Patreon May Exclusive - "Conditioned" - Part 6

SIX

It’s a Sno Cone food truck day, which Brooke prefers. Churros are okay, but she always used to say, in her opinionated teenage years, that churros were just Mexican donuts in the wrong shape.

She doesn’t make that observation today. Partly because the churros truck isn’t here, and partly because it’s something that fifteen-year-old Brooke might say. And even though that’s exactly who Brooke is, it’s not who she’s pretending to be.

Holding her mother’s hand as they cross the street and enter the park. Begging to play on the swings, as if she can’t see that she’s too big for them. Her face lighting up at the sight of the sno cone truck. It’s all an act. It’s all theater, just as Stevie told her.

“Snowballs!” she yells. Thobawth!, she remembers to lisp.

Mom laughs and squeezes her hand. “Go tell the man what you want,” she says, and Brooke takes off, pigtails flying, as she races to be first in line.

In truth, she’s not hungry. But she will keep this up in front of her mother, this childish glee, innocent and ignorant. Until she can grab Mom’s phone and make sure she doesn’t try anything with the hypnotic music. Until Stevie reveals the crackling disc he tore from his pillowcase.

Imagine, the look on Mom’s face, when she understands that she’s been found out.

Then, Brooke decides, they can have a real conversation. About trust, about manipulation. She looks down at her outfit. About crimes against fashion.

Brooke flutters her fingers at the food truck guy and then makes a show of looking at the menu. She can actually read it now, thanks to her brother’s intervention, but the food truck guy, a good-looking man in his twenties who’s served this family before, knows exactly how to talk to this particular teenager.

“Hey, princess,” he says, with a condescending tone he must save for preschoolers, “having a good day?”

Brooke nods, practically jumping up and down. “Wanna sno cone, please.” Wanna tho cone, peeth.

The guy givers her a toothy smile. You want a sno cone.  From the Sno Cones food truck. No shit.

“With a scoop,” Brooke adds. Wiffa thoop.

It’s easy to fake, but it doesn’t feel good. Not now she has her memories back. Once Mom knows she’s beaten, Brooke will use her finest diction and her best words to tell Mom just what she thinks of her. Reprehensible. Abhorrent. Repugnant.

And then Brooke notices the music.

A tune so familiar, it sends shivers down her spine. Mom! She looks urgently behind her, expecting to be face to face with her mother. Mommy holding up her phone, playing the music that sends Brooke’s mind right back to the nursery.

No. Mom and Steve are still taking their time to get here. Close enough so Brooke can see that they’re talking, not close enough to hear. And when Brooke takes a breath, lowers her shoulders, she realizes that the music is coming from the truck. And it’s not the special music. It’s just something Handsome’s playing on his phone.

Brooke should ask what’s on his Spotify playlist. Wouldn’t that blow his mind?

“I bet I know what you want.” He gives her a toothy smile. “I can tell by your outfit!”

Brooke beams back, and then looks down at herself as if she can’t quite remember what’s she’s wearing. Which is a lie; she’s never been so conscious of her clothes. The light purple, short-sleeve tutu dress, with its sparkling skirt and the unicorn on the front. She wrinkles her nose, thinking of what her brother is wearing; shorts and a T-shirt with a smiling shark. Maybe not grown-up, exactly, but he can still get away with it. He could walk around, and no one would point, no one would assume that he’s ‘special’. Brooke is the one who is wearing a costume of idiocy every time they leave the house, as if Mom doesn’t want to leave a shred of doubt in people’s minds about her daughter’s condition.

It's not fair. It can’t be legal. And it’s about to end. She will hold her head up high, so she will wipe the patronizing smile off everyone’s faces.

But not quite yet.

Brooke giggles, puts a finger to her mouth, and she manages not to tell Handsome that she came 6th at regionals this year, that she’s got a chance to go to nationals and try out for the Olympic team. She doesn’t tell the food truck guy that she won’t be coming back to his truck after today, but that he can look forward to seeing her on TV in 2024 at the Paris Olympics.

Brooke doesn’t say any of that. Instead, she says, “I like unicorns.” Wike uniconth. And she’s glad that she won’t have to pretend like this for much longer. Because it’s worse now, worse to be pretending, even worse that it was before when she didn’t know any better. Because now, she can see how the guy is looking at her, with a mix of indulgence and pity.

You must be so handicapped, he must be thinking. I bet your poor mother can’t let you out of your sight. Jesus, what a shame.

For a moment, a flash of anger crosses Brooke’s face, as if the man had said those hateful words out loud.

And then Brooke remembers to smile. To keep up the act. “Unicorns are magic,” she offers.

The man manages a solemn nod. “They sure are.”

And just like that, Brooke likes the guy a little more. She looks back over her shoulder. There’s Mom and Stevie, around twenty yards off. They should hurry up and get here, so that Brooke can grab the phone, so Stevie can make the crackles. But instead, they’re standing and talking. Mom has her hands on her hips, and Steve is pointing at her. What’s he doing? Brooke strains to listen, but she can’t hear their words, mainly because the dumb sno cone guy has his music too loud.

