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Unfair- Chapter 98: Compounding Fractures
🕑 Added 2022-06-26 19:44:03 +0000 UTCChapter 98: Compounding Fractures
I sat with my head down, wheezing at Beouf’s teacher table. My eyes were puffy. My vision was blurry and my nose was running like a snot faucet down over my upper lip. My breathing was labored and ragged and my face felt hot even though the air conditioning was cranked up as far as the thermostat would allow. To the typical Amazon, I looked like a Little who was in the depths of toddlerish despair: Maybe I needed a fresh diaper, or I’d seen a cartoon animal lose his mother, or my Mommy had told me that I couldn’t have chocolate pudding first thing in the morning even though it had the same calorie count as my cinnamon applesauce.
To a non-Amazon, my ragged appearance might have been an indicator that I was feeling sick. Allergies, or just a good old fashioned case of the campus crud. Those puffy eyes could have been a matter of pollen instead of potty pants. Or maybe an actual relative had died; or some other legitimate reason for a person to feel sad or afraid.
A Little still on the outside would have looked at me and shook their head, predicting that I wasn’t long for the adult world.
Said imaginary Little would have been off by about seven years, give or take.
On some level, all of the above assumptions would have been at least a tiny bit correct. I was about as sick as I could ever remember being up to that point. I’d been awake since two that morning and couldn’t get back to sleep because of all the aches and pains I’d had. By three, I’d gotten over the resentment I’d felt watching Cassie blissfully snore next to me and quietly booted up the computer.
The next two hours had been spent typing up a lesson plan so thoroughly detailed that it would be impossible to actually implement. The damn thing would have better functioned as programming instructions for a sophisticated nanny-bot. Every child had accommodations and if/then behaviors with reinforcement procedures as well as notes to a complete stranger on which child could likely be trusted and which couldn’t. It was the level of paranoid, meticulous detail that first time parents left a neighborhood sitter who barely knew how to properly heat a bottle of milk.
Only there were ten children in my class and preschoolers had far more idiosyncrasies than your average newborn blob. In the end, I buckled and rode into work on my scooter, despite how awful I felt. I just had to make it through the day and then Cassie could take care of me when I got home.
She all but begged me to stay and call in sick; let her take care of me like she always did, but I stubbornly refused. It was so much work for a teacher to make substitute plans, that it was almost always easier to work sick than it was to stay home and get better. Teaching was juggling and it was easier to keep the clubs in the air by myself instead of passing them to a stranger who hadn’t had the time to experiment and test out the various balances and weights of each object.
Being a Little made it harder. Weakness could not be shown. If I showed up and was under the weather, there was every chance I’d go unnoticed by admin, and my assistant Tracy would help me pick up the slack. Brollish though? And that psycho Forrest? Me being absent would draw their attention and scrutiny. It was exposing my underbelly and inviting them to analyze everything about me that they could to justify and then slap a diaper over my bum and plop me, ironically enough, in this very room.
Tiredly, I glanced over and saw the open door to Beouf’s bathroom. I wasn’t feeling nauseous; I didn’t even have food in me right then. I’d skipped my usual breakfast shake out the door and didn’t kiss my wife because of how gross I felt.
But I wondered if it would be a better idea in a worst case scenario to make a run for it and vomit in her bathroom. Heavens knows that that would be the only use the toilet saw this school year. More importantly there’d be less of a chance of one of my kids accidentally tattling on me and telling their parents I was sick. Beouf’s own mindfucked brats wouldn’t know enough to tell their Mommies and Daddies and if they did it’s not like they’d be believed, the poor bastards.
Being sick and not filling out plans for the substitute would be taken as a sign of Maturosis. I wasn’t mature enough to plan ahead of time or be thorough enough in my notes; or maybe I was too thorough. I might need a doctor’s note or I’d be accused of lying or exaggerating my symptoms. Very immature. Coming to work sick would be a sign of Maturosis, too, since I couldn’t advocate for my own health well enough. Getting sick in the first place might have been a symptom of Maturosis since it was evidence that I was doing something unhygienic or unhealthy. Trying to hide my sickness might be a sign that I was hiding other things, however.
