“Here it is!” Grammy said victoriously,
holding the delivery slip in the air. But when the old woman
squinted at the yellow piece of paper through her glasses, her
expression went flat. “Well...I’ll be. I could have sworn I...”
The old woman glanced at Mildred, miffed,
and then a broad, toothy grin broke across her leathery face. She
beamed at Neal as if he were her own son. “You were just as right
as you could be. I’m so proud of you!”
Neal forced a smile. They were amazed that
he actually had the brains and reliability of a ten year old
.
What do you expect?
he wanted to say.
I’m not a moron—I can
read English
.
Old man Snell placed a warm hand on Neal’s
shoulder. “That’s good work, son.” He winked at Grammy, clearly
pleased that his latest U of G hire had proved to be so
remarkable.
Neal began to load up the van with his
morning deliveries, only vaguely aware of the meaningless chatter
of Grammy and Mildred and the other Snells while he worked. He had
to get another job, a
real
job, as soon as possible. He not
only needed to make some decent money, he needed to be around some
halfway intelligent people. And as soon as he found a better
position and accumulated a little cash, he would start knocking off
some night classes and finish his chemistry degree. Maybe he could
still swing medical school, if he could stabilize life with Annie
and the baby.
But as he drove to his first delivery, his
optimism faded. He was still troubled by what had happened with
Natasha that morning.
I love you
, he thought.
He remembered the long, heated battles he
and Annie had over what to do about her unexpected pregnancy, with
Neal arguing adamantly for an abortion. It was hardly an ideal
solution to the problem, but to him, it was the only one that made
any sense. Neither one of them were prepared to start a family. In
Neal’s mind, it was better for him to finish all his education and
get his medical career started before they had any children.
But Annie wouldn’t have it. Once she found
out she was pregnant, she seemed hell-bent on giving birth to the
child and keeping it, no matter what the price. She had finally
told Neal that she would have the baby and raise it herself, and he
could just do whatever he pleased. And, if not for his own history,
he might have done just that. When Neal was 12, his older sister,
Rhonda, had gotten pregnant, and he had spent his entire teenage
years listening to what a “selfish prick” the father of the baby
had been, some slick insurance salesman who disappeared as soon as
Rhonda had missed her first period.
How could Neal do the same thing to
Annie?
The answer was, he could not, and live with
himself. If his family hadn’t known about the situation, he might
have gotten away with it, but he had made the mistake of consulting
his mother about the matter. “You need to do the right thing,
Neal,” she had told him, and it was quite clear what she had meant
by this. When he had turned to his father, whom he hadn’t seen more
than a half dozen times since elementary school, the advice Neal
got was, “Do whatever the hell you want, boy. But if you’re gonna
screw up your life by getting married, you’re on your own.” That
meant that he would no longer help Neal with his college
tuition.
In the end, against all Neal’s better
judgment and his deepest wishes for his own life and his future, he
had finally married Annie. No fancy wedding, no honeymoon, not even
any wedding rings—he couldn’t afford them. Just a little ceremony
downtown at the Justice of the Peace. Afterwards, Neal went back to
his dorm room and slept by himself, since they didn’t even have
their own apartment then. He figured that he could make it all
work, somehow.
But he had obviously been wrong.
He regretted that extra millisecond of
pleasure more than he had ever regretted anything in his life.
“I love you,” Neal muttered, as he pulled
the Snell van into the parking lot of his first delivery. “I doubt
it, Natasha. I doubt it very much.”
C
HAPTER 2
A little after eleven, in between two of his
deliveries, Neal stopped at a bookstore to see if he could ease his
mind about the incident with Natasha. No matter what Annie said,
Neal still couldn’t believe he had imagined it.
He found a pretty young clerk working at the
front desk. He asked her where the baby books were located.
“This way,” the girl said, with a knowing
smile. As Neal followed her across the store, Neal puzzled over
this. But by the time they reached the Family and Parenthood
Section, he understood.
“The pregnancy books are right here,” the
girl told him, with another little smile.
“I already
have
a baby,” Neal said
irritably. “I just need to look something up.”
“Whatever,” she said, and briskly walked
away.
“Stupid,” Neal mumbled, more to himself that
to her. Why was he so embarrassed about having a kid? He was young,
but so were a lot of fathers. But maybe he wasn’t embarrassed.
Maybe he was just angry about it.
Still
angry.
He picked up a book called
You and Your
Newborn
and flipped through the glossary, scanning for any
entries that might point him to information about speech
development. Annie had a whole library of similar books at home,
but Neal had hardly glanced at any of them. He and Annie had
completely different opinions about the basic nature of children
and their process of evolving into adults. Annie was of the “blank
slate” school of thinking—she regarded babies as nothing more than
human computers, born ready and waiting to be programmed by their
parents and by society, with no prior personality or ability to
think or act on their own. As a result, she had an almost paranoid
attitude about every little interaction she had with Natasha,
afraid that the slightest “mistake” would screw up the poor kid for
life.
