrest you or shoot you if you give them one?”  

“We don’t got pockets.”

I scratched my forehead, my skull blessedly free from the usual playground buzzing.  “What about…I don’t know…hospitals?”

“Hospitals?” one of them parroted.  

“Change the rules of the game. If anybody gets shot, they get taken to the hospital area and have to get seen by a doctor or a nurse before they can come to play.”

Heads were already shaking.  But not violently.  “They won’t let us take the vests out of here.”

“So take them off and go to the hospital,” I said. “They don’t care about the costumes.”

“That’s boring, though.”

“So don’t get shot,” I countered. “That’ll force everybody to be more careful instead of running around all the time.” The gears in my head were whirring so fast. “And it gives you an advantage.  Robbers don’t take people to the hospital. Only cops do. So if they shoot you instead of arrest you, they’re taking themselves out of the game for a little while too.”

“Oh, he’s got a point.”

“Wait a minute,” another butted in. “How do we know he’s not a cop? Undercover or something.”

“Ask me if I’m a cop,” I said. “I have to tell you I’m a cop if you ask.  It’s the law.”

“Bullshit. I used to be a lawyer.”

The whole gaggle of us, myself included,  burst into laughter.  

“But,” it was conceded, “It’s still a pretty good idea…”

A grueling seven minutes later, all running and shooting had stopped. The cop forces and robber gangs had pooled together and arranged a ceasefire to negotiate for my fictional life.  Several of the younger employees had grouped together in the corners as well, elbowing and pointing at the spectacle, snickering to each other about the free show they were getting.

“Who is this guy, anyway?” One of the cops asked.

A robber beat me to the punch. “This is the mayor!  And if you want him back you’re going to meet our demands!”

“He’s the mayor?”  A cop asked. “Says who?”

“We do!”  Shouted the Little with a toy gun to my back. “Everybody, raise your hands if you vote for this guy!”  Turns out the robbers had a slim majority.  Oh I had definitely found the right group of crazy bastards to play this game with.  If I ever played this game the right way, I’d be a robber.

My temples itched and burned at the thought.  Nope.  Nevermind. I was the mayor.  The buzzing started to subside.

Ten minutes of arguing logistics later, my freedom and safety was all but secured. It was agreed that for the rest of the day at least, for as long as anyone present was there to spread the word that if anyone got shot they’d have to be escorted to the medical play center to be revived and then taken to jail or put back into action accordingly with a provision that the robbers could escape from the hospital if they beat both the doctor and the cop guarding them in a game of rock, paper, scissors, and the overarching understanding that this was all null and void if someone’s parent wouldn’t grant them the freedom to trek back and forth from playplace to play place or if the doctor kids didn’t want to play either.

It was incredibly convoluted and I loved it.

“There’s just one problem,” I said when everything was arranged.

“What’s that?” the kid in the romper police outfit asked.

I was halfway between both groups in the middle of the replicated grim and gritty street. Just few steps from being pulled over to the side of good and getting to safety and freedom so I could properly begin my term as mayor of a comically corrupt city.  I reached for my gun and fired for the first time.  Bad Apple went down clutching his chest.  Everyone else froze.

“Why?!” he choked out in a stage whisper.

“I’ve developed Stork Home Syndrome and now relate to and identify with my kidnappers-slash-constituents!”

KERCHOW!

The sound of a single 8-bit gun sounded. My vest blinked and vibrated.  A Little girl with a police hat and badge had drawn her gun.  “I’m a corrupt cop and turned off the body cam!”

I fell to my knees and pretended to bleed out while Littles from each side scattered, afraid to be taken out and sent to the hospital.  “But…”I sputtered…”My campaign promises…so much…left to do…”

I laid there, dead, committed to the bit, until a timeout was called and I was back being cradled by Janet.  My eyes fluttered open on her smiling down at me.  “Well ‘Mr. Mayor’,” she said. “I hope you’re not planning on running for re-election.”

A blush rose up in my cheeks, similar, but not unlike the itching inside my skull but much more pleasant.  “You saw that did you?”

“Me and all the other parents,” she said. “They thought you were a hoot.”  

I huffed. It figured that there would be cameras in the biggest section of the Maze. “Thanks.”

“You looked like you were having fun.”

I emitted a stubborn grunt.  “Yeah…”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you have that much fun playing since that time you wore the sock costume,” she said.  “I’m really glad.”


