Baby Cage

by Devon Shire

  “It’s more than a possibility.”

  “Do you think the contract is sufficient?” I asked. We had covered all of the major issues and reviewed it with several attorneys, but this new project would be so much more interesting than a simple renovation or conference. We had to make sure it was perfect.

  “I do.”

  “What about the nursery?”

  “It’s perfect.”

  I leaned back in my chair. We had spent a lot of time and effort on that particular room. And why not? It would be the home of some naughty child who would learn how to behave and obey. I grinned at the thought.

  “But there’s one other thing.”

  Seth grinned, “We could start scouting.”

  “Now?”

  “What are social networks for?”

  Seth moved over to the coffee table and sat down so he could look over my shoulder. I opened a new window on my laptop and typed in the web address. My computer always had me logged in. At the same time, Seth pulled out a list of students’ names with their email addresses.

  I typed in the first name and clicked the search icon. My computer loaded and a girl’s picture popped up with her public profile information. Nineteen and pretty, she had black hair, blue eyes, and adorable freckles. Sara Smith had a generic name and generically pretty features.

  “Nah,” I said. “I don’t thinks he’d fit our tastes.”

  “Too bland?”

  “Something like that.”

  I typed in the next name and another pretty girl came up. She had nearly white-blonde hair and bright blue eyes. In her profile picture, Mandy had on a big smile. “Oh no,” I said with a giggle and shake of my head.

  “Yeah, this one is too made up and fake.”

  “So why suggest her?” I asked with a glance over my shoulder.

  “I thought you’d enjoy teaching her how a good girl should look. You know, not like a total whore.” He grinned at me with a nearly feral gleam in his eyes. I loved that expression of his. It was a combination of perfect control and raw desire.

  “How about a different choice?”

  “Go for it,” he said with a nod.

  I typed in another name, another email address, and waited for the screen to load. This next girl came up, and I shook my head, “No. Not her.” Yes, she was cute like the others, and I smirked at the idea of seeing her crawling around, her little diapered butt wagging behind her, but I knew this girl. I also liked her and didn’t think she would do well with the sort of domination we had in mind.

  “Why not?”

  “Jenny is sweet, but she is also pretty submissive already. I want a challenge.”

  “Good,” he said, reached over, and gave my hand a little squeeze. “I feel the exact same way. I want someone who’ll start off resistant and defiant. We’re going to teach her how to behave.”

  I tried the next name. A new face came up. This time my grin matched his own, “What do you think?”

  “I think she’s my favorite off this list.”

  “She thinks she’s a lot smarter than she really is.”

  “Yup,” Seth agreed.

  “How do you think she’d look in diapers?”

  “Perfect,” he said and I couldn’t help but agree.

  Lena

  My advisor said I was crazy to take seven classes this semester. But then, he didn’t really know me. The other freshmen show up to college and go insane with privilege. They lived at home before college and had parents who told them to go to bed and behave. They fantasized about staying up all night and eating ice cream for breakfast. They imagined their lives as adults like preschoolers.

  So it’s really no wonder than I had little but derision for my fellow classmates. The guys wandered between their classes thinking about video games or the next time they could get hammered again. My female classmates weren’t much better. They worried about their boyfriends cheating or how to pick out the cutest sundress. Yes, I took my appearance seriously, and I thought I was cute enough, but I understood what it meant to be an adult.

  Unlike pretty much everyone at my school, I came from a foster family. Sure, the different people who took care of me after my parents’ accident were nice enough. I never suffered any abuse like the horror stories most people associate with foster care, but I didn’t get any close bonds either. Early on, I realized it would be up to me to ensure my future. With that revelation, I started to work, and I started to work hard.

  My efforts paid off pretty nicely. As I focused on homework and exams through high school, I started to get offers from fairly prestigious universities. In fact, I now ended up at college on a full ride. Academics were respected here, not that you could tell from my peers.

  They all loved to party or flirt or worry about the best way to break up with someone. As a scholarship student, I had to live on campus in the tiny dorm rooms, but that wouldn’t last forever. Then I wouldn’t have to pretend to respect my resident advisor, a girl named Angela. Sure, Angela tried to be nice, but she really wanted me to engage with my classmates. She said it was important to socialize, not that I really cared about anyone here.

  Those thoughts always swam through my head as I got ready for class. Ambition. That was my defining characteristic. Success was my drug, and I intended to get a lot of it before moving on to my next goals.

  It all seemed so easy until one very strange day. It would take me a while to put everything together. By then, it was too late.

  Hitching my backpack over one shoulder, I checked the time and headed for the lobby. The dorms were situated a couple hundred yards from the main portion of campus. To get to my next class, I had to make my way through the throngs of students to get to my first class of the day, Communications 102. It was a pretty straightforward course, an introduction to giving speeches and public communication. The course would have been extremely lame except for one thing.

