Unfair- Chapter 26: Beouf's Bathroom (Patreon)
Content
PART 3: Twilight of Adulthood
Chapter 26: Beoufâs Bathroom
It was the second day back at school. As was routine, teachers were given a full week to set up our classrooms and attend (largely pointless) staff meetings before students returned and things returned to their strange mix of manic and dull routine. As was routine I hadnât told Cassie anything about the last few days before summer; largely putting it out of my mind. Spending a summer cooped up in my fortress of a house not thinking about my problems and completely vegging out was another routine. I needed routine.
Looking down at my slight paunch, I patted my stomach and shook my head. Most animals fattened up in winter. It would be an annoying fall of losing weight. But at least it was routine. I needed this year to be routine; to go back to normal.
I needed my normal again and had spent more than one morning waking up from any number of vaguely recalled nightmares and unpleasant memory dreams.
If youâve read this far, three guesses as to what said nightmares and dreams involved.
âReady to start the new year?â Mrs. Beouf asked me from across her teacher table.
I took another sip of coffee. âNot yet,â The stuff in my mug was so sugared up and filled with mocha that it was more akin to warm cocoa; just the way I liked it. Beouf was drinking hers black, of course. âSpent most of yesterday submitting lesson plans waaaaaay in advance. Will probably have to modify them if my students have specific accommodations in their IEPs, but best to keep busy.â
This was routine: Pre-work coffee and small talk. Tracy wouldnât be in till later in the week; teaching assistants didnât have to be on deck until Friday. That meant that Zoge wouldnât be in either. More than a fair trade. Bonus points. WIth no buses looming down on us, we were all given more time and freedom of movement. That meant more time to just shoot the shit first thing in the morning. I took another sip. âHow about you?â
âMe neither.â Beouf drained her comparatively giant mug. âSpent most of my free time moving around the heavy stuff. Easier to do and still be kinda zonked out from vacation.â True to form, Beouf had done a good chunk of the heavy lifting. Toy shelves were already moved back into place and tables and chairs that had been pushed against the wall for the summer were back in their proper locations.
It didnât look like a true classroom. But the basic framework was in place. Beouf wiped her mouth on a paper towel. âWant some help in your room today?â
I finished my mug and shuddered at the delightful sugar rush as the bottom gave up the last of its contents. I placed it on the hard wood with a thunk and wiped my own mouth. âYeah. Thatâd be great. Thanks.â
My own room was still a ghost town of shelved chairs and learning centers stashed away in supply closets. Iâm clever, but thereâs only so much I can do, physically.
âSo you can show me where you want everything this morning,â Beouf said. âThen after lunch, how about you help me with restocking some stuff? Shelving the toys? Organizing the art center?â
I winced. My stomach had just started to wake up with the rest of me. âSure,â I said. I always took the fact that she wanted something in return for her help as a sign of respect on her part. She could move heavy furniture. I could rifle through cardboard boxes. It didnât bother my back as much, either since I didnât have to bend down as far.
Beouf looked over my shoulder and into the nap room. âMind helping me make the beds in there, too?â
I looked behind me. The lights were off, but the dark outlines of cribs showâd that theyâd been moved back into their normal places. More than any other piece of baby furniture, cribs gave me the willies. It was a reminder that we were prisoners. Even my students got to lay down on floor mats. It wouldnât take much for an Amazon to lift the rail up as I was putting a fitted sheet on a mattress.
âSure,â I said. It was a testament to just how much I trusted her. I winced at a minor stomach cramp. Nothing major. âHow was your summer?â
Beouf let out a throaty sigh. âUgh. Probably the last good one Iâll have for a while.â
âWhyâs that?â
âMy daughterâs about ready to pop.â
Pop? The lightbulb went on. âOh yeah, I forgot. Youâre about to be a grandmother. â
âMoved her and her husband back in. Shopped around for baby furniture. The whole shebang.â
I didnât know much about Beoufâs family; but I knew her daughter didnât marry a rich man. So moving back in made sense. Amazons could ask for help without having to worry about being diapered. âShopped for names yet?â
Beouf shook her head. âNot that theyâre telling me. Her and her husband want things to be a surprise. They donât even know if itâs gonna be a boy or a girl. Had to buy a bunch of yellow, green and red stuff. Pinks and blues not allowed.â
I laughed politely. âSounds like they want to get to know their baby first before they make any decisions about it.â
My coworker stroked her chin lightly. âHadnât thought about it like that,â she admitted. âSounds a little bit like adoption when you put it like that.â
Damnit. Way to go Beouf. So typical. Another gnawing in my gut that was only partially anxiety related. My anxiety was only getting worse, and I needed things to get back to normal. I badly needed it.