In contrast, Neal believed that children
come into the world already possessing a certain level of mind and
spirit, with their personalities at least partially formed, and
therefore are much more self-sufficient—and self-directed—than many
people thought these days. His own mother had convinced him of this
fact. Neal and his older brother, Kevin, were total opposites. Neal
was quiet, intellectual, and somewhat introverted, whereas Kevin
was rambunctious, outgoing, and barely made it through a two-year
college. Their mother had always said this difference was evident
long before either of them were born. Neal barely moved inside his
mother’s womb, while Kevin kicked so violently that, at times, she
was afraid he might do some internal damage.
Neal finally located a section in the book
on speech development. He read it carefully. Most babies, it said,
begin to “vocalize” between 8 and 10 months, and usually after 12
to 14 months begin to form “meaningful word combinations.” The book
went on to say, in a very reassuring tone, that many children begin
speech much later than this, and that such tardiness is not a
reflection of a lack of intelligence, potential for success, or any
other measure. Some children simply begin the speech process later
than others.
Neal picked up a few other books and read
essentially the same thing in them. He soon realized that he would
not find the information he was truly after. It was clear that all
of these books were written to pacify the Annies of the world,
mothers and fathers who were worrying about when their babies
“should” start talking and then what to do to correct a tardiness
problem. None of the books addressed the subject of unusually
early
speech. And why should they? Most parents would be
delighted at this development. Instead of consulting their baby
books or their pediatricians, they would rush out to brag to all
their friends.
Neal sighed and picked up the first book
again, rereading the beginning of the passage on speech.
Most
children begin vocalizing at 8 to 10 months and putting together
meaningful word combinations at 12 to 14 months.
“Eight to ten months,” Neal murmured.
His kid had already put together a
“meaningful word combination” at five months.
What the hell did that mean?
Neal put the book back on the shelf,
contemplating this question as he walked out of the store. He
finally decided it could only mean two things. Either he had
imagined the entire incident with Natasha, in which case he
probably needed to make another trip to the bookstore, but this
time to the Self Help section. Or, it meant that his theory about
children coming into the world with a certain level of mind and
spirit was much more accurate than he thought.
* * *
Mother and daughter were lying side by side
in bed, sleeping peacefully. Annie drifted in and out of
consciousness, relishing the quiet, but still disturbed by what had
happened that morning with Neal. If it wasn’t so sad, it would be
funny. A five-month old baby saying “I love you!” How
ridiculous!
Annie raised her head and peered at
Natasha’s little face. “It’s just silly, isn’t it thweetie?” She
barely whispered the words, not daring to wake the child. Annie had
read that it wasn’t good to interrupt an infant’s normal sleeping
pattern, that it might cause insomnia or other sleeping disorders
later in life.
Annie gave a quiet sigh and lay her head
back down on her pillow, staring blankly out the window. A part of
her wanted to believe what Neal had told her. She supposed that was
normal, that every mother probably wanted to think of her baby as
extraordinary or gifted. But she just couldn’t believe that Natasha
had spoken. The very idea of it was ludicrous! It was only Neal’s
over-active imagination, fueled by his guilt over his own attitude
and behavior towards Natasha. That was the sad part. It was clear
from the very beginning that Neal hated Natasha and blamed
everything on her—his decision to get married (what do you expect
when you get someone pregnant!), having to quit school
(temporarily, so he could get a job and work for a living a support
his family, like most people!), and being cut off from his father
(no great loss!). The thought that he imagined Natasha telling him
that she
loved
him was...well, just pathetic.
Annie wasn’t much of an intellectual, but
she had an intuitive sense of psychology, even Neal admitted that.
She had learned a lot from reading magazine articles. There was one
article, called
Projecting Our Hidden Selves,
that had stuck
in her mind, mainly because it made her think of Neal so many times
while she was reading it. Today, after he had left for work, the
gist of it had come back to her. The article had explained that
when a strong part of your personality was repressed, it would grow
more and more powerful until it forced you to look it right in the
face. Annie didn’t fully understand it as she was reading it. But
now, it seemed crystal clear to her. And she was certain that the
process it described was exactly what had been happening to
Neal.
Somewhere hidden deep down inside of him,
there was another Neal, a Neal who was vulnerable and caring and
loving, a Neal who desperately needed her and Natasha just as much
as they needed him. She had glimpsed that part of him only a few
times, mostly at the beginning of their relationship (how could she
have fallen in love with him otherwise?), but now it had almost
disappeared, buried somewhere inside him. And now, that hidden part
of him had gained such strength that it had projected itself onto
Natasha, making him believe that the little infant had actually
told
him that she loved him!
Annie started to feel sick. She sat upright
in the bed, afraid she might throw up. The room seemed to spin
around and around.