  Seth Rowland posed some interesting questions. When I showed up on the first day, I expected a class of touchy-feely conversations about our inner light or how we were all equal and special. Nope. Seth made it very clear that he wanted excellence. He didn’t simply remind us to stand up straight, speak clearly, and enunciate. He gave us arguments and propositions. He made us stand up and defend and analyze whatever points he gave us. It was intriguing, exciting, and more than a little intimidating, even for someone like me.

  He also hated it whenever anyone was late. At our last meeting, he promised a special punishment for anyone who happened to be tardy. That’s why I rushed down the hall and back out for the cold.

  Before I made it out, I heard a girly voice call my name, “Lena? Hey! Lena! Do you have a second! I swear it’s super important!”

  Part of me wanted to continue. I could pretend I didn’t hear Angela. It wasn’t like she could prove I had intentionally ignored her. Reminding myself of how another big part of college life was networking, I stopped before my palms could push the glass doors open. I turned around and plastered a fake smile onto my face.

  “What is it?”

  Angela reached out and touched her hand to my shoulder. I resisted the urge to shrug her off as she said, “I just wanted to check in, see how you’re doing.”

  On some level, I understood that I should have been grateful. How many of the freshmen here missed home and simply longed for someone to talk to? But that wasn’t me, so I said in a very polite manner, “I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

  I would have turned back and left, but Angela’s grip stayed oddly firm. She wasn’t going to let me go so easily.

  “Come here. Let’s talk for a minute. Okay?”

  Saying no would have been like kicking a kitty, so I suppressed a sigh and let her lead me over to one of the cheap seats they kept in the dorm lobby.

  “What’s up?” I asked, hoping to speed this up. I didn’t have a watch on, but I could feel the seconds ticking by. I still had time, but the idea of being late made my skin crawl anyway. “Can I do something for you?
”

  “No, I just wanted to check in. Like I said, it’s important that you engage.”

  “I know.”

  “But I haven’t seen you at any of the mixers. Are you alright?” Angela cocked her head to one side. “Are you sure there’s nothing you’d like to talk about? Because I’m here for you. There are people here who care about you.” She spoke with such sincerity and dedication. I wanted to throw up a little.

  “I’m fine,” I insisted once more. “Seriously. But I need to get to class.”

  “Hang on a moment. There’s a movie tonight in the common room. Do you think you could come?”

  “What’s the movie?” I asked, scrambling for a reason not to watch. Maybe if it was rated R or something, I could say no on religious grounds. Again, I fought back the urge to just be honest and tell her I didn’t care about any of the college life stuff. It all seemed like such a waste of energy.

  Time was really against me now. I had allotted some extra time in case I got delayed, only Angela seemed determined to make sure I used it all up.

  “Look, I really need to get going…” I started.

  Angela ignored me. “You know, you’re a very smart and funny person. I’m sure you’d be able to add a lot to the community here. We can help one another.”

  Something about the way she talked reminded me of an over-eager kindergarten teacher. Exhaling through my nostrils, I focused on staying calm. “Thank you so much for that,” I said. “But I really need to go.”

  “Okay. Just think about movie night. We’d love to have you there!”

  By then, I was half way out the door. I waved back at her without turning around, heard the glass bounce shut, and trudged back through the winds. My strawberry blonde hair frizzed in the breeze, whipping around my face. Ignoring it, I rushed back through campus and was breathing heavily by the time I made it to Kaden Hall, the building which housed most of the general education classes.

  At a glance, I pulled out my phone and clicked on the time.

  Crap! I was two minutes late. Hopefully, my phone or the classroom’s clock would be off so Professor Rowland wouldn’t notice. His was the only class where I didn’t talk a lot. Unlike most teachers, he could recognize and had no problem calling out his students when they didn’t know the answer or couldn’t keep up with him. So far, I hadn’t been sure enough to take the chance.

  Head down, I scampered back down the hall. It was empty, all the doors shut. As I passed one room, then another, I heard the voices of professors as they started their lectures. Crap, crap, crap, I kept thinking to myself.

  I made it to the room, paused, and tried to steady my breath. My heart was pounding in my chest as I regretted ever being nice to Angela. She really, really didn’t deserve it, not if she was going to make me late for one of my favorite classes.

  After a second to regain my composure, I took a final gulp of air and forced my lungs to move more slowly now. I opened the door and stepped inside.

  Professor Rowland stopped talking. His eyes were on me. All of my classmates had their eyes aimed at me as well. I didn’t normally blush, but this time my body made an exception. Bright pink must have colored my cheeks. I felt the heat run through my skin, dancing in a storm of sensation as I tried to move as quickly and quietly as possible.

  “Lena,” said Professor Rowland, “you’re late.”

  “Sorry,” I said, mumbling. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t look up to meet his stare. The disappointment I might find there scared me too much.

  Few things managed to fluster me. Disappointment from one of my professors—one I respected, no less—definitely ranked up there on the list. I murmured another apology and quickly sat down.

  I kept my face down through the process of retrieving my things: pen, paper, binder, textbook. When I peeked up like a nervous little animal, I hoped Professor Rowland would have moved on.

