Potter Puddlesby, A Bedtime Story

Chapter One: Potter Makes A Discovery
 
	 Potter saw them first. He had been assigned peanut 
butter, gherkins, spaghetti-Os and Huggies for Susan. His 
mother had the shopping cart three isles over with Susan in 
the child seat. Trevor was getting pizzas and American 
Cheese, the individually wrapped slices. He was one aisle 
over in dairy products. 
	 Potter almost dropped the peanut butter. He couldn't 
believe it. Goodnights they were called. Up to 65 lbs they 
said. He was, at ten, 75 pounds. He felt his mouth go 
slightly dry and looked down the aisle to see if anyone was 
watching. No one. This would take some thinking about. 
	 He put back the Huggies and found Trev. Trev was 
eight. Good, polite, hard-working, a crowd-pleaser and dry 
as dust 24 hours a day. Potter was more fortunate, having 
held on with some determination to certain habits of which 
his parents disapproved. He wet his bed with the savor of a 
sybarite, often unconsciously and as often with delightful 
intention. His father credited him with having the largest 
bladder in Paradise County and threatened to hire him out to 
a circus or the Guinness Book of World Records. 
	 Potter had until last year, and in hasty and 
unconsidered exchange for a mountain bike, been a pants-
wetter as well. That pleasure had wafted away from him like 
a summer. He had kept his promise and in truth had enjoyed 
the bike, only now and then creating for himself an extreme 
circumstance in which he was helpless to prevent an 
accident. Once a month, perhaps. He had been praised much 
for his continence and the psychology had worked in large 
measure. Still, while lying on a morning in the pre-dawn 
swamp that was his bed he would imagine moments on a warm 
summer afternoon of just letting go. 
	 He liked was the responsible way in which his parents 
dealt with his behavior. He loved the investigative 
conversation for example. Have you gone to the bathroom? Do 
you have to go to the bathroom? Are you wet? And playing 
games. Letting it go as his mother tucked him in and kissed 
him good night. Walking out the door after lunch having 
passed the bathroom quiz and peeing his way to the barn. In 
the summer his mother believed in changes. In the winter his 
snowpants allowed him more opportunity to accumulate. But 
that was all in the past. 
	 It was his father who had decreed that he was too old 
for diapers. Even though it was known that Aunt Bea who was 
seventy wore them and that Uncle Alfred after his operation 
had them. Potter had hinted from time to time before his 
reformation that he might be receptive to the idea, but no 
one had ever gotten the clue. And now he was too big for 
them. Until... He picked the box up and held it. There had 
to be a way. Trevor came around the corner as he was putting 
the box back. 
	 "I got a pepperoni and a sausage and some extra 
pepperoni to put on... what are those?" 
	 "What are what?" 
	 "What are those things you were looking at?" 
	 "They're called Goodnights. They're for big kids." 
	 "Big kids don't pee their pants." 
	 "I've been telling you haven't I? Now you can see. 
Even the Supermarket 
	knows. Look for yourself. 65 pounds. How much do you 
weigh?" 
	 "I don't know." 
	 "You weigh less than I do and I weigh 65 pounds." He 
decided to lose ten pounds in order to make the point more 
clearly.  Trevor examined the box. "They're called Good 
Nights. They're for peeing your bed." 
	 "No, They're for not peeing your bed." 
	 "That's what I mean." 
	 "Look, Trevor, you know that he-man that you like. The 
one with the broad axe?" 
	 "Titan the Terrible." 
	 "That one." 
	 "What about it?" 
	 "I'll give you that and my Saturday treat money if 
you'll sort of show these to Mom." 
	 "You want some?" 
	 "I think they could be fun." 
	 "You're weird." 
	 "You could try them too." 
	 "I don't want to try them." 
	 "But you do want Titan." 
	 "With the outfit." 
	 "Right." 
	 "OK. What do I have to do?" 
	 "I'm going to go over to the next aisle. Go find Mom. 
Tell her I went to the bathroom and asked you to get the 
Pampers for Susan and you can't find them. Then when she 
comes over take these and show them to her." 
	 "What should I say?" 
	 "Say something like, hey look diapers for big boys. 
That's all. Look you figure it out. Just don't let on that I 
put you up to it. OK?" 
	 "OK. But what if she doesn't buy them?" 
	 "Then you don't get the treat money." 
	 Potter went to the freezer section and pretended to 
look at the ice cream. He didn't want to overdo it. Just 
enough to put his mother on the right track. Satisfied he 
walked down the aisle, around the corner and approached the 
sacred shelf where his mother now stood, dutifully listening 
to her middle child's arguments in behalf of a new product. 
She turned as he approached, the Good Nights in her hand, 
about to replace them on the shelf. 
	 "Oh Potter! You've peed your pants!" 
	 "I couldn't find the bathroom in time. The man 
wouldn't help me. Anyway they're not very wet." 
	 "That does it," she said and dropped the treasure into 
the cart, pushing past him to the pasta section. Trevor 
smiled and held out a hand. Potter gave him a quiet five.