Beouf had explained a lot of the ups and downs and ins and outs of the fraudulent condition my rookie year with the confidence of a doctor, the enthusiasm of a zealot, and the straightforward unblinking faith of a child who thought Mastodons could hide in jelly bean jars. I’d tuned out more than half way through to stop myself from a panic attack. Maturosis was definitely my co-worker’s particular flavor of baby crazy.
Two things I was sure of: My sick days were purely symbolic and that the true definition of Maturosis was “Whatever the Amazon needed to say to win the argument against a Little.”
If I wanted to keep the madwoman my ally, it was best to avoid the topic as tastefully as possible. On the bright side her position as a teacher probably kept her from Adopting. It was easier to not binge on chocolate when you got a steady drip of candies every day.
Beouf took her seat and slid over my usual mug. “Here,” she said. “Drink this.” I saw her hand slide over and place something next to the mug. “And this.”
I barely looked up. “No thanks, Mrs. Beouf. I’m not feeling very thirsty.”
“Drink, Mr. Gibson,” she said. “You’re going to dehydrate yourself if you don’t.”
My head lifted up and regarded her. Back then she was still rocking a bleach blonde look before she finally gave up and settled back into naturally curly reddish brown locks with an ever growing crop of gray.
“Doesn’t coffee-?” I stopped myself. The only thing in the mug today was tap water. Next to it was a golden gel capsule the size of a horse pill.
“Take some water to grease your pipes,” Beouf said. “Choke down the pill. Finish the mug. Then refill the mug and down that.” It was an order, but not a threat.
I did as I was told and gulped everything down. I barely breathed until I was up on the step stool refilling the mug. Beouf quietly sipped her black coffee, not saying anything until I’d retaken my seat. “Make sure to finish the mug before Tracy and Mrs. Zoge get here. Two of those pills keep me wired all day when I’m sick. For your size? That might be closer to three.”
“Thanks,” I said, and started gulping down more water.
“Welcome.”
As we did approximately four hundred or so times before, we sat in mutual comfortable silence for a minute or so, waiting for the sun to finish waking up and join us.
“Got a case of the third year panics?” Beouf asked when I’d been done pretending I was a fish.
I raised an eyebrow. My face was starting to buzz, but in a good way this time. “The what?”
“First year sucks,” Beouf said, leaning back in her chair. “You learn that everything they taught you in college was more or less bullshit as far as how things work in the real world.”
“Yeah,” my noggin bobbed in agreement. “Textbooks are too old. Resources are too small. Time is too short.” If Cassie and I had any friends we could have regularly interacted with, our social life would have died then and there.
Beouf added, “Parents and kids don’t act like you thought they would.”
My head was in my hands. “Don’t get me started on parents.”
My coworker laughed that wild bark of a laugh she did when the students and admin weren’t around. “Same. Then the second year,” she continued, “you start to get kind of good at it but you’re still waiting for things to get better. Then the third year everything hits the fan and it sinks in that it’s not gonna get better; you just have to get tougher.” She waited till I looked up at her. “How am I doin’?”
“You forgot Brollish.”
Beouf shook her head and glowered at a spot in the air. “Oh don’t get me started on that woman. Mann wasn’t great, but at least he had the decency to leave us alone and let us teach. I swear that woman is out to get everybody who doesn’t actively kiss her ass.”
“Yuuuuup.”
“That why you’re working sick? Too many notes to write? Afraid the old witch is gonna invent something wrong with them? Worried that your kids will act up cause their routine is broken and somehow that’ll be your fault?”
Right on the money. “Yuuuup.” I wasn’t shivering anymore and my sinuses had dried up completely. Despite only having water I felt like I’d downed an entire pot of coffee. Wow, that pill had some kind of kick to it!
“I get it,” Beouf said. “You can’t just put on a movie, or have a one size fits all emergency lesson plan. Or just leave a note telling the sub to do worksheets or have them read a couple pages of a textbook. Too many moving parts.”
“Yuuuup.”
