The three of us, Benjy watching from his car seat, the car packed with more baby gear than I ever could have imagined would be necessary, shuffled out last goodbyes. Seeing Rollie immersed in a cell phone call, I pulled Brenda to the side and whispered, “You’re sure now? Even if the job doesn’t pan out and Rollie heads off, this is what you want?’
I half imagined my stepdaughter, always one for drama, would throw back her head and cry out, “No, you can’t take Benjy, I’m his mother,” but instead she just shuffled her feet and said, “I can’t do it. I can’t be a mom. Now I understand how my mother felt.” Of course she couldn’t, standing there wiggling from foot to foot her eyes on Rollie, who winked back at her.
“I don’t want any changes.” I said, “No games like your mother did. I’m firm about that.”
“Sure Mother Kate, I’ll sign everything at the lawyer’s on Wednesday. When things settle down I’ll set up a regular day to visit Benjy: one day or one afternoon a week when I’ll come by if I’m in town.”
Rollie signaled me to come over to where he was stationed near the door. Holding his hand over the speaker, he sent a kiss and called out, “Thanks Mother Kate,” using a term I only suffer Brenda to use, and I was suddenly rocked by such a wave of rage that I feared I’d rip up the sidewalk on the way to blasting his smug mug.
Instead, I swallowed hard, turned, and climbed into the car. “Best if I don’t come by for a few days,” Brenda said, “Get him used to you and get me some much needed sleep.” Strapped safely into his car seat in the back, Benjy began to snivel.
I secured my seat belt, took a deep breath and backed out the lane, suddenly jarred alert by a speeding car, which veered to avoid me. I struggled to escape around the corner, my hands trembling on the wheel, and tried to control my breathing.
In the special mirror, I could see Benjy’s worried face. He was squeezing the blanket. “We’ll be home soon Benjy,” I called out.
Driving along streets that were so familiar I almost forgot where I was going, ‘what if’s’ began to attack me like a swarm of mosquitoes. What if Sally was right? What if I couldn’t do it? What if the baby didn’t settle in? What if the nanny changed her mind or turned out useless?
What if I fall when I’m carrying him down the front steps?
As always, tension squeezed my gut threatening a bout of diarrhea; my joints seized. I couldn’t avoid the wrinkled old face in the car mirror: no pancake makeup could hide those lines, the slightly caved in cheeks. Five more years and I’d have outlived my own mother.
From the back seat a small mewing sound, rising to a snuffle, and culminating in a wave of sobs. And in the front seat, tears that the baby was still too young to shed were coursing down my face as I joined the chorus: two bawling voices in an unjust world. I wiped my face with my blouse and sat up strong.
“It’s alright, Benjy we’ll be home soon,” I cried out in my cheerful voice, noticing that we were driving past the park where I’d taken the kids thirty years earlier. I stopped the car, noting the No Parking 3-6 sign. “Well it’s only 12:30 now,” I said to comfort us both.
By the time I opened the back car door, Benjy had worked himself up to a good howl. I untangled him, struggling to free the spindly arms out of the straps unharmed. I dug under the seat to find the soother, and plugged it back into his trembling mouth.
I wrapped the tiny body in his new blanket, awkwardly squeezing him to me as I struggled to lock the door; then headed across the park. A smiling dad was talking on his cell phone as he pushed his daughter on the swing.
“Well Benjy,” I said, “What have we got ourselves into?” His sobs seemed to subside and he stared at me. Or maybe not, maybe he couldn’t focus yet, but the movement and closeness had calmed him.
“I think we’ll see a lot of this park,” I said, cheerfully in my ‘it will all work out’ voice. “Little B and I will see a lot of this park.”
Of course, I might not see a lot of it for very many years, as Sally had so bluntly put it. I might not live to see Benjy in school, but what the hell, on the other hand I might live to one hundred and get a card from the Queen of England, who by then would surely be a King. I laughed. Benjy looked startled at the sound. I tried another sound, sort of a gurgle, which seemed to please him.
Who the Hell knew, I thought. Who knew? You could be walking along as healthy as a horse—and who said a horse was healthy—and a piano would fall on your head. So, I would have to be careful not to walk where there might be falling pianos. I started to laugh as I used to with Sally when we would lie on the beach and call to the clouds. Benjy just looked at me and sucked on his soother.
Or maybe I will live happily until I can find the next person to pass Benjy on to, like a precious baton that both runners (anxious and determined) do not want to drop in the race. Maybe I would live long enough so that he would remember how he was Number One to me.
I stared into those small troubled eyes, “How’s my Boy?” I cried lifting him up to the sky, “How’s my birthday boy,” and his mouth twitched as if uncertain whether to cry. I pulled him close to me gathering strength from his small fragile body… “My beautiful birthday boy.”
No comments yet.