The Daycare (An Age-Reggresion Story)

With both hands I reached forward and grasped the cup before me, pulling it off of the display hook. I turned it over and studied the small cute star designs. There was something so cute and quaint about children’s sippy cups, I’m not sure if it was the bright, inviting shades of pink, blue, yellow, and purple, or the little star print that smiled back. I thought for a moment how nice it would be to have one, even if just for myself but felt my smile drop.

“Why am I so weird?”, I mumbled for a moment under my breath and decided to return the item to the hook. I worked at the same retailer for two years now, and always found myself stopping whenever I was around anything for children or babies. For years now I have written off this attachment as a so-called ‘baby-fever’ but I felt like it was more than that. I felt adult clothes were more boring and didn’t hold the same spark and spunk as children’s clothes did. Plus most of it was too revealing or dull. Most of the smaller spoons, forks, and plates were something I would look at from time to time also. Who am I kidding, I wanted anything that was meant for children, and children’s stuff is not meant for a 20-year-old.

“Aurora!”, my shrill manager’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Are you going to stand there all day in the baby section or are you gonna clock out?”, she quipped. I nodded without looking at her and walked in the direction of the clock-out machine. I was mildly afraid of fighting back with my superiors, it felt foreign. To be honest, fighting back wasn’t a strong suit of mine. I felt embarrassed for an instant as I realized I was stuck in my thoughts again.

I punched out quickly, grabbed my items, and headed to my car. It was a quick drive to my home, an apartment building. When I unlocked the door I was met with the face of my mother who had a chair facing the entrance. I felt a sick feeling hit my stomach but I forced a friendly face, there was never any room for negative feelings. My mother, on the other hand, did not return this emotion. Her face was turned into a scowl and she had her scrawny arms crossed in front of her. I shared no resemblance to my mother, other than her button nose, which framed her face oddly. Her dirty-blond hair was streaking gray already, and her blue eyes were sharp. She had a few beauty marks on her face, and her lips were a thin angry line. She was much skinnier than me and shorter, but she could strike fear in me any day.

“You realize you forgot the dishes last night”, she said in a nasty tone. She lifted herself from her chair and walked over to meet me. I let my face fall into a blank expression, knowing it wouldn’t do any good anyway. When she got to me, the size difference was obvious. She was a small woman, standing only 5 feet tall, while I stood a whole half foot taller. I was insanely jealous of her height. It made her seem younger, while mine made me look like a giant. At least that’s what I thought. I set my jacket on the hook near the door and attempted to open my mouth for a response.

“I don’t want to hear it. I pay for your food, I raised you, I made you into the woman you are and I have to remind you almost every night like you’re five!”, she scolded me. I felt myself sink into the door, hoping it would swallow me. “You say you forget all the time but your room is clean! How can you remember that but not the dishes? You also didn’t fold my clothes as I asked you to, clean the toilet, or mop the floors.” It happens like this every night. I get home, she gets mad about things I haven’t done, then I do whatever she asks. I do so much every day, and she still adds on more. The worst part is she doesn’t have a job, she just lives off the government. I’m the one who pays the bills, she just provides food stamps. It’s a difficult situation but I can’t get out of it, all my money goes to bills. I felt hot tears prickle in my eyes.

“Oh, you’re gonna cry now huh? Because telling you when you’re being a horrible daughter is just so mean”, she emphasized the ‘so’ and threw her hands up in annoyance. “If you don’t want to do your part you should just leave” she snarled, getting up into my face.

“Maybe I should”, I argued, but it was barely over a whisper, it didn’t stop her from hearing it though.

Her blue eyes narrowed in anger and she talked through her teeth. “Don’t you dare talk back to me like that, you’re still my child. I will beat some sense into you if you don’t quit”.

That was enough for me to handle, I turned around and stormed out of the apartment. She didn’t bother going after me surprisingly so I just kept walking. A series of sidewalks led up to the neighborhood playground, so I just chose one and made my way up there. I wiped tears away with the back of my hand and cursed at the smeared mascara which now resided there. Thankfully no one would see it, as it was well past daylight hours. The streetlamps softly illuminated the way to the playground and when I reached it I flopped down on one of the swings. It let out a small groan of protest but held. I was a slightly big girl, not enough to be fat, but not enough to be skinny. Some people lovingly doted it as “curvy” or “husky” most likely to make girls like me feel better, but the swing gave it away in an instant.