“Yeah. The bigger grades don’t get it. Maybe Kindergarten, but that’s it. Our babies need lots of love and attention every day.” Through willpower or fatigue I didn’t make a face when she compared her gaggle of mindfucked adult Littles to students who were actually children. Beouf reached over the table and put one tremendous palm over my hand. Oddly enough, I didn’t flinch or jump back in my seat and it had almost nothing to do with the mounting medicine high. “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”
And I believed her.
******************************************************************************************************
“Good morning, Clark,” Beouf chirped the moment I waddled across the threshold. “It’s good to see you again!”
I buried down a quip about how the feeling wasn’t mutual and chose to look down at the rough worn carpet of her classroom. “Yuuup.”
“How was your weekend?”
Predictably, Janet answered for me. “It was pretty quiet, but good. We did some yoga. He’s actually pretty good.”
Actually.
As if I wasn’t supposed to be good at it.
Typical.
Janet wore a blue dress with white polka dots, her dark hair up in its professional looking bun. I never expressed it, outwardly, but it was one of my favorites. I was in shortalls with long socks. Arguably, my favorite outfit because my Monkeez were covered up and it was impossible for anything to be poking or peeking out. This pair was baggy enough that it’d be hard to tell if I was wearing them until they were good and wet, and as the day wore on and the air heated back up my socks could be rolled down from just below my knees all the way back down to my ankles.
Even better, I could do the adjusting as I saw fit. Fuck my life that being able to bunch up and straighten out socks was something I was excited for. I couldn’t prove it, obviously, but I had the distinct sense that Janet was trying to cushion my ego by picking out the clothes for me that caused minimal agitation. Darkly, I wondered if she chose that day’s outfit because more layers made it harder to masturbate.
“Yoga?” Beouf echoed in her sing-song teacher voice, so unlike the casual co-worker tone I’d grown accustomed to over the years. “Cool! If we ever get stuck inside for recess one afternoon, maybe you can show us some poses or something.”
In reply, I gave a decidedly non-committal shrug. I was in no mood for Beouf’s infantilizing antics. Quite the opposite actually.
“I’ll catch you up on our way to the front,” Janet said. That was enough for my other ex-friend and the pair made their way out the way we came in. I heard the beginnings of chatter before the door swung shut, trapping me with Ivy and Zoge.
My mouth twisted into a terrible scowl. Would she tell Beouf what I had done in my crib last night? Had I lost even that bit of privacy. Why had I done that to myself and indulged in that moment of weakness? Why couldn’t I have stopped myself? It’s not like with the training chocolate, or the diapers in general.
There had been nothing forcing me to lose control and losing control hadn’t been a physical inevitability. And when I had finally achieved that sweet, very adult release, why had I accidentally been thinking of…?
I was disgusted with myself and everything about me that morning. Not even the mellow buzz of a belly full of goat’s milk completely numbed my shame.
Beouf was going to hurt for it and I already knew how I’d make her.
“Ready Clark?” Zoge asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” I replied, not even thinking about it.
“So polite!” the Yamatoan beamed. “We’re off to a good start today! I’m proud of you!”
The words barely registered. Nor did her tender violations as she patted my bottom and sniffed around me, casually checking to see if I needed to be taken to the changing table before snapping the walking leash around me.
“Good morning, Clark.” Ivy said, her voice neutral, but cordial enough considering everything I’d willingly put her through.
Where Ivy stood, I failed to see another person with thoughts and feelings and a past, but instead saw a collection of traits, quirks, behaviors, and the risks associated with them. “Ivy,” I echoed her tone. “I hope you’re well enough.” That was a lie. I wasn’t even thinking about her beyond how she might make my goals harder.
“Thank you.” She sounded slightly taken aback and on guard. Why wouldn’t she? The only time I was reliably nice to the faux Yamatoan was when I wanted to manipulate her, and she was finally getting smart enough to realize it. Hopefully that meant she’d keep her distance this morning.
Silently, we three walked to the bus loop as we always did. I waited next to Ivy while trying to eavesdrop on the two Amazons, tuning out the smell of bus exhaust, and listening over the sound of rumbling engines and squawking children. My pulse picked up a notch when the Little bus arrived. Chaz in his stroller would be dead last, so I had to hope that the first kids out would be Billy, Annie, or even Tommy.
No such luck.
