First Introduction to Tragedy
The day starts as all other days.
My mother kisses me and waves “good bye.”
She tells me: “ Behave yourself,” as if I am still little.
She gets into the car and drives away. I am watching her through the bars of the gate because I know, she is watching me too - in the rare view mirror.
My duty to my mother is done for the morning.
There is no time to waste; my family will be here soon.
I start preparations for the long day ahead.
First of all, I have to secure food for the breakfast before others take all the good things. I grab a basket and put a slice of cake in it. There has to be another slice somewhere, but I can’t find it. Somebody took it already. I take an apple, a good one, and I leave a cracked one in the box. I take three buns, one bun per person, and then I decide to take one more because men eat more than women. I find a knife, a spoon, and two colourful cups and three saucers. I need one more cup but it’s nowhere to be found. I grumble at myself for not hiding it from others yesterday, and, as the time is pressing, I start searching under the cupboard. At all times I keep the basket in my hands in fear of losing any of my prized possessions. I had lost my breakfast food to others before! When I locate a blue cup on the desk, I shove it in my basket and put the basket on the cupboard. It will be safe up there, as nobody discovered my hiding spot yet.
Also, I have to prepare a bath for Annie, she loves her bath more than anything, even more than reading books. I find a comb, a few colourful curlers, and a bar of soap. I start looking for a shower cap, but it’s gone. I’m walking about the room looking for it when I spot a white car parking in front of the gate. It is the car of Annie’s father. Annie gives him a quick kiss on the cheek and runs towards me. I catch her with my arms wide open and kiss her, and hug her. I tell her, that I missed her and she laughs. Annie doesn’t speak well yet because she is only two and she can’t explain that she missed me too, but I know it even without her telling me. I take her hand and lead her inside. Her father doesn’t have to bother to come in as he knows: from this moment on I will take care of Annie. He comes in anyway because it is a polite thing to do. He asks me how I am, puts a stack of Annie’s spare pants and nappies on the shelf, he waves good bye to everybody and leaves for work. I tell Annie that we have to find a shower cap before breakfast and she happily walks with me about the room, while I am checking everywhere. We can’t find it.
“I’m hungry,” Annie tells me with a smile. She is not really hungry, she pretends. I lead her to a table and help her to climb a chair. I choose a red chair, but Annie doesn’t like it for some reason, she wants a green one. I pull the green chair out and help Annie to sit down.
“We can’t start our breakfast yet,” I tell her, “but we can set the table. OK?”
Annie nods happily, and I get my basket from the top of the cupboard.
We set a breakfast for three: three saucers, three cups and the cutlery for the child. I put the cake, the bread and the apple on the table and then I share the bread between the three of us: one for me, one for Annie and two for Alex because men eat more than women. Annie grabs the cake and I don’t mind. My mother always leaves sweets for me. I give Annie the apple too because children need vitamins.
“I’m hungry!” Annie says again. This time she means it. She wants to start, but Alex still isn’t here. I look around in case I missed his arrival, but Alex definitely is not in the room.
I have to ask Miss Cathy.
“Miss Cathy, do you know when Alex comes in today?”
She smiles at me.
“Darling, Alex won’t be coming here again. Ever.”
I don’t understand.
“His parents bought a house in a different suburb. He will be going to a different kindergarten.”
My eyes are filling with tears, as I am trying to comprehend what had just happened.
“It is OK, darling,” Miss Cathy tells me softly, “you will find another friend to play with.”
I am looking at Annie sitting across the room and playing with the slice of cake. How am I going to tell her that from now on we will have to play a different game, “a single mum family?”
Pink Pram
I remember the important bits... The rest is kind of fuzzy.
I don’t remember when Alex disappeared. One day he simply dissolved in his cigarette smoke. I wasn’t bothered. His guitar and his splendid tattoo had lost a great portion of charm by then, and stumbling over empty beer bottles started becoming more than annoying.