A heavy and uncomfortable truth about myself settled on me with those words.  I really had been playing around, back then. I saw the rules and I found a creative way to work around them and enjoyed- no, reveled in- watching the status quo be forced to react to and ultimately adapt to and accept it.  Today wasn’t all that different. One would think that my skull would be buzzing like a hornet’s nest, but that admission gave me a certain sense of clarity.

“Yeah,” I lied and gave a tired smile. “I’m glad, too.”

“What next?”

“Let’s see what’s on the upper levels,” I said.
***********************************************************************************************

The second level of the Pretend Play Preserve was similar in theme to the first. Only instead of the broad theme of jobs and occupation, it was all about houses and homes. It was domestic instead of business.  To that end, ‘immersion’ was subtly aided by the carpet being a bright grassy green; the one exception being the bridges that connected the two sides of the wide ring was painted gray with a yellow dotted line streaking down the middle to replicate a road.  I didn’t see anyone driving, but parked along the safety rails in the middle were more play-cars that were only slightly bigger than my old scooter; itself a modified toy.

The second floor was much quieter than the first; much less busy, too.  There was a calm and steady flow of traffic , but it lacked that manic energy of the first. It might have been because of the space which mandated a more orderly procession from place to place, or it might have been calmer because of the acoustics.  Or the activities and exhibits presented here just weren’t as good; who knew?

“Homes around the world,”  Janet read at the walk-in entrance of one of the exhibits.  “Let’s check it out.”  She didn’t set me down, but carried me inside. “I have a feeling that this part might be more of a look and see instead of a play exhibit.”

She was half-right.  It was definitely more of a traditional museum exhibit instead of a playplace.  The walk in entrance was a wide and curving hallway. The various ‘cultures’ on display were put in walk-in alcoves with models and recreations that showcased what had to be the most stereotypical aspects of different cultures.

The Yamatoan exhibit had plaques explaining things I already knew about that culture and History from Ivy and included a display showcasing different types of diapers: Things that started out big enough to force a Little into a crawling position,  ones that had microchips that informed parents of whether or not they needed changing, and ones that somehow changed temperature even when freshly wet, making it more difficult for a Little or baby to know they’d done anything. “That one’s kind of neat,” Janet tapped the glass to the last one.

“Hard disagree,” I said.

“I know,” she teased. “Baby likes being warm and squishy.”

My jaw clamped down. “Not what I meant.”

The model nursery layout featured a crib with a mobile that sprayed “A calming cherry-blossom mist to help Littles fall asleep”.  Safe bet that it was a drug or a knock-out gas.

The changing table with mechanical hands. A sign made it very clear that it was for display purposes only. “No thank you,” Janet said, hugging me closer to her. “To any of this.”

“Same,” I said.

We left that horror show and proceeded on our self-guided tour.  The next few rooms were just as vapid and insulting as the Yamatoan one.  There was a recreation of an ancient Amazon home, complete with marble statues and placards about ancient athletic games that were segregated by height, and cradles with tops that left its occupant cocooned from the neck down.  

Beyond a few minor aesthetic changes, the Mayztepic one was no different than any home we might see today.  “That’s odd,” Janet said. “I don’t see any nursery here.”  I was about to tell her how Mayztepic Amazons didn’t do the whole Adoption thing.  “Oh,” she looked at a placard by the model master bed. “It says here that Mayztepic culture endorses co-sleeping. That explains it.”  I didn’t bother to correct her.

Something I noticed was that the building and decoration materials were made to appear much more authentic than the play places below.  Nothing was made of thick or hollow plastic.  Everything appeared solid or professional.  The materials themselves might not have been genuine- those statues likely weren’t real marble- but effort was put in to conceal the ruse.  This was all at least theme park level instead of King Fisher Playset level.

“Where’s the Little stuff?”  I grumbled.  My nose wrinkled.  I didn’t know if I really wanted to see what Amazons thought of Little majority countries.  They’d probably have us still living in mud huts or something, in desperate need of rescue.  

For the price of a cup of coffee a day, you too can make sure that a Little loses their adulthood and is reduced to suckling on an Amazon’s breast for physical and emotional sustenance.

“I think it’s coming up,” Janet promised, continuing our walk.

She was right this time. Voices and the familiar sound of laughter came to my ears.  Littles were playing ahead.  Every other exhibit in this hallway was deathly quiet, with only a few passerby.  Here at the end of the tour came the main attraction.

“Grown-Up Grove,” I read the sign in front of a curtain. “What is…?” Janet pushed aside the curtain and stepped inside before I could finish the sentence.

