October Halloween Exclusive - "Catching" - Part 5

Better late than never, I hope! Here's part five of 'Catching'.  Part 5  effectively ends the tale, but I think I may just have an epilogue to follow soon :)

FIVE

Avery doesn’t ask where Harper’s unicorn onesie came from. One less question to answer, which is good because Harper isn’t in the mood to explain matters to a four year old.

Harper has bigger problems to deal with. Like the way her mother spoke to her on the phone. Like her own deteriorating mental condition.

She helps Avery get dressed, the little girl pulling the onesie’s hood above her head with a flourish, stroking her gold horn with a pleased expression. Harper leaves her hood down, feeling muffled and muddle enough already. Now there are two fuzzy blue unicorns in the living room. Which is a lot. Harper wonders how it would feel to cuddle with Avery on the couch, to be two squirming, giggling girls. Or how about they just go back to bed and have a nice nap? Wouldn’t Harper feel better after a good rest? Right now, her brain feels heavy, her tongue clumsy. Working out what’s gone wrong seems like it will require a great effort.

Avery sits on the rug with the game pieces. “Ready to play?”

Harper looks down, her mind feeling as though it’s been covered by a blanket as thick and soft as her outfit. “Huh?”

The little girl giggles. “The cupcake game, silly! You promised.”

Harper frowns. Did she? Maybe. Probably.

Avery points at the rug. “Criss-cross applesauce,” she says bossily, and Harper sits down across from her in the same cross-legged position. Because it’s easier to play silly princess games. It’s easier to wait for Mommy to come pick her up from her sleepover.

She looks at the game pieces, a mix of playing cards and plastic cupcake parts. “How does it work?” she asks.

“Pick a card and you make the cupcake!”

Avery demonstrates, selecting a card from the scrambled deck. She points at the princesses illustrated on the card. “Belle and Ariel.” She smiles. “They’re pretty.”

Harper nods. Because they are pretty. Pretty princesses.

Avery puts a finger to her chin. “I need a…purple cup.” A pupple cup.

It’s Harper who finds it first. “This it?”

Avery claps her hands. “You got it!”

Harper grins. She passes the purple piece to Avery, and feels so happy to be playing the game. It’s good to play with Avery on her sleepover, it’s good to share and show her good manners. It’s then she feels a pressure in her bowels. She should go potty. Mommy says she should always go potty when she needs to, she shouldn’t wait.

Good girls always go potty.

She raises her hand, as if she would have to ask permission to go to the bathroom, and then she lowers it again, blushing. She doesn’t need to ask for permission, she’s a big girl! She’s about to get to her feet when Avery gasps with delight.

“What?” Harper asks.

Avery points at the card. “Look! I’m Ariel ‘cause I got red hair.” She beams at Harper. “And you got brown hair…you’re Belle!”

Harper shrieks with delight. “We’re princesses!” And she doesn’t mind that her diction is closer to Avery’s. We pwincetheth!

Avery laughs. “You’re being silly.” She turns her attention back to the card. “I need a red thingy…an apple.”

Harper nods. “I help.” She gets on her hands and knees to search though the pile of plastic pieces. She’s going to be such a good helper for Avery, such a good friend, and Mommy is going to be so happy when she tells her! And then she remembers the pressure in her bottom. In this new position, it would be easy to just go poop. It would be easy-peasy, and would it feel nice? Would it feel like her special pee, when the funny unicorn visits her brain?

No. Wait. Harper isn’t a silly baby, she doesn’t mess her jammies.

She gets to her feet. “Can I go potty?” she asks.

Avery nods, clearly content with the revised dynamics between her and the babysitter. And then she says, “When Mommy and Daddy gonna be home?”

Harper’s nose wrinkles at the discomfort in her bowels. “Umm, I talk to Mommy on phone, she comin’ soon.”

Avery’s face falls. “I want to talk to Mommy.”

Harper is baffled. “Why?”

Avery sticks out her bottom lip. “Wanna talk to my mommy.” She sends a resentful pout in Harper’s direction. Who knows, maybe a babysitter that dresses, behaves and talks like a little girl isn’t what Avery needs after all.

Harper shakes her head, finally understanding “Mymommy. I spoke to my…moh…moh…my mom?”

There’s the miracle. A scrap of understanding, a flow of slow-moving but connected thoughts, and Harper understand that she has gotten confused all over again. Because of the game. Because of the silly little girl she has for company.

Because of the nasty virus. Somehow, she’s caught it. Despite her special blood, despite her low profile.

No wonder she’s distracted! No wonder she keeps forgetting that she’s big!

“Wanna talk to Mommy-“ Avery begins again.

Harper waves at her to be quiet. “I know, I know. Your mommy will be here soon.” Which might be true or false, Harper has no idea. But isn’t that the most important thing? If this was a sleepover, like Harpers mother called it, wouldn’t Avery’s mommy…wouldn’t the little girl’s mother be present?”

Children don’t have sleepovers without adult supervision.

Harper isn’t Avery’s friend. She takes a deep breath as she remembers a fractured version of her recent past. She’s not her friend, she’s her sitter.

“You goin’ potty?” Avery asks, and Harper is abruptly aware of how she’s fidgeting, pressing her legs together.

She can’t just stand there, pooping herself like an infant. She starts to run, and then changes pace, walking carefully, hands guarding her rear, pressing on her cheeks, and heads to the bathroom.

She closes the door behind her, and it’s cooler in the bathroom, it’s quieter. She looks away from the distracting bath toys, looks at her reflection in the vanity mirror.

There. That’s helpful. There might be a Nutella smear on her cheek from breakfast, but it’s still a grown-up face. Despite the onesie, despite the last few minutes, Harper at least understands that she’s not a little girl. This is no playdate, no sleepover.