What was important - I had Bo. Every morning I woke up to his kicks, not always quite polite: “Knock-knock! Good morning!” I was sure Bo was a girl. Every time I thought of Bo I imagined her with blue eyes and blond hair. I know, I know, it’s illogical: where could blue eyes come from if I and Alex both have brown eyes? I couldn’t help it, my vision of Bo was dead set.
I could have checked with the doctor, of course, most women do, but I suspected that my visit to a clinic would end up with the lectures about teenage mothers, parental responsibilities and Bo being aborted or taken from me. I had more important things to do, I had choices to make. My most favourite place in the whole world was our local “Baby World”. I spent hours touching the frills, pompons and laces, studying pants, and skirts, and dresses - all so small, so delicate and cute. I loved them all, or most of them. I remember every piece of clothing they had had on the racks that season. I guess, it classifies these memories as very important.
The most of all I loved a pink pram, the pram of all prams, a royal carriage for a little princess, or even better - her first Ferrari. It was completely impractical, with no basket for shopping, and it wasn’t foldable as all others, but it was so unbelievably stylish. It was a French design, shaped like a bullet, or better to say, like a spacecraft-cocoon of glossy pink with numbers 2000 on both sides. It had a black velvet interior and cover. I imagined Bo in pink laces glowing from the dark depth of the pram - it would be glorious! I was saving money for this Ferrari, and the shop owner promised to keep it for me.
Then... well, I don’t really remember how I got to the hospital. I think, somebody brought me in. My memory switched on in the hospital. They say I was in pain for a long time by then. I understood that Bo at some point decided to be born, but somewhere along the way he changed his mind. The waves of pain kept coming from time to time, I screamed and swore like mad, then the pain would become dull and I would become quiet. They told me that they have to induce my labour, as it was becoming too tiring and dangerous for both of us. They told me the epidural will be painful, but the labour pain will ease after that.
They say a lot of things, don’t they?
Then there was a moment when I hated Bo. This moment and the next I remember the most. The pain was so strong, that I shouted to him: “Will you come out at last?” and he did. Then we met, finally. He was so tiny and red, first I thought he had no skin at all. It was so transparent, I could see all the red and blue lines running under his skin. When they put him into my hands he clenched my finger with his miniature feast. His fingers were so long as if he was born to be a piano player, and his fingernails were long too. He opened his brown eyes and smiled at me. I know, I know, normally babies don’t smile, but Bo was special, he was artistic, he was born to be a musician like his father. He smiled.
Then they told me I have a sleep, and they made me sleep. When I woke up Bo was gone. They told me something about Bo’s heart condition, and long labour, they gave me a lot of papers written in gibberish. Eventually, they sent me home. As soon as I stepped across the threshold I was confronted by his things: baby bottles, nappies, toys. I could not stay there, I had to run away. I hid myself in the city, I sat in the parks and walked the streets. I did it for a long-long time. Every day I was leaving home early and going somewhere far. I was returning late at night and looked for my bed in the dark so his things would not see me.
First, it was very difficult to walk the streets and parks, because of the pain, and because of the mothers with prams. The city was infested with them. I saw them bending over the prams, cooing and smiling, and ran away from them until my course collided with another pram. They were out at 7 am, they still were out at 10pm. I could not help but observe all these mothers.
It took me some time to understand their secret. When I suspected the truth, I started to pay attention. How come I’ve never noticed before? They were different to the mothers with strollers. The babies in strollers were restless and vocal, they demanded food and attention, and the mothers were always busy: picking up spat dummies, getting the nappies out, wiping spilled drinks. Mothers with prams didn’t do such things. They bent over, but they took no one from the prams, nothing stirred inside, not a sound came from within. They read books and magazines in the parks even without looking at the prams. They took their lipsticks and notebooks from the bags instead of nappies. My heart which was suspended in a cold vacuum for so long found a firm ground.