As big and bigger than any of the play areas on the first floor, a culdesac scene greeted us. Astroturf lawns across five different houses.  Littles dressed in disguise adult clothes rode and pushed lawn mowers and walked in and out of front doors, smiling and holding hands, eager to show.  The walls were painted with such skill that if I hadn’t known any better, I’d have sworn I was outside.

And the best part?  The houses were all Little sized. My old house was a mansion, simply by virtue of it being sized for people much bigger than me.  Had I been handier or put forth the energy to conceal the construction, I could have installed an entire second floor to my home. Not here though.  Little-sized stairs wouldn’t make sense.  The roofs were just barely taller than the Amazons congregating and chatting it up amongst each other.  No one made an attempt to follow their Adoptees into the house, because the doors wouldn’t have made room for them.    

“According to this,” Janet said, looking at a placard, “These are faithful recreations of houses from countries and communities that specifically cater to Little sizes and products.  Cool!”

My eyes started to water.  It was beautiful. I never thought I’d see something like this.

So overwhelmed was I that I ignored Janet’s idle commentary of “I wonder what happens if their Maturosis comes out of dormancy.”  My hands reached out to the scene, eager to touch it.

I was back on my feet before I knew it.  “Go ahead,” Janet said. She gave me a pat on the butt to shoo me forward. “Go check it out.  Tell me what it’s like in there.”

I ran forward a few steps then stopped and looked back. “Don’t you want to come?”  I knew the answer, but some unexpected need for  politeness compelled me to ask.

“I can’t fit in there, silly.”  Janet said. She bent over and ruffled my freshly cut hair. “Do you really want your Mommy to come with you into your Grown-Up house?”

That was enough for me. Giving the gaggle of Grown-Ups a wide berth, I barreled forward over to the center house, running up to the doorstep.  It looked so much like mine that I felt I was in a dream.  I reached out instead of up and grasped the doorknob. No signs of modification were present. No special pulleys or handles, nor a door looming over me because the opening mechanism had been lowered.

This was just a door. Meant for me. Made for me. For someone my size. For an adult my size. I turned the handle and stepped in with complete reverence and awe. I looked around slowly, taking in everything, burning it into my brain.  This was a temple, a fantasy land, a wonder of the world.

The ceilings in the entryway were high, but not so high that I couldn’t reach as long as I got a running jump or stood on stool. Remarkable.  A place where I could actually change a lightbulb with almost no struggle.

A study contained shelves and shelves of books: Real books. Chapter books. Novels. No pictures. I reached up and grabbed a book and flipped through it.  A book! A real one!  With tiny print and no pictures!  And the cover wasn’t wider than my head!  And I took it from the top shelf! All by myself! With no stool or steps to help me.  It was just there. Slightly above the top of my head but still within easy reach.

I’ve never been so tempted to shoplift before as I was right then.  I put the damn book back, anyways and kept exploring.

The master bedroom was occupied by two passed out Littles wrapped in one another’s arms.  No bars on the bed, and it was so low to the ground that climbing into it didn’t actually involve additional effort. I let them sleep and paid them no mind.

The master bathroom, regrettably, did not have running water, but it was still a thrill to sit on the toilet with my shorts around my ankles. I almost allowed myself to forget that I was wearing a diaper.  I held my breath and exulted in how easy it was to twist the knobs on the sink and the bathtub; how easily everything fit into my hand.

I remembered my old bathroom, the unmodified one and scolded my younger self for what a fool I’d been and still was.  Why did I always have to make everything more difficult than it had to be? What was wrong with me that I’d avoided these simple and convenient amenities until they were taken out of my life?

The buzzing, droning, grinding sensation, made itself known and I forced myself out of my own head; contenting myself with the marvels in front of me.

It’s not that I’d never seen things made for Littles before.  Cassie humored me and my Amazon sized toilet back in the day, but she insisted on using the modified guest bathroom.  Similarly, the only Amazon sized thing that her parents kept around unmodified was Bert’s deathtrap pickup truck.

That was the crux of it though. Everything had been modified. There were always seams and traces of customization or adaptation.  Everything was makeshift. Legs were sawed or sanded off. Certain structural necessities mandated that trailer doors remained unreasonably big at the entrance.. Things that weren’t repurposed were worn, ancient, and collected from far away garage sales and auctions.  

