Page 4 of Princess Josie
Josie is in a tight ball in the corner, her small arms wrapped around her knees. Her eyes go wide. The lighting is dim, but I can see her well enough. “There you are,” I declare, deciding to lower onto my side and prop my head on my palm. I’m hoping my position isn’t threatening to her. “It’s really loud and crowded out there, isn’t it?”
She nods slowly and then she cringes as if nodding caused her pain. She jerks one hand up to the back of her head and scratches her neck.
Now I know I’m right about her. “I bet that costume is itchy, huh?”
She nods again, assessing me. It’s adorable, and my heart melts. How have I never noticed Josie isn’t just introverted?
“Is there a tag at the back that’s tickling you, Little one?”
Her eyes go wider. Finally, she speaks. “How did you know?”
“My sister has sensory processing disorder. I recognize the signs.”
“She does?” Josie’s mouth falls open.
“Yep. All her life. I’m really good at recognizing and eliminating stressful triggers. Years of practice.” I’m reaching her. I’m so fucking happy. My smile is about to split my face.
“I should have tried the costume on at home,” she whispers.
I shrug. “It might have been fine if it were only the costume, but there are too many people here and the music is loud, and there’s a strobe light tonight in the main room.” I hope if I point out all the things I’m aware of, she’ll feel understood.
Another slow nod. “And my shoes are sticky,” she adds.
I smile again. I forgot that one. “That’s right.”
“I’m good at handling two or three things, but it got to be too many,” she says in a Little voice.
“Sometimes you can’t predict these things, Little one. Totally understandable. And you’re so smart to have crawled under the table. Are you feeling better?” She’s making eye contact, and I don’t see signs of her having an anxiety attack, so I’m betting the corner is helping.
“I don’t know.” She squirms, tugging on the Cinderella dress.
“Do you have something on underneath the pretty princess costume, Josie?”
She gasps. “You know my name?”
I smile. “You’ve been coming here for six months, Little one. I know who you are.” I ache to reach out and stroke her cheek or her arm, but I refrain. I don’t want to add to her triggers.
“Oh.” She tugs on the neckline again, wincing. “I have a shirt and shorts on under this. I thought they would keep it from feeling icky.”
“Do you think you could take the costume off, princess?”
When she gives me a slight smile, my chest tightens. “I’m not a princess,” she informs me.
I gasp dramatically. “Of course, you are. You don’t need a costume to prove it.”
“People will look at me funny if I take it off,” she murmurs.
“Nope. We’ll tell them you spilled punch on it,” I declare, rather proud of myself.
“I didn’t even drink the punch. I don’t like… it.”
I wonder what she was going to say, but I’ll have to find out later. “I didn’t like it either.” I make a gross face. “It was too sweet.”
She giggles. “You’re silly.”
And now my heart stops.
“You’re lying under the table,” she points out as if I don’t know this.