Chapter Two: Potter Tells The Truth 

	 Potter had a problem. He realized it as soon as the 
groceries were stowed away in the back of the van. He had 
told a lie and now it was coming to get him. Potter tried 
not to lie unless it was an emergency. His mother would 
tolerate almost anything better than lying. It was a family 
rule. He tried to remember what precisely he had said. 
Something about nobody helping him find the bathroom. So he 
had leaked a little before he got there. But that isn't what 
he had allowed his mother to believe. She thought he had 
peed and he hadn't. Now the beast from 40,000 fathoms was 
churning around just below his tummy. 
	 Trevor, next to him on the seat, took out his new X-
Men comic and went into one of his trances. Susan sat in the 
baby seat and talked gibberish. His mother backed out of 
their parking spot at the speed grass grew. She was a very 
timid driver. Once she had backed into the front of a police 
car. Another time she had backed through the garage door. 
The drive home would take 20 minutes. He would never make it 
even five minutes. The beast from 20,000 fathoms nibbled 
teasingly at his sphincter. He gave it what it asked for and 
it sank back down into the briny pit of his stomach. A dark 
spot appeared within his other dark spot. The beast would 
not be satisfied for long. He needed an idea and soon! 
	 He got up and stood behind the front seat. His mother 
checked out the traffic and drove out on to Kidder Street. 
The beast, for the moment, was contented. He reached between 
his legs with one hand and squeezed. It was a lovely feeling 
and too much a stranger. He kept a pair of wet jeans in the 
bottom of his closet. He was a secret peer. He felt suddenly 
that he couldn't live this double life any longer. He 
decided to lay it all out for his mother. The whole truth 
and nothing but the truth. 
	 "Mom, I have to tell you something. I'm a peeing 
rights activist. I think it's my mission in life. I've been 
thinking a lot about this lately, in fact almost all the 
time and I'm willing to give back the bicycle if you want me 
to. I feel that I have sold my soul. Mom, it is the soul of 
a boy who likes to be wet. I like my bed to be wet, my pants 
to be wet. And you know what, Mom? I know I'm not the only 
one. I think there are kids all across this great land of 
ours parched and starched before their childhood is even 
begun. I know it, Mom. If you only knew kids the way I do. 
They're like dogs on leashes, choking, trying to be kids, 
trying to pee in the grass. 
	 You'd have to be in line at the dunking tank at the 
school fair to understand. You know, every single kid in 
line is wet before he gets his turn to sit on the seat and 
get dunked. And skiing! Boy, you and Dad are so blind. Half 
the kids there were wet; it's the thing to do. We even talk 
about it. In fact next winter I think I'll start my national 
campaign at Powder Valley. I could be famous, Mom. I could 
be on television speaking out in behalf of all these kids 
and think how proud you'd be of me. Me standing there with 
my sneakers soaked waving to the crowds." 
	The thought of soaked sneakers broke his reverie. He 
looked down. His new Nikes. His mother would have a 
chartreuse fit if he nuked his Nikes.  The beast was rising 
again. He could feel it stirring the deep waters in the 
continental rift just behind his belly button. His father 
had called him "Sneaker Soaker" before he sold out for the 
bicycle. He liked the name. Better than Chief Running Water 
Leaking Hose which his father had first adopted. His dad 
would never understand about peeing rights. He was a 
Republican. He would never go for the Good Nights. Potter 
spun and looked to the rear of the van where the groceries 
were piled. The Good Nights! That was it! 
	 He moved to the back seat and checked out the rear 
view mirror. His mother couldn't see him. Trevor was locked 
into X-Men. Good. He looked through the grocery bags till he 
found the blue package and opened it. He had to use his 
teeth. Successful on the third try, he pulled a pair of the 
underpants out of the package and looked at them. Cool! They 
felt like cloth. There was no plastic. Maybe it wasn't 
waterproof after all. But it had to be. He read the package. 
Yes, there was no doubt. He took off his sneakers and 
slipped his jeans and underpants to the floor. 
	 Blue to the back the directions said. He pulled the 
Goodnights up. Snugaroo! He would like to have modeled them 
the other passengers but put the thought out of his mind. 
There would be time. First things first. Quick as rabbit he 
pulled his underpants and jeans up, buttoned the button and 
zipped the zipper. Superman was no faster than this, he 
thought. And no one the wiser! "Look! Up in the tree! It's a 
bird! It's a plane! It's Sneaker Soaker!" He liked to climb 
the cherry tree behind the house when the beast nibbled at 
him. He'd lie on a branch and let it go. Once his father had 
been standing nearby. He made him go and change. That was 
the family policy. Get him dry as fast as he's wet and he'll 
give up on it eventually. He had seen through their puerile 
attempts at taming his wet and wildness. Then they had 
sneaked up on him with the bike.  
	 The beast from forty thousand fathoms made another mad 
dash to the surface and Potter felt Sammy the Sphincter give 
up the game! Quickly he stood up and held on to the back of 
Trevor's seat, pretending to look over his shoulder at the 
comic. There was a warm and wonderful rush between his legs. 
The Good Nights would never be able to handle it; of that he 
was sure. He waited for the familiar tickle on the inside of 
his legs but it didn't come. These things are truly amazing, 
he thought. 