Even where Bert and his ilk masterfully masked an alteration or built something from scratch there was still that knowledge that the alteration had been necessary and it soured the entire schema of things.  A two story house inside a trailer was still a trailer; its inside no more real than the  playground that looked like a construction site.

Perhaps that’s why I suffered through step stool trips to the loo, thick book booster seats on stools, and bungee cord door pulleys for so long. Nothing in my world ever really fit without a combination of compromise, effort, and hearty expense.

Almost nothing…

I struggled with the thought while admiring a masterfully crafted dining room table complete with chairs that I didn’t have to scale to sit down at when suddenly the most jovial harmonica music caught my attention.  “Mommy!” A T.V. screen shouted.  “Daddy!”
My expression soured and I followed the blasphemous sounds.  A song or show. A kids’ show. More likely a cartoon.  “Lotto!”  I found the living room. Hard ground with an area rug and the smallest television set I’d ever laid eyes upon.  A family of cartoon dogs were dancing on screen.  “Minty!”

Littles in pseudo adult clothes sat on couches that didn’t cause their feet to dangle, chatting with one another over the cartoon show. There were no lisps or affectations among them. No talks of daycare or toys or teachers.

“What do you think of this new eye shadow?” A redhead asked her friend in a pinafore dress.

“You should definitely get Margery to buy you that. It looks great on you.”

“Sexy?”

“Very sexy.”

“Cool.”

“I think I’m going to get some blush for home. Henry always caves when I beg and give him the puppy dog eyes.”

“Yeah,” the redhead said, “but don’t you have to like, play tea-time as an excuse?”

“As long as he doesn’t break out the wipes before tubby time, fifteen minutes of pretend tea with dollies is worth it.”

On the other couch, a blonde Little boy in a disguised polo onesie chatted about some kind of sport with a dark skinned compatriot in one of those disguised rompers that looked like a baggy t-shirt and jeans from the front.  They were talking about…sports?  “Why are there so many false finishes nowadays?”

“No clue. I’m sick of it.”  

“It’s called a ‘finishing’ move,” Blondie bitched. “It doesn’t actually finish the match, then there’s no reason to get excited when it happens.”  Looking at his skin tone, I was willing to bet blonde wasn’t his natural hair color.

“I hear you, man. I hear you.”  Romper lightly scratched his cheek. “Counterpoint: If finishers don’t reliably finish, or they need to do it two or three times, it makes it look more like a sport.”

“But I don’t want a sport, I want a superhero fight with funny lines and murder gymnastics!”

“At least you get to watch wrestling. My folks won’t let me stay up. Tell me it’s too violent.”

“That sucks man. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve always got to butter Rachel up like crazy to keep watching my shows.  If I have to call her ‘Mommy’ one more time…”

“Oh yeah,” the darker skinned Little commented,  “I’m sure that’s real hard for you, bro. Anyways, tell me what happened next? Main event?”

Referring to Amazons as their first names and discussing ways to manipulate them? Debates and talks of sports and getting as much adult treatment as possible?  Not only had I found my new favorite exhibit, I might have found my people. The one thing I couldn’t parse out was why they were talking over a cartoon about a family of talking dogs doing something called ‘Dance Mode’.

“We can’t turn it off,”  Blonde Boy called to me.  I wiped the confused look off my face that I hadn’t known I was making. “First time?”

If the slight wrinkles around his eyes could be trusted, the Little boy who’d asked me that question  was about my age. There was no malice or suspicion in his voice. No commitment to a pretend bit or character. Just another guy noticing my confusion and discomfort.  “Is it that obvious?” I asked.

“Kinda,” the girl in the pinafore dress answered. “No offense.”

“None taken.”  I pointed at the T.V.  “So they won’t let us change the channel or anything?”

“‘Fraid not,” the guy in the camouflaged romper said. “It’s harmless though. Kind of cool, too.”

“Baby…”  Pinafore jeered

“Fuck you…” Romper grinned. They stuck out their tongues at one another.

“This place isn’t perfect, but it’s got its perks.” Blondie in the polo said. “This is the one spot where we get some forbidden fruits.”

“Like privacy.” The redhead said.

“And conversation.” Pinafore chimed in.  “Serious Grown-Up time.”

I squinted, half-suspicious. “Grown-Up time?”

“Have you been to the other houses, yet?” Blondie asked. “This is kind of the chill zone.  There’s video games and a home gym in some of the others.”

His buddy on the couch snapped his fingers, trying to remember something.  “Doesn’t the one at the end have a karaoke machine?”

