Showing posts with label babies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label babies. Show all posts

Saturday, October 10, 2009

The Baby Tree, part 5


The Baby Tree
continued...

Nervous and amped up, Elizabeth paces checking out the window at intervals. Light shifts slowly, imperceptibly to blue.  She picks up the fallen magazine replacing it on the table. As she turns away, it is roughly pushed off the table again, a chest-rattling boom, boom, boom is heard in the attic and the cradle moving of its own accord scrapes right up to her in a threatening approach like a dog. She gasps and freezes. There is a soft knock at the door. Elizabeth carefully goes to the door and begins to open it peeking through the crack.

ELIZABETH

Ohhhhh.  Miss Louise told me about you, Fiona. Your babies…yes I understand. Charlotte, Abigail, and George? There are three? In the tree? Oh that’s where they are. (She sings) Rock a bye baby in the tree tops, when the wind blows…. Of course. You finally found them. Show me…

(As she tries to open the door wider to join the shadow woman, the door is abruptly pushed shut from behind her wrenching it from her hand. Lights flicker and dim. Elizabeth is then flung to the couch by invisible hands and she scoots across to get away.) Leave me alone! You have no control over this house. You are dead. And I am not afraid of you. (Items shake, scrape and scoot around while a low wail is heard phasing through the house. Elizabeth, trying to go out the door is caught in an invisible pair of hands, pulled backward and appears to be choking as though being strangled. Enter Louise flinging the front door open with a bang! She is holding a blue faded mildewed cloth bundle. )

MISS LOUISE

That’s ENOUGH!   (All unnatural activity stops. Elizabeth is gasping and holding her throat.  Lights brighten slightly. She is followed by a somber Kevin holding the shreds of two small pink weather-worn cloth bundles tenderly in his hands. He goes to Elizabeth who is gasping for air.)

KEVIN

Beth. The babies. Fiona’s babies were wedged in a hollow in the tree. When I cut the branches, their…bones…fell out. Here they are… (Elizabeth cradles them and weeps)

MISS LOUISE

(Looking up and around addressing the spirit) This doctor boy is right, I am sorry to say. We shoulda stopped you then. I’m stopping you NOW. John Wilson McCarthy, Fiona’s babies are coming in out of the cold and this here mama is going to love them, along with her own, to make up for you’re a killin’ ‘em. Fiona, darlin’, I am sorry. Rest now. (She pauses, takes a shuddering breath and wails in grief)  And I want my Georgie back. You had no right to put yourself on me after Fiona died, that was evil, but you’ll roast in hell for taking my baby Georgie from me and putting him with the others up high in the hollow in the apple tree. I could hear him cryin’ on the wind like he were flyin’ and couldn’t find himI've walked by that tree hundreds of times...(She wipes her nose on her sleeve and pulls what's left back together of her emotions.)  Say you’re sorry to St. Peter, Uncle John, and maybe save your soul, but go out of here! This is a house of life now. (Deflated)  As for my sorry self, I’m standing here in front of God ‘n everone with the bones of my baby boy in my hands, askin’ for forgiveness. I need forgiveness.  Georgie!

Light goes white and bright and the sound of pipes bursting throughout the house is heard. There’s a lot of water running. Then in cadence, the sound of several doors slamming and a wind blowing through and out. Lights return to natural. Kevin runs to the “main” water cut off and twists it shut.

ELIZABETH

My water broke.
KEVIN

(In a new father flurry of unnecessary kinetic activity-) It’s time? It’s TIME. Let’s get to the car. County is only 30 minutes away so we’ll make it.  (They go to the door where her maternity bag is packed and ready. Kevin, grabbing his physician’s bag and supporting his wife, turns to Miss Louise who is holding Georgie’s remains tenderly)

KEVIN

Miss Louise…

MISS LOUISE

You go on now. Clock’s tickin.’ I’ll be here when you get back. Things need straightening up and it was my damn Uncle John what went through here like Grant went through Richmond. You like vegetable soup and bread? It’ll be waiting…And boy? I’m pleased to have met you and Elizabeth here…

KEVIN

You know Miss Louise, I can't say what really happened here but as a man of science, I am sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation…

ELIZABETH

(Putting her finger to his lips to shut him up she says warmly through a labor pain) Likewise Miss Louise. Likewise.

