Chapter 50 - I just wanna be your friend. Is it ever gonna be enough?

25 Prairial Year CCXXXI, Potat, South Windland, Libertalia – Amazonia

It was the final days of spring, and the sun was vicious as it beat down on Nigel Lange. His adoptive mother had setup a sprinkler, possibly under the pretense of watering the lawn, but mostly to amuse the small man in the increasingly hot morning. The green fixture rotated back and forth slowly, spraying jets of water ten feet into the air. Nigel knew the game, he would be expected to walk under the jet, running to avoid getting hit, or perhaps running to get hit. He never bothered to learn the rules, he just knew that when mommy was looking, he better run across the lawn like a maniac.

She had gone to the edge of the house to work on trimming some bushes and attending to her vegetables, giving him a moment of reprieve. His gray shorts were wet on the outside, matching a similar dampness from his inside protection, and his wet red shirt clung heavily. No shoes and socks today, even though he hated being barefoot, but supposed it was better than getting them wet. At least mother let him wear sunglasses.

That is when it came down the block. Fifty feet long, fifteen feet tall and wide, and that was just the container. The wheels added another two feet to the monster. It moved slowly and cautiously down the slight curve in the street, passing beside his lawn, while coughing out a black toxic cloud from its tail pipe. It stopped a hundred feet down the street, before its back lights erupted in red and white as though in competition with the morning sun. The dragon bellowed a warning as it slowly pushed itself closer to Nigel, and then just before reaching his lawn, the beast turned on its side.

The yellow truck was in the neighboring house’s driveway, stopping just a few feet from the garage door. Its back was slightly elevated at a higher angle than the front. Its back was adorned with advertising and prices, and its side was a long stripe and name of a moving company.

Nigel slowly crept up to the edge of his lawn, stopping at an invisible divider between the two houses. He had vaguely known the house next door was empty, that the previous occupants had moved months ago, but the idea that someone new would move in had not occurred to him. Such activity was pedestrian, but given how close it was, he became fascinated by the scale. Even in his old life he had never seen Amazons move. With his adoption, his new life had been sheltered and filled with trivialities like the morning sprinkler. This was something unexpected.

Mostly he just wanted to know if the neighbors had a small person too.

He stood there watching, barely paying attention to the rotating water. Like a parade of elephants, men came out of the back of the truck, carrying heavy furniture measured in tons, thumping it into the house and up and down stairwells. A part of him knew he should be focused on the frivolity and pretend play he had to put on for his mother, but watching the men move back and forth like ants enchanted him. It stirred a childlike awe that left him in a stupor.

He did not notice the minivan pull up, nor in the bustle of movers did he see the new attendants sneak into the truck. It was therefore a surprise when he saw a man burst out the back, and down a ramp while riding a large two wheeled bicycle. The rider curved around the drive between trucks and vehicles and unloaders, before hitting the empty street and exploding in speed. Around the cul-de-sac he went, before coming back past Nigel. It gave the little just enough time to see the other man, and while his shorts and shirt seemed no more adultish than Nigel’s own attire, the shape of his face let him know this was a man close to his own age.

This was not an Amazon. This was a little. Did a little buy the neighboring house? Is that something littles could do?

The bicyclist turned tightly after going midway down the street, and then came up again, slowing as he passed Nigel, as though wanting to get his own look at the other boy. This gave Nigel the time to enviously examine the two wheeled, green and black bike. In a world where women routinely forced men to crawl and kept them in playpens, the idea of being able to go down the block in an instant was a fantasy.

If Nigel had a bike like this, he would be gone; out of the county in a day, seeking out some little resistance group, or perhaps hop a train, maybe even live off the land.

Not that he hated his situation, but it wasn’t freedom.

It wasn’t riding a bike.

