July Flash tale #1 - "Rest"

Let's get July's stories off to a sweet start. I hope you enjoy "Rest" - let me know if you do!

It’s one of those days when I hate my job. When I’m at the end of my professional rope. Because truly, does anyone have a job these days where they can say, I’m making things better, I’m making a difference?

“You look worn out,” my wife tells me. As soon as I walk through the front door, she knows. Sandra takes my hand lightly in her own and says, “You need a break.”

To most people, this would mean booking a precious handful of vacation days, comparing flights.  

I smile. Sandra means something quite different. “You sure?” I ask. “You had a lot on today, too. Maybe we should just order a pizza and watch- “

Sandra’s hushing finger reaches my lips. “I like looking after you.” She strokes my face “Now, go on upstairs. They’re on the bed.”

My eyes widen. “How did you know?”

Sandra laughs sweetly. “You must know, after all this time.” She winks. “I’m a little bit magic.”

No kidding. I take my tired body to the bedroom. The shades are drawn, the ceiling fan is purring. Late afternoon is a funny time to take a nap, but really, it’s the perfect time for this. 

I see the pajamas neatly folded on the bed. Two-piece, blue with white stars. Such a little boy design, but sized for a grown man. 

I get undressed, feeling the weight of responsibility leave me as I let my pants and underwear fall to the floor. I pull off my shirt and add it to the pile. 

And then I get dressed in my pajamas. Dressed up, Sandra calls it. She will grin, and yet there’s nothing sexual about it. That would be impossible, given what happens next. Happens by design. 

I get into bed, pull the comforter up to my chest. I close my eyes, listen to the fan, feel the cool breeze on my face. I am completely comfortable, and then moments later, I am completely asleep. 

When I wake up, it’s dark, save for a glowing nightlight by the door. I stretch my arms and legs under the covers. The bed is luxuriously sized now, because I am a little boy. 

Three is the perfect age, Sandra says. So playful, so many questions, but still Mommy’s little boy. Still needing cuddles and kisses. 

And so I’m three. I reach down and press between my legs. I’m wearing thick training pants underneath my pajamas, but I’m dry. I smile. Little boys who stay dry get special treats. And it’s funny – it’s wonderful – how those treats, which to my adult mind would be patronizing and boring, now make my scalp tingle with anticipation. 

What have I forgotten? I always ask myself this question. It’s hard to figure out, what I lose in this transformation. What knowledge, what understanding. 

But it can’t be so important. After all, I’m the one who chooses to be little. I’m the one who dresses up in the special pajamas. 

I get out of bed, sliding off the mattress and landing on the soft carpet with a satisfying thump. A signal to Sandra. News for Mommy. Her little boy is awake. 

I take the stairs one at a time, the carpet tickling my bare feet. I can hear the TV; foreboding music, a deep-voiced narrator. She’s watching that one of those real-life crime shows. 

I enter the living room and instead of running to Sandra, I stand in the doorway, overwhelmed by shyness. 

Does she really want this? 

Sandra catches sight of me, smiles. She pauses the TV with the remote. “Hey there, sleepyhead, thought you were going to dream the day away!”

I shake my head and smile. I love the tone she takes with me, so bright and condescending. A clear signal of my loss of stature. I am dependent on her for everything. 

She opens her arms. “Got hugs for Mommy?”

I giggle. I run to the couch and climb onto her lap, and her arms are around me, patting my rear, stroking my hair. “Look at you,” she says, “your hair’s all messy. Must have been dreaming extra hard.”

Sitting on her knee, I am free. Free to have every decision made for me, free to be dressed and fed and bathed just the way she wants to. All that’s left in my head are questions and primitive wants. From the gentle pressure on my three-year-old bladder, to the mild but insistent rumble in my stomach. 

“Mommy, I hungry.”

She grins at me and then tickles my sides, provoking a high-pitched squeal and generous splash of urine into my padded underwear as she traps and then cradles me in her arms.” She kisses my cheek. “Hi, hungry, I’m Friday. On Saturday, wanna go for a Sundae?”

I giggle and kick my legs with delight, but only for the joy of Mommy’s repetition. I don’t actually get the joke, the days of the week are useless, disconnected scraps of vocabulary in my head. 

I remember my stomach’s rumble and try again. “Mommy, I wanna snack.” I want Spider-Man gummies. I want those chocolate-covered Graham crackers. I know that she won’t give me either of those things. 

Sure enough, she carries me into the kitchen, and I end up sitting at the table eating orange segments, making my chin and fingers sticky with juice. One more silly thing for Mommy to take care of. 

Once Sandra has wiped my hands with a damp cloth, a flicker of reality sneaks into my mind. 

“Than…Thanda,” I begin. 

My wife’s astonished expression makes me giggle and blush. 

“Mommy…”

She nods, her face returning to normal. “Yes, honeybun?”

I pat my plastic tray thoughtfully. “I gotta…I gotta meeting too-muh-woh.”

Mommy raises an eyebrow. “The only meeting you’ve got tomorrow is with the other little boys and girls at the library. For story-time.” She strokes my hair. “You love going to story-time with Mommy.”

I nod. “Uh-huh. Buh too-muh-who…” I sigh. “I wike havin’ a west…west.” Try as I might, I can’t fix my lisp. “I wike westin’ but I gotta wok.” Even though I barely remember my job, except for the way it makes my head and spirit ache. 

Mommy shakes her head at me, and she says, “Silly bear, you’ll so confused. Mommy let you dress up like a big boy and you got to play at being all grown up today. But now you have a job to do. Being Mommy’s precious little boy. And I’m going to dress you up and show you off and all the other mommies will wish they had a little boy as cute and sweet as you.”

I frown. That’s not right. I feel dizzy as I try to make sense of her words. I open my mouth to protest and that’s when Mommy makes a silly face, the silliest, funniest face I’ve ever seen, and I laugh so hard! I laugh so much, I can’t help making more pee in my pants. But that’s okay. I’m allowed to have accidents. 

Mommy gives me an important look. “There you are. There’s my best boy.” She smiles. “You like story-time at the library, don’t you.”

I nod enthusiastically. 

Mommy taps her chin thoughtfully. “And I can’t remember…do you like baths as well? Do you like bubble baths with squeaky ducks?”

I nod and bounce in my chair with mounting excitement. “Bubba…baff moh-mee!”

“Thought so,” says Mommy. She lifts me out of my chair and pats my bottom. “Now, a certain little boy has gotten all squishy. Let’s go get you a clean diaper.” And with that, Mommy carries me upstairs. 

THE END