All Her Own

The right child is hard to find. She knew. Everyone watches their children so close. Hovering mothers hold too tightly to the handles of clunky strollers. Fathers have taken to wearing their babies on their chests in pouches with too many buckles and straps. Taking what you want is almost impossible. She had done it before.

That day was like a dream. She had never felt as warm and delicious as when that baby looked into her eyes and smiled. Her coos and babbles were the sweetest sounds she had ever heard. But it turned to a nightmare too quick. She cried and cried. The screams scratched at the insides of her head like claws. She rocked her and sang to her, but it only made the thing shriek louder. Its face turned purple with rage. She knew why she had found it all alone.

So, she squeezed a little harder to cuddle it a little closer. The popping sounds were unexpected. The screaming was intense. She covered its face to stifle the noise. It was August. The windows were open. Her nosy neighbors might hear. That Mrs. Addison was the worst, always cupping her hands to look in. Calling for her, “Alice! Alice! Are you in there Alice?” Mrs. Addison smelled like cigarettes and scotch and complained about her dead husband and worthless sons.

The squirming stopped and all the tension dropped away. It was quiet again and the dream was back. This was what Alice wanted most - a sleeping baby in her arms. She rocked her and lay down with her to sleep. Mrs. Addison must have heard. The police came and took her baby away.

Alice wasn’t stupid. She knew what dead was. That kitten died in her arms, too. But she liked it best that way. It didn’t claw at her to get away. It stayed still and let her pet it as much as she wanted. Her mother tried to hide her disgust. Alice never got another kitten.

She leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes. They were tired and strained from hours of looking at stories on the internet. Research was hard work. It often lasted long into the night, and now she was sitting in the dark. The hospital taught her many things – squeezing too hard makes little things die, sometimes babies die anyway, newspapers always tell you where you can visit a baby who died and the internet makes finding what you want a lot easier.

Last year, a baby died when his father shook it too hard. The police took him away, too. His story on the internet said he went to jail. The story invited people to visit the baby before his mother buried him. She did. He was tiny and perfect with his eyes closed, not making a sound. His blue outfit matched his almost blue skin. She reached in the satin covered casket to hold him tight. Screaming women rushed her and pushed her away before she could have him. Two men gripped her arms too tight and walked her out the door.

That night she came back. The back door wasn’t hard to open. The large rock left nearby was an invitation to smash the window and reach right in. No alarms went off. No one came to make her go away. He wasn’t hard to find in the same box, left alone, waiting for her. He was lighter than she remembered a baby to be. She rocked him and played with him almost as long as she wanted. He was so quiet. She lay down and went to sleep with him by her side. The man who woke her in the morning was not happy to see her again. He took the baby away, yelling at her to stay right there. She ran and no one ran after her.

This time she had a plan to bring a baby home again. No one would come looking for this one. No one would take it away. The work was tiresome and dirty. Her face, arms and legs were streaked brown with mud made from her own sweat. She tossed the shovel and dropped to her hands and knees to. She used her hands to sweep away the last of the soil. At last! All her effort was about to pay off. She stood and straddled the creamy silver colored box. The lid gave way. She held her breath. It swung open with ease, revealing its treasure.

The bundle inside was swathed in a frilly gown of radiant satin and lace. She let out the breath she had been holding with a tiny squeal of delight. She realized her noise and lifted her head to look over the edge of the hole she had dug. No one came rushing to stop her.

She bent down to gather up her little one. Once in her arms, she surveyed her prize: ten tiny fingers, round head crowned with a dusting of silky hair and lost in tranquil sleep. Dark eyelashes like tiny feathers kissed her cheek as she took in her new baby’s scent. She was perfect!

She scrambled out the grave and made her way back home. She never thought to fill in the hole. She didn’t see the muddy footprints that trailed behind her. She finally had a baby of her own.