Done Adulting Vol. 1 Ch. 32

“This was a good idea,” Becky said. Jamie sat upright in his stroller watching the houses pass by. He’d yet to leave the house except by car. Now he was seeing his neighborhood. The size of everything no longer impressed him. The neighborhood had a suburban quality to it, wide lawns and fenced back yards. Occasionally a dog would bark from behind the fence as they passed by. Jamie hadn’t seen a dog yet.

“Well, I haven’t left the house much.”

“You weren’t up to it for a while. What do you want to do at the park?”

“Um, maybe just people watch?”

“That’s it? There’s playgrounds and sports fields.”

Jamie knew that. He wasn’t sure he wanted to play on a playground. It seemed boring to him. He was more interested in just getting to see more littles and bigs. “We’ll see.”

Paved walking paths threaded the park together. They entered near the tennis courts, where a few people were volleying balls, and a concession stand that was closed. Two stone pavilions were across a small field. The trees were old – thick and tall with their broad canopies swaying overhead with the breeze. They made a right down the walking path and came to the playground. A fountain spouted water to splash in. Glancing side to side, craning to see from his stroller, Jamie didn’t see any little that looked unregressed like he was.

“You wanna get out,” Becky asked.

“Yes, please.”

They sat on a bench. Becky felt a bit of a pang, wishing Jamie was like the littles in front of them scrambling up fake rocks and sliding down slides. Not that she wanted a typical little; she just wanted Jamie to be as carefree and happy as they were. Jamie was content to sit and watch.

A weekday morning. Women, littles, very young amazon children, just one man. The leaves filtered the perfect morning light, when the sun is still soft and the air so clear and the heat hasn’t come yet. A tranquility about the place, and the people too. Everyone rested, ready for the day ahead of them. Friends known mostly by face, because they share these mornings alike, along with the faint recognition of how fragile they are. They die with the sun near its zenith; they die with the autumn; they die with the passage of time. The mothers with their own children, if they do not know it yet, will know it soon.

No desert or ocean is as indifferent to suffering as the passage of time. It will not be reasoned with; it cannot be bargained with. But in the spaces of time we call memories, we grasp hold of the illusion of time arrested, and we can take back our moments, the golden and the dismal alike, and we can pretend for however long we can hold the memory that stillness is the natural state of things.

Jamie watched other people’s moments. The littles running every direction, chasing each other, climbing, swinging, falling, getting back up again. Bigs helping them up or making sure they didn’t fall or boosting them higher than they could go alone. Babies and toddlers playing on blankets while young mothers chatted with one another and played the small games parents play with their littles ones. Jamie doubted they would hold on to those memories.

“What are you thinking about,” Becky asked.

“How lucky they all are.”

“Why are they lucky?”

“Because they’re still at the point in life that these memories are cheap. Even too cheap.”

“How so?”

“You had mornings like this with Amanda?”

“Lots.”

“How many do you remember?”

Becky leaned back against the bench thinking, This guy sure knows how to bum me out.

Jamie gestured past the crowd at a man and his infant. He held his child up to the sunshine, and they smiled at one another. The toothless grin of a young child; the wrinkle at the corners of the young father’s eyes.

“He’ll remember this one,” Jamie said. Becky had a sudden urge to find some alone time with Amanda.

They sat and watched some more. After another few minutes, a little walked up to them and spoke to Becky, “Is he in timeout?” Jamie let out a single chuckle. He could see why people called him cute; he would have called this little cute.

“Hi, sweetie. No, he’s not in timeout. Why?”

“Because he’s been sitting here forever.” They’d been there about fifteen minutes.

“Well, no, he’s not in timeout.”

“Can he come play then?”

“You can ask him if he wants to.” The little hadn’t yet said a word to Jamie.

“Do you want to come play with us?”

“Uh …” Did he? Becky smiled encouragingly at him and nodded. Jamie figured he’d watched all the people there were to watch today.

The little had a sly grin. “We’re playing tag – and you’re it!” He sprinted away. Jamie’s competitiveness overcame his shyness and sense of dignity, and he gave chase. The view struck a chord of his memory: rushing through a sea of tall legs, under a slide, between the swings, and into an open field. He’d done this before, many years ago. Other littles were on the field, and they recognized Jamie for what he was: It.