And who put the idea of an absurd sleepover in Harper’s muddled head?

Mommy. Mom.

When Harper reaches of the zipper at the neck of her onesie, ready to pull it off so she can use the toilet, the phone in her pocket buzzes and then rings out.

Harper pulls the phone from her pocket and gazes at the screen.

Speak of the devil.

Harper hesitates, and Halsey sings:

Oh, I feel so sorry
I feel so sad
I tried to help you
It just made you mad

Harper swipes. “Mom.”

“Hi, sweetie!” Her tone is just as musical as before, as if she’s calling a child Avery’s age, not her grown-up daughter. “We’re just about to head out the door, should be there in ten minutes. You still having fun with Avery?”

“Mom.” Harper winces at the pressure in her bowels. She doesn’t have time for phone calls, but she has a big question for her mother. “Why you say I on a swee…sleepover?”

There’s a pause, and Harper can hear her mother talk to her father, the phone held away from her mouth. Something about needing to hurry, something about a bad feeling.

Bad feeling? It’s mutual.

“You sound confused, honey,” says her mother, volume back to normal. “Did you go potty like a good girl?”

“I was gonna,” Harper replies, her tone whiney, “but you called.” She huffs. “I really really gotta poop.”

Her mother laughs sweetly. “Well, you go ahead and make your poopies, sweetie!”

“I can’t,” says Harper impatiently, “I got my jammies on.”

“Oh,” says her mother. There’s more sound in the background, a shutting door, footsteps on gravel. They must be on their way. On their way to pick up their little girl. “If you have an accident, sweetie, Mommy will clean you up.”

“No-oh,” Harper cries, “I don’t wanna make a mess!” Muddled frustration swirls around her head. She stamps her feet. “Imma big giwl!”

“I know, baby,” says her mother. “But big girls go potty, don’t they.”

Harper nods.

“And you’re a big girl.”

Another nod. “Imma big-“

“You’re all upset because you’re holding in your poopie, Harper. You used to do this when you were a very little girl. You were worried it was going to hurt, and so you held it in.” There’s a pause, the sound of car doors opening, and Harper pictures her parents Jeep Wrangler. That’s not Harper’s car, it’s Mom and Dad’s. Harper owns a forest green Subaru with-

“You were always like this, Harper,” says her mother. In the car now, the engine starting. They’ll be here soon. So very soon. “You just have to let it go, honey. Just be a good girl. This one won’t hurt, I promise. It’s actually going to feel wonderful.”

“Mom…” Harper groans with frustration and the discomfort in her bottom. “Mommy, I got sick. I got the virus thingy. I got it from Avery!”

“I know, honey,” says her mother gently.

Harper sniffs.

“I scared.”

Two words, whispered in the bathroom. Two words, the grammar gone to hell.

“Mommy’s coming, sweetheart. She’s going to take care of you. Mommy’s going to make it all better. But you really need to go potty, darling. Good girls go potty.”

Harper is suddenly, perfectly aware that her mother may be giving her terrible advice. Because this is the strain of the virus that the government says doesn’t exist. And Harper knows she’s been falling, she’s been losing ever since her bedtime accident last night.

She drops the phone and it lands with a crack on the tiled floor. She hears her mother call her name, but she sounds far away. She doesn’t sound like she’s about to show up in an SUV.

Perhaps, Harper just has to use the toilet like a grown-up. Perhaps, as long as she takes off her silly onesie, she’ll-

Her hands on the zipper, she pulls down half-way, exposing her breasts, before her body gives up the right and she moves her bowels.

Egg, vanilla and cinnamon in a shallow dish, Harper thinks fleetingly. Stir in milk. That’s how you make French toast.

Harper feels the humiliation as the mess fills the rear of her onesie, sliding down her legs. She is no better than a baby, but she is adult-sized. What will Avery make of her? What will Dad?

And then the virus shows mercy. The woman’s eyes roll back as she shudders in ecstasy.

The unicorn is back. Glassy-eyed, dumb-smiled, the mythical, impossible animal nods at her.

Good girls go potty. Good girls like you, Harper! You’re such a good girl!

Harper nods, swaying on her feet, as she starts peeing, adding to the mess. Her mind fills with sparkles, knocking out any remaining intelligence, leaving her grinning like the idiot she has become.

It’s all gone away now, Harper. Just rainbows and unicorns for you now, silly girl. The unicorn gives his dumbest, empties of smiles. Pretty little Harper, without a thought in your silly head!

Harper blinks. No more unicorn. Just the one looking back at her in the mirror. The one showing off her boobies. Silly unicorn!

Harper fumbles at the zipper for a moment and then gives up. Zippers don’t matter. She wants to play, she wants to show off her pretty costume. She’s a unicorn!

Harper pulls the hood over the top of her head, grins at herself. That’s much better. That’s perfect. She strokes the golden horn. It’s magic, it makes her extra-special.

She blinks. Why is she in the bathroom? She feels the oozing mess in the bottom of her onesie, the mess collecting at her feet. She made her messes, and now she feels all better, just like Mommy said. Clever Mommy!

Harper fumbles the bathroom door open and toddles back to the living room to be with her friend.

Avery stares at the sight of the grown woman with the glassy-eyed expression, the woman who forgot to zip up her jammies, the woman who is sucking on her fingers like a toddler.

“What you do?” asks Avery, although the little girl knows the answer. At four-years-old, she is keenly aware of what a potty accident looks - and smells – like.

Harper sits down heavily on her bottom, succeeding on spreading the mess further inside her outfit. She smiles at Avery, babbling around her fingers. “Siwwy…sihhh…cohhh.” And then she just giggles, and the little girl sitting across from her might feel overwhelmed, she might burst into tears, but the doorbell chimes, and so Avery runs to answer it.