Walsh Family Universe V2

Chapter 22
Simple Pleasures

Patrick's vacation week ended, but something had shifted. Monday morning he came downstairs in his suit again, ready for work, but he detoured to the living room where Ash was already at his table with coloring books.

"Come here, buddy," Patrick said, holding out his arms.

Ash looked up warily. "Why?"

"Because I want to say goodbye before I leave."

Slowly, Ash walked over. Patrick scooped him up—effortless, given Ash's toddler weight—and lifted him high in the air, arms extended.

Ash's stomach dropped. The height was disorienting, thrilling in a way that his adult brain wanted to reject but his toddler body responded to with a spike of something almost like excitement.

"There we go! Up high!" Patrick brought him down, then up again. "You're flying!"

Despite himself, despite everything, Ash felt his lips quirk. Not quite a smile, but close. The motion was fun—his body releasing endorphins in response to the play, to the safe thrill of being tossed in the air by strong adult hands.

Patrick lowered him, held him close for a moment. "Be good for Mommy today. I'll see you tonight."

He set Ash down, ruffled his short hair, and headed out the door.

Ash stood there, disoriented. His heart was still racing from being thrown in the air. His body felt energized in a way that had nothing to do with cooperation or compliance.

It had felt... fun.

He hated that it had felt fun.

Shannon appeared in the doorway, smiling. "Daddy loves playing with you like that. You should see your face—you almost smiled!"

Ash turned back to his table without responding. Picked up his crayon and focused very hard on coloring a cartoon fish.

But the feeling lingered. The brief moment of physical joy that his body had experienced despite his mind's protests.

Tuesday morning brought another change. Ash woke up grouchy—still wet, still in a crib, still trapped in this nightmare existence. When Shannon came in with her cheerful greeting, he turned away.

"Someone's in a mood this morning," Shannon observed, lowering the crib rail. "Come on, grumpy boy. Let's get you changed."

Ash let himself be carried to the changing table but didn't cooperate—kept his legs stiff, turned his head away, made small grunts of displeasure.

"What's wrong, honey? Bad dreams?"

"Nothing's wrong. Everything's perfect." The sarcasm was thick.

Shannon finished the diaper change and set him on his feet. But instead of leading him downstairs, she crouched down, fingers wiggling.

"I think someone needs to cheer up," she said, voice playful.

Before Ash could react, her hands found his sides. Tickled.

Ash gasped, jerked away—but Shannon followed, fingers dancing along his ribs, his stomach, his sides.

And despite himself, despite his grouchy mood and his determination to stay miserable, he laughed.

Actually laughed. A startled giggle that turned into helpless laughter as Shannon's fingers found all the spots that made his toddler body react.

"There it is! There's my happy boy!" Shannon laughed too, continuing the tickle assault. "I knew you were in there somewhere!"

"Stop—stop—" Ash gasped between giggles, squirming but not really trying to escape.

Shannon relented after another few seconds, pulling him into a hug instead. "See? You can smile. The world's not so bad."

Ash's face was hot with embarrassment. He'd laughed. Had actually laughed, had felt genuine joy for those few seconds of tickling. His body's response completely overriding his mental resistance.

"Let's go get some breakfast," Shannon said, carrying him downstairs. "I think someone needs some extra cheerful energy this morning."

At breakfast, Shannon set out his oatmeal but also produced a small dish with two chocolate chips.

"For after you finish your breakfast," she said. "A little treat for my grumpy boy who needs cheering up."

Chocolate chips. Tiny, insignificant things. But Ash hadn't had chocolate in weeks—not since the gummy bears from the grocery store trip.

He ate his oatmeal faster than usual. When he was done, Shannon gave him the chocolate chips one at a time, letting him savor them.

They were sweet. Rich. Melting on his tongue in a way that made his whole body relax with simple pleasure.

"Good?" Shannon asked, smiling.

"Yeah."

"If you're a good boy today, maybe you can have a few more after lunch."

A reward system. Behavior modification through positive reinforcement instead of just consequences for bad behavior.

But God, the chocolate had tasted good.

That evening, Patrick came home and immediately swept Ash up again. This time he held him at chest level and spun in a circle, Ash's body flying outward from the momentum.

"Wheee!" Patrick made airplane noises. "Captain Noam coming in for landing!"

Ash's stomach flipped with the motion. His hands clutched Patrick's shirt reflexively. And that same feeling came back—the physical thrill, the rush of endorphins, the simple joy of play.

Patrick set him down gently, laughing. "You like that, huh? We'll do it again after dinner."

Dinner included another treat—a small cookie after Ash finished his vegetables. "For being such a good boy today," Shannon explained. "You didn't fuss during potty time, you colored nicely, and you were polite to Mommy all afternoon."