“Oliver!” The shout could have woken the neighbors down the street if anyone was still asleep. Instead, it drove Nigel back a bit, and his eyes watched as the boy- man, on the bike as he slowed to a stop. Out came a giant, her brunette hair let down, her clothes a mess from moving and carrying boxes into the house. Oliver sat on his bike in the street waiting, and Nigel decided to risk a few more feet closer as the woman also approached Oliver.

“If you’re going to ride your bike you have to wear your helmet.” It was not angry, like his own mother would have been before she spanked him, it was a gentle reminder.

Oliver’s shoulders dropped at the reprimand, “Really? You are the least uncool mom in the history of moms.” But he complied, and he hopped off the bike, and slowly made his way up the drive. His eyes locked onto Nigel’s sunglasses, and then he deliberately approached the other man.

Nigel was unsure of what to do, but he kept enough cool to not bring his fingers to this mouth to suck. He just made a few long breaths, and then Oliver said the most unexpected thing.

“Nick? Nicholas Lange?”

Nigel tightened up, his breaths becoming short, and his eyes darted back and forth. He took a second to look for his adoptive mother, but she was still on the edge of the household, making no movements from Oliver’s introduction.

“How?” Nigel refocused, “How do you know my dead name?”

“Oh, I’m not from around here. So, huh.” Oliver seemed to think for a bit, “I’m Oliver. You live here? I guess we’re best friends now.” He reached out his hand.

Not that he had a best friend, but that is not something you can just declare. He did not even know if he liked this other man.

Nigel looked at his own hand and then reached to shake Oliver’s. Oliver deliberately tightened his grip, and not wanting to be undone Nigel did the same. It was the first time in years someone had shaken his hand like a man.

“Nigel.”

“Ha,” Oliver was delighted, but stopped himself, “Oh you’re serious.”

Nigel was not happy with his name, “My new dad is from Albion, he wants me to have a name that will fit in if when I go over there.” Which meant he had a name that did not fit in here. Good thinking dad.

Oliver let that sad statement go, “So I’m kind of starting a secret organization. Like a club, or a society. To be honest, I got the idea from a television show, but I think it’d work here. Do you want to join? I’d be number one, and you’d be number three.”

Pretend? Like pretend to be spies or something, no one ever played at day care, they just kind of looked at toys or hung around the swings pretending to be more adult than their undergarments suggested.

Still, that was not what Nigel was concerned over, “Wait, who is number two?”

“Well, I promised my mom and dad I’d let my aunt play, so she is number two. Three is still a good number.” Oliver seemed almost annoyed, and making only a gesture over his shoulder to the young lady in the flower dress twirling around on the lawn behind him.

“OK? I guess? What do we need to do?” Nigel knew he was on borrowed time. Soon mommy would come and pick him up and bring him inside. Maybe give him a smack on the tush for ‘wasting’ the water from the sprinkler. He wanted to stretch every second with his new best friend, learn everything he could from him. Oliver was cool. Well, he had dorky glasses, and his pants were too high, and if he wore a tie he would have looked like he was going to spread the good word on his bike. But his new friend had a bike!

“We should scout about for a good place to setup a base of operations. Nothing fancy, we can work out of a tree fort or small cabin by a river for now. Just something to keep prying eyes away. You live here, where would you build a secret base.” Oliver was already deep into character.

Nigel shrugged. He had been to the park, and his backyard, and that was it.

“Oh… well, go get your bike then. We’ll scout out the neighborhood.”

Now the other man was rubbing it in, “I don’t, have a bike.”

Oliver lifted a finger to protest, his mouth opening, and then he closed it as if to go into thought. Finally, he gave an answer, “Just use my aunt’s bike. I mean, it’s pink, so everyone will make fun of you, but you’re close to her size.”

“No, he can’t!” Somehow, Jennifer had arrived at just that moment or perhaps was just interested in what Oliver was talking about and had kept herself hidden.

Oliver scrunched up his face, swallowing down his anger, “You’re not even using it, Jennifer.”

She refused to yield, “I don’t care. It’s mine and he’ll ruin it.”

