Chapter 5:

The church was loud and crowded.    While Mommy and I were away, most of the people had arrived.    I looked up at the clock in the foyer, but I couldn't quite read it.    Was the wedding starting soon?    Then, Chantelle appeared at my side with a frantic look on her face. "Marj, Melissa is totally freaking out.    Can you talk to her?" "Uh..." Mommy looked a little surprised, but willed herself to action. "Yeah, of course.    Watch Floren for me, okay?" "I dun need nobody to watch me," I pouted, crossing my arms. "I won't get into trouble!"

"Oh, I know you won't sweetheart," Marjorie smiled and ruffled the childish girl’s hair, predicting a completely different outlook than what she'd just said to the adult adjacent, the way that grownups tended to do. "You're a good girl, and you're gonna be a good girl for Auntie 'Telle, right?"

"But..." But Mommy had left before I could get another word out.    Chantelle leaned forward with a bright smile.    She had her hands on her knees, as if she was talking to a little girl, but it only made her shorter than me. "Come on, we're gonna have lots of fun.    Do you wanna practice throwing the flowers?" "...flowers?"

"Well, you're the flower girl, after all. So you need some practice, right?" There was, oddly, another girl who seemed pinned for the role, but decisions had been made and that seemed normal to everybody else: Florence was the flower girl now.

"I... um..." Chantelle took me by the hand and led me past the table of gifts.    All those big boxes, wrapping paper, and one bag that felt particularly familiar.    Maybe Mommy brought it for Melissa?    Then a set of children ran by - a boy and a girl, no older than six or seven - and I realized how... tiny they were.    But weren't they older than me?    Something didn't make sense...

"You're excited to do your best, right Floren? You gotta be extra special careful with the flowers; you have to toss a few but not too little, and a lot but not too many. Just the right amount, can you do that?" Her tone was... condescending.

"Sure," I muttered, as my eyes followed the children.    They ran around a corner and I looked down at the flower basket in my hand.    I took a handful of petals and threw them up in the air. "That was way too many," Chantelle chastised and I felt a blush on my cheeks. "S-sorry," I muttered.

"Remember you gotta make them last the whole aisle, so try and do a bit less. Show me how much you wanna do?" Chantelle, to her credit, seemed to be trying to help, but she was definitely talking to a legitimate child with her tones and word choices.

"Chantelle." A man appeared behind me and motioned to my babysitter. "Can you come here a minute?    One of the lace decorations came off." Chantelle's face flashed with annoyance and I heard her mutter under her breath, something about doing everything herself. "Can you stay right here and practice for a minute?" she asked me.    I nodded my head.

Chantelle walked away and I threw another handful of petals into the air.    Was that good?    I looked around again, hoping for some approval, but I caught sight of those two kids again.    One ducked under the table of presents and the other had her eyes closed.    I set down the basket of flowers and walked over to her. "Eight... Nine... Ten!    Ready or not-- oh." "Hi," I said shyly. "Um... can I play?" The little girl looked up at me - so much shorter than me - and rolled her eyes. "No way!    No babies allowed!" Baby?    My cheeks went crimson and I stomped my foot on the carpet. "I'm not a baby!"

"Yuhhuh!! You wet your pants earlier and only babies wet their pants!" Well, during the day anyway, that much was true. "It’s not my fault okay that’s just the rules!"

"I... I dun wet my pants!" "Then why are you in a diaper, hm?" The boy poked his head out from under the table to hear what the commotion was about and I sunk into myself. "I... I don't..." "Everybody knows, right Mikey?” "Uh huh, everybody knows." I shook my head.    This wasn't fair!    I wasn't a baby!    Tears started to fill my eyes. "You brats don't know anything!" I shouted at them. "I'm an adult!    I'm not a baby!" I blinked.    I'm an adult?    I'm an adult...

"You're not a grown up, dummy!" The girl stuck her tongue out, Mikey rolled his eyes, and two of them went back to the game they were playing as though she were just a child with an overactive imagination.

I’m an adult, I thought again.    I looked up at the table of gifts.    The gifts... my gift.    I walked up to the table, crinkling with every step, and picked up the gift bag that seemed so familiar.    There was something about this bag... about what was inside.    If Mommy caught me, I'd be in so much trouble, but I had to know.    So I reached in and took out the antique clock.    A clock?    And then, all at once, it came rushing back.    I wasn't a baby.    I was an adult!    This stupid clock was cursed!    That woman at the shop!    I looked down at the frilly flower girl dress in disgust.    I had to fix this.    I had to get back to that shop!