âGot your class roster, yet?â I asked. It was a shit question. Pointless. Beouf had almost a hundred percent roll over from year to year. But it was the first thing I thought of when it came to steering the conversation away from adoption...even if it was only a half-step away.
Beouf frowned. âYeahâŠâ
I arched an eyebrow and frowned as another cramp pinched my gut. I had to get used to coffee again. âWhatâs up?â
She avoided eye contact and took her glasses off. âI went through my roster yesterday so I could stock the bathroom. Not all my kids are coming back.â
I wanted to shrug. âYouâll get new ones,â is not something I cared to say, even in comfort to Beouf. âMoved? Private daycare?â
âWorse,â she said. âTaylorâs parents transferred her to New Beginnings.â
âOhâŠ.oh wowâŠâ I had no idea who Taylor was. As a rule, I tried to avoid learning the names of Beoufâs âstudentsâ. It was less painful that way. Only Ivy stayed in my memory banks for long, and she didnât really count, being Mrs. Zogeâs doll.
I did however, know about New Beginnings. Damn. That poor woman.
âHer parents thought I wasnât strict enough with her. Her Maturosis was mild. The data around her emotional plateau was showing that sheâd be better off in Pull-Ups. Diapers only for naptime. But they just wanted me to unpotty train that girl.â
I stayed silent. I had no idea how to attack a place like New Beginnings without attacking Beouf. They were both doing essentially the same thing, even if Beouf was a lot gentler about it.
Beouf rubbed her eyes and replaced her glasses. âPlaces like New Beginnings need to be shut down. They donât care about the Littles there. They just want to make them into...intoâŠâ
âDolls?â I offered.
âYeah. That.â Her tone turned angry. âI have a Masterâs in Early Childhood Education and a Bachelorâs in Child Psychology with a minor in Maturosis and Developmental and Emotional Plateaus. Some people just want me to be a torturer.â She looked at me. âI love my students. I really do. Theyâre my babies, too.â The most painful part of it is she really believed it.
âYeah,â I said. âThat sucks about Taylor. Iâm sorry.â That part wasnât a lie at least. Just not for the reason she mightâve thought.
âThanks,â Beouf said. She stood up. âReady to get to tell me where to move stuff?â
âYeahâŠâ I copied her, and instantly regretted it. Something shifted around. I clenched my stomach and gritted my teeth.
âI know that look,â Beouf said. âBathroomâs over there.â My eyes were still closed, but I knew where she was pointing. Internally I did the math. I could probably make it back to my own bathroom. Probably. Maybe. âClark?â Maybe if the door into my room wasnât closed and I didnât have to stop âClark? Can you hear me? Mr. Gibson?â
That did it. Cheeks clenched, I ran to the class bathroom, quietly praying that Iâd make it. It was a close one. The kind where things were pretty much on their way out and plopping into the bowl before my ass had completely settled around the rim.
I seemed to exhale from both ends at the same time, opening my eyes only after the first tidal wave of cramps passed out of me. The fuck was that about?! You abstain from coffee for two and a half months and the first cup hits your gut like a jackhammer!
Tenuously, I opened my eyes and looked down at my boxers. Spotless. Good. No excuse. Itâs not that I didnât trust Beouf; itâs just that I only trusted her so far. Sheâd just seen a Little run off into her kiddie bathroom, and was bemoaning a missing student. Ten years had bought her the benefit of the doubt, from me.
âClark?â she called. âMr. Gibson?â
I turned my head to the side and felt my pulse quicken. Iâd forgotten to close the door! Rookie mistake, Clark! Rookie mistake! The door opened outward too! It was so big that Iâd have to step out to close it! It didnât even open in a way that I could use it as a barrier. It was either waddle out with my pants around my ankles (a none option) or finish, redress, and then close it (pointless).
I was so...so...vulnerable. So incredibly vulnerable. If Forrest or Brollish- even Janet, I told myself- had caught me like this, they would have had ample cause to adopt me on the spot.
âMr. Gibson?â My title and last name were something of a safeword. Beouf didnât call the Littles in her class Mr. or Miss. All the same, I couldnât help but clench up.
âIâm in hereâŠâ I said. âIâm fine.â That was a lie. This was not fine. But fake it till you make it.
âOkay,â she said. âIâll give you some privacy. Meet you in your room?â
âSure.â I heard the heavy door to her classroom open and then close shut. Both ends of me sighed in relief. Ugh. I gave myself a courtesy flush.
Iâd never been in Beoufâs bathroom before. Not surprising, all things considered, but in the quiet of the moment I took a moment to observe. It wasnât that different from mine, actually. Roughly the same dimensions.
