Creative Non-Fiction

Some had vacation plans to visit beautiful beaches, or even sit in front of a television for a week, but my spring break did not prove adequate in supplying me with my much needed escape from an already long semester. I had worked at the daycare every day since I left school for my spring break, and although I was completely broke, I began to regret making the commitment to work everyday. Instead of the children being tiny little imitations of larger runny-nosed people from when I had last seen them, they now marked tiny little imitations of runny-nosed people who talked too much.
I was supposed to be changing diapers, but had to instead work on getting Cameron’s temperature. He had complained of not feeling well, and there was a stomach virus going around the daycare. Dante, a two year old with large brown eyes and soft, curly, unruly, dark hair that stuck up everywhere giving him an afro, was learning to be potty trained. I asked him if he wanted to use the bathroom…a mistake on my part. He replied that he did, which meant that he really just wanted to sit on the toilet for about 10 minutes before realizing that he already peed in his diaper. I called in another worker to help him while he waited in the bathroom since his height was equal to that of the toilet, and he would probably need assistance. After about 30 seconds, however, the incompetent moron left him in there alone. I tried keeping Cameron still on the changing table while I held the thermometer under his right arm. Meanwhile I tried keeping an eye on the other children to ensure they didn’t kill each other. They were climbing on the shelves, pulling each other’s hair, and probably running around with sharp objects. I don’t really know. I didn’t think Dante would be too long, and I didn’t think…well, after a long day of screaming children, I just didn’t think.
I was focused on taking Cameron’s temperature with a broken thermometer when I suddenly heard Dante’s chipmunk-like voice echo a loud, “Ohhhh ma-a-a-an!!” from within the bathroom. I immediately pictured the worst. I could see myself walking into the bathroom with Dante standing in two inches of water as an entire box of Legos remained in the toilet which had caused it to overflow. I could’ve killed him, even though I didn’t know what the problem was yet. My tired mind raced as I glared at the other brats running around screaming in tiny circles and throwing every last possible toy off the shelves. A headless Barbie flew past my head; her poor naked body was no where to be found. Several page-less books littered the floor, and amongst all of the other mess, someone had thrown up in the corner. Maybe I could just close the door and pretend that I had forgotten about him. In fact, maybe I could put the other kids in there too. What was I thinking? People get arrested for things like that, and I would probably cause the poor kid unknown emotional disasters. Years down the line I would probably read about a young boy who erupted with many psychological problems, and no one would know where his emotional distress evolved from; but I would. By the way, kids make you crazy and cause you to go on random tangents like the above.
After I heard Dante’s cry for help, I immediately snapped.
“Dante, I’ve had it! Get out of the bathroom now! You’ve been in there for too long!” I yelled.
I took the thermometer out from underneath Cameron’s arm who up until this point had just stared at me with uncertainty through the tops of his eyes like I didn’t know what I was doing. I carried him off of the table and as I turned around, Dante waddled through the bathroom door. His gray sweatpants were down around his ankles, and he was holding his arms out rigidly. His eyes were wide and held a look of shock, and his little jaw was chattering.
“I cold!” he squeaked.
“Dante! What in the world did you do?” I asked confused, but trying not to laugh.
“I-I c-cold! I w-wet and I cold!” he replied as he looked at me with wide eyes, and as his rigid body shook.
“You’re wet? Why are you wet?” I asked as he stood there nodding at me. I turned him around and glanced at his back. His pants down at his ankles revealed a bare bottom which had water dripping down it. The back of his shirt was soaked and had turned from a bright red to a darker shade.
“I-I falled in da toilet!” he stuttered wide-eyed.
I turned my face away so that he couldn’t see me laugh. He wasn’t crying or upset as I later thought he might especially after facing what he probably saw as a near death experience. After all, wouldn’t you be terrified if you were only about two feet tall and almost fell into the seemingly endless abyss of the toilet? He was a tough little kid, and I was happy he wasn’t upset over the incident because although I was ready to get my tubes tied after that week, tears would have broken my heart. I cleaned him off and got him a fresh change of clothes. I took a sip of water from my water bottle and silently wished it contained alcohol when the next teacher came to take over my group. My shift was over, and I practically threw kids out of my way as I ran out of the building to my car.