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?"