Plopped in front of me with a fresh bob cut and a pink bow on top of her head was Sandra Lynn. Behind me was resident tomboy Mandy. If not for the color of her shirt and shorts, not to mention, her breasts, she might have been mistaken for a boy. Mandy was near the bottom of my list of Littles to break and recruit because of the effort it would require, and Beouf had made Sandra Lynn’s brain match the contents of her diaper just before summer vacation. To hear Chaz tell it, she was sticking around this semester just so Beouf could make sure that she wasn’t faking it.
Neither were fans of mine or my crew. Nobody said something worth doing would be easy.
“Morning, Sandra Lynn,” I waved. “Wanna hug?” What I really wanted was to be able to whisper into her ear.
The inmate who’d done the longest time here next to Ivy curled her upper lip in distrust and disgust. She may have genuinely regressed to the point where she thought boys had cooties. “Why?”
My eyes lit up in pantomime inspiration. “Why? Ooooo. That gives me an idea…” I mouthed the words slowly enough that even someone who’d lost their literacy could read me: ‘Why Day’.
The doll’s eyes widened “Mm-mm,” she refused. “No. I want recess.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised.
“Ugh,” Mandy groaned lightly while more and more of us were being lined up. “Boys. Stop trying to make Why Day happen again. That’s so last year. Why Day’s Over.”
I looked back in line over my shoulder. “I can bring it back.”
“How?” she narrowed her eyes, curious but distrustful.
“Only do it to Beouf,” I hissed quietly, my voice masked by the nearby buses. “Just Beouf. Zoge tells.
The smarter of the two pouted her lip out. She clearly had a sour taste in her mouth. Damnit. Where was the A.L.L. when I needed them? “Wwwwwhy?”
How to explain why this would work to someone whose emotional complexity had been reduced to a five year old (and that’s if I was being generous)? “If we don’t do it to both of them it’ll take them longer to know what we’re doing.”
“No,” Mandy said. “I mean, ‘Why Beouf? Zoge’s way more gullible.”
Because I wasn’t in the mood to hurt Zoge. Because Zoge hadn’t betrayed me. Because Zoge had never really been my friend so she was a lesser enemy. Because Zoge wasn’t moving a cult along that was slowly turning me into a full time pants wetter, crib sleeper, and bottle sucker. Because I could hurt Beouf without having to sleep under her roof. Because I was processing a vast array of complex, conflicting, and complicated emotions, and the best way to stop myself from coming to terms with those emotions was to hurt that hypocritical bitch who only ever really looked out for herself and tossed me in the cradle at the first opportunity and was going to do the same thing to Tracy if Tracy wasn’t clever or lucky enough. Because I needed to hurt her the way she’d hurt me.
What I said was, “Because we were good for Zoge all last week and she’ll protect us.” I wasn’t sure if they’d heard me or if I’d kept my voice too low. “I’ll give one of you half of my snacks all week.”
“And,” Sandra Lynn piled on, “You have to play house with us and be the baby at recess.”
I sighed. This had better work. “Fine.”
“And we get to pinch you. And you have to tell everybody when you poop and let us know what a big dumb baby pants pooper you are.” Mandy teased.
“Only if we miss recess,” I glanced up. It was cloudy already. It might rain. “Only if we all get in trouble, I mean. Not just me.”
I saw Mandy look over at Sandra Lynn. The pair exchanged a handful of nods, shrugs, and hums; some bizarre language the two had worked out. With no further questions or debate, it started down the gathering chain of Littles. “Why Day, but only Beouf, pass it on.”
**********************************************************************************************
“Okay, Clark,” Beouf called from the tiny classroom bathroom. “Come on up, buddy. Let’s get you changed.”
Jesse had already tapped me on the shoulder, signaling that it was my turn. I’d ignored him, obviously. I rolled my socks down to my ankles and looked behind me from the circle on the floor. Beouf was on diaper duty and Zoge was leading the Yamatoan nursery rhymes. “Why?”
“Because it’s your turn, silly.” Beouf cooed, not yet showing any signs of annoyance. “Now come on.”
“Why?”
She kept trying to wave me in. “You can come back and sing later, bubba. Come on.”
Good ol’ Chaz craned his neck. “Why?”