Pinafore bounced on the cushions. “We should do that one soon! I would love to sing something that’s not ‘Wheels on the Bus’!”

“They have karaoke here?”

“Lots of stuff we’re not normally allowed to have, here” the guy in the romper said. “They even have a real computer that hooks up to the internet.”

There was much nodding and agreement. “The keyboard is so tiny, too!” The girl in the pinafore said.  “I don’t have to spread out my fingers like crazy to type! It makes you feel so big!”

“Yeah,” Redhead agreed. “Way bigger than those suckers playing doctor down below.”  

“Too bad all the child blocks are still on.”  Pinafore lamented.

“Yeah,” Romper said, “But like, I just pretend that there are kids around or something. You don’t want them being exposed to that. They’re not ready for it.”

The word ‘pretend’ through ice water on my building enthusiasm and it showed.

“Hey,” the Blondie stood up from the couch. “Have you seen the nursery yet?”

My expression curdled instantly.  “No…”

“Take a look!” the redhead said. “You gotta see it! Everybody’s gotta see the nursery at least once.”

I was on my back foot. “I’m good…”

Blondie maneuvered beside me.  “No, it’s cool. You gotta see it! It’s awesome!”  He moved his arm behind me and gently started nudging me through the living room.  “You’ll love it. Best part of the house.”

Shit. I was about to get hazed, wasn’t I?

I allowed myself to be guided, but my knees locked and my muscles tensed, looking for a fight or flight.  I wanted to be enveloped in the illusion, indulge in the fantasy presented, not to be reminded of my present predicament.

We crossed the threshold, and I suddenly realized I’d slammed my eyes shut.  “What do you think?” I heard Blondie asked.

I opened one eye.  Then another.  It was a nursery. Just a nursery.  It had a crib, a changing table, a floor gym, and a rocking horse. All standard baby stuff. Not scary or twisted at all. The best part?  None of it fit.  I’d have to curl into a fetal position to squeeze into the crib. I could step upon the baby gym and crush it.  The rocking horse was so tiny that I dare not sit upon it lest it break into splinters.  Were I laid on top of the changing table, my legs would dangle awkwardly over the edge.

“It doesn’t fit,” I gasped. “None of it fits!”

“It does fit,” the Little boy.  “It just doesn’t fit Grown-Ups like us. Check out the diapers”

Crossing the room, my eyes started to water with joy. I bent over- by the gods I had to bend over- and picked up a diaper off the stack.  It was a plain, ordinary thing, with a white plastic shell. And it was incredibly, amazingly, small.  My nephew could have worn this.  Correction: He was probably too big to fit into this now.  Even stranger, unlike Olliver’s Monkeez- unlike mine- this one had no decorations on it. It was plain white, pure and simple.

“What brand is this?” I asked.

“Dunno,” the regular said. “No box. I think they’re imported.”

“Why aren’t there any decorations?” I wondered.  “Why isn’t it more babyish looking?”

A knowing look came across my new playmates lips. “Why would anyone need them to be more babyish?” he asked. “Where those things come from, only babies have to wear them.”

Not for the first time that day, I forgot to breathe. It was one of the most affirming things I’d ever heard. “Thank you…” I choked out.  I literally didn’t know I needed to hear that until it had been uttered.

Blondie clapped me on the back.  “Welcome to the Triple-P my friend. What’d you say your name was again?”

I cleared my throat. “I didn’t. Sorry.  My name’s Cl-…” My tour guide had a far away stare. He swallowed uncomfortably and started breathing harder.  “Hey man, are you okay?”

My new peer winced like he’d just woken from a bad dream. His face flushed and his hands drifted backwards towards the seat of his pants.  “Don’t worry about it…” He swore something under his breath.

There was something awful and familiar about that expression.  “What’s going on?”

“Nothing…just…outta time…chocolate’s…about to…” His patter turned to grunts and moans. He stepped back, afraid of my touch.  “Gotta go!” He sprinted out of the nursery and through the living room, his feet moving in rushing heavy stomps.

Feeling dazed and confused I trailed behind him, my pulse thudding in my neck. None of the guy’s group of friends seemed overly worried.  “Bye Randy!” I heard Pinafore call.  Her expression shifted into a mask of discomfort.  She patted her tummy and sharply inhaled “See you soon!”

“Is he okay?” I asked the room hoping for an answer.

Pinafore dress sunk deeper into the couch. “Yeah. He’s fine. His Grown-Up time is just up. It happens.”