They go. A car starts and gravel spins.  Ms. Louise turns from the closed door and gently lays her son’s remains in the cradle. She gathers the pink bundles as well and lays them in carefully with her boy. She vigorously wipes her tears away and sniffs.

MISS LOUISE

You’ve been together for so long, be a shame to separate you now. (She pulls the cradle over to the recliner and sits. She clears her throat…puts her hand tenderly on the cradle and rocks it.) Rock a bye baby, in the tree tops, when the wind blows, your cradle will rock…

Gradual fade to black.

The window is backlit by moonlight where the motionless silhouette of a woman in a brim hat and shawl is looking in.






The End

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Kitties & Doggies & A Crazy Quilt Heart

Lately, everywhere, a boat load of attention is lavished upon cute doggies and kitties and their seemingly endless repertoire of adorable expressions, captionable poses, and anthropomorphic utterances like “Can I has a cheezburger?”   One can actually begin to see these domestic divas, these fussed-over fluff muffins wrap their bewhiskered lips around human catchphrases and that’s where the goofy insanity begins.  And the manipulative get busy. 

So few people actually read anything anymore, we who write are not too proud to trick our audiences into rediscovering the almost archaic practice. Fairly transparently pimping adorable canine companions and feline familiars by clever cyber-diarists lures potential readers in to SIT, STAY and READ. Mommy bloggers and Foodies seem to keep pace larding their letters with butt-clenchingly edible baby pictures and glistening drooling photos of standing rib roasts. But chum your writings with big-eyed sweet-breathed puppies and fuzz-bomb snuffling kittens and you have -  zip! bang! - Instant Following.



Far be it for me to judge. In fact I am jumping in.

My kids are not cute babies anymore.  Oh no.  Far from that.  And my standing rib roasts look like Civil War forts; assaulted, burnt down, and pissed on by Sherman's army.  So...


I’ve got it figured out. Everybody is a sucker for a fuzzy nugget of four-legged unconditional uncomplicated love.  They are cheap fur therapy since human beings dare to foolishly love one another.  As such, we right brain-left brain wonders of creation inevitably launch that leaky love skiff together onto a treacherous gulf of lava infested with mines and giant sentient prickly spiny sea urchins. We do it over and over, blank-eyed giggling amnesiacs, only to be atomized yet again with a loud “crump!” and a steaming sprinkle; parts of us raining down in a ever spreading radius and landing with dull thumps.



Just what circle did Dante invent for that heart-warming interlude?  Back to puppies and kittens, quick!



We could learn a lot from my dog Calamity Jane who, after working up a frantic full-speed run in pursuit of the almighty tennis ball, will lock up and execute a kind of Labrador-drift slide maneuver connecting head first into the wall.  She's done this twice. She stopped doing it because it hurt.


I am not complaining because the arc of love can be blissful. Just so burdened with overwrought transience for human beings. Luckily the sea urchin spines do a whale of a job when stitching oneself together after an episode. That is if you can run down all those parts that rained down and sufficiently complete the quilting bee that will ensue.



Kittens, puppies.



For me, it’s a crazy quilt heart.  I am happy, delirious even, just to be greeted at the door by a kinetic wiggling pointy-toothed smiley fur person who couldn’t care less if I have idiosyncrasies. Even better for gullible soft-touches like me, a HERD of fur persons of varying origins and pedigrees meeting me at the door. Six tails wagging, twenty-four paws patting me down for hidden treats, six silky foreheads to pet. To them, we taste, sound, smell and feel like god.  Bliss enough for this set of opposable thumbs.



As long as there is something to eat!