Zoge stopped singing and the rest of the class faded out. We all knew what was happening. Smartly, Mandy jumped in. “Yeah. Why? Let Clark sit in his messy pants if he wants to.”
For the record, my pants were not messy at the time.
Without further reply, Beouf walked to the circle, hoisted me up by the armpits, and carried me over to the bathroom. “Mrs. Zoge. Please continue.”
“Welcome back, Mrs. Beouf.” Zoge.
Circle Time continued with me in the bathroom, the sounds fading and being covered up with the cave-like echoes of Beouf huffing to herself while she restrained me to the changing table, popped open the snaps and readied the new diaper. “Oh Clark,” she said. “What am I gonna do with you? Mrs. Zoge said you were so good while I was gone.”
“Why?” I wasn’t even looking at her. I turned my head to the opposite side and stared at the slightly raised wood paneling of the changing table and the white concrete bricks of the wall behind it.
My ex-mentor made no reply or remark. She just changed me, carried me out of the bathroom and sat me directly on the naughty stool. She was in no mood today, which of course made it the perfect mood. I spared her a quiet, terrible and thin smile and swore I saw one of the curly brownish hairs on top of her head lost some color.
She went over to the circle and tapped Tommy on the shoulder so as not to interrupt. Tommy straight looked up. “Why?”
“Tommy,” Beouf warned. “Make good choices.”
From different sides of the circle, I caught Chaz, Annie, and Billy giving our lowest member the death glare. Tommy did make the right choice, after all. “Why?” Beouf picked him up like she had me and carted him away.
“I’m very sad, Tommy,” Zoge said when the stupid baby game song had finished.
Then Tommy struck gold. From the bathroom, with what I can only imagine was his ankles crossed over his head and his dick hanging out, Tommy shouted. “Yes Mrs. Zoge, I’m sorry Mrs. Zoge, I love yooooou!”
“Yeah!” Annie said. “I love you Mrs. Zoge!”
“I love you, Mrs. Zoge!”
“Love you, Mrs. Zoge!”
“Love you.”
Chaz started the escalation with a crawl towards the big woman. Like good Little monsters, the others followed suit, not even bothering to rise to their feet but shifting over to their hands and knees, crawling to the seated Amazon and wriggling into her lap for a hug and making a cuddle puddle all over her.
“Love you.”
“Love you.”
Looooove you.”
“Love you, Mommy.”
Zoge was overwhelmed with all the affection. Her entire life she’d been taught that people like us were supposed to be adorable babies by default and we were giving her everything she wanted. If Zoge had a weakness it was us giving her exactly what she wanted.
From the naughty stool I leapt up and scampered into the Circle Time area by the whiteboard. Both Amazons were too preoccupied to stop me. I steeled myself and licked my lips, ready to do what needed to be done. Gently nudging and shoving my way in, I leaned over, and planted a big wet sloppy kiss on Zoge’s cheek. “I LOVE YOU MRS. ZOGE!”
The assistant’s eyes popped open. “Clark, no kissing.” She gently nudged everyone off of her. “And get back to the naughty stool. You’re still in time out, mister.” She was melting inside. Outside too.
I should try this trick on someone el…no. Just her. Just Zoge. Only Zoge. Ever.
“Yes Mrs. Zoge,” I said and immediately rushed back to the stool by the teacher’s desk. “I love you!”
Reflexively, Zoge echoed. “I love you, too, Clark. Mrs. Beouf and I love all of you. But we have to sit down and finish Circle Time.” There was no ‘Why’. Only obedience.
“Mommy! I want kisses too!” Poor Jealous Ivy was too caught up to hear the sound of Beouf’s heart breaking. Perfect. It’s wonderful when a plan comes together and all the variables are accounted for. In turns. Sandra Lynn and Mandy shot me satisfied, approving glances. It was early yet, but it didn’t look like I was going to be playing house any time soon. I gave them each quiet thumbs up. They weren’t Adult Littles; but they were accomplices.
The only two things that I’d found to be particularly effective and replicable at rattling Beouf were stalling her instruction through the ‘Why’ game, and through giving Zoge affection. So why not just hit her in both sore spots simultaneously?