Hot and tingling, a tornado of fire started to form inside my gray matter. The fuck were they talking about? “Grown-Up time?”

The dark skinned Little boy slammed his eyes shut and grunted.  He jumped up from the couch and started pacing the floor, fists clenched and knees locked with every wobbling step. “Yeah…Won’t be…long now…”

“Long for what?”  The waking dream was turning into a living nightmare. My gray matter was burning up and becoming molten rock.

“Our Mommies…and Daddies…” my fellow ginger strained, “we play a game sometimes…we get to pretend…uugh…we get to…you know…” She squirmed uncomfortably on the couch cushion and looked around the room. “Be big for a while…until the…the…” she tugged at her hair. “Until the chocolate...”

I forgot to blink.  I was so shocked I somehow managed to tense up and hold my bladder..  “You got force fed  training chocolates?!”  It was a question as much as it was an accusation.

Romper took up the explanation, his face straining to keep his bottom clenched. “Not force fed…we just ate them.” A beat and a bead of sweat later. “You know you can…kind of feel…it coming...if you pay close attention.”  He jammed a knuckle into his mouth and bit down. That quickly transitioned into self-soothing on his own thumb.

Pay close enough attention? Seriously? Anyone not completely insensate could tell that they were doing the potty dance and losing. Is this what I looked like on my last day as a teacher? Is that how that obnoxious bitch had known I was filling my pants before I did?

Unable to look away from this trainwreck, I stood at rigid and wary attention, as if I’d somehow catch whatever disease got them to poison themselves. “I…I don’t understand.”

“We should all stand up,” Pinafore suggested “Don’t wanna stain…the furniture…”

“Yeah…that’d be…really immature,” Redhead agreed. Bitter, deeply uncomfortable laughs all around.

What kind of fucked up cult had I walked in on? And I’d thought Little Voices was strange. “Why the fuck would you do this?!”  The facade of this group’s enlightenment was crumbling in front of me.

“So our Mommies and Daddies will take us here. It’s…their favorite part.”  Pinafore dress’s eyes started leaking, possibly along with her panties.  “Comes with…the…the…fun-derwear. Free-sample.”

I’d fallen into a black hole of madness. My own tears dried up and my adrenaline surged, yet I was still frozen compelled to look upon false prophets. My head was going to explode from all the buzzing. “Why would you agree to that?” I asked again. “Why not fight it? Or puke it up?  Or wear a better diaper?”

“It’s not…so bad…” Romper said. His face slackened. He’d los control.

“That stuff messes up your continence!” I shouted at the squirming, cringing, suffering group. My foot slammed down on the hardwood floor for emphasis.  “You’re damaging yourself! Breaking your bodies!”

Redhead fell forward onto all fours. “We’re already…hrrnn…unpotty trained.”  Under her dress she’d been dressed in plain white tights. Her skirt was shorter than Pinafore’s, but still long enough to conceal whatever underwear she was wearing.  Bits of wet oozing brown water trickled down the back of her thighs, staining the tights. “Chocolate just….regulates the timing….is all. So we all go through it…together.”  She reached up grasping at the air.  Romper walked up and took it, clasping it tightly.  Her breathing hastened and then slackened.  “Fucking gross…”

The fetid stench of pants filling with fresh fecal matter hit my nostrils. The girl in the pinafore stood up and her hands shot to her rear end.  “Oops…my turn! Here we go again!”   Even though she was crying she had the strangest, most contemplative smile.

Silence save for muffled sobs, gasps, and groans for about thirty seconds permeated the room as their bowls ejected the last of their contents.  Disgusting droplets dripped from their clothes onto the floor, the novelty diapers unable to hold the messy load that had been deposited inside them Then: “Do you guys wanna hide for a while?” Pinafore asked. “ See if we can beat our old record?”

“Randy already gave away the game,” Redhead said. She climbed back up to her feet, her eyes twitching at discomfort from her blowout.

“He’s such a Mommy’s boy.” The guy who’d been sucking on his thumb groaned. “Always has his accident right in front of her.  We can’t hide if they know our time is up!”

“You know they used to date,” Redhead said. “That’s why he does it. Trying to recreate their special moment.”  She laughed cruelly. “I bet Randy did it to himself so she wouldn’t dump him.”

“Whatever,” Pinafore said. Her hands were held up and she was starting to walk bowlegged from the contents of her substitute panties sloshing around.  “I just want out of this costume.  Get me into a nice onesie and something that won’t leak.’

