other, Presto! The first leg would be triumphantly waving somewhere near her left ear, having wiggled its way out again, and her golden haired child would lie there gurgling up at her with great mirth.
She lifted the onesie to her face and inhaled the scent of it. His smell had long gone, despite her best attempts to preserve it, and the cloth smelt slightly musty from being cooped up in a drawer, unworn. The thought of time moving on, a million dawns and dusks and births and deaths and changing of seasons, while these clothes stayed at a standstill, broke her heart, and her throat heaved up a sodden gulp.
“No,” she shook her head, swallowing it back down. “I can’t do this. I can’t think like that.” She left the room without a backward glance, pulling the door closed behind her. Those thoughts would lead her back into a dark place where she’d dwelled too long already; where madness was but one heartbeat away and thoughts of leaping off bridges came as often as breaths.
She showered, not bothering to blow-dry her hair, merely sweeping it up messily into a loose ponytail and securing it with a frayed elastic band. At her wardrobe she took great delight in thumbing her nose up at the horrible green and grey skirts and shirts, and pushing them to the side she selected a plain red t-shirt and a pair of white shorts. There were on the shorter side than what she deemed publicly acceptable, as she wasn’t terribly confident when it came to showing off so much of her legs – spidery veins from her pregnancy still marked her skin in places like roads on a city map – but she would be in the garden, she figured, and no one would see.
Downstairs the radio informed her – while she waited for the kettle to boil - that overnight another famous cricketer had been charged with match fixing and a rare baby panda had been born in a Chinese zoo. It had been christened Tai Shan, a name Anna thought had a pretty ring to it.
She stood in front of the kitchen window drinking her coffee and watching as the day spread itself out, streaks of vivid yellow, pink and orange staining the horizon. The dawn chorus was already out in force, and she turned the radio off and pushed open the window so she could admire their song while she washed her cup and bowl and set them on the big wide bench to air dry.
Things never took as long when there was just the one of you, she reflected. She remembered a time when she had bemoaned the unwelcome sight of a mess in her kitchen; a pile of dishes, food smeared across the bench and unidentified stains on the floorboards.
If only she’d known then how much she would one day long for that sight.
If she had known, she would have shrugged off the dishes, left them to be done ‘later.’ She would have sat at the bench and joined in the laughter as her husband attempted to feed their son and the mess itself was created.
But of course she didn’t know. No one had the ability to know what was coming. That was the whole pointless point. The knowledge that the world can be turned upside down in a moment was what kept her from sleeping, or subscribing to a magazine, or biting her tongue in waiting rooms instead of telling a man what an idiot he is. It kept her from becoming a fully functional paid up member of society again, not that this bothered her because it didn’t, not in the slightest. For Anna, life had become about getting through each day. She refused to plan any further ahead than that. Yes, she had made the decision not to wallow in the past anymore for fear of where that might lead her, but she was determined not to allow optimism to worm its way in either.
She existed.
It would have to be enough.
Dishes done, clothes and toys scattered, she opened the back door and was greeted by a loud chorus of QUACKS.
“Morning,” she said cheerfully. “Sleep well I trust?”
‘QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK’
“Now now,” she shushed them as she tipped the murky water from the
She lifted the onesie to her face and inhaled the scent of it. His smell had long gone, despite her best attempts to preserve it, and the cloth smelt slightly musty from being cooped up in a drawer, unworn. The thought of time moving on, a million dawns and dusks and births and deaths and changing of seasons, while these clothes stayed at a standstill, broke her heart, and her throat heaved up a sodden gulp.
“No,” she shook her head, swallowing it back down. “I can’t do this. I can’t think like that.” She left the room without a backward glance, pulling the door closed behind her. Those thoughts would lead her back into a dark place where she’d dwelled too long already; where madness was but one heartbeat away and thoughts of leaping off bridges came as often as breaths.
She showered, not bothering to blow-dry her hair, merely sweeping it up messily into a loose ponytail and securing it with a frayed elastic band. At her wardrobe she took great delight in thumbing her nose up at the horrible green and grey skirts and shirts, and pushing them to the side she selected a plain red t-shirt and a pair of white shorts. There were on the shorter side than what she deemed publicly acceptable, as she wasn’t terribly confident when it came to showing off so much of her legs – spidery veins from her pregnancy still marked her skin in places like roads on a city map – but she would be in the garden, she figured, and no one would see.
Downstairs the radio informed her – while she waited for the kettle to boil - that overnight another famous cricketer had been charged with match fixing and a rare baby panda had been born in a Chinese zoo. It had been christened Tai Shan, a name Anna thought had a pretty ring to it.
She stood in front of the kitchen window drinking her coffee and watching as the day spread itself out, streaks of vivid yellow, pink and orange staining the horizon. The dawn chorus was already out in force, and she turned the radio off and pushed open the window so she could admire their song while she washed her cup and bowl and set them on the big wide bench to air dry.
Things never took as long when there was just the one of you, she reflected. She remembered a time when she had bemoaned the unwelcome sight of a mess in her kitchen; a pile of dishes, food smeared across the bench and unidentified stains on the floorboards.
If only she’d known then how much she would one day long for that sight.
If she had known, she would have shrugged off the dishes, left them to be done ‘later.’ She would have sat at the bench and joined in the laughter as her husband attempted to feed their son and the mess itself was created.
But of course she didn’t know. No one had the ability to know what was coming. That was the whole pointless point. The knowledge that the world can be turned upside down in a moment was what kept her from sleeping, or subscribing to a magazine, or biting her tongue in waiting rooms instead of telling a man what an idiot he is. It kept her from becoming a fully functional paid up member of society again, not that this bothered her because it didn’t, not in the slightest. For Anna, life had become about getting through each day. She refused to plan any further ahead than that. Yes, she had made the decision not to wallow in the past anymore for fear of where that might lead her, but she was determined not to allow optimism to worm its way in either.
She existed.
It would have to be enough.
Dishes done, clothes and toys scattered, she opened the back door and was greeted by a loud chorus of QUACKS.
“Morning,” she said cheerfully. “Sleep well I trust?”
‘QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK’
“Now now,” she shushed them as she tipped the murky water from the
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