What most of the littles lacked in coordination they made up for in the abandon with which they moved their bodies, as though falling or running into each other at full speed were not risks they considered as they fled from whomever was It. Jamie caught one, and his muscles remembered this tricky part of the game, managing the tag while dodging at almost the same moment the attempt to tag him back while he was still in arms’ reach. She missed Jamie by a country mile.

Becky pushed the stroller over to watch. A few other bigs were gathered under a shade tree talking and laughing and watching and unobtrusively supervising. Becky wanted to join them, but she felt shy, because bigs sometimes feel shy too. She stood near the group but far enough away to not come off as a lurker. What she was hoping for happened pretty quick.

“Hi! Which one is yours?”

Becky pointed proudly to Jamie, who was trying to taunt the newest It into chasing him some more. “The one in the red shorts.”

“He’s a regular rabbit! Must run you ragged all day. I’m Stephanie.”

“Rebecca, but please call me Becky.”

“Do you want to come join us?”

“I was hoping you’d ask. It’s our first time at the park.”

“O! What a special day!” They walked to the group, and the conversation paused to let them in.

“This is Becky. Today is her first day at the park.” That elicited smiles and happy oohs. Becky got introduced around: Kendalyn, Jess, Marie, Leah.

“So how long since he arrived,” one of them asked. Becky had already forgotten which one she was. She never was good with names.

“The beginning of summer, almost.”

“Why did you wait so long?”

“He needed a little extra time to heal and adjust.”

“Not mine; she was so out of it for the first three months I could’ve taken her to a dynamite plant, and she wouldn’t have even noticed.”

“Well, welcome.”

“Thank you. Are you guys here every day,” Becky asked.

“O no. Not every day, but there’s always a group of moms under this tree in the morning.”

Another one interjected. “This year it’s tag. Always a game of tag. What was it last summer?”

“Bulldog.”

“Summer before that it was Red Rover until that one little tore her rotator cuff. Then it was Piggy in the Middle.”

“Which one is yours?”

Becky pointed him out. “There. Jamie.”

One of the moms (Brenda, maybe, Becky wondered), remarked, “He’s quite the athlete. He seems … very coordinated.”

Becky liked the compliment. “O, you should see him swim! I can’t even keep up with him.”

A couple of heads cocked to the side. Becky realized what they were thinking and felt judged.

“You … let him swim? Alone?”

“Well, he’s very good at it,” Becky responded.

“But isn’t that a little dangerous,” another said.

“Well, good for you. Personally, I could never do that.” Becky knew a backhanded compliment when one hit her in the face.

“I don’t think you understand. Jamie isn’t regressed.” Becky felt an urge to be accepted by this group, or at least to not be made to feel like a bad mom.

The one woman cocked her head again and took a moment to process the idea of an unregressed little. “O. That’s … an interesting choice.” The woman turned back to the game.

On the inside, Becky was outraged. Who does this bitch Brenda think she is? It is ‘Brenda,’ right?

The game was winding up, at least for the moment. All the littles looked tired. A few spotted the group, including Jamie, and walked over. Becky reached into the diaper bag and fished out a bottle of water and a wet wipe. Jamie, winded, accepted the bottle and drank hard, taking the nipple off so he could gulp at it.

“You are quite a sight, Jamie,” Becky said as she wiped his face. “You need another bath when we get home.” That sounded great to Jamie. The little who had invited Jamie to play walked over.

“Thanks for playing with us, Jamie. Hey, Mom, this is Jamie. He’s really fast.”

Brenda, maybe, was apparently his. “I saw.” She looked at Jamie and then knelt down next to the boy. “Maybe even too fast to be playing with this crowd.”

Becky understood now; she never got it before, but now she understood what drove women to call other women the Cword.

“Can Jamie come over and play some time?”

“We’ll see.” She led him away.

Becky was shocked. She hadn’t considered people judging a little for not being regressed, nor had she ever expected to be big-shamed. When the shock passed, she was indignant. “What. A. Fucking bitch,” she said slowly, annunciating each syllable.

Now Jamie looked shocked. “Rebecca!” It was cute to hear him scold her.

Eyes were on Becky again. At least one pair looked unamused, one of the other ones who had spoken up when Becky said Jamie swam alone. She put her little in their stroller and walked away.