“Should we wake Sheila and Jakey up?” Romper asked.

“Naw. Let their parents come and get them. Should freak them the fuck out.”

I couldn’t hear myself over the static between my ears. “Amazons can get in here?”

“Yeah,” Romper said. “Back entrance. In case of emergencies and tantrums.”

The lovely Little fantasy world had just been that. Like a ghost I followed the trio out the front door and onto the astro turf.

“Oh no!” Pinafore said in a manner even less convincing than Janet’s had been earlier. “I’ve had an accident and pooped my panties! I gotta get home and clean this up before…”  The shadow of an Amazon fell over her. “NO! Sir! Please!  You don’t understand!”  

He chuckled and picked her up by the armpits. “Don’t I now?” he bunched up the hem of her skirt and ran the back half between her legs, wrapping her waist up in a makeshift diaper. “Grown-Up time is over Little girl.  Time to dress you up in something more appropriate.”

“I’m not a baby! I’m a big girl! A big girl!”  She pounded on his shoulder and he patted her bottom for the effort, carrying her off to the nearest changing station.

Blondie hadn’t made it that far.  He’d been stripped down in front of everyone and was being taped up on the astroturf lawn.  “Honestly, Randy, do you really think you’re man enough for me if you can’t even make it to the potty? I don’t think you’re ready for a girlfriend.”

“Yes Mommy,” he said dejectedly, (but not too dejectedly)

Similar scenes played out for the other two, and then some.  Several more came out of other houses holding their bottoms or tip toeing out the back, grinning while trying to look afraid of the capture they knew was coming. Soon, they were all caught, lightly scolded and then carted off to get changed.

A few of the Amazons looked impatiently at their phones, tapping their feet. One said, “If they’re Grown-Up time isn’t over yet, it’s about to be. Come on, let’s go fetch ‘em.”

Disgusted looking Tweeners slinked in carrying mops, buckets, and bottles of stain remover.

Even in this place, this fantasy world within a fantasy world, I couldn’t escape my fate. Annie had the right of things. Some exhibits let us be babies pretending to be construction workers, or cops, or medical professionals.  This one let us be babies pretending to be adults. That was it.  That was its purpose. That’s what people did here.

And they all sounded so damn much like me.

That’s when I understood the buzzing in my skull for what it was.

All my life, the world had never been fair. It’s what I told myself every morning as soon as I knew I was awake, right after hitting the snooze. It never felt fair because it was never made for people like me.

Everything was a struggle. I rode to work on a modified scooter and risked getting run over.  At work I had to deal with the most bullshit of office politics and then some while dealing with bratty children that could have destroyed me in a fight had they thought to.  I needed stools and pulleys to open fucking doors, and I had to commit lies of omission to just be granted the opportunity to buy a house.  

An act as simple as sharing a cup of coffee with a friend was like free handling venomous hydra-viper.  My clothing came from online stores. Groceries had to be delivered and charged extra for.  Silly games like wearing a costume made of socks- something that would have brought laughter and joy to children and engage their minds with spectacle and amusement- had to be turned into defiant, theatrical mind game workarounds just so that I could seem like a gadfly instead of a goddamn child myself.

Nothing in my life that brought me joy or convenience was ever made to fit me.

Except…

Except for the playground.

Everything was my size on the playground. Everything fit me there. Everything was easy and accessible and user friendly and had been made to be all of that.  It was the one place where my size wasn’t an obstacle to be overcome; or if it was, it had been accounted for in the architecture and design well before my arrival.

The same was true for the fancy clothing store Auntie Jessica had taken me to.

This wonderful yet wretched place, too.


That’s why my brain itched and burned and buzzed, whenever I was near one. It wasn’t propaganda, or brainwashing, or subliminal messages, or hypnotic cartoons. It was me hiding that thought from myself: That the only spaces that were ever made for me were designed with infants and toddlers in mind.  So what did that make me?

I couldn’t like these things. I couldn’t draw pleasure or joy or comfort from them. I had to hate them. Or if I didn’t hate them, I had to twist and subvert them in some way that the Amazons hadn’t thought of or intended.  There could be no upside that I myself didn’t create. Ever.  

Because if there was…

If I admitted to myself that I liked literally any of this silly stuff unironically…

“Fuck.”

“Hey bubba,” Mommy said to me. She leaned over and looked real sad. Worried, too.  I knew that look. She was afraid that I was about to blow up again. Probably thought it was her fault, too. It wasn’t though. Not this time.  I’d just taught her to think that way.  “Do you want help standing up?”  