The toilet that I sat on was, in fact, a toilet; and not a potty. It was hooked up to the plumbing. No cutesy decorations. Near as I could see, it was the same white porcelain and black seat, too. Nothing too infantile. It was sized for me, but so was the toilet in my classroom.
That probably meant it was very clean, considering how long it had been since it had been used. Last person who had tried to use it was about to be shipped to Oakshireâs premier public brainwashing facility; and that was months ago. Beouf certainly wouldnât want to use it; her knees would almost go up to her chest, funny image though that was.
No. This toilet was here simply because it was mandated that this room have a toilet in it; even if after today no one was going to be allowed to use it. The Amazons did love their insane rules and plays at fairness. Also, who knows; once upon a time, an architect or contractor might have thought that thereâd be a big enough Pre-Kindergarten population to warrant two tiny toilets.
The only difference between Beoufâs bathroom and my own was the furniture. Straight ahead of me, looming over me, in fact, was a giant, sturdy, unmovable changing table. It was a heavy thing; at least as thick and almost as wide as my own teacherâs desk. It was taller to boot. It took up most of the bathroom. Unlike my father-in-law, my spatial awareness wasnât the best, but chances are only a single Amazon could squeeze in here at a time. Them and whatever Little they were diapering, anyways.
The cabinet in front of me was already stocked, because of course it was. Wipes and baby powder were in the upper levels for easy Amazonian reach mid changing. At the foot end, a packet of wipes was already resting in a little nook near the edge.
The lower shelves were of course, already stacked with diapers. White ones. Colored ones. Plain ones. Decorated ones. All arranged in neat and tidy stacks of four or five. Beneath each stack, was a piece of masking tape and a Littleâs name written beneath.
Chaz. Ivy. Tommy. Shauna. Mandy. Billy. Sandra Lynn. Jesse. Annie. There but for the grace of some capricious and fickle god go I. These were leftovers from last year, I knew. Their so-called parents hadnât bothered to take the diapers home because most of the Littles would be coming back at the end of summer. Beouf hadnât bothered to throw them out, because itâs not as if her âstudentsâ would grow out of them. Ever.
Taylorâs actually had some Pull-Ups on top. Poor girl wouldnât even get that much at New Beginnings. I wondered who would replace her. Someone always did, it seemed.
Idly, I craned my neck up and away and caught sight of my reflection. That was weird. Why would there be a mirror on the ceiling? Maybe to make sure that whatever Amazon was on diaper duty didnât miss a spot? But that didnât make sense.
Best not to dwell on it, I decided. I finished and cleaned myself up; even daring to snag an Amazon sized baby wipe, just in case. Beouf was on my side now, but a skid mark was practically a death sentence. It all got flushed down the toilet anyways; and itâs not like anybody counted wipes. Thatâd be like counting squares of toilet paper.
Come to think of it, how old was this bathroomâs toilet paper?
It was a morbid and fatalistic curiosity that overtook me when I pulled one of Chazâs diapers from the top of the stack and looked at it. Chaz, the last fellow Little that had gotten my bullshit âfind a way to quietly rebelâ speech. Poor kid. Literally. Most of us got at least a taste of adulthood before one of the giants took an unhealthy interest in us.
Chaz probably still had his peach fuzz before a laser zapped it off his lip for ever. Pubes too. Now all of his underwear crinkled and had balloons on the butt; and the only thing that would change that is if his captors switched to a new brand.
I shuddered at the thought and placed it back on top of the stack. Not me. Never me.
I flushed and walked back through to my classroom. Mrs. Beouf had been considerate enough to leave the doors open for me and was waiting. I hadnât yet attached my pull-chords. âReady to get started?â I asked.
âDid you remember to wash your hands?â She sounded like a mother just before supper time.
My mind went on full alert. My body didnât even miss a beat. I made a hurried but confident bee-line for the step stool in front of my classroom sink. âSink in your bathroom is a little high, actually,â I lied.
âYeah?â my coworker asked. I was gambling that she didnât pay attention to how tall or short the sink was. Like the toilet, it was something that was largely ignored in her class.
âThat and I didnât want to take soap from your classroom,â I added. âYour guys need soap too.â
My gamble paid off. âNah,â Mrs. Beouf waved my remark off. âWe stick mostly to wipes and hand sanitizer in my room.â Mrs. Zoge and I are the only ones who wash our hands, and we use the bigger sink.â
I figured as much, but the faux consideration made the lie more believable. Beouf was talking to me like I was a person again; not a doll.
âWhere do you want these chairs to go?â she asked.