Story #38: Four on the Fourth

Story #38: Four on the Fourth (Content Tags: Age regression, surrealism, messy diapers, wet diapers) I hadn't had much interest in going, and now that I was here, I suddenly wished that I had been a little more assertive with my wishes. 'Come see the fireworks, Carson! Its fourth of July, only happens once a year. Don't you love your country?' I could feel my eyes rolling at the sappy sentiment that his parents had heaped onto him, all so that I'd attend with them and my younger siblings. Maybe at some point, when I was younger, the festivities had packed more of a wallop; the thought of fingers wrapped haphazardly around a sparkler, hands still sticky from the popsicles or snowcones that were getting peddled a short ways from all the action, there was obviously a nostalgia to it. But by this point? I was an adult now! Perhaps only by the barest legal definitions, but an adult nonetheless. The prospect of getting excited over some noisy, colorful explosions in the sky was a great deal less likely for me. Of course my younger two siblings would enjoy it, since they weren't even in middle school yet, but for me it would be a waste of my evening. An evening where I could have gone to a more grown-up party at that! No, instead I'd be either sitting on a blanket in the grass or on the hitch of my dad's truck, lamenting the sticky, warm, and frankly too humid air of a July evening. I'd just have my nose buried in my phone, forced to see all the photos and comments being made about the party I was missing. So, admittedly, I was grumpy. My brothers tried to get me involved in a game of tag around the grassy field, but I motioned for them to buzz off and leave me to my curmudgeonly little space; my parents tried to spark up a conversation, but I shut it down by keeping my eyes glued to my screen. The only participation that I took a part of was when they grabbed some hot dogs and snow cones. After an hour of basking in my own sour attitude, I finally got scolded for 'acting so childish'. It admittedly stung to hear, even if I thought my attitude was justified; they dragged me to this stupid 'family function' for little kids when I could have been partying with my peers! It only made my demeanor more hardline, and so I sat on my towel in the grass with my arms folded in a sulk. Not much later than that, it was nearing the time for the fireworks display to start. I heard my mother ask my younger brothers if they needed to use the bathroom before the show, which they both denied; she then turned toward me and asked in a syrupy tone: "How about you, Carson? Do you need to go potty?" I could feel my cheeks get red at the almost cooing way that she'd posed the inquiry, as if I was some dumb little toddler! I figured it was her way of being punitive, since she'd lambasted my 'immaturity' earlier. Instead of proving her point, I just gritted my teeth and firmly said "No." "Are you sure? You don't want to try?" I couldn't believe the nerve of treating an adult this way! "Yes, I'm sure. I don't need to go." I mumbled back, it taking all of my will to keep my tone leveled and without betraying my ire. She seemed to finally take me at my word, but the look she gave me seemed as if she didn't quite believe me. I tried to shrug it off, figuring that she'd get over all of this by tomorrow morning. My parents didn't typically stay mad for very long, so this unpleasant night would be just a blip on the radar overall. The first whirring of a mortar greeted my ears, and to my own surprise, it was very jarring. It actually startled me to the point of nearly jumping in my seat! I could hear my brothers snickering about it, but before I could tell them off, I found myself captivated by the beautiful sight of the glimmers that hung in the sky. Rocket after rocket, boom after boom, my eyes didn't leave the night canvas that the fireworks were splattering across like a Pollock painting. It was the first time in over a decade that they'd seemed impressive at all. As the show came to an end, I could smell the smog of the gunpowder; it descended down upon us like a patriotic haze. A different smell was cutting through that though, something less inspiring... "Mom, dad, I think Carson pooped during the fireworks." The tattling tone of one of my brothers greeted my ears. What was he saying? Pooped? What kind of stupid joke was that? My parents looked nonplussed enough for me to see that at the least, they did not take it as a joke. My dad sighed and my mom gave me a stern look, much like the expression she had worn earlier while chastising me. "Carson! Did you go poopie? I asked if you needed to go potty before the fireworks!" My mouth hung open. Was she being serious? This had gone from peculiar punishment to unbridled insanity in a flash. "H-huh? No!" I defended. As soon as those words left my mouth, I knew something was very wrong. I sounded all squeaky and ineloquent. I moved on the towel to start standing up, and I suddenly got queasy at the visual whiplash; why was the ground so high up? Why did my little brothers look like giants? My legs quaked and I froze in place, my feet now firmly planted. A warmth began to grow at the front of my pants, possibly as a result of my currently frayed nerves. Was I pissing my pants? What was going on?! I looked down and gasped, not at my bladder's infidelity, but at the fact that my jeans had morphed into overalls, and my legs looked tiny! "I think he's peeing now. He usually does that after he poops in his diaper." One of my brother's chirped, oblivious to my real plight. "He probably pooped when he got scared by the firework!" The other one snickered. My dad came around me and tugged the back opening of my overalls out, looking down with a frown. "..Yup, that's a big one. Its okay sport, you'll get this potty thing down in no time!" With my father's sharp motions, I'd felt my apparent diaper press up against me, and I could discern that he spoke only truth. I did have a big pile of shit in my pants. I wanted to tell them this was wrong, but what could I even say? As I got led off back to the car, waddling widely from the heft diaper that sagged relentlessly in my overalls, I didn't have to think of what the right words would be. My mommy and daddy bought me a snowcone, and by the time I was getting changed in the back of the truck, I'd forgotten all about whatever silly grievances that I had. 'Snowcones and fireworks, what a great fourth this was!' Thought the freshly minted (and changed) four year old, no longer 'too old' to enjoy the holiday with his family.