The cookie was soft and sweet, with chocolate chips inside. Ash ate it slowly, making it last.

After dinner, Patrick made good on his promise. More spinning, more throwing in the air, more play that made Ash's body respond with involuntary joy.

"Look at him!" Shannon called from the couch. "He's almost smiling again!"

Ash wasn't smiling. He was very carefully not smiling. But his face felt different—less tense, less grimly determined to be miserable.

Bath time that night included a small rubber duck that squeaked when squeezed. Shannon handed it to him.

"I thought you might like a bath toy. Most little boys like duckies."

Ash held the duck. Squeezed it. It made a ridiculous squeaking sound.

He squeezed it again.

Shannon laughed. "You like that! Here, make it swim."

Despite himself, Ash moved the duck through the bathwater. Made it dive and surface. Squeezed it again for the squeak.

It was stupid. Childish. Exactly the kind of simple entertainment designed for toddlers.

But it wasn't awful. And after a day of being tickled and getting chocolate and being thrown in the air—after a day of his body experiencing simple physical pleasures—Ash didn't have the energy to hate the rubber duck.

Wednesday brought more of the same. Patrick's morning goodbye included being lifted high, then brought down for a hug. "Be good, buddy. Love you."

The words were automatic, parental routine. But they were said with warmth. With genuine affection for the child Patrick believed Ash to be.

Mid-morning, when Ash was particularly focused on a coloring page, Shannon appeared with a small piece of candy. "For coloring so nicely! Look how you stayed inside the lines."

The candy was a fruit chew, sweet and tangy. Gone in seconds but leaving a pleasant taste.

Lunch came with another promise. "If you try really hard during potty time, we can go outside and play afterward. Maybe Daddy will come home early and play with you too."

The potty session after lunch was the same frustrating ritual—Ash trying but his body refusing to perform on command. But Shannon praised the effort and carried him outside as promised.

They played in the sandbox together. Shannon helped him build a more elaborate castle than he could manage alone—showing him how to pack the sand tighter, how to use the molds to make towers.

It was collaborative. Almost... nice.

Patrick did come home early, around 3:00. He changed out of his suit and came straight to the backyard.

"Hey buddy! Daddy's here!" He scooped Ash up and spun him around again. "Want to try the slide with me?"

Before Ash could answer, Patrick carried him to the play structure. Sat on the slide with Ash in his lap. "Ready? Here we go!"

They slid down together, Patrick's arms secure around Ash's middle. The motion was faster with adult weight, more thrilling. Ash gasped.

"Again?" Patrick asked, grinning.

They went down three more times. Each time, Ash felt that spike of physical joy—the whoosh in his stomach, the rush of air, the safe thrill of being held while moving fast.

"You love that!" Patrick said, setting him down. "I can tell."

Ash didn't confirm or deny. Just stood there, slightly breathless, his body humming with the pleasant aftermath of play.

That night, Shannon produced another surprise at snack time—a small juice box. The kind with cartoon characters on it, sickeningly sweet, the kind of thing kids begged for at grocery stores.

"Special treat," she said. "Because you've been so good lately. Trying during potty time, cooperating with your routines, being a sweet boy."

The juice was too sweet, artificial fruit flavor. But it was different. Novel. And after weeks of only water or milk or watered-down juice, the concentrated sweetness was almost exciting.

"Thank you," Ash said automatically.

"You're welcome, baby." Shannon kissed his head. "You're such a good boy."

Thursday brought a new play routine. After breakfast, Patrick—who'd apparently arranged to work from home that day—set up a game in the living room.

"We're going to play hide and seek!" he announced. "You hide, I'll count. When I find you, I'll tickle you!"

Before Ash could protest, Patrick covered his eyes and started counting. "One... two... three..."

Ash stood frozen. This was stupid. He wasn't playing hide and seek like an actual—

"Seven... eight... nine..."

His feet moved automatically. Carried him to the couch. He ducked behind it, crouching in the small space.

"Ten! Ready or not, here I come!"

Ash heard Patrick's footsteps. Exaggerated, loud, like he was trying to be heard. "Where could he be? Is he in the kitchen? No... Is he behind the chair? No..."

Despite himself, Ash felt his heart rate increase. A thrill of anticipation. The game triggering something in his brain—some primitive response to play, to the chase, to hiding and being found.

"I wonder if he's behind the couch..."

Patrick pounced. Found him. Scooped him up with a triumphant "Got you!" and delivered the threatened tickle attack.

Ash laughed. Helplessly, genuinely laughed, squirming in Patrick's arms while fingers found his ribs and stomach.

