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The Parent

Kevin Statham

    I awake to muffled giggles and airy whispers of secret conversation. I know better than to go look - I know it’s insanity, but I walk down the hall and open the door anyway. Nothing. Just a well-made bed, taut, unslept on. When I wake up I will force-feed myself half a Pop-Tart. I don’t like them, but I still buy them out of habit. I cling to the little things - watching cartoons and going to the park. It’s like a warm breath of life in the middle of winter. The trees in the park reach leafless into the gray, but their trunks are enveloped by sputters of laughter and little stomping feet. Not the voices I am used to, but similar - similar enough to twist my brain into knots.
    I wait until she arrives, the one they used to play with. They were often confused as triplets, or at least sisters - three heads of bouncing blonde hair, and those little, feminine dresses. When no one is looking I will approach the one named Sally and speak for a little while, inching a little closer, snatching a small piece of her. Then I will walk home, alone, and read Dr. Seuss and brush the hair of Barbie dolls.
    Tonight I will dance with a blurred head full of Ecstasy, often forgetting where I am and smiling blindly at the faces that all look the same, and none familiar. The men will marvel at my long blond hair and child-bearing hips. I will pretend one of them is Jack, although Jack is caged away, not to emerge for years. He might as well be dead. I may go to a private party, and as I lay on my back I will think this may be the night that something begins to grow inside me again - but then I know I would lose it. Health and Rehabilitative Services would rob me, so I will just lay still and listen to the voices.
    Today, I watched her starting herself out on the swing. Little feet thrusting in the soft earth, slowly gaining momentum with each shove. I couldn’t help but think she needed someone to help her. I snapped pictures from a distance. My camera captured her perfectly in mid-air - frozen in stillness, waiting for my embrace. I had the photos developed in an hour, and placed the best one on the fireplace mantle. I lit two candles on either side of it.
——————
    I am flipping through my photo album, looking at pictures of my girls. In this one, Jessica is digging her hands into her second birthday cake. I wonder where they are. I wonder who takes care of them, who bakes cakes for them, who thinks they have the right to be their mother. If I listen hard, I can hear them whispering. There are no giggles. I do not think they are happy.
——————
    There are some candies left that I bought the girls before they were taken away. I dump a handful into my coat pocket and beeline towards the park. I cannot help but think the candies are like bait, designed to lure a small animal into trusting me.
    In the park she swings alone. I approach her. “Hi, Sally,” I say, and she says “Hi,” without stopping the to-and-fro motion. I hold out a piece of candy at arm’s length and she stretches out a hand, gently palming it as she floats by. She remembers me from recent visits, but she does not know I am the mother of the girls she used to play with. “I’m Nancy,” I tell her, and she shyly raises her head and says, “Nice to meet you.” I smile, and the corners of her mouth turn upward a little. That is enough - enough for today. She’s getting used to me. I pick up the cellophane wrapper she has dropped on the ground and crinkle it into my pocket.
    At home, I place the wrapper next to her picture on the mantle. The candles burn with life. I fill the cookie jar. It is the same jar Jack used to keep the marijuana in. It’s one of the first places the cops looked when they came to bust him. One cop smiled and said, “We found your goodies.” They took the pot, they took Jack, and the HRS agents took my children. They took me away too, they just don’t know it.
    I had to give up grad school after that, and now I take my clothes off for a living.
——————
    At the grocery store I spot a woman pushing a stroller. She pushes gently, carefully avoiding corners as she weaves through the store aisles. That baby is her prize, her life wrapped in tiny blankets. I imagine myself cradling it, its warm breath on my arms. It would not be hard to carry it away and make it my own. On aisle six, I grab a jar of Gerber’s and place it in my cart.
    At home, Sally’s picture gives me comfort. Everyone needs family portraits. I listen for the voices, but I cannot hear them - I do not think they are real. I know Sally is real, however. I read her picture a bedtime story, and I think it smiles a little.
——————
    At work, the same guy keeps slipping me money. Not the usual $1’s everyone else hands out, but fives. He can buy me for a little while. He is handsome and I think he would make a good father. I imagine him playing tea party with Sally. I wish Sally were something I could buy with his money.
——————

    I bought train tickets today - to New Orleans. There are clubs I can work in there. Maybe we’ll find an apartment with a swing-set, and we’ll be happy.

——————

    Sally is swinging in the park as usual. She is predictable - dependable. I tell her tomorrow is my birthday, and I don’t want to spend it alone. I invite her to come have cake and ice cream with me. I tell her something special awaits her, and not to tell anyone - It’s a big surprise. She says “Okay,” and I kiss her on the cheek and say, “See you tomorrow.”
    At home I pack the suitcases for New Orleans. One is stuffed full of toys.
——————
    I have just awakened to the voices. I can’t hear what they are saying, but they sound happier. Soon there will be a third.
——————
    In the morning, my hands tremble, and I cannot even force myself to eat a Pop-Tart. I stuff the bags in the car trunk and drive to the park.
    Sally smiles when she sees me. “Happy birthday,” she says. “Are you ready for your surprise?” I ask, and she says “Yeah.”
    I clasp her hand and coax her towards the future when Sally pulls a thin gold chain from her pocket. “Here,” she says, holding it out to me. “What’s this?” I ask.
    “It’s your birthday present. My mom gave it to me for Christmas.”
    I examine the delicate necklace. It is just like the one Jessica used to wear, the one I gave her, the one she was wearing the night they took her and Tabitha away. I think of that night. I remember reaching, grabbing on to fragile hands with my fingertips, straining, until the hold was broken. I remember Jessica clawing at her necklace. I remember the screams and the pressure so painful in my stomach that I puked. I remember my soul fleeing my raped body. I remember the emptiness.
    ...A present from Sally’s mother. Someone gives her gifts just like I used to give my daughters. For the first time, I realize someone prepares her breakfast every morning, dresses her, and probably works a crappy job, saving for Sally’s education. Sally is someone’s very reason for being. I cannot do this to another woman. I cannot rip away someone else’s soul.
    I stroke Sally’s silky blonde hair. She has the hair of Jessica and Tabitha..
     “Sally,” I say. “I’m very sorry, but I forgot I have an appointment. We won’t be having cake today.” I kiss her on the cheek. Sally say’s, “Okay,” and sprints back toward the swing-set, throwing distance between us with every stride.
    As I walk home a different way, abandoning the car, I spot a tanning salon with a help wanted sign in the window. It looks nice and warm inside.
——————
    It is past eleven, and I am sitting in the darkness. The candles have all burned out. I can hear the traffic outside. I strain my ears, listening harder, hoping for the voices.

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