	He decided right then to write a letter to the company. 
He could work for them. He could go around the country 
speaking at church suppers and political rallies in behalf 
of peeing rights. "Peeing Rights" didn't sound quite right. 
He could work on that. Maybe one of the big shots in the 
advertising department could help him. 
	 "These are awesome," he said aloud. 
	 "What?" Trevor said. 
	 "Nothing. I was thinking out loud." 
	 "No you weren't. You were talking about something." 
	 "I was reading your comic book." 
	 "Were not." 
	 "Was too." 
	 Trevor looked around the back of the van for a clue 
and spotted the opened package. 
	 "Hey, Mom." 
	 "You boys cut it out. I don't want to hear any more 
fighting." 
	 "But Potter opened the package." 
	"Potter, I've told you not to open things in the car. 
One cookie each and no more. 
	 "But Mom." 
	Trevor suddenly found a dollar bill in his mouth. The 
last of Potter's allowance. He took it out and smiled. 
	 Potter helped, as always, with the groceries and in 
that exercise extracted another Good-Night from the package. 
He held it up intending the impression that it was the first 
one out. "These things are for people even bigger than me," 
he said, showing his Mom. 
	"Yes, I guess they are." 
	 "That means that a lot of kids use them or they 
wouldn't sell them." 
	 "I guess it must. Don't put the bananas in the fridge. 
Here, Trevor, fold these bags and put them in the mud room." 
	 "So I'm not a freak." 
	 "You are certainly no freak, Potter." 
	 "Well, you act like I am." 
	 His mother stopped and put down the handful of notions 
she was about to take into the bathroom. She looked at her 
eldest son holding out the white offering and felt a sudden 
and unexpected remorse. She took it from him." 
	"There are larger ones than these as well," she said. 
"They were in the paper this week. There was a coupon. I 
didn't think to clip it." 
	 "Bigger than 65 lbs?," Potter asked, incredulous. This 
was simply more than his young heart could bear in one 
afternoon. 
	 "Yes, darling. Lots of boys and girls wet their beds. 
Some until they are in their teens." 
	 "And their pants too." Potter insisted. It wasn't an 
invitation for disagreement; it was an offer of 
rapprochement. Love me for what I am, it said, and she did 
love him for what he was. 
	 "You like to be wet, don't you, Potter?" 
	 "Will I get in trouble if I say yes?" 
	 "No." 
	 "Then, yes." 
	 She pulled him to her and hugged him. "And you tricked 
me into buying these, didn't you?" 
	 "Yes." 
	 "That's what gifted and talented really means," she 
said. 
	 "Huh?" 
	 "Your father isn't going to like this." 
	 "We don't have to tell him." 
	 "I'll work on it." 
	 "Mom?" 
	 "Yes, Potter." 
	 "I'm going to call up this company. I think they have 
done an important thing for kids like me and they deserve to 
be told so." 
	 "Well, I'm not sure that you could really do that. I 
mean, they don't actually have a phone for people to call 
in." 
	 "Yes they do. It's right here." He held up the 
package. "It's 800 so it won't cost anything." 
	 "Well, I guess if you want to." 
	 "I do, Mom. Thanks. I won't overdo this thing, Mom. 
Just cut me a little slack now and then, OK?" She smiled 
despite herself. 
	 "And if you want to take the bike back, I'll 
understand." 
	 "The bike?" 
	 "I got it for being dry." 
	 "Oh, yes." 
	 "So you can take it back." 
	 "I don't think we'll want to do that." 
	 "I really appreciate that. I mean a kid should be able 
to be a kid and still have a bicycle. Right?" 
	 "Right." 
	 Potter went to the phone by the refrigerator and 
dialed the number. 
	"Hello? Are you in charge of Good Nights? OK. Thanks." 
	He put his hand over the receiver and turned to his 
mother. 
	"They have a special person just for Good Nights. Oh. 
Hello? Are you in charge of Goodnights? My name is Potter 
Puddlesby. I'm ten and three quarters and I am a peeing 
rights activist. I wanted to say thanks from all the little 
and big kids in the country for....what? Puddlesby. P-U-D-D-
L-E-S-B-Y..... Potter. P-O-T-T-E-R. Of course that's my real 
name..... Charles Matthew. Charles for my mother's father 
and Matthew for my father's.... OK. ...They're transferring 
my call to someone else. They're not used to hearing kids 
talk about peeing rights, I think........Hello? Yes, just I 
wanted to say that I think Good-Nights are one of the best 
things that have happened to kids in a long 
time....What?...I'm brown haired. Well sort of Chestnut if 
you want to get very specific. I am about five feet. Well 
really about four feet eight and a half inches. I have blue 
eyes and I was voted cutest kid in the class last 
year....No, not by the boys, the girls. No, I have never 
been on television except at Christmas in the school 
pageant... Yes, of course I'm a bedwetter. No I haven't had 
a chance to yet because we just bought them but I'm going to 
try them out tonight....Yes....Yes.....I guess so.....I'd 
have to ask my parents... What is a screen test?"