Oliver came over to the woman, close enough he could gently touch her elbows, he stared into her eyes, and quietly whispered, “Please, this is important.”

She easily acquiesced under the slightest pressure. It felt good for Oliver to need something from her, to treat her with respect.

“Have you finished putting your stuff away? Have you decided which room is yours?” Oliver tried to distract her.

“Of course. I’m all done.” Oliver did not like her response. He had seen the number of toys she had, there was no way she had sorted and put them all away.

He tried another approach, “Want to play a prank on Victoria and daddy?”

That caused Jennifer’s eyes to widen, then she nodded excitedly.

Nigel could not make out what Oliver whispered to his aunt. Seeing the two up close, he could tell she was younger by a few years, the relationship dynamic was a bit suspect. Oliver pointed to across the drive and at the couple giants just standing on the front lawn. Jennifer nodded and her smile grew, giggling. As though she was moving to music that only she could hear, she would skip and hop and weave and bob between movers and furniture as she darted to her caretakers.

“She’s a pain, but I’m still going to marry that gal,” Oliver told Nigel. He nodded in understanding. The options at daycare were equally slim.

A stiff breeze brought a chunk of warm wetness to his back, and Nigel finally gathered the courage to ask what was bothering him, “Oliver, how do you have a bike? How are you, um…” He pointed to the bulge in the crotch of his own pants.

Oliver shrugged, “I’m older than you.”

It was hard to tell, but Nigel could barely see it. Nigel decided to run with it, “How do you get older?”

“Oh, that’s easy. It’s the other way that’s hard. How old do you want to be?” Oliver said confidently, even bringing his glasses down to look at Nigel directly, before flicking them up.

“Um, thirty, I guess?” Was that too greedy? Nigel was not sure if he should aim lower. Eighteen would be enough to escape this hell of an adoption. Oliver stood up straight and got closer to the man, bringing his right hand flat to his head and moving it over to Nigel. Nigel glanced up to see Oliver wave the flat hand before withdrawing it, verifying Nigel was a good inch shorter than his new best friend.

“Might have to need to aim a bit lower than that.” Oliver mumbled.

“Eighteen?” Nigel immediately replied. Shit he should have said twenty-one, so he could drink again.

Oliver tilted his head, “How long has it been?”

Nigel was now annoyed, the man had offered to make him older, and he just brushed it off, like it was a treat, “I was,” he thought carefully for the word, “diagnosed almost three years ago.”

“Sit on the bike like you’re going to ride it, but don’t go anywhere.” Oliver pat the seat, and then helped Nigel up on the molded hard synthetic saddle. He wobbled a bit, his thick diaper squishing into the small seat, and his hands gripped the handles. It had to have been at least twenty years since he last rode a bike. But as he carefully put his foot on the paddle, feeling each part of metal and plastic as it dug into his raw feet. Balance and muscle memory returned.

You never really forget how to ride a bike.

“Just stay there just like that,” Oliver said. He had brought up his hands to outline Nigel, as though taking a picture, and then put it down. He turned and then raced across the neighbor’s lawn. Nigel watched as Oliver dove under the wave of water and with speed, gracefully dodged the arcing droplets, never letting down velocity despite the increasingly slippery grass. Within seconds he was at his target. He hopped and slid into her view, causing a bit of mud to kick up on her grass.

“Hello Mrs. Lange,” Oliver waved to the Amazon, purposefully letting his voice rise to an outside voice, despite their closeness. She had noticed the boy’s approach and had put down her shearing scissors into a ready pouch. Her hair was under a large straw summer hat, and her long summer dress was protected by a gardening smock. She was tall, and Oliver had to crank his neck back just to meet her eyes.

“Oh, hello little boy, I hope you aren’t lost,” the small ones almost never came up to her, and her response was more instinctive than appropriate. She brushed a stem that had gotten onto her breasts, then smiled.