I could breathe again. I wasn’t alone. I was ready to face Bo.
Next day I bought a pink pram.
It was a usual morning...
My baby always smiles in her sleep.
I’m sending a quick glance at the back, where Annie is strapped to her seat. Yesterday I had finally put the shades on the back windows so that the sun wouldn’t bother her anymore.
She had always loved car rides. Even when her colic started at the age of 6 or 7 weeks and she was crying non-stop for hours she would always calm down in the car so we used to drive her around in turns.
I am turning the radio up because she loves the background sound. The car is instantly filled with the urgent information which is supposed to help me to get through the day: “Avoid the traffic jam on the M3”, “Stay in the air-conditioned buildings as the temperatures would be record high for this months”, “Get ready for the shopping spree during the upcoming sales”, “Don’t forget to vote for the national idol”, “Grab the cheapest cruise to Fiji”. What is missing in this flood of information: how to avoid the stress of being late in the morning.
I curse myself for being late, I wish I’ve learned how to get up earlier and easier. The previous night was an exception, it couldn’t be helped, as the report was urgent and I needed to stay up late to complete it, but what about all the other mornings? Why did they have to be so stressful? What wouldn’t I have given for the right to sleep in and to stay at home with my baby?
It is funny, actually, that I am asking this question. Alex had brought it up once… OK, he hadn’t actually brought it up, but he had outlined the possibility of me staying at home. I hadn’t ventured into that direction, and the matter had been left as it was. The topic had never surfaced again. Would I have quit my job for my baby?
Well, no doubts, in some circumstances I would. I would have done it without thinking like that mother in the book “My Sister’s Keeper”. That mother was a solicitor who quit her job for her sick child, as I would have if my baby had been sick. Thank God, she was miraculously healthy. She wasn’t even spitting up as much as other babies, she pooped normally, she slept normally. She had mild fervors and coughs just a few times, but nothing truly serious. No ear infections, no stomach virus. Everybody says we were lucky.
Sh-sh-sh…sugar! It was this close! Now I really have to concentrate on the road! All the loonies who are running late just like myself! It was lucky that I had to turn left, what if I had been turning right? He would have hit me!
_________
It’s quite unreal, but I’m on time. I’m even having a minute for a sip of coffee, and I’m composed and professional when I enter the meeting room. I don’t even feel like falling asleep during the boring periods. Nonetheless, it is a relief to get back to my desk afterward. I’m feeling like closing my eyes for a few minutes. If only I was Japanese with their wonderful ‘sleeping stations’ where you sit inside, everything is dark around you, and you get a chance to float away for a quarter of an hour! But no, there is no such luxury for me. Our receptionist Penny is on her way to my desk with missed calls, urgent appointments and files to look at. At the end she is inquiring about Mike Dudley from Clark Consultants: he had left a message with a request to send him an information package, but the return phone number was muffled by some external noise.
I remember Mike; we had met last week. I have his business card somewhere. I’m diving into my handbag in search of the card, but by chance, I’m finding a pair of banana hair-elastics. I had forgotten to put them on Annie this morning, and she had been so peacefully asleep in the car that I had left it until I dropped her off, and then it was forgotten! How was she today with her hair all over her face? She hates her hair loose; it would have been so hot and sweaty! Had the teachers found something to keep her hair away from her face? The banana elastics had matched her tropical party dress. All the kids had been dressed in Hawaiian style today…
Finally, I’m handing Mike’s card to Penny. Then I’m pulling out my phone, I’m moving to the window and pressing the Contact button “Kindergarten”.
“How are you, Mrs. Anderson!” a cheerful voice is greeting me from four streets away. “Is Annie all right?”
“Don’t you know how she is?” I am confused.
“Oh!” the voice on the other end is also confused. “Was your husband meant to drop Annie in today? She isn’t here.”
From this window I can clearly see our sunlit parking lot and my car on it with the shades on the passenger's side.
...but I still don't understand...