No, that’s not nice. He’s not dumb, he’s handsome. Brooke bites her bottom lip, thinking how something like that can look flirtatious and infantile at the same time.

“So,” the guy says, hands resting on the serving window, “you want the unicorn, sweetie?”

Brooke doesn’t -  of course she does! - but actually she doesn’t. Because there’s something important about the unicorn cone, something that’s not right. Even though she’s wearing one on her dress, which everyone says is so cute, there’s something not-right about unicorns. Something babyish. Because really, Brooke is a big girl, she’s a gymnast. And she’s going to win a medal in France.

Of course, she won’t go to all the way to France on her own. Will she?

Brooke looks back again and is relieved to find that Stevie and Mom are just few yards away. She gives them her fluttery-finger wave and beams her sweet smile. Especially for Stevie, who has a funny look on his face, like maybe he got into trouble. Brooke casts her mind back; is it the spelling words? Did he flunk the test?

Mom doesn’t look upset. She smiles at Brooke, waves at her. “Did you tell the man what you wanted, honey?”

Oh yeah. The sno cone. And oh yeah, not the unicorn. Because unicorns are…well, unicorns are cute, like the one on her cute dress. But Brooke knows a secret about the sno cones. She calls to her mother, “Mommy, wanna dreamsicle!” Dweamthickle.

Mom laughs. “Of course you do!” She waves at her again, and Brooke sees that Mommy has her phone in one hand, and is holding onto Stevie with the other. And then they’re all together, and Brooke feels a tremendous sense of reassurance. She won’t have to go all the way to Paris on her own. Mommy and Daddy and Stevie will go with her.

Relaxing, Brooke points at what she will pretend looks like indecipherable scribbles on the menu – and in truth, the writing is kind of squiggly – and says, “Wanna stuffed.” She glances back at the menu and produces a sly smile. “Dreamsicle. ‘Cause you get more ice-cream.”

Handsome nods. “That’s right, the extra scoop!” And then he looks a little puzzled.

And Brooke blushes. Because she forgot to lisp. And she looks to Steve, who seems just as confused as she feels right now. Did he get in trouble? Brooke would like to ask.

The guy nods. “One Dreamsicle, coming up. And for you guys?” He looks past Brooke.

Just like that, Brooke notices the music. This time, it’s coming from Mommy’s phone; it’s a little hard to hear over Handsome’s tunes, but it’s there all the same. Of course it is. It’s their special song. Brooke smiles. It’s such a pretty song, and she hums the simple melody, swaying a little on her feet.

She sighs; what a happy girl she is! What a lucky girl, because she’s getting her sno cone and the sun is shining and she loves her pretty dress, and…

But she can’t help noticing the funny look on Steve’s face. Like he’s struggling with some difficult puzzle. Why doesn’t her brother look as happy as she feels?

Brooke should ask. She should be a good sister. She narrows her eyes; wasn’t she supposed to do something? Wasn’t she supposed to try and grab-

“Stevie wants strawberries and cream, don’t you honey.” Mommy swings Stevie’s hand back and forth.

Brooke watches as Stevie’s expression changes. From confusion to eagerness, his face clears and he nods his head. “Uh-huh! Mommy want strawberry and cream!” Except he doesn’t say it correctly. It sounds more like stoh-berry an keem. But Stevie doesn’t blush.

And as Brooke listens to the special music, she remembers.

It’s okay that Steve sounds like a really little boy, because that’s what he is.

The food truck guy gives them their sno cones – dreamsicle for Brooke, strawberries and cream for Stevie, and white mocha for Mommy. And then they go and sit on a bench. Brook and Stevie eat their sno cones messily, even though they’re very good children, because they can’t resist the sweet stickiness, and both of them soon have ice-cream and juices dripping down their chins.

Mommy laughs indulgently at her children, taking pictures with her phone. And then she calls Daddy.

“Just a little hiccup. We had a disconnect in his bedroom…in the speaker…well, yes, this is why I was tracking the history on his laptop.”

Brooke watches her mother talk on the phone. Mommy’s so pretty and smart, she takes care of everything. Brooke rests the empty sno cone cup on her lap and licks her sticky fingers. When she sees Stevie drop his cup on the ground and then suck on his fingers, she giggles. Her brother looks like a silly baby, and really, he’s only a year younger than she is.

“It’s okay,” Mommy says on the phone, “I turned it off remotely and then I had a good talk with Stevie.” She wipes her son’s mouth. “He won’t be needing a laptop anymore. Are you, sweetie.”

Brooke watches as her brother gazes innocently at Mommy, as if he didn’t even understand the question.

Brooke giggles. Her little brother is so cute!

And then it’s time to go home. Mommy cleans their hands and faces with Wet Wipes, and then they take the short walk back to the house.  She plays the song on her phone again, playing from her back pocket as she holds her children’s hands, and her sweet, innocent children sing along happily to the simple, perfect tune.

THE END

“A mother hypnotically conditions her kids to stay innocent. When her oldest son sees through the mirage, she takes extreme measures.” - DokoDokoNe