“I’m Nigel’s best friend, Oliver. I live over there,” Oliver pointed to the neighboring house that was a bee’s nest of activity. Her eyes traced the path to the moving van, and she saw her son sitting a few feet off the ground. She squinted and made out the frame of the bike. Nigel was on a bike. Oh dear, she better…

The words wormed into her brain, bringing her back to the attention of the man in front of her. He was authoritative, yet cool, and as her eyes glanced at him, they caught the flash of a bright light from the flat rectangle he had brought up. The light burrowed into her, leaving a burning after flash. She saw the color Amaryllis, and it mixed with her senses, she could smell its sweet, vanilla, roses and nectarines. It was pleasant enough to shut off her mind.

“Nigel’s birthday is coming up.” The small man had a smoothness in his tone, like her own dad. “He wants a bike.”

She had only a reflex of a defense, “He’s too little…”

“How old was he after you adopted him?” The question came fast, ignoring her protests.

She had to answer, “Two.”

“And it’s been three years.” Three perfect years with her baby.

“Next décade.” The year was moving so fast. She should probably…

“Two plus three is?” Even a child as small as Oliver should be able to count.

“Five.” Yes, Nigel’s fifth birthday was coming up.

“Must be hard to shop for a five-year-old. He could want anything. He could want a basketball, or a hula-hoop, or a Nintendo.”

“Impossible.” She was not sure if it was the shopping part that was hard, or the idea of Nigel being five.

“He hasn’t told you what he wants, has he?” Oliver asked.

“Nope.” You ask a child what they want, and he will reply, “I don’t know.”

Besides, Nigel hated his birthday and would get angry if she brought it up. She had gotten him two cakes, including one just for him to smash. All her amazon friends came and congratulated him on becoming two again for the third time. He barely even got his hands dirty as he carefully picked at his cake, at least until she finally forced the issue.

“But he told his friends.” Oliver reminded her.

“Yes,” Oliver is Nigel’s best friend. He would know what Nigel wants. It was the best trick in the book, you ask the child what his friends wanted. He might be embarrassed to say what he wants, but admitting what his friends want was easy.

“I’m his best friend and I am letting you know, exactly what he told me. He wants a bike. Look at him now, see how happy he is just to ride my bike. He wants one too.”

She saw Nigel again, and while his beard was gone, and his hair trimmed short, seeing him stand on that metal contraption, happily spinning the handles, it reminded her of someone she used to know. An employee? An old student? It was on the tip of her tongue. She could see her boy lost in thought, as though imagining himself riding Oliver’s bicycle. She could even see him performing a wheelie, laughing in excitement as the front of his bike left the ground, and the freedom and potential it would offer.

The commands would continue to burrow into her brain, and she did not even notice as Oliver slowly walked back to Nigel.

“Yeah, so, you’re four now,” Oliver slapped his new friend on the back, “I’m going to warn you, what comes next, it’s like traction. It’s going to be painful. I know you got it in you.”

Four! How utterly pointless of a transformation. He was still a child, he was still without privilege, he could still not escape the wrath of the giants, still had to eat dinner they made and go to bed before the sun went down. No beer, no dating, and he would still need to hold his mommy’s hand to cross the street or when they went to the store.

But maybe if he embraced it, four could be twice as good as two.

Nigel moved off the bike, “Um, what was that? And, what about my dad, he’s away on business.”

“Eh, don’t worry about the daddies, mommies have a few tricks to get what they want. Just let her deal with him and stay out of the way.” Oliver made a profane impression with his fingers and hands, while making a slight reference to the act.

Nigel shuttered at the thought. He certainly did not like Mr. and Ms. Lange, but the prospect of those elephants doing it was a bit too much for him to picture.

Oliver made a sign with his hand, and then waved goodbye, “How about this, I’ll come by after dinner, and we can hang out and go over all the details. I still need to unpack and get my bedroom setup.”

He turned to go to his new house, before stopping himself, “Oh, one last thing.”

