Origin
D. Duplechain
She was made by accident. They brought her to their room. They didn’t have a crib so they used a drawer from the dresser, lined it with a towel. Babies don’t know any different, they reasoned.
She experimented with pounding her fists in the air. Everything was different now. Brighter, louder, she could see herself, taste her hands, sometimes her feet. She stared for hours at the sagging stain patterns above, finding more and more detail, wondering the significance. A big brightness came through the window. Trees, squirrels, sometimes a bird, light and shadow always at play. She knew these large faces, recognized their sounds, she reached for them. The soft one fed her and cooed like the birds outside. The other’s voice echoed deep inside her. Sometimes they swooped her up and colors and light spun around. Swirled. So much. Too much sometimes. The cooing one held her close, closer, complete. She wanted to travel back inside her, maybe through her eyes. The other one held her but never as close. Left a space of distress that made her cry. Sometimes the voices came loud from places she couldn’t see. She watched her fists as they pounded in the air. Everything moved so different now. She wanted to be over by the edge of the drawer, see the large faces, reach them. She needed them to move her. She experimented with sound. Calls to make them appear.
They’d been scared when they realized what they had done. They wanted to stop the baby. They wanted it to go away. The real doctor, the one they needed, was far away in another district. They would need money. They didn’t have that kind of money. They were only kids. She went to her mother and cried. Her mother cried with her. That kind of money they could only get from her father. The mother was afraid to ask, given everything, please not his anger, too. Time passed quickly. The kids heard about someone in town that could do it cheap. Secret, at night. The kids hadn’t seen the need to talk about God, regrets, their future. It seemed the right thing, the humane thing, and they gathered the money. The girl took the walk down the alley with the other kid close by. He had the money in his pocket. They stood outside the door and knocked. Inside, it was dark. They bumped a couch and the woman on it groaned. Her wide wild eyes shone in the dark. A dark stain seeped from her. She’s fine, the stranger said as he came forth. The kids pushed out the door, back into the alley. Given everything, it was this fear that decided for them.
Thrust into the world, screams, a splash, the cold. A separation from everything before.
Stone aged desperate to grapple in the dark back seat of a car they had willed forth their best invention. Now they had a room, a bed, could make love at a whim but they never did. The baby could not speak but she was asking them to change. Change everything. They felt trapped, not that there was anywhere to go. Sometimes they stood by the dresser drawer in their tiny rented room, the walls so close, and watched their baby’s incessant legs perform the survival stepping pattern ingrained in all human brainstems.
They daydreamed about their own escapes no matter how much they loved the smell of that baby.
The time slipped away, creating a kind of amnesia.
The baby knew she had been somewhere before this drawer and before that and even before that. But despite the shortness of her life she could not reach back. Was she a new version of a bird like those out the window? Had she barely escaped one collapsing world to land in another? Had she chosen the large faces or had they chosen her? She could only see what was in front of her. The stained pattern above, the fluffy stars falling outside the window. The sides of the drawer too close. She wanted to crawl up and out like the vision she had of herself. She made her perfect sounds that meant swoop her up, hold her close. She made her perfect sounds well into the night. When the cooing one did not come she experimented with screaming into the places she could not see. She took in all the air her lungs could hold.
She experimented with pounding her fists in the air. Everything was different now. Brighter, louder, she could see herself, taste her hands, sometimes her feet. She stared for hours at the sagging stain patterns above, finding more and more detail, wondering the significance. A big brightness came through the window. Trees, squirrels, sometimes a bird, light and shadow always at play. She knew these large faces, recognized their sounds, she reached for them. The soft one fed her and cooed like the birds outside. The other’s voice echoed deep inside her. Sometimes they swooped her up and colors and light spun around. Swirled. So much. Too much sometimes. The cooing one held her close, closer, complete. She wanted to travel back inside her, maybe through her eyes. The other one held her but never as close. Left a space of distress that made her cry. Sometimes the voices came loud from places she couldn’t see. She watched her fists as they pounded in the air. Everything moved so different now. She wanted to be over by the edge of the drawer, see the large faces, reach them. She needed them to move her. She experimented with sound. Calls to make them appear.
They’d been scared when they realized what they had done. They wanted to stop the baby. They wanted it to go away. The real doctor, the one they needed, was far away in another district. They would need money. They didn’t have that kind of money. They were only kids. She went to her mother and cried. Her mother cried with her. That kind of money they could only get from her father. The mother was afraid to ask, given everything, please not his anger, too. Time passed quickly. The kids heard about someone in town that could do it cheap. Secret, at night. The kids hadn’t seen the need to talk about God, regrets, their future. It seemed the right thing, the humane thing, and they gathered the money. The girl took the walk down the alley with the other kid close by. He had the money in his pocket. They stood outside the door and knocked. Inside, it was dark. They bumped a couch and the woman on it groaned. Her wide wild eyes shone in the dark. A dark stain seeped from her. She’s fine, the stranger said as he came forth. The kids pushed out the door, back into the alley. Given everything, it was this fear that decided for them.
Thrust into the world, screams, a splash, the cold. A separation from everything before.
Stone aged desperate to grapple in the dark back seat of a car they had willed forth their best invention. Now they had a room, a bed, could make love at a whim but they never did. The baby could not speak but she was asking them to change. Change everything. They felt trapped, not that there was anywhere to go. Sometimes they stood by the dresser drawer in their tiny rented room, the walls so close, and watched their baby’s incessant legs perform the survival stepping pattern ingrained in all human brainstems.
They daydreamed about their own escapes no matter how much they loved the smell of that baby.
The time slipped away, creating a kind of amnesia.
The baby knew she had been somewhere before this drawer and before that and even before that. But despite the shortness of her life she could not reach back. Was she a new version of a bird like those out the window? Had she barely escaped one collapsing world to land in another? Had she chosen the large faces or had they chosen her? She could only see what was in front of her. The stained pattern above, the fluffy stars falling outside the window. The sides of the drawer too close. She wanted to crawl up and out like the vision she had of herself. She made her perfect sounds that meant swoop her up, hold her close. She made her perfect sounds well into the night. When the cooing one did not come she experimented with screaming into the places she could not see. She took in all the air her lungs could hold.