  Nope. No luck there. He had his eyes on me. For an instant, I felt a flicker of something entirely different. Yes, the shame continued to pummel my insides, yet for an instant, I felt a flicker of desire. He was powerful and made me feel small and inexperienced, young and vulnerable. Those sensations should have turned me off. They should have embarrassed me further and made me want to smack him. But no, if anything, I felt a tick of arousal jump through my body.

  Professor Seth Rowland stood above me by nearly half a foot. While I’m pretty small and lithe, more like a pixie than an Amazon, Professor Rowland was thin but muscled. He reminded me of one of the more ninja-like super heroes. He had short, dark hair, a strong jaw, and burning brown eyes. Brown should have made them seem more average and plain. Not his. He stared out the world, calculating and discerning. I wanted to understand and learn from him.

  Right then, he wanted to teach me an entirely different lesson.

  “So Lena, tell us, why were you late?”

  “What?” I squeaked. A mouse could have sounded more confident.

  “You’ve been here for my mini-lectures on the importance of arriving on time. You’re all here to get jobs some day, and employers abhor tardiness. It makes you look bad in front of your colleagues, especially in situations where others might be depending on you. So again, Lena, tell us why you were late.”

  “I got into a conversation,” I said. I hated the answer. It made me sound like some girl who just wanted to socialize. I hated those girls. College was supposed to make you a better person, not a chance to perfect your keg stand. All of those rebuttals flashed behind my eyes, but I didn’t speak. I couldn’t find any good way to articulate those ideas, so instead, I bowed my head again and said timidly, “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you now?”

  I felt my insides get hot at his haughty note. Granted, as a teacher, he had pretty much every right to look down on me. I mean, I was so much younger and inexperienced. But there was something else. He talked to me like I was an actual child. He made me feel like a little girl who just spilled a glass of milk.

  “Yes. I’m sorry.” No one else could have made me feel so embarrassed, except for maybe Professor Kline, ironically enough, the teacher of my next class, Introduction to Psychology. “Please, I won’t let it happen again.”

  He watched me for a short while longer, though to me it seemed like an eternity. “Okay,” he said. “Talk to me after class. We’ll discuss your punishment.” With his decision lingering on the air and his words echoing in my head, Professor Rowland spun around and continued the discussion.

  He talked about the significance of symbols, both verbal and visual. He talked about how everything from clothing to brand names influenced consumers and citizens. As his paced back and forth and engaged the class in discussion, I tried to regain my sense of equilibrium.

  It took me a good twenty minutes for me to reestablish myself as the smartest girl in the class. Seth looked out at us and asked, “Can anyone think of a symbol for individualism and self-determination?” We had talked about what the Nike swoosh and McDonald’s arches represented, but this new question scared everyone else off.

  Tentatively but determined, I raised my hand.

  “Yes, Lena?” he asked with a nod.

  “The American flag.”

  “Not a bad idea. How is that a symbol?”

  “Well, you have the literal representation of the stars representing each state and the strips for the original colonies.”

  “Why would anyone care about those as symbols?”

  “I don’t think they would,” I said. My voice threatened to break into a nervous squeak again, but I closed my mouth, wetted my throat, and continued, “But we take it as something completely different now. The flag represents us. It represents who we are and who we want to be.”

  “But aren’t those all abstract concepts?”

  “They are,” I agreed. “But that’s why it’s so powerful. It’s like what you were saying about Nike. They say just do it, but they never tell us what we’re supposed to do. They don’t want to say so that their
fans can fill it in. The U.S. flag is exactly the same. I’m sure you have conservatives out there who’d say it’s one thing. Liberals might say something completely different. It’s a popular symbol because it has no built-in meaning.”

  “Very smart,” he said and continued the lecture.

  Since Professor Rowland sounded so impressed, I hoped he might have forgotten about my earlier infraction.

  No luck.

  I packed up my stuff, swung my backpack over one shoulder, kept my head down, tucked my hands into my pockets, and rushed for the exit with the rest of the herd. Professor Rowland was wiping off the white board when his voice rang out very clearly, “Lena, I don’t believe we finished our earlier conversation.”

  I froze, my knees locking up. Someone who had been trudging behind me must not have paid attention because he walked into me, jostled off, and continued on. With a slow exhalation of air, I reminded myself that being late wasn’t really a big deal. My chest rose and fell as I steadied my thoughts and prepared my defense.

  Rather than try to explain what happened again, I approached him slowly, held my hands over my stomach, and waited.

  “Tell me, what is the most important component of communication?”

  The class answer popped right out of my mouth, “Audience. You always have to consider who you’re trying to communicate with.”

  “Why’s that?” he leaned against the counter which faced the students’ desk. Crossing his arms, he looked interested and a bit condescending at the same time. His expression shouldn’t have affected me. Whether or not it should have didn’t matter though. Another tickle of nervousness started to work its way through my torso.

  Again, I gave the same answer he taught us, “The audience determines if you’re effective or not. Whenever you write or say something, it’s to communicate at the very least. But at other times, you talk to get the audience to do something. In both situations, the audience is the one you have to influence. They determine if you succeed.”