Nigel hung on every word Oliver spoke.

“If she asks, say you want an ice cream cake.”

A decadent combination. You might buy a spare cake for a toddler to spoil with his own hands, but you would never give a baby such an extravagant dessert.

Soft serve chocolate with cookie crumbles, a layer of fudge, and another of whippy topping. This was a confection so rich only children, with their infinite tolerance for sugar would desire. The cost puts it out of their reach. It was a privilege he never had his first time around, and when he was finally old enough to be able to afford it, his tastes and desires had moved on. If he was going to stay a baby for the rest of his days, he never would eat it ever again.

But a five-year-old could have an ice cream cake. Maybe, only a five-year-old should have an ice cream cake.

Oliver had better not be teasing him. He now wanted, more than anything, to be four, and if he walked up to his mommy…

She would check his pants. She would check his diaper and then change it, and then give him baby food for dinner, and give him his stuffy, and rock him to sleep at four in the evening.

What an asshole Oliver was. For a brief moment he had teased him with something beyond his grasp. The whole thing was a long elaborate con, put on by the world’s ultimate liar.

One glance at his mother and he knew the truth, she had one hand on her hip, and the other level, her finger extended and wagging, “Nigel, get over here.”

“Yes, mummy,” he said, at a tone too soft for her to hear. He waddled, letting the arc of water splash into him carelessly as he passed, his speed slowing as he approached the angry behemoth. Somewhere behind him he knew Oliver had to be laughing at him.

Her hip arm reached down, and with her giant hand she pulled at his pants. His clothing was wet, though it was only a hint of dampness on his crotch.

Her question was direct, “Do you need to go?”

“Go where?” Nigel did not intend to back-talk; he did not understand the question.

Her frown caused him to shrink. Whatever Oliver had said to her, she was going to dish it out hard on him.

But she changed her tone. Soft, but commanding, like Oliver’s mother, “Let’s get you inside. I’m going to need to find where you daddy put the training potty.”

Oh no! This was worse than a spanking.

Last time they had put it in the center of the living room and forced him to do a dance and beg to use the blue and white plastic container. After a few days and several misses, ones entirely caused by ignoring his requests, they had grown bored of the device and stuck him in diapers for good. It had been a constant struggle, between the humiliation of using the plastic throne on the rare chances he did make it, and his new parents setting him up to fail.

He eventually just broke down in tears, pleading for it to end, and he was in diapers full time after that.

“No please mummy, anything but that, we talked about this before,” out of desperation he lifted his arms, up.

Her arm sunk down and picked him up to bring him close to her face. His own fingers came up to his mouth, struggling to keep from sucking on one.

In a prior life he had taken the bar exam, practiced as a lawyer, and yet for all his accomplishments, her next question would be the most difficult one he would ever answer for the rest of his life.

“Nigel, do you want to be a big boy or keep being a baby?”

* * *

Jennifer made one final twirl before tapping Ben on the knee. Arms easily pulled the girl up, letting her into the conversation as though she was an equal.

“I think I should get the upstairs office, and you can use the downstairs one for your stuff,” Victoria replied. In their speed to acquire the new house, the two had not gotten all the details sorted out.

Ben was going to reply, but Jennifer butted in first. “Where’s the baby going to go?”

Ben gave a light chastisement in his response, “I thought you and Oliver had already sorted out which room was which. Don’t tell me you two want to switch.”

“Not Oliver. I mean the one growing inside Victoria.”

* * *

Oliver’s undergarments barely crinkled as Ben lofted him onto the bed. The man’s hands were delicate, cupping the diaper cover and slowly moving down Oliver’s legs towards the blanket.

“The doctor did a good job; you can’t even tell.” Ben referenced to the former scars, outside of some discrepancy with the soft hairs, there was no indicator of Oliver’s trip to Terra. “You know, I had been building up my fury all day. Going over in my head this conversation, all your rebuttals and logic, and everything you might do to justify what you did to Victoria.” Round and round the two went, Oliver defending the necessity of changing her mind to fit his needs, and Ben struggling to show there were alternatives. Only to reveal none of the things had happened the way he thought they did.

