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“I’m not sure I can tell you anything you don’t already know.” Dora quickened her pace to keep up with Bobbi’s bouncy walk. “Your Daddy is my therapist.”
“Yeah, but he didn’t tell me anything except you were his patient and that you were coming here and didn’t have any stuffies. I begged him to tell me more, but he said he’d have to ask you because of doctor-patient privilege.”
They’d reached a door with stairs leading down to a lower level. On the landing they stopped where Dora caught her breath as she gave Bobbi a condensed rundown of her life, of how her feelings of submission made her feel out of place. As she spoke, she realized that Bobbi was looking intently at her with a soft, sympathetic expression. This was another thing she’d have to get used to: being heard by someone who wasn’t paid to listen to her.
But this awareness of her by others had a scary side effect. When she and Bobbi walked through double doors to the pool room, people stopped to look in their direction and Dora suddenly felt her self-consciousness and insecurities return. When Bobbi said they could swim here any time they wanted, Dora could only imagine the shame she would feel next to the toned, athletic swimmers who dove effortlessly into the water like mermaids. She hadn’t worn a bathing suit since she was fifteen and a boy at the public pool laughed when she walked by and asked his friend how he’d like to “harpoon that one”.
“I don’t swim,” she said quietly, inwardly wistful to frolic in the Olympic sized-swimming pool with its crystal-clear water and colorful slide on one end. Dora was relieved when Bobbi didn’t question her statement but headed back toward the door. Next was the indoor playground, an extravagant room that left Dora momentarily speechless. When she was small, her mother had taken her to the corner McDonalds that had always been Dora’s favorite because it had a play area with ladders, tunnels, bridges, and slides. The day her mother told her she couldn’t visit it because she was too old, Dora had gone home and sobbed in her room. Now all those emotions came rushing back as she stood staring at an adult-sized version of what she’d so loved as a child.
“Wonderful, isn’t it?” Bobbi took her hand. “Do you want to play in it? We’ll just need to take our shoes off.”
“Wouldn’t you rather play with some of your friends?” Dora asked.
“I will be, silly. You’re my friend now.”
As Bobbi rushed to the shoe cubby, Dora swallowed the painful lump that had risen in her throat. A friend. A friend to play with. Bobbi walked over and sat down to remove her shoes. By the time she’d tucked hers into a cubby, Bobbi had already navigated a rope ladder to pull herself up on the first platform of the floor-to-ceiling structure. Dora walked over to the ladder and tried to pull herself up but didn’t have the strength, so she moved to ascend some nearby steps and knelt to crawl through the first tunnel with an interior painted with technicolor daisies. It opened onto a bridge. From somewhere up above she could hear Bobbi laughing and yelling for Dora to come find her. Upon emerging from the tunnel, Dora stood and looked up to see a flash of polka dots as Bobbi, already at the top, popped into a curved slide, screaming “whee!” all the way to the floor.
Another set of steps and a tube that angled upward were between Dora and the top of the platform. By the time she reached the top, she was panting from the exertion and found herself not alone, but in the company of two Littles who were about to go down the slide. When she walked over, the one about to go down stood and joined her friend.
“Why didn’t you go?” the taller of the two asked her friend. She was wearing a My Little Pony t-shirt and pink shorts.
“The last time I got stuck in the curve. If she comes after me, she’ll crush me.”
Even though the words were spoken in a near whisper, Dora heard, and she could tell by the taller girl’s expression that she knew by the way she sharply elbowed her friend.
“You can go,” she said kindly.
“That’s okay,” said Dora, turning and going back the way she came. She met Bobbi halfway and although she tried to keep her face neutral, she realized that Bobbi had the same gift as her Daddy in being able to pick up on moods.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Dora lied. “I’m just kind of tired.”
“You didn’t go down the slide, though. It’s fun.”
“I decided I didn’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“Can we please go?” The elation Dora had felt earlier had turned to sadness, especially when they passed the ball pit, and she realized how much fun that would have been if her mood were better.
“Sure.” Bobbi looked disappointed, which only made Dora feel worse. Outside the playroom, Bobbi turned to her. “What would you like to see now?”
Dora shrugged. She knew she should say something like the stables since she’d seen that listed on a guide in her room, but she didn’t want to go anywhere but back to her room where no one would see her.
“I have an idea,” Bobbi said. “Follow me.”
Dora complied, irritated now by Bobbi’s perkiness and mad at herself for internalizing her hurt when she could have just as easily told Bobbi what had happened, but she’d been called a burden so often by her mother that she’d trained herself not to bother people with her problems.
“We have something really cool at the Ranch.” They had gone back upstairs and were heading toward what appeared to be a gift shop off the lobby. Bobbie led her toward the back and gestured to where a sign hung that readLittle Duds. As they entered the area, Bobbi explained that because so many Littles had come to the ranch with only adult clothing, Master Derek had outfits stocked in the shop just for those who needed a wardrobe. “Some Bigs come in here to buy clothes and presents for their Littles, but even unattached Littles can choose some outfits. Miss Amelia handles the fittings for any uniforms, but different Bigs help run the clothing shop. Oh, here comes Miss Becky now.”
“Hello, Bobbi!” Miss Becky walked over, smiling, her ever-present measuring tape draped over her shoulders like a stole. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is Dora, and she’s new. She doesn’t have any Little clothes, though. Can we get her some? Dora, I haven’t even asked. What age do you identify as?”
Dora didn’t have to think about this. “Between seven and ten,” she answered honestly. And those had been her happiest years, back when strangers would dismiss her padding as baby fat, before her developing body drew stares of judgment or pity.
She winced now to recognize the latter in Miss Becky’s eyes and instantly knew in a shop full of fun clothing, there was nothing for a girl her size.