“Don’t worry about it,” Stephanie interjected. “They’d be talking behind your back if you had last season’s diaper bag.”

Becky felt thankful for Stephanie saying something encouraging, though she wished she’d have stood up for her earlier. “What’s their deal?”

Stephanie looked at Becky and Jamie. “Hey, Jamie, my little, Beth, is playing in the fountain with her friend, Arora. Becky, do you mind if Jamie goes to meet Beth?” Becky and Jamie looked at each other, then Stephanie.

“Why don’t you, Jamie,” Becky said. Jamie would have preferred to hear what Stephanie had to say, but he doubted she’d say it with him there. Maybe Becky would fill him in later.

When he was out of ear shot, Stephanie told her. “Some people don’t think unregressed littles belong here.”

“At the park?”

“No, honey. In Itali.”

This was news to Becky. She hadn’t given it any thought. Now she felt more than judged. She felt wounded, and worse for Jamie. “But … he’s still a little.” She hadn’t ever felt this way, someone judging her little’s very right to be where he was.

Stephanie stepped forward and rubbed her arm. “Some people think unregressed littles belong in countries where … where they can be ‘controlled’ more. I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

Sadness, anger, fear. “I just thought … everyone sees him like any other little.”

“O, Becky. They do! It’s not a lot of people who feel that way; they’re very few. I know that doesn’t count for anything when you meet one of them.” Becky looked distraught.

“Hey, Becky?” Becky looked up. “Repeat after me. Will you?” Becky nodded. “Fuck. That. Shit.” Becky let a short laugh out. “Uh-uh, Becky. Gotta say it.”

Becky lifted her chin and announced it: “Fuck. That. Shit.”

Stephanie rubbed her shoulder again. “There ya go! And I think Jamie is pretty awesome; he’s welcome to play with Beth whenever he wants.”

Becky let out a breath. “Thank you, Stephanie. That means a lot right now.”

“’Steph’ is better.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Wadduya think? Time to round up our littles?”

“Yes. Get him home and cleaned up.”

They found Beth in the fountain still and Jamie seated in the sun, his clothes soaked through. “Can’t keep you away from water, can I? I want you to meet Steph.”

Jamie stood up. “Hi, Steph.”

“Hi, kiddo. Feel better after the fountain?”

“Much. Beth is very nice.”

“Good! I’m glad the two of you got to meet. Will we see you at the park again some time?”

Becky answered for him. “Definitely. Ready to go home, Jamie?”

They walked away from the playground back toward the tennis courts and stopped. Becky fished a t-shirt out of the diaper bag to dry Jamie as best she could. “Maybe next time we’ll bring your bathing suit. Or at least a towel.”

“Yeah ... I guess I didn’t think about that. I just wanted to cool off.”

“We’ll get you cleaned up and in a not saturated diaper as soon as we get home.” She lifted him into the stroller for the walk back home. Jamie felt the squish of the cool water in his diaper and cringed. Too cold.

“Did you have fun?”

“I did.”

“Bet you didn’t think you’d enjoy that, did you?”

“No. I don’t think I’ve run like that in a long time. Who was that woman you called a … you know?”

“Her? She’s nothing. Nothing at all.” Becky felt satisfied with that answer. Stephanie’s mantra seemed perfect for people like Brenda or whatever her name was. She knew it did nothing to fix prejudice, but in the moment, it felt good to think it and better to say it. She expected to see those women again at the park; she didn’t know what she’d say or do then, only that it would be anything she had to say or do to protect Jamie from those that hate. Whether she should explain it to him, she wasn’t sure.

“Did I surprise you with what I said?”

“Yeah. I’ve never heard you say things like that.”

“Well, do as I say and not as I do.”

“What did Steph say to you that she didn’t want me to hear?”

“Nothing you need to worry about. My problem, not yours.”

Jamie figured it at least involved him. “You sure?”

“Positive.” They walked in silence for another two blocks.

“Hey, Jamie? I guess you know summer is almost over.”

“I figured.”

“I’m going to have to go back to work soon, and Amanda will have classes.”

Jamie saw where this was going. “I know.”

Enough for one morning, Becky decided. “How about we talk about it tomorrow?”

“That’s fine.” He yawned and wondered how many miles he ran and at what pace, the adult in him still defaulting to the idea that even play had to be productive and quantified. “I trust you have it all figured out.”