“It’s your baby.” Oliver was quick in his reply, creating a fraction of doubt in Ben’s mind. Maybe Oliver was the cause of all of this after all.

“I know, I know, I just hadn’t considered she’d be acting so differently because,” Ben paused letting Oliver fill in.

“She’s thinking for two people?” He gave a smirk. “I mean, it’s fair to be upset with me. She wanted to be a mommy more than anything, she wanted a baby. I’m glad there was just another solution than turning me into that baby.”

Perhaps Oliver had learned something about finding alternative solutions, how to compromise, and to finally think like an Amazon. Ben looked the boy over for subterfuge, any hint of complicity. He certainly seemed happy with himself.

Oliver tilted his head up, adjusting the pillows, closing his eyes, “I suppose I should congratulate you.”

“Oh?” Ben answered the smaller one, confused.

“On becoming a real dad.” Oliver kept his pride from showing, but to him, the taller man had created something more than himself, he would not be the ebb of the great flood that plagued the rest of the planet.

Ben stopped and pushed himself up tall, “I am already a real dad.”

Oliver poked an eye open, and stared up at the giant, his form blocked the overhead lights and cast a shadow over the bed. He could barely read the taller man, but his last statement was worth a small chuckle from the man.

“Tomorrow I’m going to try some ribs; you said it was your favorite right? That’ll be good to try on the grill.”

Oliver nodded, “Can, um, Nigel, come too.”

Ben nodded, but his mind was flashing back to yesterday, when Oliver had picked out a Lilliputian document on their early explorations of the world. Ben had read the whole thing, and Oliver had fallen asleep listening to him go through voyages and captain’s logs. Just like now, his eyes had fluttered and struggled to stay up. He had wanted to hold Oliver in his lap like that forever, but eventually he woke the boy so he could get up and use the potty.

He held up his fingers, counting them, “I’ve cooked your favorite meals, read your favorite stories, and even bought a house next to your friend Nick, so you and he can start your secret club. When you came down with your night issues, I never held it against you, so please Oliver if there’s more to this authentic dad thing, I’d like to know what I’m missing.”

Oliver was quiet. Ben had no idea what real parenting was, but Oliver also had no idea himself. Maybe the Amazons were right all along? Parenting was just about love and hugs, and changing diapers, and the rest will just fall into place.

Ben said he wanted more though. Despite the shadows, Oliver could see it written on his face.

“Go and say what you’ve been thinking,” he offered to the other man, politely.

“I was going to save this question for when we start flying – flying for real, but with the baby I’m not sure when we’ll get a chance.” Ben started, watching Oliver for any signs of disappointment.

“Let me worry about that detail, becoming a dad doesn’t mean you have to give up your dreams or your hobbies.”

“I don’t know how this multi-verse thing works, but Oliver, you do,” Ben knelt down, becoming the boy’s equal, “You coming here changed things, but I want to know, is there another version of us? I mean, one that’s more than this.”

“Dreaming of a reality where none of this is happening? Where you see me as an adult, or I was happy staying a three-year old?” Oliver was not trying to be rude; he was just exploring the possibilities of different timelines and different identities.

“Do you think Collins would be there?” Ben was not even sure why he added it.

Oliver turned, “There’s a Collins out there and each night he dreams of coming here, who wishes he could live in a world like this one. This place has a way of drawing upon those that dare, and it will give those who risk it exactly what they want and far more. I’m sure one day we’ll see him too.”

Ben quietly stood up and made his way to the light. Oliver’s words would turn over in his mind, and soon it would fill his own dreams with endless possibilities. “Good night, Oliver. Thank you.” As he flipped it off and turned, his ears picked up just the feintest of a whisper.

“Thank you, da – da.”