I looked down at myself, sitting with my legs splayed out in front of me. When had I sat down?  “Okay…” I reached up and took her hands.  She gently pulled me up to my feet. Only my diaper tried to pull me down. It had gotten extra wet between my legs, but I didn’t think it was going to leak just yet.  I could still play if I wanted to without getting changed.

If I wanted to.

“I didn’t know that was going to happen,” Mommy said softly. “Some of the Grown-Ups told me that it isn’t officially museum policy, but they look the other way for it.  If I had known you were gonna see that I would have warned you.”  Her voice was soft and gentle like music.  If I were more tired, I could have dozed off to that voice.

I wasn’t really that tired. Just sad.  Having to confront uncomfortable truths about yourself is always kind of sad.  “It’s okay, Mommy.” I said. “That’s just how those kids play.”

“It’s not how you play, though,” Mommy told me.

“No.” I agreed. “It isn’t.”

“You’re much too clever to do that.” She tickled my belly and I laughed, feeling bashful.

“Do you want to go home now?”  Mommy asked me. “It’s okay if you do. I won’t be upset. You played really good today.”

“Really well,” I corrected her. “Grammar, Mommy. Grammar.”

That offset her looming gloom.  “You played really well today.  Are you ready to go home or…?”  There was hope there.  I liked that hope. It felt nice.

“No Mommy,” I said, doing my best to smile.  “I want to play.”

It was true, too. We were alone, surrounded by people in the same circumstances.  There were no outsiders at this place. No one to judge me or mock me for not keeping up with the program. Why not enjoy myself? Just this once?  Let myself have this?  It was supposed to be a treat.

“Okay,” Mommy said.  She picked me back up and placed me on her hip where I belonged.  “But first let’s get you changed.”

“Mommeeeeee” I whined, and made my best puppy dog face.

“Claaaaaaark,” she whined back, playfully mocking me.  Mommy seemed as immune to my puppy dog stare as she had to my teacher’s glare.

“Play!”

“First diaper change. Then play.”

“Or just play…?”

“You don’t want to leak through your pants, do you?  Or have to stop playing in the middle of a game you’re inventing?”

“No,” I admitted. “I really don’t.”

“Then now’s the time to get it over with.”

I buried my head in Mommy’s shoulder. “Fine.” She rubbed the back of my head in consolation and I melted into her.  “You win, Mommy.”

We started walking out back into the main ring of the second floor.  “Clark,” Mommy said, her voice tinged with concern.  “What’s my name, again?”

“Mommy,” I said without hesitating. We were in public. That was the deal.

“No, my real name,” she said. “My first name.”

“Is this a trick, Mommy?”

She stopped walking and seemed to consider things. “No trick. Something just feels…different. My first name, what is it?”

I paused, biting the back of my tongue for an instant, puzzling what could be wrong. “Janet.”

Mommy puckered her lips, chewing on her own name, thinking.  “Say ‘Janet’.”

“Janet”.

“Now say, ‘Mommy’.”

“Mommy.”  I pouted and frowned, loving yet fearing the attention I was getting.  “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Mommy said. “It’s just…I dunno.”

“What?”

Mommy readjusted me and the squish of my Monkeez redoubled. I felt a dribble of wetness squeeze out of the padding and drip lower, even though I wasn’t presently peeing. Okay, Mommy was right. I was due for a change. “It feels like you’re saying them differently, is all.”

“I’m not trying to,” I said, worried that I’d somehow snapped or snipped at her.

“It’s not bad,” Mommy mused. “Just…different.”

“Oh,” I said. “Okay, Mommy,” She glowed a bit every time I said her name. To be able to elicit that kind of response, after all these months. To still have her give me that kind of power. It’s something I loved about her.  “Sooooo…diaper change?”

“ Now you want a diaper change?” she laughed, picking up the pace. “Is that because you know I’m right and are about to leak?”

“I didn’t say thaaaaaaaaaaaat,” I replied. “Just you said you wanted to change my diaper.  Who am I to rob you of your enjoyment?”

“Mhm.” She kissed me on the cheek. “Real enjoyment there. Sure. Let’s go with that.”

“It’s a good thing I’m cute.”

“Sure is, baby boy. Sure is.”

We bantered like that all the way to the bathroom. We only stopped when the tapes were ripped and the wipes were too cold for me to think of something clever to say.