This wasn’t a marriage...it was a
nightmare.
Annie touched her hand to her queasy
stomach. She needed some Pepto-Bismal. Natasha was still sleeping
peacefully, so Annie quietly got up out of the bed. She paused at
the door and gazed at her lovely child again, then looked up at the
telephone. It was only inches away from Natasha’s head, on the
night stand, but the receiver was still off the hook, so it
couldn’t ring and wake her up.
Satisfied that all was in order, Annie
padded through the living room and into the kitchen. She took a
swig of the pink stomach settler out of the bottle. It had become
her breakfast of choice during the first few weeks of her
pregnancy, when she developed morning sickness and didn’t want
Shellie, her nosy roommate at that time, to know about it.
Annie wiped her mouth and put the bottle
back in the cupboard. In a matter of minutes, her stomach had
stopped gurgling. Then he realized she was hungry. She opened the
refrigerator door. There was a half-f carton of chocolate milk
on the middle shelf. Annie eyed it with such lust it felt almost
sexual. What had happened to her willpower?
She glanced down at her flabby figure,
hidden underneath her tattered yellow housecoat. Her appearance now
was disgusting, she knew. It was no wonder that Neal didn’t seem
interested in having sex with her anymore. Her breasts were
shriveled and sad-looking, from constantly nursing Natasha. But
they had never been very big. This not only made her feel
unattractive as a woman, it made her feel inadequate as a mother.
They were so small she had to use store-bought formula as
supplement most of the time.
Before she had gotten pregnant, though, she
had felt comfortable with her body—she was in almost perfect shape.
She had even won second place at a “best suntan” contest at the
Buckhead Beach Club. In fact, if she hadn’t participated in that
fateful contest, she and Neal probably wouldn’t have met. Neal had
approached her afterwards and made some small talk, obviously
trying to pick her up. One thing led to another, and she’d ended up
spending the night with him. This was something that she had never
done before, sleeping with someone so quickly, but with Neal,
everything just “clicked.” Until she had found out she was
pregnant, at least.
Annie stood in front of the open
refrigerator for several minutes, trying to control herself, but
finally grabbed the carton of chocolate milk and took a few hungry
gulps. As soon as she took the carton away from her lips, she was
angry with herself.
She plopped down on one of the squeaky
dinette chairs. As she did this, she noticed that her hind quarters
seemed to cover a little more of the seat than it had a month ago.
Annie had always been a little pear-shaped, a fact Neal seemed to
like (he used to say he liked her “bubble butt”). But now, she
looked a little like her mother. No, that wasn’t true—Annie
couldn’t insult her mother like that. Her mother looked
better
than she did. At 48!
But what could Annie, or anyone, expect? Now
she was living her life for her baby daughter, not for herself. She
had no time for nightly workouts or Weight Watchers or spending any
time making herself “beautiful.” The most important thing in her
life was Natasha—her precious baby was all that mattered. She
wanted to make sure that her daughter grew up in a healthy
environment and didn’t get messed up like so many other kids she
had known. And like she’d been messed up herself.
Annie glanced down at the chocolate milk
carton in her hand. There was no doubt in her mind that her weight
problems were her mother’s fault. Who wouldn’t have problems with
obesity, growing up in a house like that! Her mother drank
chocolate milk like it was water, packed the kitchen full of potato
chips and cookies and crackers and all kinds of other fattening
(but oh so tasty!) goodies. She honestly didn’t know how her mom
managed to keep her weight halfway under control eating like that
all those years.
Unable to resist the urge, Annie finished
off the last of the chocolate milk. Maybe she had weight problems,
but Natasha wouldn’t. She would be careful not to set such a bad
example for her own daughter.
When she got up and opened the cabinet under
the sink to throw the empty carton away, she gasped.
A little brown mouse had darted past her and
then disappeared under the refrigerator.
“Damn!” Annie hissed, clutching the empty
milk carton to her racing heart.
She glanced uneasily around the tiny
kitchen, her skin tingling. What a poor excuse for a home! She had
called the apartment manager twice already about the mice, but the
lazy woman hadn’t done a thing about it. Neal had bought some
little boxes of rat poison at the grocery store and left them out
under the sink and behind the refrigerator, but they didn’t seem to
do any good. Living in these conditions was just plain
unacceptable. She would call the manager again as soon as Natasha
woke up. And she would give the lady a piece of her mind!
Annie sat back down in the dinette chair,
shaking. Through the doorway to the living room she could see her
broken up reflection—her
fat
reflection—in the tile mirrors
some previous tenant had glued to the wall in a vain attempt to
make the tiny apartment look bigger. The tiles were supposed to
look fancy—they had fake gold veins running through them to give a
marble-like effect—but she thought they just looked cheap. Like
everything else in the depressing place.
Annie crossed her arms on the little dinette
table and set her head between them, the way she used to back in
high school.
And she began to weep.