My Vignettes – The Crisis
Vignette: A short, usually descriptive literary sketch. A short scene or incident, as from a movie.
I scurried back into the office, still a few minutes left on my lunch hour, clutching my small shopping bag from Sears. Only a few blocks away, it was very convenient for those short errandstoday a few pairs of new panties for my 11-year-old daughter and some body notions for me. I punched the elevator button for a quick dash down to the basement employee level, intending to put the bag in my locker and have a quick visit to the Loo and then get back to work. As the door drew open and I stepped in, my eyes immediately fell on the only other occupanta colt-legged little darling about my daughter’s age tucked in the corner. It was obvious she was not having a good moment.
The door closed and I turned bending on my knees to her. “Are you OK sweetheart?”
Her face was in an awful scrunch and her eyes seemed glossy wet at the cornersnot quite tears, but some sort of distress. “II need to go real quick.”
I told her that was OK, that she should have gotten off when I got on, that we were going down to the Employee Only area but just go back up and she would be free to go; perhaps I thought she had lost track of her family and was afraid.
“Noooo II need to goyou know.”
Oh I laughed gently not to mock. I told her I misunderstood and explained there were public bathrooms just across the street. This did not satisfy her in the least.
“Please!” she pleaded. “It's startedand I’m not ready yet forthat!!.”
Oh I thought, understanding completely now what “that” meant. Well the public is not allowed down here I knew, but she was just a girl and the bathrooms are Unisex and individual. Imagining my own daughter will soon be in the same life stage I took her hand and told her, “I understand, I do; let’s go.”
Her little distressed face showed the first signs of relief. Her shoulders relaxed and she scurried out of the elevator with me, her other hand clutching over her little crotch like a 5 year old; fortunately none of my co-workers were in the lounge.
I lead her down the hall to the bathroom and let her in. Standing just outside the closed door I waited so I could escort her back out to the public area. All was quiet for a bit, then I heard the stressed whimper from inside.
“Oh ahhh, oh jeeps,” then soft sobs.
I knocked on the door. “It’s me sweetheart are you all right?” I asked.
A long "Noooooo" was the only reply. It didn't take much of an imagination for me to figure out what had happened; young or old we all have been there numerous times; it’s the nature of the curse caught unaware, often in it seems white pants to make matters worse.
“Honey let me in OK?” I asked.
After a soft “OK,” the door opened. Just a clutch of finger tips on the door and a forehead of tussled red hair and freckled nose appeared. She was standing there in obvious embarrassment and distress completely dressed but my eye caught the evidence of the problem in the wastebasketthe elastic-frilled waistband of a pair of light-blue panties peeking out from a little paper towel dotted with red smudges here and there.
I looked at her again on knees at eye level. “You ruined your undies didn't you honey?”
“Yessss,” came the reply, “and we are on vacation and the hotel’s not even near here andand”
I stopped her putting my finger tips on her little quivering lower lip. “It’s OK. Listen my daughter is about your age and size and” reaching into my bag I pulled out, of all things, powder-blue panties with a lace waistband. “Here sweetie,” handing them to her.
“But I couldn’t,” she said, “You bought those for your kid.”
“Honey,” I admonished her, “we are not talking Victoria Secret here,” making her laugh for the first timea wonderful tinkling bell-like laugh. “$8.95 for 3 pair at Sears, I think I can afford that for a cute little dumpling like you.” I pinched her nose between my thumb and forefinger giving it a motherly twist while she took hold of the twin blue panties along with a Light Days pad I had pulled from my purse. “It will be better than nothing till you can run out and get some better protection,” I advised.
Intending to leave to give her privacy I was surprised that she immediately began stepping into the little fresh pair, shucking up her little shift for a moment to reward me, unknowingly I’m sure, with another vignetteperhaps 10 seconds of smooth albeit reddish smeared bare pubis. Gingerly then cupping the winged pad to her little tender cubby, she raised her colt-like legs and once again returned to the dimpled angel she was. The relief on her little face was a priceless treasure, I thought as I escorted her back up to the public area unseen.
Then following a quick dash back to the bathroom, I took the soiled panties intending to better hide them in the bottom of the trash with more towels. Since the bathrooms are Unisex, I didn't want any of the fellas finding them and playing a guessing game among themselves which co-worker had the accident. Finally, I thought better, to just take them home and dispose of them there. I pulled them out, not really that bad, I thought compared to some things I’ve ruined, just one big red blotch. Could have been a Roreshock test, I thought as I put them in a Ziploc bag left over from my lunch and into my purse. But I have not thrown them away. Why? I don’t really know. I guess perhaps because this is the first, and perhaps only vignette souvenir I will ever be able to bring home from that other side of the Looking Glass.
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