"Again!" Patrick declared, setting him down. "This time I'll hide!"

They played for twenty minutes. Taking turns hiding and seeking. Patrick making exaggerated shows of searching. Ash actually trying to find good hiding spots.

Playing. Actually playing. Like this was fun instead of forced, enjoyable instead of endured.

Shannon appeared with a camera at one point. "This is so sweet! Let me get a picture."

The flash went off. Captured Ash mid-laugh as Patrick tickled him after finding him behind the curtains.

Evidence for the scrapbook, probably. Proof that Noam was happy and well-adjusted and thriving in their care.

But in the moment, Ash wasn't thinking about that. He was just breathing hard from running and laughing, his body warm with exercise and play, feeling something dangerously close to enjoyment.

That afternoon's snack included a lollipop. Small, bright red, cherry flavored. Shannon unwrapped it and handed it over.

"For being such a good sport during playtime. You and Daddy had so much fun!"

The lollipop lasted a long time. Sweet and sticky and satisfying in a simple, uncomplicated way. Ash sat at his table with it, coloring one-handed, the lollipop a constant pleasant presence.

By Friday, the pattern was established. Morning tosses in the air from Patrick. Tickles when Ash got grouchy. Small treats throughout the day for good behavior—chocolate chips, fruit chews, juice boxes, cookies.

Play that made his body release endorphins and feel genuine physical pleasure. Hide and seek. Spinning. Sliding together. Bath time with the squeaky duck.

Simple things. Toddler things. Things designed to make a small child happy.

And Ash's body was responding. Laughing when tickled. Anticipating the morning toss. Looking forward to treats. Enjoying the physical play.

His mind knew what was happening. Knew this was conditioning—reward-based behavior modification, positive reinforcement, creating pleasant associations with compliance and good behavior.

Creating a feedback loop where being "good" resulted in enjoyable experiences. Where cooperation brought joy. Where submission was rewarded with simple pleasures.

But knowing it didn't stop his body from responding.

Didn't stop the laugh when Shannon's fingers found his ticklish spots.

Didn't stop the anticipation when Patrick reached for him in the morning.

Didn't stop the pleasure of chocolate melting on his tongue or the thrill of sliding down fast or the satisfaction of finding a good hiding spot.

His brain could recognize the manipulation. His body didn't care. It just felt good. Simple, uncomplicated, physical good.

That Friday night, after a day of play and treats and laughter, Ash lay in the crib thinking about his week.

He'd laughed. Multiple times. Real, genuine laughter.

He'd played hide and seek. Had actually tried to find good hiding spots, had felt the thrill of being found and tickled.

He'd looked forward to morning tosses and afternoon treats.

Had felt something uncomfortably close to happiness.

Not acceptance. Not surrender. Not belief that this was okay or right.

But happiness. Physical, bodily, chemical happiness that his brain produced in response to play and sweetness and physical affection.

"My name is Ash," he whispered to the dark. "I'm twenty-four years old."

But he'd laughed today when Patrick tickled him. Had played hide and seek with genuine engagement. Had eaten a lollipop and felt simple pleasure.

Had responded like a toddler to toddler pleasures.

Because his body was a toddler body. With toddler responses. Toddler endorphins. Toddler capacity for simple joy.

And they were systematically exploiting that.

Not through punishment—though that remained in the background, always available for serious infractions.

But through reward. Through pleasure. Through making compliance feel good and cooperation bring joy.

Through teaching his body to associate being Noam with happiness.

With treats and play and laughter and affection.

Until one day—maybe not soon, but eventually—his body would crave those pleasures enough that being "good" would become automatic. Not strategic, not calculated, but genuine.

Because being good brought tosses in the air and chocolate and games and tickles.

And those things felt good.

Really, genuinely, physically good.

Five thousand seven hundred and seventy-nine days to go.

But tonight, Ash's body was still humming with the pleasant exhaustion of play. His stomach was satisfied from treats. His face hurt slightly from smiling and laughing.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice whispered: tomorrow Patrick will toss me in the air again. Tomorrow there might be chocolate. Tomorrow might include another game of hide and seek.

Tomorrow might include more of those simple pleasures.

And despite everything, despite his resistance and his rage and his determination to never accept this—

That thought made something in his chest feel almost light.

Almost hopeful.

Almost like looking forward to something.

He closed his eyes.

And dreamed of flying through the air in Patrick's safe hands.

Of chocolate melting on his tongue.

Of hiding behind the couch and feeling the thrill of being found.

Simple pleasures.

Toddler pleasures.

Dangerous, seductive pleasures that made compliance feel like happiness.

And Ash was starting to understand that this might be the most effective weapon they had.

Not punishment.

But joy.