*************************************************************************************
Janet held my hand in the bus loop that afternoon. It made her hunched and crooked, but she didn’t try to lift me up onto her hip. Nor did she place her hands over my eyes and play a stupid game of Guess Who.
“Can we talk?” Beouf asked her. “All three of us? For a conference?” She was worn and tired. The humidity had made her hair frizz even more and it was a wonderful reflection of how she must have been feeling.
Every Little in class had been questioning her while being completely subservient for Zoge while reminding her of their love. Close to snack time she’d started pre-empting the kids at Beouf’s table to behave after every center rotation. “Yes, Mrs. Zoge. I love you.” Oh did that grind on the ol’ gal.
To hide it, Beouf had stayed on diaper duty all day, including emptying the pail in the dumpster. Snack time too. Anything where she could technically be doing something without having to actually interact with any of us.
Credit given where credit’s due, she was smart enough to just take her spot back on the carpet during whole group and wait expectantly for us to check our visual schedules. You can’t ask “why” when a command is not given, and none of us were bold or stupid enough to directly defy her in any other tangible way.
At lunch, Ivy had genuinely asked a question and Beouf’s jaw started grinding and her teeth clicking to stop herself from biting the idiot’s head off. Fun day. Good day. Real ‘Week One’ stuff. High fives behind the oak tree were shared.
Not ten minutes ago, I had gotten Mandy and Sandra Lynn to quietly admit that they were, in fact, big dumb baby pants poopers in the concrete tunnel. That wasn’t part of the deal, but some sense of playground honor allowed me to coax it out of them as an admission of defeat.
No pinching or playing house was in my immediate future. It almost made the annoying buzzing in my brain go away. Almost.
“Of course,” Janet replied. “Why? Did something happen after I left?”
All the air came out of Beouf and she rubbed her temples. “Kind of yes. Kind of no. I just. I’m having difficulty and I’d like to set up a conference where all three of us can talk and strategize. Something isn’t working and we need to make it work.”
Conference. Another intervention. More punishment. More expectations. More attempts to talk down to me and get me to see their non-reason for tormenting me. More humiliation that started in private but would spill into public. More threats.
“That’d be great,” Beouf said. “Thanks. When works for you?”
Janet squeezed my hand. I was going to get such a talking to when we got home. “We can do it right now, if you want.”
“Oh no, no,” Beouf said. A note of panic that came out as a sad but tired laugh. “Not today. I’ve got other stuff I gotta do. Paperwork. An I.E.P. meeting to prep for. Lots of stuff.”
“Tuesday we have that faculty meeting.” Janet noted. “His Auntie is picking him up.”
“Wednesday then?” Beouf offered.
“Wednesday.” Janet agreed. She looked down and Beouf’s gaze followed her. “Does that work for you, Clark?”
She was actually asking me? I stared up at the two giantesses who had once been so close to me. “Yeah. Sure.” Wednesday would be enough time to steel myself. Easy peasy as long as there were no surprises. I was running out of emotional silver bullets, but so were they.
“Okay,” Beouf said. “Wednesday after school. Conference time. No getting rushed by the buses and needing to check in.”
Janet picked me up for ease of transport. “Deal.” The women said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.
Looking at Melony’s shrinking form I saw her shoulders start to shake. She might not make it to her room before she started crying this time.
I smiled to myself…
And felt nothing except a strange sense of guilt and sadness.
Comments
If it was anyone but Bouef, I would say Clark was in for a transfer to New Beginnings. Doesn’t mean that Melanie doesn’t have something else quite horrid (but well intended, of course) up her sleeve though.
So I’m guessing the concrete cylinder on the playground is what is mind fucking Clark. It would have to be the cylinder because an Amazon wouldn’t be affected by it as they are too big to enter. Brollish bought the new playground. Now it is convenient that this all happened on Clark’s first day as a “baby” so I’m guessing it was brollish or Ambrose that sabotaged Clark to make him mess his pants. Now, the question is why? I doubt Brollish would do all this just to get Ambrose Clark’s job… I’m going to read more to find the best motive behind going through all this effort to regress Clark. I feel like I’m inches away behind figuring this all out.