"And just where are you going, young lady?" Chantelle had her hands on her hips when she discovered the girl trying to leave the church, stymied by the heavy oaken doors. What had gotten into her today? "Are you going to try and find more flowers for the ceremony?”

"Chantelle... please, you have to listen to me.    This clock is cursed.    I have to return it to the store so--" "Oh, you have such an imagination, don't you?" She reached out to grab me by the wrist, so I turned and ran as fast as I could into the back of the church.    I had to hide.    I had to find somewhere safe to figure all this out!

"Florence!! Don't make me tell your mother about this; she's so worried about your behavior as it is!" Chantelle called out, but she didn't follow.    Some disobedient brat’s drama was outside the scope of her responsibilities today - she did, however, text Marjorie.

I found a closet and slammed the door shut behind me, hiding in the small dark room and holding the clock tight to my chest.    I could barely see in this light, but I could make out the reflection on the glass.    Me.    As me as ever.    Why did everyone think I was a child, if I looked like a grown up?    No, there wasn't time for speculation.    I turned the clock upside down and looked for some magical sigil or etching, like on TV.    Come on, come on...

"Whatcha doing in there, baby doll?" The voice came from outside the closet, a familiar voice - Marjorie. She didn't open it, though, she just talked through the slats. "You hiding? Are you scared, sweetheart? It's alright to be scared. This is a pretty scary thing happening today, isn't it?"

I looked up at the door, frozen in place.    She... she knew?    Was this all a game?    But then, before I could answer, Marjorie clarified: "Walking down the aisle in front of all those people, throwing the flowers... but you're going to be the cutest flower girl in the entire world, I promise." I groaned and shook the clock in my hands. "Turn me back you stupid clock," I muttered to myself.    But the more I shook it, the sicker I felt.    I had to use the potty... but I was wearing a diaper, wasn't I?    I could just... No!    No I couldn't!

"I'm going to come in, okay? Is it okay if I come inside your..." Marjorie thought about what she knew about her little girl, about her hiding places, her imagination spaces, where she liked to make believe she was, and then added: “Castle?”

"No!" I shouted through the door.    The clock didn't have any symbols or runes or whatever.    It just looked like an ordinary clock.    Maybe I was wrong... maybe the clock had nothing to do with it.    I turned it over in my hand and tried again to read the time.    Maybe if I could figure out the time, I could figure out how to turn me back.    Big hand on the ten, little hand on the four... ten-oh-four?    No, that wasn't right...

There was a lot of patience a parent could have, but the wedding was happening very very shortly and the flower girl couldn't be hiding in a cupboard. "Florence, Mommy is going to open the door now. You have a big responsibility ahead of you and everyone is going to see how beautiful Mommy's Little Girl is. You're going to make everyone so happy just from seeing how lovely you are, so come on out of there.”

"I said no!" I shouted again, and focused on the clock.    Oh, the big hand moved... why would it move?    Was that a different hour or a different minute?    It had to be a minute, right?    But the more I stared at the face of the clock, the more confused I became.    The numbers started to wiggle and bend.    I tried to count up from one.    Two.    Three... and... um... what came after three? "Florence." I could hear the annoyance in Mommy's voice.    I had to figure it out!    But what was I trying to figure out...

That was enough. Marjorie opened the door to the cupboard, leaning into the space to pluck her wayward child up from her crouched position on the floor. "Why are you hiding in there, missy? Why are you kneeling down? You're not making messes in your diaper are you? My sweet little flower girl should be lovely smelling. And is that..." Marjorie narrowed her eyes on the clock. "Is that from the gift table, princess?"

"Nuh uh!    Lemme go, lemme go!" She picked me up off the floor and stood me up on my feet.    I struggled and kicked and tried to fight her off, but she was too strong. "I gotta turn back!    I gotta fix it!    Lemme go!"

Marjorie plucked the clock out of her daughter’s hands with ease. "I know you're scared, 'cause there's a lot of people and you're so little, but it'll be okay, I promise."

"I'm not little!    I'm a big girl!" I grabbed at the clock and tried to take it back, but Mommy held tight. "Let it go!    I gotta be big again!" "Florence, you stop this attitude right now!" Her words stung.    They were sharp and my grip faltered.    She took the clock from me and I looked up at it with fear.    It was my only hope... I had to get it.    So I did something I shouldn't have;    I jumped at Mommy and knocked her to the floor.    The clock slipped out of her hands, landed sharply on the tile, and shattered into springs and splintered wood.